A Mistress, a Scandal, a Ring

by Angela Bissell

  She halted in front of him. ‘You won’t believe this.’

  He almost snorted. If he’d learned anything about this woman over the last couple of days it was to expect the unexpected. Someone should tattoo a warning across her forehead: Beware: unpredictable.

  He looked into her upturned face. ‘What?’

  ‘The couple who own the store knew Camila,’ she announced, her eyes, with those extraordinary striations of amber and green, sparkling up at him. ‘Can you believe that? They were childhood friends until Camila went to Australia and they lost touch. They’re lovely...’

  She sank her teeth into her bottom lip and Xav braced himself for whatever was coming.

  ‘They’ve invited us to lunch.’

  A different sort of tension that had nothing to do with desire gripped his insides.

  ‘Please say yes,’ she said in a rush, before he could get out a word. ‘They won’t know that you’re related to Camila. I simply told them I’m with a friend.’ She stepped closer, latching those big, beautiful eyes onto his. ‘Please, Xavier,’ she entreated. ‘It’d be rude to refuse. And it would mean so much to me.’

  Dios. Why did he find it so damned difficult to say no to this woman?

  He glanced over his shoulder at the car. For a second he very seriously considered picking her up and throwing her in, locking the doors and driving the hell out of there.

  He looked back to Jordan.

  Her hands were clasped under her chin now and she looked impossibly cute. Infuriatingly irresistible.

  He dragged his palm over his jaw. Expelled a heavy breath. Damn it.

  ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘One hour. No more. And Jordan...?’ He waited for her to stop bouncing on her feet and pay attention. ‘They do not learn about my relationship to Camila. Understood?’

  She gave a vigorous nod. And then, without warning, she stood on tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. ‘Thank you,’ she said, her voice low and husky, a touch breathless again.

  Xav answered with a grunt and then quickly stepped back, his jaw locked.

  ‘Xavier?’

  Somehow he managed to keep his eyes off the lips he now knew were every bit as lush and petal-soft as they looked. ‘Sí?’

  ‘You’re scowling.’

  He wasn’t scowling. He was concentrating. Attempting through sheer will to prevent the sudden heat that had lanced his belly from infiltrating other, more visibly reactive parts of his anatomy.

  With effort he unclenched his teeth. Ironed out his features. ‘Better?’

  She tilted her head to the side. ‘A bit. Just...smile,’ she suggested. ‘Try to look friendly.’

  She turned and started back up the street, her ponytail swinging like a bright copper pendulum between her shoulder blades, drawing his gaze inexorably downwards to the jaunty swing of her rounded hips and tight buttocks in the short, clingy dress.

  His jaw locked again.

  Madre de Dios.

  Give him five minutes alone with her, he thought darkly, and he’d show her friendly.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  TWO HOURS LATER Jordan sat in the shade of a pergola in Maria and Benito Gonzalez’s quaint cottage garden, looking through the pile of photos that Maria had brought to the table with a tray of coffee and sweet treats to finish their meal.

  The men had finished their coffee and disappeared fifteen minutes earlier. Benito had asked if he could look at the Aston Martin, having noticed the car through the shop window when they’d first driven into the village.

  Xavier had gone one better and offered to take him for a short spin.

  Jordan’s insides had melted a tiny bit. She’d almost wanted to hug him. For his kindness to the older man. For letting her do this. For keeping the scowl off his face and remembering to smile every now and again.

  ‘You all look so young,’ she said, studying an old wedding photo. ‘And you and Camila both look so beautiful, Maria.’

  Sitting beside her at the table, Maria smiled. ‘Mila was beautiful and clever. She altered my mother’s wedding dress for me and made her own bridesmaid dress.’

  Jordan nodded. ‘She made my high school graduation gown from a picture I took out of a magazine.’

  The memory made her smile. She’d loved that gown. It was the prettiest thing she’d ever worn up until then. Her dad had got all choked up and said she was beautiful, and then she’d cried too, and so had Camila, and they’d all laughed at themselves for being so soppy.

  ‘She made another for my nursing graduation ball.’

  Maria reached over suddenly and squeezed Jordan’s hand. ‘Ho sento molt. I am so sorry for your loss, filla el meu. And so very sorry that I will not see my friend again.’

  Jordan’s throat drew tight. ‘Gràcies, Maria. I know that one of Camila’s greatest regrets was not having visited her homeland again.’

  Maria shook her head. ‘No one expected her to come back. I am sad we lost touch, but I was happy for Mila when she left and made a new life for herself. She was never quite the same...after she gave up her child.’

  Jordan gave a little start of surprise. Maria had talked about Camila over lunch, sharing light-hearted anecdotes from their childhood, but she’d made no reference to her friend’s teenage pregnancy—until now.

  Seeing the older woman’s gentle expectant expression, Jordan said slowly, ‘You knew that I knew?’

  ‘Sí...’

  Maria reached into her cardigan pocket and withdrew a photo she’d obviously kept back from the rest. She held it out and Jordan took it, and her heart started to thump against her ribs.

  The young couple in the snapshot were sitting on a sandy beach. They both wore swimming costumes, had wet hair and wide smiles, and their arms were wrapped around each other.

  ‘Oh, my goodness...’ Jordan’s throat constricted. ‘Camila looks so happy...so...’ In love. ‘And he...’

  She trailed off. The handsome, dark-haired young man who was staring with obvious affection at the girl sitting on his lap looked just like—Oh, God. She bit her lip.

  ‘He looks like your friend, sí?’

  The resemblance was striking. It might almost have been Xavier in the photo.

  Jordan couldn’t disguise her stricken expression. ‘Oh, Maria...’ she breathed. ‘Please don’t say anything to him.’

  Maria gave her hand another firm squeeze, offering reassurance. Understanding. ‘I am an old woman who is very good at keeping secrets—and minding her own business,’ she added.

  Jordan looked at the photo again. Camila had said so little about Xavier’s father, and Jordan had sensed the subject stirred great sadness in her stepmom so she hadn’t pressed.

  ‘Do you remember his name?’

  ‘Sí. Tomás.’

  Jordan’s own dad’s name had been Tom. It was a funny little coincidence that meant nothing, but it made her smile. ‘Can you tell me what you know about him?’

  Maria nodded. ‘Of course...’

  * * *

  Ten minutes later the men returned, Benito wearing a smile on his weathered face that stretched from ear to ear.

  Maria offered more coffee, but after a quick glance at Xavier Jordan politely declined. They’d been there for two and a half hours already—an hour and a half longer than he’d wanted to stay.

  She helped Maria take the cups and plates back to the kitchen. When they were alone, Maria pressed the photo of Camila with Xavier’s biological father into Jordan’s hand.

  Jordan’s eyes widened. ‘Oh, no... Maria, I couldn’t.’

  ‘Sí. Please,’ the older woman insisted. ‘I want you to have it. You have given me a gift today—to hear about Mila’s life in Australia and know that she found happiness.’ She smiled, even as her eyes grew bright with moisture. ‘I think she was lucky to have such a wonderful daughter—and I
think she would have been proud to see what a fine man her son grew into, sí?’

  Her own eyes stinging, Jordan hugged her. ‘Gràcies, Maria.’

  Minutes later she and Xavier were back in the car and the Gonzalezes had reopened their store.

  She fastened her seat belt and her chest felt incredibly tight, as if there was so much emotion expanding inside her she would either have to express some of it or burst.

  She put her hand on Xavier’s arm before he could start the car, then pulled her hand away as soon as she had his attention, the brief contact with warm skin and crisp masculine hairs leaving her fingertips tingling.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, her voice a little husky. ‘That really meant a lot to me. I know we stayed longer than you wanted to—’

  ‘It’s fine,’ he interrupted, turning his attention away from her to start the car.

  ‘I also realise the situation must have felt a little...weird for you—’

  ‘Jordan.’ He cut her off again as he revved the engine. ‘I said it’s fine.’

  She sat back, trying not to feel stung as he navigated them out of the narrow streets of the village and onto the long road that would take them back to the coast through a thick swathe of dark green pine forest.

  But it was hard to smother her disappointment completely.

  Deep down she’d hoped he too might feel as if the experience had been special, in spite of any understandable discomfort. The chance to sit down with people who’d known his birth mother during her early life, to hear stories that would build a picture of her in his mind... Surely it had made him feel something? Something other than fine?

  They drove in silence, but Jordan’s mind was anything but quiet. Her thoughts spun, veering between her conversation with Maria, the photo in her bag and the fact that Xavier’s mood was much more brooding than it had been before lunch.

  Finally the silence got to be too much. ‘Have you ever wondered about your biological father?’

  He sent her a look she couldn’t read, and then took so long to respond she thought he wasn’t going to answer her at all.

  ‘Not since I was a boy.’

  Conscious of the sudden nervous patter of her pulse, she ventured, ‘If you had the opportunity to find out who he was, would you?’

  ‘No.’

  There hadn’t been even a split-second of hesitation.

  ‘Really? Why not?’

  Another long pause. Then, ‘You mean why would I not want to find a man who got a teenage girl pregnant and failed to take responsibility for his actions?’ He adjusted his grip on the steering wheel. ‘I would think the answer to that is obvious.’

  ‘Maybe he was just a teenager himself,’ she suggested.

  ‘Doesn’t matter. If a man is old enough to sleep with a woman, he’s old enough to take responsibility for the consequences.’

  Jordan thought about what Maria had told her. It was possible that Xavier’s birth father had deserted Camila. It was also possible he’d never known she was pregnant and that his family had conspired to keep the young lovers apart.

  ‘But what if—?’

  ‘Enough, Jordan.’ He spoke tersely. ‘Leave it alone. This is not your business.’

  The rebuke nettled. As did the implication that she was meddling in affairs that didn’t concern her. ‘Camila was my stepmother,’ she said quietly.

  ‘And my birth mother.’ He gritted out the admission, as though he found the truth of it distasteful. ‘Who was also foolish and irresponsible.’

  Jordan gasped. ‘That’s not fair! You can’t judge and condemn people when you don’t have all the facts.’

  ‘The facts don’t matter.’

  His white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel and the hard jut of his jaw told her he was angry now. But so was she.

  ‘Of course they matter. How else will you understand what happened?’

  ‘Understanding what happened won’t change the outcome, or the present. The past is irrelevant.’

  She looked at him, aghast. ‘How can you say that? It’s your own history—’

  ‘Exactly,’ he bit out. ‘History. Done and dusted. I have no interest in the past.’

  Stunned into silence, she studied the severe lines of his profile for a moment, running her gaze from the black slash of his eyebrow to the proud ridge of his nose and down over the lean terrain of cheekbone and jaw—the same hard, exquisitely sculptured jaw she’d impulsively kissed on the street and then wished she hadn’t when a blast of heat and longing had sizzled right through to her core.

  She swallowed. She didn’t want to kiss him now. She wanted to grab those big shoulders of his and shake the arrogance out of him.

  She turned her head away, looked out of her window and managed to hold her tongue for the next forty minutes. Only when Xavier’s mobile phone rang for a third time in quick succession did the urge to speak get the better of her.

  ‘Maybe you should stop and take that,’ she said, continuing to look out of her window. ‘No doubt it’s a work call.’

  She heard him draw a sharp breath.

  ‘Sí. We will need to stop.’

  She expected him to pull over straight away, on the side of the road, but he drove on for ten minutes towards the coast, to a small, sunny seaside town where a beautiful church and pretty whitewashed buildings huddled around a sandy bay.

  As soon as he’d parked up she said, ‘I’ll stretch my legs,’ and stepped out of the car with a sense of déjà vu.

  She’d done the same thing back in Camila’s village, giving him privacy to make a phone call. Heaven forbid the CEO of the Vega Corporation should take a whole Sunday off!

  ‘Don’t go far,’ he called from the driver’s seat, and she slammed the door, saving herself from having to respond to his bossy instruction.

  She jammed her sunglasses on and looked around. Whether by chance or design, he’d chosen a spot that gave her a choice of shops and cafés in one direction and a beach in the other.

  The beach beckoned, and the instant she took off her shoes and sank her toes into the silky-soft sand her spirits lifted. It was a gorgeous spot, and not overcrowded, with sunbathers and swimmers enjoying themselves without having to compete for their own piece of sea or sand.

  She walked a short distance and was tempted to sit down and linger, but the sun was fierce and she didn’t have her sunhat. She’d be better off sitting in the shade of a café awning.

  She retraced her steps and then bent down to brush off her feet and slip her sneakers back on. She had just finished tying her laces when a football hurtled up the beach towards her, a tall, shirtless young man in hot pursuit. Automatically she stuck her foot out to stop the ball and its pursuer skidded to a halt in front of her.

  ‘Gràcies.’

  He stooped to retrieve the ball, and as he straightened his gaze travelled up her body, taking her in with unabashed interest from her ankles to her face. He grinned at her and she couldn’t help but grin back. He had the ripped physique of a man but she guessed he was in his late teens, and he was hardly threatening.

  ‘No hay problema,’ she said, borrowing a phrase she’d heard Rosa use.

  Her young admirer cocked his head, long dark hair flopping in his eyes. ‘You are English?’

  ‘Australian.’

  ‘Ah. Home of koalas and kangaroos, sí?’

  She laughed. ‘Yes.’

  His grin broadened. ‘And beautiful women.’

  She laughed again, shaking her head at his cockiness.

  He glanced over his shoulder to where his friends—a group of fit-looking young men and bikini-clad girls—stood waiting for him to bring back the ball. ‘You would like to come and play, bonic?’

  Amused, she opened her mouth to decline, but just then a shadow fell across the sand and her nape prickled with awareness.r />
  ‘Jordan.’

  She stilled at the sound of Xavier’s deep voice behind her. How had she known it was him before he’d even spoken?

  He came and stood close beside her and the prickling awareness migrated to other parts of her body.

  ‘Is everything all right?’

  She glanced at him, registered the dark scowl on his face and felt annoyed with him all over again for dampening her day with his bad attitude.

  ‘Perfectly,’ she said breezily.

  ‘Then let’s go.’

  The command—and his obvious expectation that she’d obey—only stirred her anger. A reckless urge gripped her to push back and get under his skin somehow.

  She looked at the younger man and shrugged. ‘My brother,’ she said, on a heavy sigh. ‘He can be a little—’ she rolled her eyes ‘—overprotective.’

  He glanced from her to Xavier, looking confused, no doubt due to the lack of physical resemblance. He took in Xavier’s powerful form, the aggressive stance, then backed away, firing a rueful shrug at Jordan. ‘Another time, preciosa.’

  Jordan waved her fingers at him and then, her bit of mischief complete, strode past Xavier and back along the footpath to the car, ignoring him as much as it was possible to ignore the presence of a thundercloud at one’s back.

  She reached for the door handle, but her fingers had barely brushed the metal before her wrist was seized and she was spun around unceremoniously and backed against the car.

  She gave a startled cry, then an outraged gasp as Xavier whipped off her sunglasses and tossed them onto the roof.

  ‘Hey!’ she protested, even as she instinctively knew the welfare of her sunglasses was the least of her worries just then.

  He discarded his own, then palmed the back of her skull while his other hand released her wrist and claimed her hip in a hold that was blatantly possessive and intimate.

  She stared at him. ‘Xavier?’ Her voice emerged as a breathless whisper. ‘Wh-what are you doing?’

  ‘Making a point,’ he rasped.

  And then his mouth came down on hers and Jordan felt as if she’d slammed into a wall of electricity, shock and heat consuming her so completely she could do nothing more than tremble and burn under the savagery of his kiss.