The Spaniard's Pleasurable Vengeance

by Lucy Monroe

  “But you are still uncertain about boats.” And him.

  “I think so.” But she sounded more speculative than certain.

  It made him wonder if he could help her feel safe in his presence and overcome a phobia at the same time. “Perhaps I can help you change that.”

  The look she gave him was blatantly considering, but tinged with hope he wasn’t sure she wanted him to see. “Maybe.”

  “You’re very noncommittal.”

  “Wary.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Are you surprised?”

  “No, but I wish it was not that way.”

  “Why? Why do you care?”

  “Do I have to have a reason? Is it not enough that I do? Very much.” Her honesty deserved his own. No matter how uncomfortable the admission made him.

  “Thank you.”

  “For?” Caring? He could not stop himself.

  “Being honest.”

  * * *

  A strange expression came over Baz’s face. “When I told you about spending the next two weeks together...” He paused, looking uncharacteristically uncertain.

  “Yes? What about it?”

  “You assumed it was a requirement Carlos had insisted on.”

  “To make sure I didn’t go back on my word.” Like she was the one people had to worry about lying.

  “There was never any doubt that you would keep your word.”

  “Thanks for that, but it’s a bit late, don’t you think?”

  “It was never a consideration.” His tone brooked no argument.

  But that didn’t make any sense. “Then why say I had to be chaperoned like a recalcitrant teenager on a bad date?”

  Basilio loosened his tie, his movement jerky. “It was not a requirement at all.” He made the fantastic admission and then waited for her reaction, his expression stoic, only a slight tic in his jaw giving away that just maybe he was a little nervous.

  “What? That makes no sense.” On the verge of yelling like a harpy, Randi made a concerted effort to modulate her tone. “I’m here on this ridiculously luxurious plane with you, flying to Spain, during a crucial time for Kayla’s for Kids because I didn’t have a choice.”

  He winced. “I hope that is not true.”

  “Of course it is.” But was it?

  Had she really agreed to this crazy trip because she felt cornered? Her conscience pricked because she knew that deep inside, where she hid feelings that she knew could hurt her, Randi had to acknowledge the truth.

  She was on her way to Spain because the thought of never seeing Baz again had been ten times more terrible than the idea of spending time in his company, whatever the reason.

  “I never lied to you,” he said quickly.

  “You let me believe I didn’t have a choice.”

  “Say rather, I did not work very hard at dissuading you.”

  Had he tried at all? Her muddled brain couldn’t be sure in that moment what was real and what was not. “Why? Why mislead me again?”

  “I have told you, I believe we have something special, something worth figuring out a way back to.”

  He couldn’t be implying what it sounded like, but she had to be sure. “Are you saying you love me?” she asked, hearing the disbelief in her own voice.

  “Romantic love is something I always promised myself I would never fall prey to.” The words sounded sure, but his tone? It sounded hollow.

  “Because of how easily your dad falls in and out of love.”

  Baz inclined his head in agreement. “His has been a life lesson on the subject, certainly.”

  Her heart died a little at hearing those words, but love was not the main issue here. Was it? “You deceived me. Again.”

  “If you consider it, you will realize I was very careful not to lie to you.”

  She tried very hard to remember the conversations they’d had about the trip verbatim. “You never actually agreed with me when I assumed it was a requirement of Carl Madison’s, or when I said I had no choice about coming to Spain.”

  “No, I did not.”

  “But you still let me believe it.”

  “When I disagreed, you disregarded my words.”

  Randi should have been more angry, but she wasn’t. This time felt different. Was it because she had ignored him when he said he wasn’t her enemy? Maybe it was opening up to Basilio and having him take her part immediately. Maybe it was the fact that he had managed to convince his brother to do exactly as Basilio had promised he would. Maybe it was even the fact that he’d risked her ire to make a way for them to reconnect.

  Or maybe it was just the fact that while they’d been having casual sex and friendship on the side, her heart had gotten involved.

  Whatever the reason, Randi wanted Baz to make this right, to convince her she hadn’t been duped again.

  “Baz...” She let her voice trail off, not sure what she wanted to say.

  He took her hand again, holding it tightly in his own. “You told me very firmly you would not believe the truth.”

  “What truth?”

  “That regardless of whether you canceled the interview, I would make sure Carlos followed through on the things I had promised.”

  She hadn’t canceled the interview until after she’d seen proof of that, but Basilio had even gotten his own PR people involved in planning and executing the best strategy for clearing Randi’s name without her having to bare her soul in front of millions of strangers. They’d video-conferenced after she’d agreed to make the trip to Spain, the very savvy PR reps asking questions that helped shape a brilliant campaign to protect her. The head of the team had mentioned that Baz had called them in the very night she’d discovered his connection to the Madisons, before Randi had agreed to give up the interview.

  She wasn’t sure what to do with that information.

  Unwilling to pull away from his touch again, and even more unwilling to examine why, she licked her lips nervously then admitted, “Andreas and Kayla appreciated his letters of apology more than I did.”

  “You did not believe in Carlos’s sincerity.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “He is sincere, though, if not for the reason I wish it were so.” And Baz’s espresso gaze said he was, too. Sincere, that was.

  “Oh, really?”

  “His actions have caused me to curtail my support of his company and threaten to cut it off all together.” Baz’s implacable tone said he wasn’t kidding or exaggerating.

  “But he’s your family.”

  “And he acted abysmally. Would you stand up for your mother in similar circumstances?”

  “I wouldn’t stand up for her at all, under any circumstances.” Randi laid her free hand on Basilio’s thigh. “But your brother has not given you reason to withdraw your support. He hasn’t hurt you or turned on you.”

  At least to Randi’s knowledge. Baz was the one who had punched his brother in the face. For insulting Randi.

  She didn’t know what she could or should believe right then.

  “His actions against you, a compassionate, caring, honest woman, were enough to precipitate my own.”

  Was he speaking the truth? And if he was, what did that mean for them?

  She couldn’t trust him, her mind insisted. Only her heart wanted to believe. “And now Carl Madison is genuinely sorry because his actions had consequences he wasn’t expecting.”

  “Sí.”

  “That is more believable than he had a sudden change of heart.”

  “One can only hope he will eventually see the error of his ways, but if he does not...” Baz paused, his expression taking on a ruthlessness she’d never actually seen directed toward herself. “He is aware the order of protection you took out against him is the least of his worries if he comes anywhere near you or a
ttempts to contact you in any way.”

  “Wow.” Randi hadn’t been expecting that. “Okay.”

  “I have arranged for regular visits from his children. I believe they need the influence of their Spanish family.”

  “That’s pretty arrogant, but I can’t disagree. If for nothing else, his children deserve to be raised with a taste of their heritage. Just because he decided to reject it doesn’t mean they’re going to want to.” And after her experience with Kayla, Randi was particularly sensitive about the idea of withholding children from loving, decent grandparents.

  Her sister’s childhood would have been so different if she’d had the support of their grandparents, like Randi had.

  “I agree.” The words showed Baz was listening to her, but his focus was fixed on her lips. Again.

  There was no doubt the man wanted her. Her desire for him was simmering under the surface, hard to control, even harder to hide.

  Heat suffused Randi’s body and she couldn’t do a thing about it. He wanted to kiss her and she wanted that kiss. So much.

  The muscles of his thigh bunched under her hand and she realized only then how dangerous that connection was. She yanked her hand away.

  “Don’t.” He reached for her wrist.

  “Don’t what?”

  He placed her hand back on his thigh, pressing it down with his. “I like when you touch me.”

  “But—”

  He placed his finger against her open mouth, but instead of pressing to quiet her, he traced first her upper lip and then her lower one. “Such a pretty mouth.”

  Desire shivered through her, her vaginal walls spasming with need. Oh, man. She was in trouble if such a small caress had this effect on her.

  He leaned down and she didn’t do a single thing to stop him, didn’t tell him no, just sat there waiting for what she knew was coming. Her brain warned her she was on a slippery, dangerous path, but her body was not listening.

  Neither was her heart.

  The kiss, when it came, was soft, a caress of lips against lips, no tongue, no urgency. And it went all the way to her soul. One hand remained over hers; the other came up to cup her nape, under her hair, and hers came up of its own volition to rest against his chest.

  The tender, almost chaste kiss went on for long moments, bridging a gap she didn’t know something so simple could do.

  It was terrifying how much the press of his mouth against hers impacted her.

  It was that fear that made her break the kiss and pull away from him. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

  “I disagree. Kissing you is never a mistake.”

  “I’m sure your family would not agree.”

  “Meet my father before you decide to speak for him. He will adore you.”

  “I thought you said he wasn’t going to be in Madrid when we arrived.”

  “He will not, but you will meet him.”

  “You’re talking like we have a future together.”

  “It does sound like that, doesn’t it?”

  “How am I supposed to take that? You don’t even believe in love.”

  “Erotic love, no, but I love my family. Even my disreputable brother, who has much to do to earn my respect again, if that can be done.”

  She shook her head, trying to clear it. The man was too persuasive and confusing. “No more kissing.”

  “I cannot promise that. You are very kissable.”

  “You’re being ridiculous.”

  “The truth is foolish to you?”

  “No. That’s not what I... Listen, you can’t just go around kissing me. We aren’t dating anymore.”

  “I would like to fix that.”

  “You deceived me a second time. How could I ever trust you again?”

  “Perhaps you could examine my intentions in both cases?”

  “I’d rather know you were never going to lie to me again, by omission or commission,” she clarified when he opened his mouth to deny actually lying again.

  “This is important to you?”

  “Would you like knowing I was happy to deceive you?”

  “No.”

  “Then?”

  He was silent for almost a full minute, considering. “I can make that promise.”

  “Now I just have to believe it.” But the fact he’d really thought about it went a long way toward her doing so.

  A brief flare of pain flashed over his handsome features. “That is the hope, cariña.”

  “You’re not going to stop using endearments on me, are you?”

  “Does it truly offend you?”

  “No, it’s just...” Too pleasant. Too seductive. Too intimate. But to admit any of that would be to admit she still had feelings for him when he didn’t even believe in those feelings. “It irritates me.”

  “Are we not both committed to honesty between us?”

  She sighed. “Yes.”

  “So?”

  “It did irritate me.” Right after she found out about his reason for engineering their meeting, but now the endearments were part of that slippery slope that both enamored and scared her.

  “Now?” he pressed.

  “I like it too much,” she admitted, not entirely sure this full honesty between them was a good thing.

  “That is good to hear.”

  “You are a very annoying man.”

  “And you are the one woman I want.”

  “Right now.”

  “Do you want promises for the future?”

  “No, of course not. I don’t want anything from you.”

  “Are you lying to me again, or only to yourself now?”

  “I’m tired. I think I’ll get some shut-eye.” Not waiting for him to respond, she reclined her seat and closed her eyes, trying to shut him out.

  But nothing could make her any less aware of the gorgeous, tantalizingly sexual man sitting beside her on the private jet.

  * * *

  No wonder Baz didn’t mind having his father living with him.

  His home was a darn palace. A very private palace. Hidden away at the end of a long drive with access via a wrought iron gate that slid back when Baz had pressed something on his phone, the exterior stucco of the giant three-story abode was painted a traditional pastel with white trim. The enormous house was surrounded completely by a second-story balcony, with decorative railing. It served as shade for the oversize slate porch on the ground floor that also wrapped around the stately building.

  The grounds looked like something out of a How to Garden for Rich People book, laid out in perfect geometric patterns, each bush trimmed into submission, every blade of grass cut just so and a pristine green. Deep-red carnations filled the flower beds on either side of the double-size, eight-foot-high front doors.

  Baz pulled his sleek Jaguar to a stop on the circular drive laid with white pebble just as a butler in a smart black suit opened the door on the left. Seriously? He had a butler? With a home this size, he probably had a whole army of servants.

  Randi stared out the window, making no move to open her car door. She craned her head, trying to see as much as she could without actually getting out. “Good grief!”

  “What?” Baz asked, his own door already open and his seat belt off.

  Randi just shook her head, startling when the door beside her opened without her touching it.

  The butler stepped back from the car. “Welcome to Casa Clavel, Miss Smith.”

  Feeling like she’d stepped into some kind of fantasy, Randi made herself climb out of the luxury sports car. “Um...gracias. I’m happy to be here,” she lied in Spanish.

  What she was, was overwhelmed.

  The butler nodded and then turned to Baz, who had gotten out and come around the car. “Welcome home, sir,” he said in Spanish.

  “I
t is very good to be home, Emilio.” Baz replied in the same language, his body relaxed in a way she hadn’t seen since meeting him.

  “You call this place home?” she asked with disbelief.

  “What else would you have me call the place where I live?” Humor laced his voice as he offered her his hand.

  Feeling out of place and in need of a connection to reality, she took it. “Royalty would be comfortable living here.”

  “And have stayed behind its walls throughout the years. It was built in the mid-eighteenth century.”

  “Though it has remained in the same family for more than two centuries, Casa Clavel has been completely remodeled and refurbished as recently as five years ago,” the butler offered with obvious pride.

  “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

  Neither man seemed to detect the sarcasm lacing her words.

  The inside was every bit as imposing as the outside, and yet somehow felt like a home. Like a place she could stay without feeling like she didn’t belong. Which was totally weird, considering the fact that no way could Randi belong in a place like this.

  She didn’t even try to hide her gawking as she took in the soaring ceilings, giant foyer and grand staircase. The floors were marble, a huge gold drape pulled back between the foyer and what looked to be a living room the size of a gymnasium, but way more elegant with its cream, black and gold accented decor.

  Baz squeezed her hand, giving her a reassuring smile. “There is a conservatory in the back of the house, where we have citrus trees that bear fruit year-round, and we grow more of the carnations the house is named for. It is my favorite place to have breakfast and to relax.”

  “Of course it has a conservatory.” She looked around at the massive rooms, halls leading to more living space and the giant chandelier hanging in the center of the foyer. “My entire apartment complex would fit in this place.”

  “It is only about eighteen thousand square feet.”

  “Only?” she asked faintly as another man, not the butler, walked by, carrying her luggage.

  “Most modern-built mansions of this caliber are twice as large.”

  “That’s insane. Who needs that much room?” Okay, maybe billionaires did, for entertaining or something.