Don Joaquin's Pride (Presents, 2127)

by Lynne Graham

  Thirty minutes later, seated in the cab which would take her back to the flat she had once shared with her mother, Lucy sighed. The crowded city streets and the cold dull winter weather seemed a poor exchange for the lush beauty of a colourful country like Guatemala. But she had her sister’s wedding to look forward to, and then Christmas, she reminded herself. Hadn’t she always loved the festive season? But Roger and Cindy would still be away on their honeymoon and Christmas would be rather lonely…

  Two busy weeks later, Lucy moved into her sister’s apartment. Cindy was still not home. Her twin had finished working with the film unit but she was currently in Oxford, staying with Roger’s parents, to where he would return from Germany. Their wedding was now only three days away and, thanks to the organisational skills of Cindy’s future mother-in-law, her sister had virtually no last-minute details to check.

  Within ten minutes of sitting down in her sister’s lounge mid-morning, to take a break from unpacking, Lucy fell asleep. When she woke up again, she was exasperated with herself. Why was she so tired all the time? In addition, her tummy was out of sorts and she had had a couple of minor dizzy spells as well.

  As she had tried to explain to her doctor forty-eight hours earlier, it wasn’t that she felt exactly ill, more that she just didn’t feel quite right. Had she some infection which she had yet to shake off? Her doctor had done some tests. She was to phone later to get the results, she reminded herself ruefully.

  The intercom buzzed as she was making up a bed for herself in the spare room. Walking out to the hall, she caught her reflection in the full-length mirror on the wall. Gosh, she looked drab and washed out! After the experience of wearing her twin’s designer garments, she had become uncomfortably aware of how dowdy her own clothing was. Her blue tunic sweater and long skirt might be warm and comfy but they had neither shape nor style.

  However, she was stuck with the wardrobe she had. Right now, she was poor as a church mouse, and she had more pressing priorities. Although she had managed to find a temporary job as an assistant in a toy store over the Christmas period, and was starting work the day after the wedding, she still needed to find somewhere of her own to live.

  ‘Yes…?’ she said into the intercom.

  ‘Buzz me up…’ Joaquin drawled in the most lethally intimidating tone.

  Lucy froze. Instant recognition of his dark deep drawl sent her into a mindless tailspin. ‘B-but—’

  ‘Now, Lucy!’ Joaquin thundered without hesitation.

  In a total daze, she hit the button. There was just no stopping the soaring sense of joy and excitement washing over her. He was here in London! All right, so he didn’t sound as if he was in the best of moods, but any minute she was going to see him. She opened the door and turned in a dizzy little circle and then stilled in guilty dismay. What the heck was she thinking of?

  Laying eyes on Joaquin Del Castillo again would put her right back to the beginning of the recovery process. Not that she had travelled that far along the road to recovery, she conceded reluctantly. After all, she still thought about Joaquin at least once every five minutes, and in particularly weak moments almost constantly. But, like it or not, Joaquin did not feel the same way about her. So it would be foolish for her to feed her craving for him with further exposure.

  Just as she heard the lift doors whirring back on the landing, Lucy went to close the apartment door again. ‘Sorry, I just don’t think this is a good idea, but you could always phone me—’

  Joaquin took her totally aback by forging forward regardless. Thrusting the door wide enough for entrance, he simply lifted her out of his path and set her down again before she could offer any further objection. ‘Right, where is Yolanda?’ he demanded with raw impatience.

  Disconcerted by his aggressive attitude, and flustered by being lifted off her feet like an exasperating but minor obstruction, Lucy just gaped at him. Joaquin looked as if he had been through hell since she had last seen him. His brilliant eyes were shadowed. His stunning cheekbones were sharper and fierce lines of tension bracketed his taut mouth as he studied her with charged expectancy.

  Yolanda! Lucy was sharply disappointed and felt that she should have been better prepared for that demand. Naturally he was angry that his sister had left home in defiance of his wishes. And, being Joaquin, an autocrat to his fingertips, he obviously wasn’t going to let the matter lie. Even so, Lucy was jolted by the sense of rejection she experienced at the reality that his visit had nothing to do with her personally.

  She was very pale. ‘I really don’t think I can tell you where your sister is without her permission—’

  ‘Either you tell me or you tell the police!’ Joaquin shot back at her without hesitation.

  ‘The p-police…?’ Lucy repeated in a wobbly burst of incredulity at such a threat.

  ‘I am outraged by your behaviour in this business,’ Joaquin informed her, his strong jawline clenching hard. ‘How could you help Yolanda to run away from home? She left me a letter telling me that she was returning to school. Fool that I am, I was so relieved that I did not even check her story! Then I waited a week to let the dust settle before I tried to call her.’

  Like a woman turned to stone, Lucy mumbled thickly, ‘School?’

  But Joaquin was still talking. He drove an angry hand through his thick black hair and focused on her with shimmering green eyes full of condemnation. ‘When I discovered that she hadn’t returned to school I assumed that she was with you. This apartment has been under surveillance ever since then. I have been awaiting your return.’

  ‘School?’ Lucy said a second time with greater stress as Joaquin strode past her into the lounge. She followed him. ‘Why are you talking about Yolanda going back to school?’

  ‘Where else should a sixteen-year-old be?’ Joaquin demanded wrathfully.

  ‘A sixteen-year-old…she can’t be…no, there is no way she can be just sixteen!’ Lucy protested, gazing back at him with disbelieving eyes.

  ‘Where the hell is she?’ Joaquin launched at her again.

  Shock and the most appalling feeling of guilt assailed Lucy. The depth of his anxious concern for his sister’s welfare was patent. She had been taken in by a teenager playing a role that had come easily to a young girl raised in the lap of luxury and indulgence. Aware that Lucy was impressed by that act, Yolanda had ensured that she stayed fooled. When Lucy had finally got around to asking what age the brunette was on that drive to the airport, Yolanda had lied and said she was twenty-one. But why, when she had actually witnessed the other girl’s wilful moods and immaturity, had she not put two and two together and at least suspected the truth?

  ‘I honestly didn’t know what age she was, Joaquin. Oh, my goodness, what an idiot I’ve been!’ Lucy exclaimed, biting at her lower lip and shaking her head.

  Joaquin closed lean hands round her forearms. ‘All I need to know right now is where my sister is. Much will be forgiven if she is safe and unharmed.’

  ‘She phones me most days.’ Lucy dashed the sudden rush of tears from her strained eyes. ‘Last week she flew to Paris to visit some friend called Loretta—’

  Releasing her, Joaquin produced a portable phone. ‘What is Loretta’s surname?’

  ‘I don’t know, and it hardly matters because Yolanda is back in London again. For goodness’ sake, she spent most of yesterday with me!’ Lucy confessed. ‘She said that she was in a hotel, but she didn’t say where and I never thought to ask. She seemed rather lonely, and I would’ve asked her to stay here with me, but—’

  ‘It might have cramped your style?’ Joaquin slotted in with fierce derision.

  Lucy paled at that crack. But she could not explain that the apartment was not hers without admitting that she was not Cindy Paez, and at that moment there were more important things to worry about. Genuinely agitated by what Joaquin had divulged, and feeling very much to blame, Lucy sank down giddily into an armchair.

  ‘Have you a contact number for Yolanda?’ Joaquin shot at her
.

  ‘No…she’s always called me,’ Lucy admitted heavily. ‘Joaquin, I swear I hadn’t a clue how young she was!’

  But Joaquin was no longer listening: he was on his phone talking in urgent Spanish. His bold bronzed profile stood out in sharp relief against the pale wall behind him. He moved one hand expressively as he spoke, spreading his long fingers, closing them again while restively pacing the floor. She had forgotten his vibrant energy, the way he seemed to take over and dominate a room the minute he entered it. A tide of tormented awareness which she would have done anything to suppress washed over her.

  ‘What phone number will Yolanda be using to contact you…the one here?’ Joaquin swung back to her to demand.

  ‘No…’ Lucy breathed in deep to explain, but embarrassed colour now put to flight her previous pallor. ‘Yesterday was my birthday and she gave me a mobile phone as a present. She said she was fed up not being able to get hold of me when she wanted me…she hasn’t called me on it yet, though.’

  ‘Then, you and your phone can come back to my London home with me! Por Dios…don’t you dare try to argue with me!’ Joaquin warned with ruthless bite as her lips parted in dismay. ‘I’m not letting you out of my sight until I get my sister back and you are the only lead I have right now!’

  Feeling as responsible as she did over a situation which she had helped to create, Lucy got up without argument. ‘I’ll get changed.’

  Joaquin scrutinised her slender taut figure, a deep frown line slowly forming between his dark brows. ‘Why are you dressed that way?’

  ‘What way?’

  ‘Like some older woman who doesn’t care how she looks any more,’ he extended with a questioning slant of an ebony brow.

  Lucy edged out of the lounge without responding. Joaquin had finally had the opportunity to see her as she really was and he wasn’t exactly thrilled by the view. Shorn of her twin’s fine feathers, she had lost any claim to glamour. On that galling thought, she hurried into her sister’s room. There she picked out a black skirt, a soft turquoise twinset and a pair of high heels. She refused to think about why she was raiding her twin’s wardrobe in the midst of a crisis in which her appearance should be the very last thing on her mind.

  Joaquin tilted back his arrogant dark head to study her as she made her breathless return, clutching a small travel bag. She could feel her face burning as he appraised the snug fit of fine wool over her breasts and the slim length of leg now on view. Suddenly wishing that the floor would open and swallow her, Lucy turned away. Talk about being obvious! Rushing to put on a more flattering outfit had to have given him a very clear message as to her susceptibility, but to her relief he made no comment as she locked up the apartment.

  Out on the street, a limousine awaited them. Lucy settled back into the rich leather upholstery, striving to act as if she travelled in similar style every day.

  ‘You’re lucky that I didn’t involve the police in this,’ Joaquin delivered without warning, throwing her a grim glance that made her back into the furthest corner of the seat. ‘My sister is a very rich young woman. Had you not accompanied her back to London, I would have been afraid that she had been kidnapped when she failed to show up at school. But, though I have little faith in your moral principles, I did not believe that you would put Yolanda at risk.’

  ‘For the last time,’ Lucy groaned ruefully, ‘I didn’t realise she was only sixteen!’

  ‘Isn’t it strange, though, that in spite of that age-gap the two of you seem to be very much on the same wavelength?’ Joaquin drawled in a sardonic aside.

  Lucy decided to ignore that crack. ‘Is Yolanda’s mother over here with you?’

  Joaquin vented a cynical laugh. ‘No, Beatriz isn’t in London. She has no interest in what her teenage daughter does.’

  Lucy frowned. ‘Why?’

  ‘Beatriz was my father’s second wife and very much younger.’ Joaquin murmured drily. ‘When he died, he made my sister an heiress, but his will decreed that Beatriz would lose much of her income if she remarried.’

  ‘Which she did?’

  ‘Beatriz and her new husband then had the responsibility of handling my sister’s trust fund. However, gross financial irregularities persuaded the trustees to make other arrangements when Yolanda was nine years old,’ Joaquin explained with sardonic cool. ‘When Beatriz was no longer in a position to rob her daughter blind, she chose to send her off to an English boarding school and more or less forget about her.’

  Lucy was shaken by that unemotional rendering of unpleasant facts. ‘I’d already gathered that she and her mother weren’t close, but—’

  ‘Beatriz resented having a daughter so much richer than she was herself.’ Joaquin made no attempt to conceal his derision. ‘Yet her present husband owns a very large and successful construction company and they are by no means poor.’

  ‘Did you have much contact with Yolanda while she was growing up?’

  ‘Not enough to establish the relationship which her mother was determined to discourage. But when my sister’s school suspended her as a punishment—’

  Lucy winced. ‘What did she do?’

  ‘She sneaked out to a nightclub and got her face splashed all over the tabloids. Where do you think the It Girl fantasy came from?’ Joaquin enquired drily. ‘Beatriz said she could no longer cope with her and sent her to me. When the suspension was up, Yolanda then refused to return to school.’

  ‘So that’s what the arguments were about,’ Lucy sighed. ‘I got hold of entirely the wrong end of the stick.’

  The chauffeur opened the door beside her. Lucy blinked in disconcertion and scrambled out. She had been so involved in her conversation with Joaquin that she hadn’t even noticed that the car had drawn to a halt outside an imposing Georgian house in a quiet residential square.

  The spacious hall was beautifully furnished and very elegant. A manservant spread open the door of an equally impressive drawing room.

  ‘Where’s the phone Yolanda gave you?’

  Lucy dug the cerise pink phone out of her bag and extended it.

  Joaquin removed it from her hold. ‘It’s not even switched on!’ he shot at her incredulously.

  Lucy reddened. ‘I haven’t read all the instructions yet, but I did charge it—’

  Joaquin flicked through the buttons and then set the phone down on the coffee table. ‘You haven’t missed any calls.’

  She took a seat in an armchair. She studied the beautiful wool rug fixedly, felt her stupid eyes sting with tears. How pathetic she had been, rushing to borrow her sister’s clothes like an over-excited teenager invited out on a hot date! It was so obvious that there was just nothing there for him any more. But then weren’t a lot of men supposed to be like that? She was no mystery now. She was not outstandingly beautiful either. Why, she hadn’t even bothered making use of the cosmetics which Cindy had painstakingly taught her to apply! That passionate night at Hacienda De Oro had been a mistake as far as Joaquin was concerned. And now, more than two weeks on? The way he was behaving, she might as well have dreamt up the entire encounter.

  ‘You realise that you can’t tell Yolanda I’m here when she rings,’ Joaquin spelt out.

  Lucy nodded.

  ‘That you have to find out where she’s staying and arrange either to go over there or to meet up somewhere? I don’t want her vanishing again,’ Joaquin completed.

  Lucy nodded a second time.

  Where were her wits? What was going on inside her head? This was the guy who had suggested he might call in for the occasional night of recreational sex when he was in London. Suggestions didn’t come much more offensive. In fact, if he was to lay a single finger on her she would scream and tell him exactly where to get off! Only it didn’t look as if she was about to get the opportunity to demonstrate her aversion to him.

  The manservant reappeared with a tray of coffee. Joaquin moved his hand in a negative motion signifying disinterest. Lucy poured a cup for herself while he paced the floor
in preoccupied silence.

  ‘Infierno!’ Joaquin bit out, half under his breath. ‘What the hell am I supposed to say to Yolanda when I do get hold of her?’

  That driven demand touched Lucy’s heart and chipped away at the barriers she was striving to raise for her own protection. She watched him spread his hands and drop them again in an expressive gesture of frustration. In his dark navy pinstriped business suit he looked so cool and elegant and distant, but his crystalline green eyes betrayed the depth of his anxiety.

  ‘I think your sister needs to know that you love and care about her—’

  ‘She must know that!’

  ‘I’m not sure she does,’ Lucy sighed. ‘And try not to be confrontational. If she doesn’t want to go back to school, there have to be other options that could at least be discussed.’

  Joaquin elevated a derisive ebony brow. ‘You want me to sit down with a big smile and tell her she can be a wild child if she wants to be?’

  At that crack, Lucy abandoned her coffee and stood up. ‘No, just let her know that you’re willing to listen. A lot of what Yolanda says is just talk. She hasn’t even gone to any nightclubs.’

  Joaquin raised both hands in an impatient motion of dismissal, his darkly handsome features hard with resolve. ‘I know what is best for my sister—’

  ‘You’ve already admitted that you don’t know her very well, so how can you know?’ Lucy asked him ruefully.

  He tensed and lost colour beneath his bronzed complexion, but he didn’t lower his arrogant dark head one inch and his brilliant eyes reflected ice-cool scorn for that reminder.

  ‘OK…you asked, and now you’re putting me down for answering, but that attitude won’t work with Yolanda. She’s as stubborn and hot-tempered as you are!’ Cut to the bone by that silent derision, Lucy turned away.

  His lean hands came down on her rigid shoulders and slowly turned her back. She focused on his smooth gold silk tie. Long fingers curved under her chin to make her look up. ‘I’m sorry, querida. I’ve never been very good at taking instruction.’