The Spaniard's Baby Bargain

She wrinkled her nose at him. ‘I might let you win.’

He lifted both hands in mock-capitulation. ‘Do me a favour, and go smell the roses.’

‘While you do…what?’

His slow grin held a teasing quality. ‘Kick back and anticipate this afternoon’s verbal interaction.’

Ariane rolled her eyes. ‘How come you get to have all the fun?’

He waited a beat, then offered quietly, ‘Watch out for yourself.’

A friend, as well as an associate, he saw too much. ‘Always.’

The automatic assurance didn’t fool either of them, and Ariane collected her cellphone before making her way to the rear of the house.

French doors led onto a large terrace, and she crossed it, then descended a set of stone steps to a paved courtyard.

The grounds were larger than she’d expected, with an expanse of immaculate lawn. Garden beds abounded with an array of flora in bloom, a riot of colour and green foliage, exquisite topiary. There was a gazebo, painted white with a peaked roof and decorative scrolls. A water fountain stood nearby, and she sighted a marble birdbath.

Shrubbery, garden seats—it was close to picture perfect, and she wondered if Manolo del Guardo surrounded himself with beautiful objects because he genuinely enjoyed them, or whether they were merely the possessions expected of a wealthy man. Suggested, supplied and maintained to create an image.

The house…mansion, she corrected mentally. Had he employed a team of interior decorators and given them carte blanche?

Her cellphone beeped and promptly went to mes sage-bank, providing a reminder she should check the morning’s incoming calls.

Three, she determined a few minutes later, two of which were from Roger. A sick feeling twisted her stomach at the brief, crude words.

Ignore him, she counselled silently, hating the wiliness of his psychosis. He rarely rang from the same number twice, switching SIM cards, using numerous pay-phones in a game devised to fool her so she’d engage each call or message. Even in the few seconds it took to hit the erase button, he managed to achieve his objective.

Roger was the reason she’d taken up martial arts. For the discipline and control…as a form of protection and a means of channelling her anger against his intrusive harassment.

Ariane pocketed the cellphone and deliberately focused her attention on her surroundings. It was a beautiful summer’s day, with only a few drifts of cloud in the sky. The warmth of the sun caressed her skin, and the air held the sweetness of flowers in bloom, their colours, some muted, many bright, a visual delight.

A short while later she returned indoors, freshened up, then she joined Tony in the dining room for lunch. Thin slices of veal, Parma ham, salads and fresh bread, followed by a delectable fruit salad.

There was time to retouch her make-up and smooth her hair before joining Tony in the designated interview room, where she went over her notes and the questions she wanted to pose during the afternoon taping.

Manolo del Guardo appeared shortly after two, in, unless she was mistaken, a change of shirt. White, top few buttons undone, with cuffs rolled back, the difference in style was minimal, and probably unnoticeable to the untrained eye.

She attempted to qualify it as an integral part of the job, and knew she lied. Everything about this man caught and held her interest.

The animalistic sense of power combined with a dramatic mesh of elemental ruthlessness and latent sensuality. Add leashed savagery, and it became a lethal mix.

Be professional, think interview quality, and ignore the exigent magnetism, Ariane advised silently. A derisive laugh rose and died in her throat. Sure, as if that was likely to happen.

‘This afternoon I’d like to concentrate on your entry into the business arena,’ she began. ‘A few early breaks, your motivation to succeed, risks.’ She met his gaze and held it. ‘Highlights charting your career.’

Manolo took in her slender frame, ash-blonde hair in its sleek style, hazel green-flecked eyes, the small but determined chin, her lush mouth.

Had anyone told her those eyes became dark green when she was angry? An emotion she hid well, and one he found intriguing.

She’d done her research, he conceded as he answered her questions and offered information already known to the media.

‘No dabbling in illegals in a quest to build your empire?’

For years he’d walked on the right side of the law, but there were some deals done in his early teens of which he was not particularly proud.

‘Perhaps you’d care to define “illegals”?’

His drawling tone was silk-smooth and dangerous beneath the dispassionate imperturbability.

‘Does it need defining?’

‘The implication covers a broad spectrum.’

‘Could one assume your evasion of the question supplies its own answer?’

‘Are you levelling an accusation?’

Oh, lord, he could have a team of top-flight lawyers breathing down her neck in an instant. ‘No.’ Her tone was steady, and she effected a polite smile. ‘Merely voicing admiration for the extent of your wealth in relation to the time in which you’ve achieved it.’

‘I’ll accept that as a compliment.’

He wanted to strangle her. She could sense it beneath the surface of his control.

A few more questions and she was done for the afternoon. She watched as Manolo del Guardo rose from his chair, inclined his head and walked from the room.

‘He let you get away unscathed.’

Tony’s comment should have brought her some satisfaction. Instead she could only wonder at the ease with which Manolo del Guardo had allowed her to dance so close to the line between the provocative and the sensational.

‘Yes.’ She gathered paperwork and slid it into her briefcase.

‘It’s a shame we can’t wrap it up tonight.’

Ariane slung the leather strap over one shoulder. ‘I understand our host has a pressing engagement for the evening.’

Tony placed the camera in its case and locked it. ‘We could go grab a pizza, take in a movie.’

‘Count me out.’ She moved towards the door. ‘I’m going to try out the lap pool, have dinner here, then catch an early night.’

‘Maybe that’s not such a bad idea. We were given permission to avail ourselves of the entertainment room. Maybe Santos will let us microwave popcorn?’

‘In your dreams.’ She offered him a musing grin. ‘Does this look like a home that has popcorn in the pantry?’

With that parting salvo she crossed the foyer and ascended the stairs, choosing to check her cellphone messages as she made her way to her room.

Roger…again. Twice, she determined, and stifled a pithy oath. Would the man ever cease with his harassment? Catching his first few words before she hit erase was almost as bad as listening to the entire message, for the damage was done. He’d succeeded in reaching her, and in his book that was enough.