Master of El Corazon (Harlequin Presents)

by Sandra Marton

  ‘Mr Lithgow,’ she’d said, loudly and sharply enough to have made a couple of heads turn in their direction, but before she could make a complete ass of herself, thank God, her boss had frowned and nodded towards the pool and said that it was a good thing he’d grabbed her in time or the jostling crowd would have tumbled her straight in. Arden had blushed with embarrassment at what she’d been thinking, claimed a headache, and fled to her rooms where she’d reminded herself that one of the reasons she’d accepted this transfer was not just because it could well lead to a promotion but because Edgar Lithgow, while rich, was as harmless as a dodo. He had a wife, five children, a paunch and a shiny scalp, and he was on the board of half a dozen religious and charitable organisations.

  Arden turned off the shower and stepped from the tub. In five months here, she thought as she wrapped herself in a floor-length towelling robe, working side by side all day, bumping into each other with regularity in the hotel dining-room or reading lounge in the evening, he had never given her the slightest reason to find fault with him. In fact, she doubted he’d ever really noticed if she were male or female. She shuddered as she unpinned her hair, then combed it out until it lay in darkly curling abundance on her shoulders.

  ‘Thank your lucky stars you didn’t make a fool of yourself that night, Arden,’ she whispered to her reflection in the misted mirror. The last thing she wanted was to lose this job and the chance it offered of a better future.

  There was a knock at the door to her suite. Had an hour gone by already? Not that it mattered; she’d eat just as she was, in her robe at the little table by the window in the sitting-room, and then she’d curl up in bed with the book she’d started last evening.

  The knock came again, just as she reached the door and unlocked it.

  ‘Buenas noches, Alejandro,’ she said—and stared in surprise.

  It was not the bellman with her dinner tray who stood in the hallway.

  It was her boss, Edgar Lithgow.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ARDEN tried not to cringe as Lithgow’s gaze swept over her, all the way from her damp, tousled hair to her bare toes peeking out from under her robe. He frowned and she moaned inwardly. She looked about as unprofessional as it was possible to look—but then, she certainly hadn’t expected a visitor! With difficulty, she managed what she hoped might pass for a polite smile.

  ‘Mr Lithgow, sir. What a surprise.’

  ‘Good evening, Miss Miller. I apologise for the intrusion, but something’s come up, and I wondered if I might bother you to take a short memo.’

  ‘Now?’ she said stupidly.

  He frowned again. ‘I know it’s irregular and I apologise. But it will only take a moment, I promise.’

  Arden stared at him. It was, indeed, irregular. Until this instant, she’d never even seen him on her floor.

  ‘Miss Miller?’

  Her hesitation had turned Lithgow’s frown into a scowl. She gave him one more quick glance, as if to reassure herself that he were the same man she worked with each day, tall and angular in a dark blue suit, his few strands of pale hair combed neatly across his skull, his rimless eye glasses perched high on his narrow nose, and then she smiled.

  ‘Of course,’ she said, opening the door wide. ‘Come in.’

  Lithgow stepped past her into the room, and her nose wrinkled. He’d brought a scent with him—what was it? Cologne? Shaving lotion? She’d never noticed him wearing either.

  Gin, Arden thought in surprise. Was that what she smelled? Gin?

  ‘Your notepad, Miss Miller. Where is it?’

  She hesitated. ‘It’s—it‘s—’

  ‘This is quite an urgent memo, Miss Miller. I’d prefer not to waste time standing around this way.’ He turned and slammed the door shut. ‘And I’ve no wish to have anyone hear me dictate something of such importance.’

  Arden glanced at the closed door, then at her boss’s face. He looked as he always did, coldly forbidding and somewhat unapproachable.

  ‘Miss Miller?’ His voice was sharp. ‘Is there a problem?’

  ‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘No, sir, of course not.’

  Not unless you called her own silly imagination a problem, Arden thought. The run-in with the stranger had obviously made her edgy, and foolishly so. If Edgar Lithgow wanted to have a drink on his own time, that was his business. If he needed to dictate an urgent memo, that was hers, and never mind that she wasn’t really comfortable having him turn up in her rooms after working hours.

  ‘I have some stationery in the dresser in the bedroom,’ she said as she started from the room. ‘I’ll just get it and—’

  ‘You weren’t at the party, Miss Miller.’

  Arden turned in surprise. Lithgow had followed her; he was almost on her heels and now that he was so close to her, the smell of gin was strong enough to make her wrinkle her nose.

  ‘Uh, no, no, I wasn’t.’ She glanced down at herself and flushed, which was silly, considering that she was covered from throat to toe. Still, if she was going to take dictation, she suddenly wanted to change from her robe to something more substantial. ‘I—uh—I was just taking a shower,’ she said with a quick smile. ‘Why don’t you go back into the sitting-room and give me a minute to put on—?’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Miss Miller.’ He smiled. ‘Stay just as you are, my dear. You look quite comfortable.’

  My dear? Arden cleared her throat. She wanted to take a step back, but the bed was just behind her, pressing lightly against the backs of her legs. ‘Well, then,’ she said briskly, ‘let me just get that paper and we’ll get started.’

  ‘By all means.’

  ‘You’ll—you’ll have to move, sir.’ His brows rose questioningly. ‘The paper’s over there,’ she said, gesturing towards the dresser on the far wall. ‘I need to get past you.’

  Lithgow smiled and shifted slightly to the side. ‘You’re a slender girl, Arden. Surely you don’t need more room than this?’

  All at once, everything in the room seemed slightly askew, like a scene viewed through a pair of unfocused binoculars. Be calm, she told herself, just take things nice and easy.

  ‘You know, Mr Lithgow,’ she said with a careful smile, ‘it really is very late. Alejandro will be bringing my supper in a moment, and—’

  Lithgow chuckled slyly. ‘No, he won’t.’

  Arden stared at him. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I met Alejandro in the hall and told him you and I would prefer a little supper served later, not now.’

  ‘You had no right to do that,’ Arden said sharply. She pushed past Lithgow, trying not to notice the press of his body against hers. ‘I think you’d better leave right now, sir. If you do—’

  Lithgow caught hold of her wrist. ‘I haven’t dictated the memo yet, Arden.’

  ‘You can dictate it tomorrow, at the office.’

  He looked at her steadily, while she tried not to let her growing fear show in her face, and then he sighed and let go of her hand.

  ‘You’re right, I should never have bothered you with such nonsense this evening.’

  The breath whooshed from her lungs. ‘That’s all right, sir,’ she said. ‘We’ll-we’ll just forget all about—’

  ‘Do you think I might have a cold drink, before I go?’

  No, Arden thought, no, you can’t. Just get out of here and let me pretend this never happened.

  ‘Miss Miller?’ She looked at him. ‘I would be most grateful for just a little sip of something cold.’

  She sighed. ‘Very well, sir. I’ll get you a glass of water.’

  He shuddered. ‘That bottled stuff? No, I don’t care for the taste.’ He nodded towards the little fridge the hotel provided. ‘What do you have in there?’

  ‘Coke and some orange juice,’ she said reluctantly, ‘but—’

  ‘And ice?’

  All right, she told herself, all right, if that was what it took to get rid of him ...

  ‘Yes,’ she said with a sigh, ‘of course.
’ She bent and opened the fridge. ‘Which would you like, sir? Coke? Or—’

  ‘Just the ice, Arden,’ he said, and it was the tone of his voice as much as the way he’d gone back to using her first name that made her look up. That sly grin was on his face again and, as she watched, he pulled a bottle of gin from his pocket. ‘Ta da!’ he said. ‘If Arden won’t come to the party, the party will come to her!’

  Arden straightened up slowly. ‘You’ll have to leave now, Mr Lithgow.’

  “I agree with you, my dear. Business can wait until morning.’ He smiled again. ‘Why don’t you get us some glasses, hmm?’

  ‘Mr Lithgow—’

  ‘Edgar.’

  ‘Mr Lithgow,’ she said firmly, ‘you’re going to regret this tomorrow. Now, why don’t you—?’

  ‘What I regret,’ he said, moving towards her, ‘is all the time I’ve wasted, watching you slip around the office, waggling your hips in my face, showing off those breasts, and not doing what a man ought to do when faced with what was offered.’

  Arden’s hazel eyes widened. ‘That’s a lie! I never—’

  ‘Temptation was put in my path,’ he said solemnly, putting the gin bottle on the night stand as he walked slowly towards her, ‘and for months I thought it was a test of my virtue.’ He laughed softly. ‘And then I realised that I’d misunderstood. You weren’t here to tempt me, you were a gift.’

  ‘Now, wait just a damned minute,’ Arden said, moving backwards.

  ‘A gift from my maker, Arden.’ He was standing almost on top of her now; his breath was a cloud of gin, rising like an evil miasma to her nostrils. ‘His way of thanking me for my years of dedication to charitable works.’

  He’s crazy, Arden thought frantically. Either that, or he’s suddenly developed a sick sense of humour. But the hot weight of his hand at her breast was no joke. Arden skidded away.

  ‘Get out of my room,’ she said, hoping he could not hear the fear in her voice.

  His face took on a look of cold calculation. ‘You forget yourself. I have a perfect right to be here. I pay the bills for this suite, remember?’

  ‘The company pays the bills.’

  ‘A matter of semantics.’

  ‘This is sexual harassment,’ Arden said quickly. ‘You must know there are laws against this sort of—’

  ‘Laws!’ Lithgow laughed. ‘Stuff and nonsense, pushed through American courts by damned fool feminists. But we’re not in America now, we’re in a place that looks like Paradise.’

  It was no time to argue that the laws still applied, Arden thought desperately. He was either crazy or crazy drunk, and all that mattered was getting away from him while she still could. She looked past him to the door, measuring the distance, wondering if she could reach it before he did, but before there was time to make a move Lithgow lunged for her and grabbed her. Arden cried out and struggled to free herself, but he was a man with a strength fuelled by equal parts desire and alcohol.

  ‘You son of a bitch,’ she panted, and somehow she wrenched free, but Lithgow was still holding on to her sash so that the robe swung open, revealing her.

  He moaned as if he’d just seen the Grail.

  ‘Lovely,’ he said, and the huskiness of that one word told her this would be her last chance at escape.

  Arden gave a sob, spun around and raced not for the door but for the night table. The gin bottle crashed to the floor as she reached for the phone, but her fingers closed around thin air. Lithgow grunted, tackled her from behind, and they fell to bed together in a whirl of legs and arms while the stink of gin filled the air in the bedroom.

  ‘Little wildcat,’ he said, grinning into her face.

  She fought as be tried to pin her beneath him. ‘Let go of me, you bastard,’ she panted. Her leg came up; she wanted to knee him in the groin but he moved suddenly, feinting to the side. Arden opened her mouth to scream and Lithgow’s lips clamped on to hers. The vile taste of him made her gag. She beat against his shoulders, the breath whistling through her nostrils, and suddenly she heard the door slam against the wall and a male voice said, ‘Just what in hell is going on here?’

  Lithgow went still as a corpse above her. ‘Get off me,’ Arden said in a voice that shook, as much with rage as with fear. The pupils in his eyes contracted, his mouth narrowed, and suddenly he was Edgar Lithgow again, cool and removed and as proper as a Sunday afternoon in the country.

  He rose to his feet and Arden scrambled off the bed in one swift motion, turning to her saviour with a tremulous smile of relief.

  ‘Thank you,’ she murmured. ‘You got here just in—’

  The words caught in her throat. The man standing in the bedroom doorway was the man she’d met in the lift, and he was looking at her as if she’d just climbed out from under a rock.

  ‘It would seem you were telling the truth when you said you had a prior engagement this evening,’ he said with a cool smile.

  Arden felt a crimson flush rise beneath her skin. ‘I’d hardly call this a prior engagement,’ she said stiffly.

  His gaze was slow and insolent as it skimmed her tangled hair and flushed face, then dropped lower. Her flush deepened as she realised her robe was still hanging open, and she grasped the lapels quickly and drew them tightly together. He looked away from her, his glance moving around the room, and Arden’s eyes followed his, taking in, as he was, the tangled bedclothes, her clothing lying carelessly across the chair. When his nostrils flared, hers did, too, and filled with the heavy aroma of gin.

  ‘What would you call it, señorita?’ he asked, his face expressionless.

  Arden grabbed her sash and knotted it tightly at her waist. ‘My God,’ she said, ‘anyone with half a brain can see what—’

  ‘An excellent question, sir.’ Arden and the stranger both turned and looked at Edgar Lithgow. He was standing beside the bed, his thin mouth narrowed with disgust, his hair smoothed down across his head, his shirt tucked neatly into his trousers, looking as out of place as a robed jurist in a prison cell. ‘Perhaps she’ll explain this little scene to us both.’

  Arden stared at him. ‘What are you talking about?’ she said angrily.

  Lithgow’s eyes never left the other man’s face. ‘This young woman—Miss Miller—has been my secretary for months now, and in all that time I’ve chosen to ignore the hints she’s given me as to her baser nature.’

  ‘What?’ Arden slammed her hands on to her hips. ‘What are you saying, you—you—?’

  ‘I’m a family man, sir, a devoted husband and father, a leader in my church and community.’ Lithgow shook his head. ‘Perhaps that’s why I gave Miss Miller the benefit of the doubt, why I pretended not to notice the way she brushed against me whenever she could. But tonight, when she invited me to her room—’

  ‘It’s a lie! I never—’

  ‘We had a drink together,’ Lithgow said. He sighed. ‘More than one, to be honest. And I weakened, heaven forgive me, and she—she—’

  ‘You bastard!’ Arden started towards him, but the stranger stopped her, reaching out and catching her by the arm. ‘He’s lying,’ she said furiously. ‘I never asked him here, and I certainly never offered him a drink.’ She swung towards Lithgow, her eyes flashing. ‘You—you forced yourself on me, you pig!’

  The stranger let go of her, laughed softly, and leaned back against the door, his hands shoved lazily into his pockets. He had shaved, Arden noticed in some still-logical part of her mind, and changed from his worn denims to a pair of white duck trousers and a pale blue shirt.

  ‘A modern-day version of Rashomon,’ he said. ‘The Japanese play—do you know it? A woman claims rape, a man claims seduction, and it’s up to the audience to determine the truth.’

  Colour leaped into Arden’s cheeks again. ‘I was not raped.’

  ‘Indeed she was not,’ Lithgow said.

  The man nodded. ‘At least you agree on that. As for me, I don’t know what happened here tonight, but—’

  ‘No,’ Arden snapped,
‘you certainly do not, but I can tell you one thing for certain. This man—’

  ‘This man,’ he said with a little smile, ‘is the reason you were too busy to join me this evening, señorita.’ His gaze went to Lithgow, sliding over the pale face, the fine English wool suit, the gold Rolex winking from beneath a hand-tailored cuff. ‘And I can easily see why he would be more to your liking.’

  Arden flushed darkly. ‘I’ve no idea what that’s supposed to mean.’

  ‘Haven’t you?’

  Arden took a deep breath. ‘All right,’ she said, ‘all right, this is enough. I am not going to stand here, in my own bedroom, and—and defend myself against a pack of lies!’

  Lithgow sank down on the edge of the bed, his shoulders slumped, the very portrait of despair. ‘I’m so upset,’ he whispered. ‘Nothing like this has ever happened to me before. I should have known. She asked me to stop by and accompany her to the party—’

  ‘I never did,’ Arden said furiously. She spun towards the stranger. ‘Dammit, do I look as if I’m going to a party?’

  The green eyes narrowed and swept over her again, and even though her robe was tightly closed Aden felt as if that gaze were stripping her naked. After a moment, his eyes met hers and a muscle knotted in his cheek.

  ‘That depends on what kind of party you mean.’

  Arden sprang forward, her hand upraised, but he caught it easily, his fingers curling around her wrist, pressing down against the nerves that lay in the soft underside so that she gasped with pain.

  ‘You have already miscalculated in your dealings with one man tonight, señorita. I urge you not to make the same mistake with another.’

  ‘You,’ she hissed, ‘you—’

  The bed creaked as Lithgow rose to his feet. He walked forward slowly, then he cleared his throat.

  ‘Señor,’ he said, ‘have you a family? If you do, you will understand my concern for those nearest and dearest to me.’

  The stranger gave a little laugh. ‘Without question, señor.’