The Secret Mistress

The Secret Mistress
Emma Darcy

One more night…Tricked into believing Luis Angel Martinez was committed to marrying another woman, and convinced he had drawn her into being his secret mistress, Shontelle had ended their affair, declaring he'd been no more to her than an interesting Latin lover.Two years on, Luis wasn't married and he was the only man who could get her brother's tour group out of danger… in exchange for one more night with her. But what would it be - a night of truth , love or vengeance ?

Passion (#u2dbb232c-4c34-58cf-bdc5-5897af31397b)Title Page (#ucd055c37-0b53-527f-9066-eba5461282f3)Dedication (#u7c077351-c2aa-5aa5-9a3f-0d00b905a89b)CHAPTER ONE (#uf7c3eb60-85dc-549b-bca8-8b1de0a52495)CHAPTER TWO (#ue4264e2b-b11a-50d8-b82a-ec4a946f3a3b)CHAPTER THREE (#udc5b9425-0e22-51a3-8d94-27bfb54003c7)CHAPTER FOUR (#ue94cf7fa-e820-5024-9cf1-4c84237cf1f8)CHAPTER FIVE (#u12bdd78d-c5bd-5174-9aae-066f59a0dc21)CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

“What do you want from me, Luis?”

“What I had before.”

Shontelle’s mind fragmented under the force of his apparent desire to repeat the passion they’d shared. Some tattered shreds of reason shrieked that he was only playing with her.

“What do you mean?” she cried.

“I mean to seize the day, Shontelle. Or, to put it more graphically...the night. I want one more taste of you.”

Shock waves slammed through her. One more taste.... Only one....

“Not such a difficult deal, is it?” Luis taunted. “Just a matter of giving me what you gave of yourself two years ago...in your desire to get what you wanted of me.”

“I didn’t get what I wanted then,” she protested, her voice thin and shaky under the appalling weight of devastated hopes.

A savage fury flared into his eyes. “Was I not all you wanted of a Latin lover?” His mouth curled with cruel intent. “Well, let me try not to disappoint you tonight.”

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#2049

The Secret Mistress

Emma Darcy

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

To Lew Pulbrook, whose INCA TOURS of South America inspired this book and provided all of the background material in it. Many, many thanks to Lew and Kristy for sharing their knowledge and experience, while showing me and all “The Amigos” a fantastic and fascinating part of the world.

CHAPTER ONE

LUIS ANGEL MARTINEZ was feeling good as he rode the elevator up to his hotel suite. He’d completed the business he’d come to La Paz to do, he’d dined well, the current crisis in the city provided him with the perfect excuse for missing his own engagement party, and his mother—widely regarded as the wealthiest and most powerful woman in Argentina—couldn’t do one damned thing about it.

He couldn’t help smiling.

The two young women who were sharing the elevator—their accents and clothes marking them as tourists from the U.S.A.—turned interested, hopefully inviting eyes on him. Luis instantly killed the smile. Black scorn blazed from his dark eyes, shrivelling their speculation, and his whole body stiffened in proud rejection of whatever fantasies they nursed.

He despised the foreign women who tripped around, looking for sexual adventure, and he most particularly hated being viewed as a possible Latin lover. He might look the part, having the dark olive skin and black hair of his Spanish heritage, with the added attraction of a taller, more powerful physique than the average South American male, but he sure as hell would never get drawn into playing the part. He’d been burnt once. Once was more than enough for him.

The elevator halted. He glared balefully at the back of the two blonde heads as the women made their exit. Not that their fairness compared in any way to the silky sun and moon mixture of Shontelle’s hair, but the minds under the hair probably held the same attitude towards sampling one of the natives for the pleasure of a new carnal experience.

Not me, ladies, he savagely beamed at them before the doors shut and the elevator resumed its upward climb. His mother was right on one score. Best to tie himself to a woman of his own race, own culture, own background. No nasty surprises with that kind of matchmaking. All smooth sailing. Especially with Elvira Rosa Martinez at the helm, steering everything as she saw fit.

Except she hadn’t counted on this little squall blowing up in Bolivia, causing him to miss the engagement party she had planned behind his back.

Unavoidable circumstances.

The absolutely perfect excuse.

The thought restored Luis’ good humour. He was smiling again as the elevator opened onto his floor and he headed for his private suite. No one could validly question his staying right here. It was literally impossible for him to get out of La Paz without running into trouble.

After yesterday’s violent march of the farmers through the streets, Bolivia was boiling up to yet another change of government. The airport was closed. A curfew had been imposed. The military had taken over the city.

Safely and comfortably ensconced in the Plaza Hotel, Luis was not in the least perturbed by these events. Bolivia was Bolivia, renowned for having more changes of government than any other country, five in one day in recent history. The volatile political situation would eventually blow over and life would go on as usual.

He entered his well-appointed suite, closed the door on all the outside problems, and moved to the mini-bar, deciding one or two more celebratory drinks were in order.

Of course, a second engagement party would be arranged, although he’d insist on doing it himself—his way—next time. This minor reprieve was only a postponement of the inevitable. He was thirty-six years old, time for him to marry, time for him to start a family. It was also time for his mother to step right out of his affairs.

She’d undoubtedly be stewing with frustration over this further delay to a public announcement of her most cherished ambition—the tying of the Martinez fortune to that of the Gallardo family. Do her good, Luis thought with intense satisfaction. She was far too fond of pushing.

She’d picked Claudia Gallardo out for him very shortly after his brother’s death. Luis had scoffed at the idea—a schoolgirl! She’d be groomed to suit him, to grace their social position, to uphold all the traditional virtues of a wife, his mother had argued. I’ll choose my own wife, he’d tossed back at her at the time, but he really didn’t care anymore, not since Shontelle—that green-eyed witch—had chewed him up and spat him out.

He took ice and a lime from the refrigerator, lined up the bottle of Caipirinha, and wished he could blot the memory of Shontelle Wright right out of existence. Because of her...after her...he’d wanted more than just a suitable wife. He’d wanted to feel...

But maybe he didn’t have any passion left in him, so what did it matter if his marriage bed wasn’t as warm as he’d like it? Stupid to keep holding out for something he might never experience again. He would make the commitment to Claudia soon enough. She was willing. He was willing. Together they’d beget another line of heirs and heiresses. Surely he’d feel something for his children.

Nevertheless, it was one thing resigning himself to the destiny mapped out for him, another to be relentlessly pressed into it. Although he’d finally put his rebellious years behind him and shouldered the responsibilities that would have been his older brother’s, had Eduardo lived, Luis did not want his mother thinking she could rule his life. He was glad—yes, glad—he couldn’t fly back to Buenos Aires to keep her timetable, however reasonable it was.

Claudia would undoubtedly wait submissively.

She did everything... submissively.

Luis grimaced. Sometimes he suspected it was an act, deliberately put on to give him the sense of being on top. Respected. Honoured. King of his kingdom. But, so what? At least he knew where he was with Claudia.

He dropped the wedges of lime into his glass, mashed sugar into them, added the ice and drowned the lot with Caipirinha. Sweet and sour—like life, he thought. The telephone rang as he stirred the drink. Carrying the glass with him, he moved to pick up the nearest receiver, cynically wondering if his mother had found a danger-free way out of La Paz for him.

“Luis Martinez,” he rolled out carelessly.

“Luis, it’s Alan Wright. Please...don’t hang up. It’s taken me hours to track you down and I desperately need your help.”