A Mistress, a Scandal, a Ring

by Angela Bissell

  Her eyes went wide. ‘Really?’

  ‘Sí,’ he said, and the smile that broke out on her face then was so radiant his heartbeat lost its rhythm for a moment.

  She brought her clasped hands beneath her chin and rose on her toes, and for a second he thought she was going to do something unexpected like lean in and hug him.

  Hastily he stepped back, the mere thought of her soft body pressed against his making his blood heat and that huge bed beckon enticingly.

  A fine layer of sweat broke out on his skin. ‘I’ll have Rosa bring a tray with your dessert. Given that we’ll be out tomorrow, I’ll need to do some work this evening. I will see you in the morning. I’ll ask Rosa to serve breakfast at eight,’ he said, and pivoted on his heel.

  ‘Xavier.’

  Hearing her speak his forename in that soft, husky voice of hers pulled him up short, in spite of his eagerness to retreat.

  Reluctantly he turned and she came towards him, that damned envelope in her hand.

  ‘You should take this,’ she said.

  He hesitated and weighed his options. Reject the letter and risk shattering that soft, hopeful look on her face, or take it and keep the peace?

  He took it.

  In his study, he dropped the envelope on his desk, went to the sideboard to pour a drink and came back to his desk to sit down. He swallowed a mouthful of brandy and shifted his gaze from the envelope to the manila folder containing the confidentiality agreement he’d left out in readiness on the corner of his desk.

  A clear vision filled his head of Jordan ripping the document into pieces and hurling them in his face.

  He finished his brandy in one large gulp, then grabbed the folder and shoved it into a drawer, slid the envelope in after it and slammed the drawer closed.

  One day, he told himself as he opened his laptop and made a start on his emails.

  One day he would read the letter his birth mother had written to him.

  But not tonight.

  * * *

  The scenery along the stretch of coastline known as the Costa Brava was breathtaking. Jordan had grown up in a small coastal township south of Melbourne, so she was used to ocean and beaches, but the glittering shores of the Mediterranean were in a different class altogether. Each time the sleek convertible powered around another bend, and a new stunning vista opened up before them, she couldn’t suppress a little gasp of awe.

  Another one caught in her throat now, and Xavier glanced over from the driver’s seat.

  ‘Spectacular, sí?’

  He was spectacular. As riveting as the scenery in faded jeans and a loose-fitting white shirt with an open collar and rolled-up sleeves. Stubble shaded his jaw and she liked this edgier look on him. He wore dark sunglasses, and his thick black hair was deliciously ruffled thanks to the car’s open top.

  Every time she looked at him her breath went a little choppy, but it was the moments when he smiled—when his mouth loosened and those deep, attractive grooves appeared in his lean cheeks—that her breath was snatched away completely.

  ‘Stunning,’ she agreed, and with an effort peeled her gaze off him and looked out of her side of the car, feeling slightly giddy as she peered down the steep pine-covered cliffs that plunged into the sparkling blue water below.

  She’d woken this morning with a tiny glow of optimism in her chest that she was determined to cling to as tightly as she could.

  Last night when she’d stormed away from the table she’d been so mad at Xavier, and so determined to leave. She’d felt hurt and exposed, and she’d wanted to stay angry at him, but he’d made it so difficult—or at least that was what she’d told herself as she’d climbed into that gloriously comfortable bed and felt a stab of guilty relief that she wasn’t climbing into a narrow bunk in a hostel room shared with strangers.

  But the truth was she had been a hopeless push-over, losing the battle from the moment he touched her, when the anger pulsing in her veins had morphed into a very different sort of heat.

  And then he’d tipped up her chin and said he was sorry. That the word sorry even existed in his vocabulary should have shocked her, but she’d barely noticed the apology. She’d been too distracted. Too busy watching him look at her mouth and too stunned by the knowledge of what she was witnessing in his eyes.

  Heat.

  Desire.

  Hot, prickling awareness had washed over her, settling in the pit of her belly and leaving traces of heat long after he’d left the room.

  This morning, as she’d made her way down to breakfast, which Rosa had laid out buffet-style on the terrace, her pulse had still pounded unevenly and she’d wondered what she should do with that knowledge.

  Ignore it?

  Pretend she hadn’t noticed?

  Try to forget that she’d lain in that big bed last night and dreamt of shocking, inappropriate things that were guaranteed to make her blush furiously when she next saw Xavier?

  Easier said than done.

  And, yes, heat had swarmed her face—along with other, less visible parts of her body—when she’d walked onto the terrace and found him already there, sitting at the table with his long legs stretched out in front of him and his dark hair and bronzed olive skin gleaming in the sun.

  He’d held an espresso cup in one hand and a palm tablet in the other. As she’d approached he’d looked up and said, ‘Buenos días.’ Then he’d enquired how she’d slept and poured her a cup of eye-wateringly strong coffee.

  It had all been perfectly polite and pleasant, and that was all. There’d been no heated looks. No lingering gazes. Nothing to suggest that he hadn’t walked out of her room last night and either forgotten the moment instantly or dismissed it as being of no significance.

  And it was a relief. Really, it was. She hadn’t come to Europe looking for a holiday fling, even if her friend Ellie had said that it was precisely the kind of liberating, no-strings fun she needed after enduring the toughest few months of her life.

  No. She was taking a month to travel, with a list of things to do and see, and then she was going back to Australia to build a new life, since most of her old one was, sadly, now gone.

  Anyway... If she were looking for a holiday romance she wouldn’t be setting her sights on a man who was as arrogant as he was sexy—and who happened to be her stepmom’s son!

  The car swept around another bend and she shifted to look at the satnav on the dash.

  ‘Another hour,’ Xavier said. ‘If you want a drink or a restroom there’s a town a few miles ahead.’

  ‘No. I’m fine, thanks. Unless you need a break...?’

  ‘I’m good.’

  His eyes were focused on the road, so she let her gaze linger on him for a bit. Just because their relationship would only ever be platonic, at best, it didn’t mean she couldn’t appreciate that he was a magnificent-looking man.

  He looked totally at ease in the driver’s seat of the Aston Martin—as competent and self-assured at the wheel of this sleek, powerful machine as he was at the helm of his family’s multibillion-dollar business.

  Jordan wasn’t a car enthusiast by any stretch, but she had to admit that this morning, when Xavier had driven the shiny silver sports car out of its garage into the sunshine, and then lowered the roof, the prospect of riding in the luxurious convertible with the top down had sparked a tiny thrill of excitement.

  ‘What, Jordan?’

  His deep voice startled her from her thoughts and at the same time sent a shiver racing across her skin. Before last night she’d wished he would call her by her first name; today she wished he wouldn’t. Something about the way his mouth framed the word, combined with the sound of his rich, accented baritone stroking over the syllables, was altogether too...sensuous.

  ‘What?’ she returned innocently.

  ‘You were looking at me.’

 
Her face heated. ‘You’re looking at the road. How can you possibly know what I’m looking at?’

  The muscle at the corner of his mouth flickered, hinting at amusement, and her pulse leapt in her veins. They were both making an effort to get along today, and even though the light mood felt a bit forced it was ten times better than the way things had been between them yesterday.

  A part of her was still astonished that he’d agreed to come with her. Last night her heart had clenched at hearing him finally admit that knowing who his birth mother had been meant something to him, but a niggle of doubt had made her wonder if he’d just been telling her what he thought she wanted to hear. Asking him to do this trip with her had been a challenge—a test of sorts—to see if his curiosity about Camila was genuine.

  ‘What were you thinking?’ he asked now.

  ‘How do you know I was thinking anything?’ she countered, feeling a tug at the corners of her own mouth.

  Every now and again over the last two hours they’d slipped into a comfortable banter which she was finding dangerously addictive. Xavier in a bad mood was formidable; in a good mood he was downright lethal.

  He glanced at her. ‘There’s always something going on in a woman’s mind.’

  She pushed her sunglasses up the bridge of her nose. ‘That’s because we’re highly intelligent.’ And then, realising she’d just cornered herself with that statement, she added, ‘If you must know, I was thinking you look remarkably relaxed today.’

  ‘“Remarkably”?’

  She shrugged. ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘No,’ he said smoothly. ‘Enlighten me.’

  She shot him a sidelong glance. ‘Well...you’re not exactly the most laid-back person in the world.’

  A sharp, narrow bend loomed ahead and he slowed and shifted gears. ‘Is that your way of sugar-coating what you really want to say?’

  They rounded the bend and he accelerated out of it onto a long, straight stretch of road.

  ‘That’s my way of being polite.’

  ‘And the less polite version?’

  She clamped her lips together.

  ‘Jordan?’ He pressed her with a look.

  She held out for a few seconds more, then capitulated with a sigh. ‘Fine. You’re a chronic workaholic. Which means you’re not relaxed most of the time. You’re uptight, probably have a skewed set of priorities, and you would benefit from taking a chill pill once in a while.’

  ‘A “chill pill”?’

  ‘Metaphorically,’ she clarified. ‘I don’t condone recreational drugs.’

  She saw the muscle in his cheek flicker again, and it suddenly annoyed her that he seemed to find her amusing when she wasn’t trying to be.

  ‘Should I brace myself for another lecture on work/life balance?’

  Feeling a touch defensive now, she lifted her chin and pointed out, ‘You did ask. And, if I recall correctly, you’re the CEO of a global corporation with a multibillion-dollar turnover who doesn’t have the luxury of a mere forty-hour working week,’ she said, quoting his spiel from last night back to him verbatim. ‘I suspect any lectures on work/life balance would be completely wasted on you.’

  His lips quirked again, and for one pulse-hitching moment she thought he was going to break into one of those lethal smiles that were guaranteed to leave her breathless.

  Then he cast her another look and his mouth suddenly flattened. The car decelerated so rapidly her stomach pitched.

  She braced her hand on the door as he braked to a stop on the hard shoulder of the road. ‘What’s wrong?’

  He pulled his sunglasses off, his gaze narrowing on her face. ‘You said you were wearing sunscreen.’ His voice was a low, accusatory growl.

  She frowned. ‘I am.’

  He jabbed a button on the console and the car’s roof emerged from its housing.

  She made a sound of dismay as it closed over their heads, blocking out the glorious sunshine. ‘Why did you do that?’

  ‘Your nose is sunburnt.’

  ‘Oh.’ Was that all? She shrugged a shoulder. ‘That will teach me for buying the cheap stuff—’ she touched her forefinger to the end of her nose ‘—and for having a big nose,’ she joked.

  His mouth thinned. ‘Your nose is perfect.’ He pushed his sunglasses back on and set the car in motion again. ‘And you have beautiful skin,’ he said gruffly. ‘You should protect it.’

  A burst of warmth flared in Jordan’s chest at the unexpected compliments, despite how tersely they’d been delivered. She willed herself not to blush, but felt the colour rise in her cheeks regardless.

  ‘Look who’s lecturing now,’ she said lightly, attempting to cover her silly overreaction to a couple of abrupt remarks. ‘It’s kind of nice, though,’ she added, settling back against the seat and casting him a sideways glance, ‘you being all...protective. When I was little I used to dream of having a big brother who’d look out for me.’

  His jaw tightened. ‘Jordan...’ he warned in a low, gravelly rasp that should have deterred her but instead sent a hot quiver through her belly.

  Catching her tongue between her teeth, she bit down—literally—on the reckless impulse to see how far she could push him in this mood. Chances were his growl was worse than his bite. But she wasn’t quite brave enough to find out.

  * * *

  An hour later Xav leaned against the side of his car, ankles crossed, arms folded over his chest, his mind stuck on a single word like a turntable needle stuck on scratched vinyl.

  Protective.

  He clenched his jaw. If what Jordan provoked in him was protectiveness, it sure as hell wasn’t of the brotherly variety.

  Dios.

  The sibling reference had been nothing more than a taunt, surely? She couldn’t possibly be oblivious to the fact that the subtle, provocative two-way baiting and constant simmering tension between them was sexual chemistry.

  When she had strolled onto the terrace this morning, wearing a stretchy yellow-and-white-striped dress that was little more than a thigh-length T-shirt, the hot surge of reaction in his gut had been anything but brotherly.

  With her flame-coloured hair swept into a high, bouncy ponytail, her long legs smooth and bare and her feet encased in cute white tennis shoes, she’d looked like a burst of summer sunshine. A sexy, irresistible package of ebullience and warmth.

  He’d known in that moment this trip was a bad idea, but he wasn’t a man who reneged on his promises. And, while he’d avoided analysing too deeply his feelings about what they were doing today, he wasn’t insensitive to the fact that visiting this village where he now stood, in the green forested foothills of the Catalan mountains in the middle of nowhere, meant something to Jordan.

  Truth be told, he’d enjoyed their journey up the coast. When was the last time he’d put the top down on his sports car and hit the open road? For that matter, when was the last time he had driven instead of being driven? He employed a driver because travelling in a chauffeured vehicle allowed him to work while on the road, but he hadn’t realised how much he’d missed getting behind the wheel.

  And when had he last consciously appreciated the natural beauty of the Costa Brava, or even his own private slice of the coastline, other than via the window of his jet when he flew in and out of the country on business?

  Throw a beautiful woman into the mix—even one who pushed his buttons at every turn—and the result had been a blood-pumping exhilaration that was different from the adrenalin rush he derived from the day-to-day cut and thrust of the business world.

  But when they had turned inland his pleasure had begun to evaporate, dwindling with each kilometre that had brought them closer to this dull, isolated backwater.

  As he’d parked at the foot of an ancient cobblestoned street, a sobering, unwelcome revelation had struck.

  This was the place his
biological roots could be traced back to. This sleepy, remote village that looked as if it had got permanently stuck in some bygone era.

  He suppressed a shudder.

  Even as a boy, given to fleeting bouts of curiosity about his biological parents, he’d not once imagined his beginnings to be so...inauspicious. As a teenager he’d stopped wondering altogether—any shreds of curiosity ruthlessly crushed, his focus one hundred percent on proving himself worthy of the name he carried to this day with a fierce sense of loyalty and pride.

  A feeling of claustrophobia pressed down like a suffocating weight on his chest, and he wanted to climb into his car and floor the accelerator until the village was nothing more than a distant, inconsequential speck in his rear-view mirror.

  Except he couldn’t. Because Jordan wasn’t with him and he didn’t know where the hell she’d gone.

  He pushed away from the vehicle. He shouldn’t have let her wander off alone. By her own admission her sense of direction was non-existent. But when they’d arrived he’d checked his phone and found two missed calls from his brother and a voicemail mentioning Peter Reynaud.

  He’d stayed in the car to call Ramon and Jordan had stepped out to give him privacy, stating she was going to stretch her legs.

  He’d not seen her since.

  He stared up the street. His conversation with Ramon hadn’t lightened his mood. His brother had got wind of a competitor sniffing around Reynaud’s assets. It renewed Xav’s suspicions that Reynaud was intentionally stalling their deal.

  Voices caught his attention and he glanced up the street to see a middle-aged couple in hiking gear emerging from a small general store. They disappeared down a lane and then the street was empty again.

  Blowing out a frustrated breath, he pushed away from the car and started up the street. He’d taken no more than two steps, however, when Jordan bounded out of the store onto the cobblestones and turned in his direction. He stopped and she hurried towards him, her features animated.

  ‘Xavier!’

  The impact of her smile combined with the breathless, eager way she said his name made a pulse throb in his groin.