Ricardo held his hands up as if he was placating an angry bear. ‘Miama’s surprise birthday party is tomorrow.’
Cruz strode towards the changing rooms, his mind already in Hampton—or more specifically in Ocean Haven. ‘Don’t count on me being there.’
‘Given your track record, the only person who still has enough hope to do that is Miama herself.’
Cruz stopped. Ricardo’s blunt words stabbed him in the heart. His family still meant everything to him, and he’d help any of them out in a heartbeat, but things just weren’t the same any more. With the exception of Ricardo, none of his family knew how to treat him, and his mother constantly threw him guilty looks that were a persistent reminder of the darker days of his youth after he’d gone to the farm.
Charles Carmichael had been a difficult man with a formidable temper who’d liked to get his own way, and Cruz had never been one to back down from a fight until that night. No, it had not been an easy transition for a proud thirteen-year-old to make, and if there was one thing Cruz hated more than the capricious nature of the human race it was dwelling on the past.
He glanced back at Ricardo. ‘You’re going to be stubborn about this, aren’t you?’
Ricardo laughed. ‘You’ve cornered the market in stubborn, mi amigo. I’m just persistent.’
‘Persistently painful. You know, bro, you don’t need a wife. You are a wife.’
* * *
Aspen decided that she had a new-found respect for telemarketers. It wasn’t easy being told no time after time and then picking yourself up and continuing on. But like anyone trying to make a living she had to toughen up and stay positive. Stay on track. Especially when she was so close to achieving her goal. To choke now or, worse, give up, would mean failing in her attempt to keep her beloved home and that was inconceivable.
Smiling up at the beef of a man in front of her as if she didn’t have a head full of doubts and fears, Aspen surreptitiously pulled at the waist of the silk dress she’d worn to impress the polo patrons attending the midweek chukkas they held at Ocean Haven throughout the summer months.
In the searing sunshine the dress had taken on the texture of a wet dishrag and it did little to improve her mood as she listened to Billy Smyth the Third, son of one of her late grandfather’s arch enemies, wax lyrical about the game of polo he had—thankfully—just won.
‘Oh, yes,’ she murmured. ‘I heard it was the goal of the afternoon.’ Fed to him, she had no doubt, by his well-paid polo star, who knew very well which side his bread was buttered on.
Billy Smyth was a rich waste of space who sponged off his father’s cardboard packaging empire and loved every minute of it—not unlike many others in their circle. Her ex-husband still continued unashamedly to live off his own family’s wealth, but thankfully he’d been out of her life for a long time, and she wasn’t going to ruin an already difficult day by thinking about him as well.
Instead she concentrated on the wealthy man in front of her, with his polished boots and his pot belly propped over the top of his starchy white polo jeans. Years ago she had tried to like Billy, but he was very much a part of the ‘women should keep silent and look beautiful’ brigade, and the fact that she was pandering to his unhealthy ego at all was testament to just how desperate she had become.
When he’d asked her to meet him after the game she had jumped at the chance, knowing she’d dance on the sun in a bear suit if it would mean he’d lend her the last ten million she needed to keep Ocean Haven. Though by the gleam in his eyes he’d probably want her naked—and she wasn’t so desperate that she’d actually hawk herself.
Yet.
Ever, she amended.
So she continued to smile and present her plan to turn ‘The Farm’, as Ocean Haven was lovingly referred to, into a viable commercial entity that any savvy businessman would feel remiss for not investing in. So far two of her grandfather’s old friends had come on board, but she was fast feeling as if she was running out of options to find the rest. Ten million was small change to Billy and, she thought, ignoring the way his eyes made her skin crawl as if she was covered in live ants, he seemed genuinely interested.
‘Your grandpop would be rolling in his grave at the thought of the Smyths investing in The Farm,’ he announced.
True—but only because her grandfather had been an unforgiving, hard-headed traditionalist. ‘He’s not here anymore.’ Aspen reminded him. ‘And without the money Uncle Joe is going to sell to the highest bidder.’
Billy cocked his head and considered his way slowly down to her feet and just as slowly back up. ‘Word is he already has a winner.’
Aspen took a minute to relax her shoulders, telling herself that Billy really didn’t mean to be offensive. ‘Yes. Some super-rich consortium that will no doubt want to put a hotel on it. But I’m determined to keep The Farm in the family. I’m sure you understand how important that is, being such a devoted family man yourself.’
A slow smile crept over Billy’s face and Aspen inwardly groaned. She was trying too hard and they both knew it.
‘Yes, indeed I do.’
Billy leered. His smile grew wider. And when he rocked back on his heels Aspen sent up a silent prayer to save her from having to deal with arrogant men ever again.
Because that was exactly why she was in this situation in the first place. Her grandfather had believed in three things: testosterone, power, and tradition. In other words men should inherit the earth while women should be grateful that they had. And he had used his fearsome iron will to control everyone who dared to disagree with him.
When her mother had died suddenly just before Aspen’s tenth birthday and—surprise surprise—her errant father couldn’t be located, Aspen had been sent to live with her grandfather and her uncle. Her grandmother had passed away a long time before. Aspen had liked Uncle Joe immediately, but he’d never been much of an advocate for her during her grandfather’s attempts to turn her into the perfect debutante.
So far she had been at the mercy of her controlling grandfather, then her controlling ex, and now her misguided, henpecked uncle.
‘I’m sorry Aspen,’ her Uncle Joe had said when she’d managed to pin him down in the library a month ago. ‘Father left the property in my hands to do with as I saw fit.’
‘Yes, but he wouldn’t have expected you to sell it,’ Aspen had beseeched him.
‘He shouldn’t have expected Joe to sort out the mess of his finances either,’ Joe’s determined wife Tammy had whined.
‘He wasn’t well these last few years.’ Aspen had appealed to her aunt, but, knowing that wouldn’t do any good, had turned back to her uncle. ‘Don’t sell Ocean Haven, Uncle Joe. Please. It’s been in our family for one hundred and fifty years. Your blood is in this land.’
Her mother’s heart was here in this land.
But her uncle had shaken his head. ‘I’m sorry, Aspen, I need the money. But unlike Father I’m not a greedy man. If you can raise the price I need in time for my Russian investment, with a little left over for the house Tammy wants in Knightsbridge, then you can have Ocean Haven and all the problems that go with it.’
‘What?’
‘What?’
Aspen and her Aunt Tammy had cried in unison.
‘Joseph Carmichael, that is preposterous,’ Tammy had said.
But for once Uncle Joe had stood up to his wife. ‘I’d always planned to provide for Aspen, so this is a way to do it. But I think you’re crazy for wanting to keep this place.’ He’d shaken his head at her.
Aspen had been so happy she had all but floated out of the room. Then reality at what exactly her uncle had offered had set in and she’d got the shakes. It was an enormous amount of money to pay back but she knew if she got the chance she could do it.
The horn signifying the end of the last chukka blew and Aspen pus
hed aside her fear that maybe she was just a little crazy.
‘Listen, Billy, it’s a great deal,’ she snapped, forgetting all about the proper manners her grandfather had drummed into her as a child, and also forgetting that Billy was probably her last great hope of controlling her own future. ‘Take it or leave it.’
Oh, yes and losing that firecracker temper of yours is sure to sway him, she berated herself.
A tiny dust cloud rose between them as Billy made a figure eight with his boots in the dirt. ‘The thing is, Aspen, we’re busy enough over at Oaks Place, and even though you’ve done a good job of hiding it The Farm needs a lot of work.’
‘It needs some,’ Aspen agreed with forced calm, thinking she hadn’t done a good job at all if he’d seen through her patchwork maintenance attempts. ‘But I’ve factored all that into the plan.’ Sort of.
‘I just think I need a bit more of a persuasive argument if I’m to take this to my daddy,’ he suggested, a certain look crossing his pampered face.
‘Like...?’ A tight band had formed around Aspen’s chest because, really, it was hard to miss what he meant.
‘Well, hell, Aspen, you’re not that naïve. You have been married.’
Yes, unfortunately she had. But all that had done was make her determined that she would never be at any man’s mercy again. Which was exactly where arrogant, controlling men like this one wanted their women to be. ‘For just you, Billy?’ she simpered. ‘Or for your daddy as well?’
It took Mr Cocksure a second or two to realise she was yanking his chain and when he did his big head reared back and his eyes narrowed. ‘I ain’t no pimp, lady.’
‘No,’ she said calmly, flicking her riot of honey-coloured spiral curls back over her shoulder. ‘What you are is a dirty, rotten rat and I can see why Grandpa Charles said your kind were just slime.’ Who gave a damn about proper manners anyway?
Instead of getting angry Billy threw back his head and hooted with laughter. ‘You know. I can’t believe the rumours that you’re a cold one in the sack. Not with all that fire shooting out of those pretty green eyes of yours.’ He reached out and ran a finger down the side of her cheek and grinned when she raised her hand to rub at it. ‘Let me know when you change your mind. I like a woman with attitude.’
Before she could open her mouth to tell him she’d mention that to his wife he sauntered off, leaving her spitting mad. She watched him pick up a glass of champagne from a table before joining a group of sweaty riders and willed someone to grab it and throw it all over him.
Of course no one did. Fate wasn’t that kind.
Turning away in disgust, she cursed under her breath when a gust of hot wind whipped her hair across her face. Too angry to stop and clear her vision, she would have walked straight into a wall if it hadn’t reached out and grabbed her by her upper arms.
With a soft gasp she looked up, about to thank whoever had saved her. But the words never came and the quick smile froze on her face as she found herself staring into the hard eyes of a man she had thought she would never see in the flesh again.
The air between them split apart and reformed, vibrating with emotion as Cruz Rodriquez stared down at her with such cold detachment she nearly shivered.
Eight years dissolved into dust. Guilt, shame and a host of other emotions all sparked for dominance inside her.
‘I...’ Aspen blinked, her mind scrambling for poise...words...something.
‘Hello, Aspen. Nice to see you again.’
Aspen blinked at the incongruity of those words. He might as well have said Off with her head.
‘I...’
Copyright © 2014 by Michelle Conder
ISBN: 9781472042019
HIS TEMPORARY MISTRESS
© Cathy Williams 2014
First Published in Great Britain in 2014
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