She’d surprised him. He looked at her with a mix of consternation and impatience. “This isn’t about my ego.”
“Have I ever done anything to make you think it’s your money I want?”
His laugh was harsh, derisive. “You are here because you want money…”
She shook her head. “I’m here,” she corrected slowly, “because I thought it would be a chance to remind you of what we share.” The words were thick in her too-tight throat.
“Don’t.” His response whipped around the cabin, and she felt his pain in the single syllable. She felt his hurt. “I can’t forget what you did.” His eyes held hers and she had the strangest sense that she was being tipped off the edge of the boat. “I swore, after Maria, I’d never be a gullible fool. And I was, with you. I won’t be again.”
“You fell in love with me,” she said simply. “And I fell in love with you. That’s not a crime.”
“You are a beautiful woman and I was captivated by you. Your body, your face, all of you. I didn’t see you clearly, Ava, for what you were. But now I do, and I can’t ever forget that.”
He glared at her, anger apparently the salvation for Guy, saving him from his pain and sense of betrayal. “If you won’t agree to be my mistress, then it’s over. I want you to leave, and never contact me again.”
She wanted to fight! She wanted to rail against his coldness and make him see things as they really were. But he never would, and Addie was done begging. It was over; she had to accept that.
“Okay,” she agreed quietly, unable to keep the hurt from her voice. “I’ll go.”
His eyes held hers for a fraction of a second too long. “Here. I’ve added a little extra for your… performance. You really were very convincing.” He strode across the room and pressed the cheque into her hand.
She didn’t look at it.
She had no intention of banking the thing; what did it matter how much he’d made it out for? Instead, she took his hand in hers. “Guy?”
He didn’t answer, but he stared at her long and hard.
“I do love you.” Her voice was surprisingly firm. “I don’t want you to believe the things you do about me. I hope that one day you’ll know that I’m telling the truth.”
*
“Guy? Have you got a moment? I just have a question for you.”
Guy flicked his eyes from the screen of his laptop to the view of Madrid, chasing the setting sun, trying to see the warmth in its firetail even when he hadn’t felt anything like warmth in the eight weeks since Addie had left Madrid.
He thought of her far too often, despite what he’d promised her. Despite his insistence that he’d forget about her easily, he was finding it harder this second-time around. The anger at her betrayal had helped him, earlier in the year, when he’d first learned of her duplicity.
Anger had turned to passion on the island and he’d found himself so close to giving in to her. To forgiving the past.
Asking her to be his mistress had been a desperate last-ditch bid to keep her in his life on terms that would work for him. And he’d been so close to telling her to forget all about it, on that last day. The day he’d seen her soul seep from her body; the day he’d accepted that, whether he wanted her or not, he’d lost any chance to have her.
He’d been an A-grade bastard. There was no forgiveness for the things he’d said and done.
Which was fine. He didn’t want her forgiveness. He just wanted her out of his damned head.
“If it’s not a good time, I can call back.”
“No,” Guy was curt. “Go ahead.”
He shouldn’t have let her get under his skin. The plan had been simple! To use her to fool his family, yes, but to show her that he was over her. That he could take her or leave her. Instead, he’d become just as obsessed by her as the first time. And he hated that. He hated the power she wielded over him, and he hated that she inspired this caveman response in him.
The man he’d become filled Guillem with a gaping sense of dissatisfaction. No matter what the world thought, he treated women with respect. He wasn’t the man he’d been to Adeline. He told himself she deserved no better; but he knew that wasn’t true. Stooping to her level didn’t make his behavior acceptable.
“I’ve come across a discrepancy with your personal chequebook.”
You might think it would get easier, with each year that passes, but it doesn’t. It’s so much harder. I forget little things about them, things that were so elemental, and sometimes, I can’t even see my brother’s face.
Had she been lying? Had she made the whole thing up? He’d resisted the urge to hire a detective. To investigate her. What was the point? If he learned that she’d been telling the truth, it would still show that he didn’t trust her. That he couldn’t trust her.
Honest or not, she’d been right. He had thought it would get easier, with each day that passed, but the longer he went without seeing her, the more he doubted his conviction. The more he wondered if he was mad to let her go.
Even when he knew it had been for the best.
“Mr Rodriguez?”
Guy drew his attention back to the call. What was the accountant on about? “Yes?” He prompted, absent-mindedly running a finger over the edge of his desk.
“There’s a cheque for seventy-five thousand pounds which hasn’t been banked.”
He sat up straighter. He’d only written one cheque for that precise amount recently. His pulse accelerated and his body tightened. Flashbacks of that morning ran through his mind. The way the sun had glistened behind her, showing her slender figure through the flimsy t-shirt she’d worn, the fact she hadn’t dressed in a bra obvious to his gaze. The way she’d spoken so calmly at the end, even when he could see how he was hurting her.
“It was going to a foreign bank,” he said, relieved the words sounded so measured when his throat was as thick and as dry as desert sand. “It is probably just taking its time to clear.”
“No. That isn’t what I mean. It’s been returned. I have correspondence from the bank.”
“Returned?” His brows knit together. He’d never heard of such a thing. Why in the world would Ava … Adeline, have returned the cheque? She’d been desperate for the money. Desperate enough to agree to masquerade as his girlfriend. To sleep with him.
To let him treat her like a convenient mistress. To let him treat her like a piece of dirt.
He grimaced as the now-familiar sense of shame barreled through him anew.
He had treated her in a way that he would always regret. Whatever her faults were, he should have known better than to sink to her level.
“Did you write it in error?”
“No.” Guy stood, his body taut as he stared out at downtown Madrid, his eyes glinting like the black of the night sky under which they’d made love.
“I’ll look into it. Redraft it.”
“No.” He spoke quickly. “Leave it to me.”
*
The house was beautiful. He stood outside the Tudor-style mansion with its elaborate garden boasting old fashioned roses on either side of the path, wisteria tumbling over the side, and frowned. It was, indeed, a grand home, but as he looked closer he saw signs of weathering. Peeling paint on the skirting boards, a window that was cracked and taped together, a roof that had seen better days. The garden was beautiful, but it was overgrown, and there were weeds sprouting opportunistically across the lawn.
He moved up the path, bracing himself for the inevitability of seeing Adeline once more. He wasn’t sure what to expect. But he knew he had to at least uphold his end of the bargain. She’d done her job spectacularly. She’d earned every penny of the seventy-five thousand pounds. She should have the money in her account.
He pressed the buzzer but it didn’t ring, so he lifted his hand and knocked firmly, three times. He could hear a scuffling inside. He waited, impatience zipping through him.
He lifted his hand to knock once more right as Adeline answered. He had, at least, b
een able to mentally prepare for the fact he was about to see her. But shock was writ large across her pretty face. Her eyes were enormous, saucer-like, and her lips parted on a small, strangled noise. She had a grey smudge on her forehead and her hair had been pulled into a messy bun that was now in a state of disarray. She wore low-slung jeans and a black sweater, but almost an inch of her midriff was exposed.
He forced himself to keep his focus on her face, rather than the slow, possessive inspection of her body he was aching to perform.
It took her barely a moment to control her response. With a visible effort, she was Adeline again. But not his Adeline. She was different, completely closed-off to him in a way that made his gut ache for it was such a stunning contrast to the open way she’d loved him before. To the way she’d poured sunshine and warmth through him so generously, her smile always quick at hand.
“Guillem.” Though he loved the sound of his name on her lips, it was said with such rejection than he ached for her now to call him Guy, as she always had. “What are you doing here?”
He’d been angry when he’d arrived in England. Angry at what he’d seen as another ploy by Adeline, to have him chase her. For surely this was just another Machiavellian trick in her arsenal? Only seeing the surprise in her face, the stark dismissal, he knew that wasn’t why she’d returned the cheque. She hadn’t been hoping it would bring him to her door.
She hadn’t wanted him to come.
The realisations detonated violently in his chest, wrong-footing him mentally.
“Addie? Dear? What about the old pictures?”
She paled, and clutched the door tighter, throwing a look over her shoulder. “Just a moment, mum.”
Guy’s eyes moved beyond Adeline, seeking a visual on the older woman. But Addie made a small noise, like a wild tiger protecting its prey, and she pushed the door half-shut, so that he could only see a slither of her.
“May I come in?”
“No.” A hiss. A furious, enraged hiss, like a mother tiger defending its cub from a violent predator.
But her rejection filled him with something like determination.
“You have to leave.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Not until we’ve spoken.”
“We don’t have anything to speak about.” Adeline’s response was stiff, but he saw the fluttering of her pulse at the base of her neck; he felt her panic.
His gut twisted. Who was this woman? Not the woman he’d loved in London, who had been so full of life. Who had laughed with him and made his soul sing. Nor was she the woman he’d been with in Spain. The woman who had spent an entire week putting up with his coldness, trying to talk to him, to tell him she loved him, to explain. A guttural oath ricocheted through his body, but he didn’t express any of those thoughts. Instead, with a businesslike tone, he murmured, “There is the matter of your payment.”
It was the wrong thing to say. He hadn’t even meant it. He wished he could pull the words back as soon as he’d thrown them at her, but they were out there, compounding all his behavior in Spain, and every hurt he’d inflicted on her then. He saw her wounds open, saw the way fresh pain spread over her.
“Addie? Who’s at the door?”
Worry lanced her features as the door was pulled wide, and a beautiful woman, perhaps only twenty years’ Adeline’s senior, stood on the inside, her smile curious.
“Hello,” the woman said. “I don’t believe we’ve met. Are you a friend of my daughter’s?”
“No,” Adeline demurred quickly, with a firm shake of her head, her fingers trembling as she lifted them nervously to her cheek. “He’s just someone I used to know.”
The dismissal cut through Guy, like a sharp blade running over his gut.
“Oh.” The older woman’s smile dropped. “You never bring friends over. You never bring anyone over,” she said wistfully, then turned her attention back to Guy’s large frame. “Would you like a tea?”
“Si.”
His response was emphatic, at the same moment Adeline answered, “No!”
Adeline shot him a look of impatience. “It’s not a good time, mum. We’ve packed most of the kitchen up.”
“But we still have tea bags.” And then, in a stage whisper, “Don’t be so rude, Addie! That’s not how I raised you.”
Adeline’s eyes swept shut for a moment and Guy pushed down on the ridiculous desire to defend her.
“A tea would be welcome,” he said thickly, his eyes holding Adeline’s. “I have been travelling all day.”
“Fine,” she snapped, storming down the hallway, leaving Guy alone with her mother.
“I’m Sylvie,” the older woman said.
“Guillem Rodriguez,” he returned, studying the older woman for a glimmer of recognition. There was none. Addie hadn’t mentioned him, then. “Guy.”
Still no sign that she had ever heard of him.
Why did that surprise him? Just because Adeline had spent a week with his family didn’t mean she’d spoken to her family about him.
As they moved deeper into the house he realized why Adeline looked like an extra on a building site.
They were moving.
A kernel of something unpleasant unfurled in his gut.
She hadn’t mentioned this. She’d only spoken about her house in passing, but it had been with a sense of love.
My house is like that, she’d said, when he’d spoken of his love for the island. The memories that ghosted through these walls for her. Memories of her father and brother. Another twisting of the knife as the enormity of what he’d done sunk through him.
“You’re moving?” He asked Sylvie conversationally, as they neared the kitchen, the question giving no indication of his inner-turmoil. It was just the bare bones, a few mugs on the side of the sink, a kettle. The windows looked out over another very charming garden, with a small pond at the back.
Sylvie’s cheeks paled and she nodded, stepping away from him. Emotions were thick in the air.
“After thirty years,” she said, finally, putting her at slightly older than Guy had guessed. “I never thought I would.”
Addie’s smile was overbright as she sloshed water into the mugs. “It’s time for a new adventure, mum.” She lifted the teabags out, one by one, but stood for a moment staring at the drinks, bracing herself on the edge of the counter.
Guy ached to reach out for her, to comfort her. She was in pain, and he wanted to take it away. How ironic, given that he’d spent a significant portion of their relationship inflicting emotional wounds on her.
“Tea done?” Sylvie asked, moving over and lifting one up without waiting for an answer. “I’ll get back to the pictures. I’ll just wrap them all for now, shall I, love?”
Addie didn’t say anything.
“Darling? The pictures?”
“Oh.” Addie nodded, another weak smile on her face. “Yeah. I’ll sort them once I… later.”
Sylvie nodded, taking herself and her tea from the room.
They were alone, and Guy, uncharacteristically, had no idea what to say. He stared at Addie for a long moment and then moved closer, his expression grim.
“You’ve sold your house.” He didn’t even want to follow that thought through. There was only one reason for her to sell the house – she still needed money. She’d sold the house rather than accept his cheque.
She’d sold somewhere that was a beacon of her childhood, filled with important memories, because she preferred that to accepting his help.
Except he hadn’t offered help. His eyes swept shut for a moment. He’d offered money in exchange for more lies. For sex. He’d trapped her on an island and he’d made her miserable in every way at his disposal.
“Yes.” Addie’s response was softly spoken but it might as well have been shouted against Guy’s heart.
“Why?” He asked, the question heavy between them. He propped his hips against the counter, so close he could catch the faintest hint of her sweet vanilla fragrance.
“You didn’t bank the cheque.”
She stared straight ahead, her eyes heavy on the garden beyond, but he suspected she wasn’t really looking.
“So?”
“You sold the house instead.”
A delicate pulse trebled at her jaw. “It’s not really any of your business.”
He nodded, but every fiber of his being pushed back against that summation. Of course it was his business.
“Am I going to be able to take my phone?” Sylvie’s voice came through to them from a distant room. “Will I need a charger?”
Adeline shook her head. “No, mum,” she called, swallowing. “No phones.”
Guy had about three thousand questions he wanted answered. “Where is she going?”
Adeline pressed her lips together. “It doesn’t matter.” She curled her fingers around the tea cup and moved to the other corner of the kitchen. With the distance, she apparently found it easier to look at him.
In fact, she stared at him unflinchingly.
“Adeline,” he said softly. “I need you to tell me why you returned the cheque.”
She sipped her drink. “Is it important?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.” His expression was one of frustration. “It just doesn’t make sense.”
“Of course it does,” she contradicted. “I couldn’t take your money.”
“You came and asked me for it,” he reminded her.
“Yes.” Tears filled her eyes and his gut twisted painfully. He didn’t want her to cry. His insides screamed at her visible agony; he wanted her to laugh again, like she had in London. Like they had.
“I came and asked you for help. If you’d … I asked you as … I suppose, as a friend. As someone who cared for me. I needed your help, Guy. But as soon as it became payment for … payment …” she squeezed her eyes shut. “I was never going to take it,” she said, dipping her head forward. “From the moment you made it a quid pro quo, I knew I wouldn’t accept it.”
Blackmailed by the Spaniard Page 15
