by Sara Wood
Maddy frowned. ‘This isn’t the way to the Quinta,’ she declared suspiciously.
‘No.’
Her eyes flashed with anger. Strong and silent was OK, but sometimes it got on your nerves. ‘So where are you taking me?’ she asked, with enough steel in her query to tell him that she wasn’t going to be messed about.
‘Hotel Caterina.’
She quailed. ‘I can’t afford a hotel!’ she squeaked in alarm.
‘You’re that poor?’ He shot her an interested glance.
‘Don’t let the glitter fool you,’ she sighed. ‘Beneath the glitzy appearance lies a poverty-stricken woman with barely enough to get by.’ Her voice was shaking with anxiety. The little money she had was precious and hard-earned—and there wasn’t any more where it had come from. Her eyes became pleading. ‘Please, take me to the Quinta, where the accommodation’s free.’
‘Mrs Fitzgerald’s paying,’ he told her gruffly. ‘You’re staying at the hotel tonight and going on to the farm in the morning.’ A pair of dark, stone-hard eyes met her puzzled gaze. ‘Mrs Fitzgerald is also staying at the hotel.’
It seemed an odd thing to do, when the farm was a few miles away. ‘Why?’
He frowned, as if puzzled by her question.
‘It’s the best one around,’ he replied, making Maddy none the wiser. ‘She’s giving a dinner party tonight.’ His lip curled. ‘That’s why you’re in the hotel. You’re the guest of honour.’
Maddy groaned before she remembered she was a party girl and would love such occasions.
‘I haven’t anything to wear,’ she invented hastily and, remembering her role, she tried widening her eyes appealingly, adding a wicked, ‘Mind you, I have this saucy spangly affair with a marabou trim…’
She wilted beneath the contemptuous stare.
‘A little too much for the Algarve, I think. You’ll do very well dressed as you are,’ he drawled, pulling into a drive lined with palm trees and oleander.
‘You don’t like me, do you? Why?’ she asked, revelling in the freedom of her unconventional bluntness.
‘I’m not particularly interested in you one way or the other. But if pushed, I’d say you are too obvious,’ was the cool reply.
He had taste, at least, she thought with amusement. And then her eyes brightened at the sight of the elegant hotel in its carefully manicured gardens. She beamed. A night here would be the height of luxury—and she hadn’t had any of that in the last twenty years.
He drew the truck to a halt, leapt out and unloaded her luggage. Then, seeing she’d scrambled down and was stretching her stiff limbs, he clambered back into the cab and drove away, abandoning her—and her luggage—on the driveway!
Astounded, she stood there, open-mouthed and muttering rude things under her breath, then irritably hauled her case to the entrance. The man had no manners. If ever they met up again, she’d get her own back, she promised angrily. With compound interest.
Alongside a gang of men, Dexter worked at the ruined Quinta, sifting and sorting till his muscles screamed. Now they’d cleared most of the collapsed timbers and stone he hoped to find family documents and salvageable treasures. Something of his mother’s would be a bonus. Just one thing to remember her by. All he had was the dog-eared photograph in his wallet.
The light faded. They worked by arc lamps and then it was time to pack up. Depressed by his lack of success, he stumbled into his car and headed for the hotel, where he picked up his room key and spent a relaxing hour in the bath.
Luxuriating in the deep suds, he tried to imagine his grandmother’s face when she came face to face with Maddy. He smiled to himself, wishing he could have been there. But then if he had Maddy would have learnt who he really was, and he wanted to surprise her tonight. And then he’d make her life hell.
Slowly he soaped his shoulders, his mind full of her. It seemed inconceivable that the chubby little girl with straggly blonde plaits could have turned into such an up-front woman. Poor Grandmama! Maddy’s appearance would appall her!
He suspected that his grandmother had agreed to promote Maddy for his bride because the little girl had always been so meek and malleable.
His grim mouth softened again into a faint smile. Grandmama now knew different! She’d be horrified to think that she had to spend three weeks entertaining the feisty little temptress. That would teach his grandmother to select brides for him!
Dexter surprised himself with a low chuckle. Just thinking about Maddy had energised his tired body.
Grateful for the diversion from the nightmare of the ruined Quinta, he stepped out of the tub to dry himself before wandering into the suite of rooms to gather his clothes together.
Halfway through buttoning his fine linen shirt, he stopped, arrested by a tempting idea. He could pretend to be dazzled by Maddy. In fact, he could show every sign of eagerness for the match that would link their two families.
Clearly Maddy and her grandfather had set their mercenary hearts on the marriage. Old man Cook had often complained that part of the Fitzgerald fortune was morally his.
Dexter’s eyes narrowed in determination. By leading her on and raising her hopes to fever pitch—and then dumping her—he’d teach her a salutary lesson. Maybe she wouldn’t mess with men again.
A sardonic curl lifted his upper lip. Who was he kidding? She’d keep trying till she landed some unsuspecting, besotted elderly guy with a healthy bank balance and five years to live.
Surprisingly, the thought of the nubile, laughing Maddy tied to an elderly invalid didn’t give him the satisfaction it should. He found the idea of gnarled old hands wandering over her firm young body quite disturbing. It would be a waste of her life. She needed a tough, no-nonsense guy to teach her the true values in life…
Damn it! Why was he wasting valuable time by thinking of Maddy’s future? She could make her own bed and lie in it—and probably would. He had his own problems to worry about.
And his grandmother had to recognise that he intended to carve his own path in future—and that she must not interfere. He wasn’t going to be blackmailed by anyone, not even an eighty-six-year-old lady.
Over and over again he’d told her he would never marry again. Didn’t want the anguish and risk of commitment. Didn’t want his wings clipped by a wife who’d expect him to stop roaming the world.
Besides, he wouldn’t let any woman risk her life in the kind of places he frequented in his line of work. Not after what had happened to Luisa.
The pain ripped through him so fiercely that he had to stand perfectly still until it had eased. He had loved Luisa so much. Had been ecstatic when she’d become pregnant. At last, he’d thought, he would have a family; people to love and cherish for the rest of his life.
But his wife and unborn child had been snatched from him, just as his parents had been all those years ago. He had never known such anguish. It had crippled him, had paralysed his mind and turned him into a shambling wreck.
And still it hurt whenever he was unwise enough to think about his gentle, sweet Luisa. Hence the fact that he always blocked out the past and kept it locked away so that no one knew how he felt.
Perhaps he should explain to his grandmother that he’d suffered enough and didn’t want to, couldn’t ever love anyone again. Then she might understand. Yes. He’d tell her tonight, during dinner, if an opportunity presented itself.
Musing on this, he adjusted the collar of his dark suit. The dirty truck driver had become the suave heir to a multimillion-pound business. An unexpected grin of mischief split his face. Maddy would be speechless for once when she saw him!
And he’d enjoy giving the little minx a run for her money. Correction, he thought, the grin widening. No money. She’d go home empty-handed and serve her right.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE dinner-party guests had gathered on the terrace above the hotel’s swimming pool. His grandmother’s friends were normally reserved and totally humourless, but the loss of the Quinta had cast an eve
n greater restriction on any conversation that might remotely be considered cheerful.
As a result, everyone stood stiff with inhibition. In fact, they looked as if they’d been sucking raw lemons. All, that was, except Maddy.
A bright jewel amid his grandmother’s drab and morose gathering, she laughed and gestured, her lively face and colourful clothes a startling contrast to the shocked, stony expressions of the people around her.
She didn’t seem to give a damn that they were looking down their noses at her, and from his vantage point, partially concealed by a gigantic Strelitzia reginae, he found himself admiring her sublime confidence.
Again, everyone seemed mesmerised. The waiters in the dining room, the diners and the staff in Reception were all clearly talking about her. And smiling. No wonder.
This time she’d whisked her hair up to one side and fastened the chaotic burgundy curls with enormous artificial hibiscus flowers in a searing red. The effect was oddly flattering, showing off her fine bone structure and long neck.
With amused dark eyes sparkling at her sheer verve and vivacity, Dexter assessed the shock factor of her outfit and gave it a ten. One of those basque-corset things in poppy-red. Strapless. Coping—just—with her beautiful breasts.
His grandmother’s horrified gaze kept drifting to the heaped mounds above the tight corset, her eyes popping as Maddy energetically made a point and, in consequence, set her bosoms bouncing.
And on one of those bosoms was a tattoo. No, a transfer. It hadn’t been there earlier. He would have noticed. He was too far away to see it clearly, but it looked like a snake. And it writhed in a spectacular manner with the sensual undulations of her breast.
He found himself grinning at her audacity and continued his examination avidly. Her long legs were encased in fishnet stockings, her feet in scarlet sandals that must have added two inches to her height. And the skirt in between was…only just in between, hugging her hips and emphasising their slenderness.
Well, Miss Cook, he thought with delicious anticipation. Prepare to meet your downfall. Excitement lit his eyes. He continued to grin because he just couldn’t help it when he looked at her.
‘Oh, look, Sofia!’ she was crying, excitedly peering over the balcony at the pool.
His rigid and sour-faced grandmother winced to be so informally addressed and he stifled a chuckle of delight. Far too many people had been crushed by Sofia’s severity. Seeing someone so blithely unafraid of her was something of a novelty.
And it came to him then that as a lively and happy five-year-old Maddy had been slapped by his grandmother and called a stupid, naughty child for spilling her fruit juice on an antique table. So in her early childhood Maddy had not been nervous or subdued, he thought with increasing interest.
It hadn’t taken long, though, for Maddy’s domineering grandfather to turn her into a frightened rabbit. And, of course, Maddy’s mother had never shown any interest in her daughter, let alone affection and encouragement. Dexter frowned. Much as he despised Jim Cook, at least the man had showered love on his timid child.
And now here she was, her bounce and confidence miraculously restored. His gaze scanned her lissom body as she leaned precariously over the balcony. And he felt his pulses beginning to thud.
‘Sofia!’ Maddy called again, a sweet tremor in her voice. ‘Do come!’
‘What?’ barked Sofia, looking as if she’d been heavily starched.
‘Down there,’ sighed Maddy, oddly gentle-faced. ‘What a dear little kiddie!’
Sofia looked. So did everyone else, including Dexter, who shifted to the balcony a few feet from the party and glanced over.
A curly-haired little girl and her father were in the pool, and she was blissfully pouring bucket after bucket of water over her besotted father’s balding head.
Dex found himself smiling wistfully through the pang that sliced his heart. That could have been him, with his child. He drew in a sharp breath and hid his anguish.
It was then he saw to his alarm that a faint hope had appeared on Sofia’s worried face.
‘You like children?’ she asked.
He froze. His grandmother would forgive inappropriate dress sense if an heir might be in the offing.
Maddy seemed to blink and recoil, then recover herself.
‘Love them!’ she replied solemnly. ‘But I couldn’t eat a whole one!’
Sofia’s shocked gasp and his roar of surprised laughter coincided. The guests turned to him as he strode forward and he murmured subdued greetings, aware that Maddy was staring at him in astonishment.
He leant forward and kissed his grandmother on her cool, powdery cheeks and under his breath he offered his apologies for his lateness.
‘I understand. You have the Quinta on your mind. But we have our guest from England. Let me introduce you,’ began his grandmother stiltedly.
‘We’ve met. I did the Faro run instead of Manuel,’ he murmured, swiftly forestalling the naming of names for as long as possible and shaking Maddy’s hand in a double handclasp. ‘You look wonderful, Maddy!’ he enthused.
She looked startled and not entirely pleased.
‘I do?’ she said doubtfully.
‘Stunning,’ he assured her, letting his voice take on a gravelly depth.
After a gulp, she fluttered her lashes heavily. She seemed to take a deep breath and then she let her hand wander up his arm to stroke his bicep.
‘Rascal! You really know how to get round a girl,’ she cooed, making him wonder if that wasn’t a Deep South accent that had crept into her flirty declaration. ‘My, oh, my!’ she declared, even more Scarlett O’Hara than before, widening her eyes and exploring the muscle beneath his soft wool suit more thoroughly. ‘How big and strong you are!’
The breathless silence around them was palpable. Any minute now and she’d say Fiddle-de-dee! Struggling between laughter and an odd tight sensation in his chest, Dex turned to his grandmother.
‘Don’t you think Maddy is refreshingly different?’ he murmured.
Sofia Fitzgerald looked very pale and shocked. ‘Different, yes,’ she agreed as if about to choke on the word.
‘I know what you must be thinking. But don’t be surprised at my taste in men, Sofia,’ confided Maddy, patting his grandmother’s shoulder in a breathtakingly condescending way that had everyone present drawing in a gasp of horror. ‘I’ve always gone for the hunky labouring type. Not thin men or intellectual types. Earthy guys can make one feel gloriously feminine, don’t you agree?’
Dexter had a hard job keeping his face straight. He was delighted that Maddy was digging her own grave. His grandmother had gone a strange shade of grey.
‘I—I think we’ll go in to dinner,’ she croaked.
‘Good.’ He grabbed Maddy’s hand and threaded her arm through his. ‘We’ll sit together. Shall we go ahead?’
He was moving away before there could be any demur. The maître d’ smoothly began to seat the group and Dexter helped, ensuring that his grandmother was placed at the far end of the table.
‘I’m amazed,’ Maddy whispered, whilst the guests were still milling about and organising their jackets, wraps and handbags. ‘I wouldn’t have thought that Mrs Fitzgerald would have asked her truck driver to dinner.’ She sat down and grinned. ‘Though you scrub up well.’
‘Thank you. Bread roll?’ he offered innocently, pulling his chair close.
‘Please.’ She slanted him an uncertain look. ‘Um…Dexter isn’t here yet. When’s he coming? I’m so eager to meet him.’
To give her a little clue, he shot his cuff, deliberately exposing his all-singing, all-dancing, state-of-the-art platinum watch. Maddy stared at it and he imagined cynically that she must be working out its value.
‘What a beautiful watch! How can you afford that?’ she cried in amazement.
‘Present.’ From him to him.
‘Ah.’ She nodded. ‘A woman was involved, I bet.’
He smiled mysteriously, supposing that the female
assistant in the jeweller’s could be included in that category.
‘Wow.’ Maddy seemed a little subdued, the smile more uncertain. ‘She must be loaded,’ she said with a sudden show of confidence. She nudged him and gave him a theatrical wink. ‘You’re doing all right there.’
It was impossible to prevent an irritated intake of breath. Why was she always going on about money? She was obsessed by it, he thought angrily.
‘I’ve said something to offend you,’ she said, her face concerned. ‘Sorry. My big mouth. Forgive me,’ she mumbled.
He didn’t understand her reversal of mood from cynical and sassy to anxious and caring. There was definitely something odd about her manner. He’d noticed before that sometimes she gave the impression of being sensitive—like the old Maddy—beneath that brittle, brash exterior.
Staring into her eyes in an attempt to see past the glittery surface, he found himself caught by her molten grey gaze. And hastily looked away because he felt so unsettled by her. There was something not quite right about her, but he couldn’t work out what it was.
‘Tell me,’ he said, consumed with interest and trying to hide that fact by intently adjusting and readjusting the position of his knife and fork. ‘Who is the real Maddy Cook?’
He sensed her body stiffening and he knew he’d hit a nerve. So he risked glancing at her again. She was swallowing. And panic showed in those amazing eyes. She was clearly hunting around for a plausible answer. Fascinating, he thought.
Then she shrugged her beautiful shoulders.
‘Someone who realises she’s annoyed you,’ she said lightly.
‘Does that matter?’ he murmured.
‘Oh, yes!’ she avowed, actually sounding sincere.
‘I’m flattered,’ he said drily.
‘Don’t be,’ she replied with crushing honesty. ‘It’s just that I don’t want to get on the wrong side of you because I think I might need an ally.’
