His Inherited Bride

Jules glibly answered, ‘Yes, fine, but I should warn you I’m not much of a letter-writer.’ She turned her head to look at him; his face was only inches from her own. ‘But I’ll add her to my Christmas card list.’ He ruffled her hair and said thanks and she recalled for a moment being dazzled by his smile, but putting it down to the bright sunshine…

The restaurant was everything Rand had said and more. A timber building set on stilts and with a long deck stretching out over the Pacific Ocean. They opted to eat outside and Jules took her seat and looked around her in awe. On the edge of a headland the sweeping view of a huge sandy beach and the sea gave the impression of being surrounded by water. ‘This place is incredible.’ She turned shining eyes up to Rand.

‘Good, I am glad you approve. Now let me get you a drink. Champagne by way of a celebration, perhaps—it has been a long time.’ One dark brow arched sardonically. ‘Some might say too long’. He still found it incredible she had not turned up for her own father’s funeral, and he wondered what excuse she would come up with. But he was not about to ask her. Not yet…

He had thought with each month that had passed after he had informed her of the codicil to her father’s will, as she had refused point-blank to have anything to do with it, that maybe the woman had a grain of integrity after all. At least she was consistent in ignoring her father in life and death. But when Jules had contacted his office just a few weeks before the deadline on claiming any inheritance ran out, he had realised cynically her initial refusal had obviously been a ploy not to sound too eager, and make him think better of her.

Well, it hadn’t worked; it simply confirmed what a hard, selfish woman she was. Carlos had maybe not been a good husband or father, but whether he had deserved a wife who had run out on him within a year of their marriage, taking his daughter with her and then divorcing him, was debatable.

To give Carlos his due, he had tried to make it up with his daughter years later by welcoming the teenage Jules into his home. When she had pleaded she was old enough to get engaged to Enrique, at the tender age of seventeen, Carlos had not objected, but had given her a big engagement party. The next year he had arranged a huge wedding at considerable expense, only to have his daughter run out on her fiancé, much the same as her mother had run out on him. In fact one could say it was Carlos Diez who had come off worse with his involvement with the English women all down the line.

Yet here this beautiful woman sat looking as cool as a cucumber, and after all she could get. Well, this time she was in for a rude awakening; Rand was going to make sure of that…

‘I was sorry I couldn’t make the funeral, but my mother wasn’t very well.’ Jules chose her words with care. She still had difficulty saying ‘cancer’ out loud, especially to a relative stranger. But she knew exactly what he was referring to by his ‘too long’. She could recognise sarcasm when she heard it. ‘And it was too short a notice to get out of an extremely important commitment I had already made.’ It was the truth; she had promised to stay with her mother while she was in hospital. But she did not want to offend the man when she was hoping to get money out of him so she did not elaborate.

Never mind her mother, it was probably down to some man, Rand thought cynically. Jules had dressed down her sensational figure, but to the discerning eye she was the epitome of female pulchritude, full breasted, a tiny waist and softly rounded hips plus long, shapely legs. He stirred uncomfortably on his chair, surprised by the stirring in his groin and resenting the effect she had on him, but masking it with a fulsome compliment.

‘I understand. An exquisitely beautiful young woman like you must have many more pressing calls on your time,’ he drawled silkily, and turned his attention to the waiter who had miraculously appeared at his side.

‘No champagne for me; a soft drink, please,’ Jules said coolly, not rising to the bait as he placed their order with the waiter in fluent Spanish. He really was a many-talented man but he was also a sarcastic swine; she didn’t believe his compliment for a moment. She had no illusions about her looks. Attractive, yes, but ‘exquisitely beautiful’ was overdoing the hyperbole just a tad even to try and charm the dimmest female.

A wry smile twisted her mouth. Jules considered herself a reasonably intelligent adult woman, with a good career doing what she loved. In life as in business luck and timing was everything. Sadly for her mother, she had had no say in when her illness had struck. Jules could think if only it had been a year or two later, and at her worst moments if only it had been just six weeks sooner, then Jules would not have invested all their capital and the bank loan in the house and business. But her real wish was if only her wonderful mother had never taken ill at all.

Bad timing… Whatever, the reality was she needed money and she needed it now and, whether she liked it or not, Rand was her only hope. Unfortunately he held the purse strings. She knew the amount she needed would barely dent the value of her father’s estate. But whether this autocratic man would give it to her, she was not so sure. Then any hope Jules had harboured that he might have forgotten about the past was dashed with his next words.

‘So.’ Rand returned his attention to her. ‘I have ordered the seafood special; take my word, you will love it. I do.’ He paused, and Jules felt her heart flutter in her breast, hypnotised by the smouldering warmth in his dark eyes. ‘I love this place.’ He leant back and waved an elegant hand in a gesture at the view and looked around. Released from the magnetic pull of his powerful gaze, Jules concentrated on steadying her breathing, but stifled a gasp of outrage as he continued. ‘I must admit I was surprised you gave up the opportunity to live in this wonderful climate with a wealthy father and the prospect of a handsome husband for the doubtful pleasures of the British climate. Dare I assume you have changed your mind?’ he prompted cynically.

He was doing it again, insulting her; did he take her for a fool or what? ‘No, I have not. People are more important than places,’ Jules said tightly.

‘Forgive me for saying so, but that sounds rather strange coming from a girl like you.’

‘You know nothing about me,’ Jules shot back, bristling with anger at his implication.

‘True.’ Rand leant back in his chair as the waiter appeared with a jug of juice and two glasses, eyeing Jules though narrowed eyes. Amazingly she looked quite genuine in her indignation. He had to admit she was one hell of an actress, and he wondered what else she was good at. He could see the rise and fall of her firm breast beneath the soft linen of her jacket, and again felt a sudden tightening in his groin area he had some difficulty controlling.

Leaning forward to allow his body to subside, he filled a glass with juice. ‘I am so embroiled in my work, I have trouble keeping track of the side issues.’ Rand straightened and held out the glass of orange juice. ‘But it is good to see you again.’

Jules felt the colour rise in her cheeks. ‘Side issue’ said it all, which was all she ever had been to her father or any other man. She reached out and took the glass from him, his long fingers accidentally brushing hers, and felt the tingling effect of his touch right up her arm. But as she controlled her shock her green eyes clashed with deep brown. Was it mockery she saw in the dark depths?

‘Yes, well…’ She cleared her throat, refusing to let her simmering anger show. ‘Given you are so busy, perhaps we can combine lunch with business. I would hate to take up too much of your precious time,’ she suggested, taking control of the situation and, lifting the glass to her mouth, she took a long, cooling swallow.

‘As you like,’ Rand said with a dismissive shrug of his broad shoulders. ‘After all, I am here on behalf of your late father. Perhaps an enquiry on your part about his last illness would not go amiss,’ he prompted sardonically.

‘I had heard nothing from my father in seven years until you called to tell me he was ill. A heart attack, I believe you said, and I have no reason to disbelieve you,’ she offered. ‘For all I know he could have married again. I might even have a brother or sister I know nothing about,’ she suggested dryly, ‘but I am sure you can enlighten me.’ Rand was not going to intimidate her and she boldly held his dark gaze, her own expression, she hoped, one of cool concern.

Her father and her ex-fiancé Enrique had been two of a kind. Arrogant, autocratic tyrants, who thought they could do what they wanted and everyone else had to do as they were told. Jules and her mum had both suffered at their manipulative hands, and she had to be mad to put herself in Rand’s power, she had no doubt he was just the same, but what choice did she have?

First her mother had discovered her husband had a mistress right under her nose, and years later Jules had caught Enrique, Rand’s supposed friend, with Maria, Rand’s fiancée… No, she was not going there, or she might lose her temper completely and tell Rand the truth.

But then again he might already know all about Maria’s unfaithfulness. Maybe that was why he had not married her. Whatever… Jules was not going to ask…

‘I’m sure my father was well looked after to the end.’

‘Oh, he was,’ Rand assured her smoothly. ‘And to ease your mind I can tell you he never married again.’ He paused, his eyes narrowed intently on her delicate face. He would stake his fortune Jules knew damn fine she was the closest living relative of her late father, but he was prepared to play her along for now. ‘And there are no other children,’ he emphasised with an edge of cynicism in his tone. ‘Though it pains me to admit, I had only seen Carlos half a dozen times in the last few years. I have a very efficient manager in the Santiago office and I don’t come to Chile very often, but luckily I was staying at the ranch when he took ill. Too much red meat and too many cigars, a small heart attack that even the doctor thought was nothing too serious, and then a massive one and he died three days later. I attended the funeral, of course.’

‘Good for you,’ Jules said swiftly. ‘I am glad he had someone with him.’ Not that her father was ever alone, living on a ranch with several staff and never without a woman, as far as Jules knew. He had hardly needed Jules as well. But the constant mention of her father was churning up memories she preferred to forget and, pinning a smile on her face, she forced herself to look up into his eyes.

‘But to be honest I did not really know him very well—a few weeks’ holiday every summer for four years. You knew him much better than I.’ She saw a brief flare of some powerful emotion on his face, but was quickly reassured when his firm lips parted into a reciprocal smile.

‘You’re right, of course; all the more reason why you must stay awhile,’ Rand declared adamantly. ‘Ah! The food has arrived. Let’s enjoy our lunch.’ He smiled again, his dark eyes mesmerising her. ‘I have a very large appetite and it badly needs filling.’ Jules blinked and tore her gaze away. Crude, she thought, and colour flooded her face at his suggestive comment, but she went pale as he added, ‘We can talk about your father later when we get to the ranch.’

‘The ranch?’ she parroted, her eyes widening in puzzlement.

‘Don’t worry, I have made all the arrangements. After missing your father’s funeral I knew you would want to visit his grave as soon as possible,’ he said and she could only agree.

CHAPTER THREE

JULES slid into the back seat of the car and briefly closed her eyes. Her father’s grave… She sighed and opened her eyes, feeling guilty. It should have been her making the suggestion, not Rand Carducci. She had given him yet another black mark to hold against her. At the rate she was going she would be lucky if the man would even give her the time of day, let alone money.

Still she straightened in the seat as Rand slid in beside her; now was the ideal opportunity to state her case. Whatever her father had belatedly bequeathed her, could she convert it into money and how fast? That was basically what she wanted to know. If not she would just have to swallow her pride and ask outright for money. It was at least an hour’s drive to the Diez property. With a bit of luck she could reach some agreement with Rand by the time they arrived at the hacienda. A quick visit to her father’s grave and maybe even back to England on the next plane tomorrow. There was no real reason for her to stay a week.

Feeling much more optimistic, Jules turned slightly and looked at him. He was smiling, a good omen, she thought, but before she could open her mouth he forestalled her.

‘I hope you don’t mind, Jules, but I have some work to catch up on.’ His brief smile vanished as he lifted a leather briefcase onto his lap and flicked the lid open.

‘Of course not.’ Bang went her plan to get everything sorted before they arrived at the ranch. The great Rand Carducci had much more important business to attend to than her problem. On his list of priorities she obviously came very low in the pecking order. She supposed she should be honoured he had even deigned to spend the afternoon with her—but she didn’t feel it. Instead she felt resentment simmering inside her.

‘I can always reacquaint myself with the scenery, I suppose,’ she said sarcastically. But her sarcasm was wasted on him.

‘You do that.’ And without so much as glancing at her, he lifted a sheaf of papers from the briefcase and, in moments, with an elegant gold pen in his hand, he was completely involved in his work.

Through the thick fringe of her eyelashes Jules studied him at her leisure, her eyes roaming over his profile, noting the typical frown, and down over his broad shoulders, slightly hunched as he studied the papers he was holding. Jules discovered that her gaze was riveted to his long-fingered, elegant hands, her pulse rate increasing as she stared at them. Gentle but exciting, she guessed, and abruptly she tore her eyes away and looked out of the window. Where on earth had the erotic thought come from? she wondered with a shiver.

Fixing her attention on the passing scenery, the land dry and parched with the heat of the summer, she was vividly reminded of the first time she had travelled this way. Then she had been bursting with enthusiasm and hope, longing to meet her father, and now eleven years later she was returning to visit his grave.

Tears pricked at the back of her eyes. He had loved this land with a passion, a commitment he had never been able to feel for anything or anyone else. Certainly not her, or her mother, Jules thought sadly; she could only pray it had been enough for him in the end.

As for her, unless her father had made some monetary provision for her in the codicil to his will so she could help her mother, she might very soon end up bankrupt or, worse, an orphan.

Her mother had recovered well from her operation and was working part-time, and looking forward to the treatment that they both hoped would seal her recovery. But she had not been happy at Jules coming here. Her mother thought it seemed mercenary, and that they did not need anything from the man as they had done very well on their own. It was only when Jules had said it was probably only an ornament or the like that she had been left, but the all-expenses-paid holiday was worth having and she could do with a break before her mother started her treatment, that Liz had agreed. Liz had no idea of Jules’ cash-flow problem, and Jules had no intention of telling her.

Stifling a sigh, she turned a narrow-eyed glance on Rand. It was all in the hands of this one man, and she was beginning to get the distinct impression he was deliberately avoiding discussing her father’s estate. Three hours later Jules was convinced of it…

They had arrived at the Diez ranch mid-afternoon. Sanchez, the estate manager, had been at the hacienda to meet them. Rand had been greeted with a hug, and Jules had rather tentatively held out her hand. She had been worried how her absence from the funeral would look to a man who had spent decades working for her father.

But she need not have worried as Sanchez ignored her hand and gave her a big hug as well; that did much to relieve her anxiety in returning to the ranch. Sanchez was the man who had taught her to ride a horse, and she had spent many a happy hour roaming over the ranch with him in the past.

Sanchez’s wife, Donna, the housekeeper, was equally welcoming, and to Jules’ amazement Donna was very obviously pregnant. She congratulated her and was rewarded with a smile and a hug. To Jules’ knowledge Donna had to be at least forty and had been trying to have a baby as long as Jules could remember.