Immortal Billionaire

What if I stay anyway? We have an agreement. It doesn’t say Sylvester has to like, or even tolerate, me.

The thought made her straighten her shoulders. Could she spend the next few weeks on his beautiful island and enjoy the luxury of this house without having to spend time with her host? Accept this sanctuary as a much-needed breathing space from which to plan her next steps? If she could hang on to that remaining money, it might just get her a plane ticket to Europe. A new life could be within her grasp. All she needed to do was to be Sylvester’s invisible guest for the next month. It seemed like a plan. As far as she could see, there was only one problem with her idea...

Dinner was at eight.

Chapter 3 (#ua57f949a-2487-573a-96b1-8e6c15eb1c1c)

Mindful of Mr. Reynolds’s comments, Connie had dutifully purchased some new clothes. She had been reluctant, however, to spend too much of the cash he had given her on expensive outfits. Those crisp notes were her insurance policy, the cushion between her and the harsh reality of a job scrubbing floors. She wasn’t going to part with a single one of those dollar bills for frivolous reasons unless she absolutely had to. So the week between her meeting with Mr. Reynolds and her journey to Corazón had been spent visiting vintage clothing stores and dressmaking outlets.

Connie’s mother had been a talented seamstress, with an eye for color and style. After her husband’s death, she had supplemented her income by doing alterations and making clothes for friends, including one who had won a luxury cruise holiday. Once the excitement about the prize had died down, a panic about purchasing expensive cocktail dresses on a limited budget had followed.

“What you need—” Connie could hear her mother’s calm voice as if it was yesterday “—is a few simple, neutral gowns. Then you change the trimmings on them so people are fooled into thinking you’re wearing a new dress each time.”

She had demonstrated by swiftly pinning a length of cream silk around her friend. One minute it was decorated with a spray of tiny crystal flowers curling lovingly over one shoulder; the next, two rows of diamanté decorated the scooped neckline. “Two different dresses. You see?”

For that first dinner Connie chose a white gown of Grecian simplicity, in a draped style that left one shoulder bare. When it came to hair and makeup, she knew she wouldn’t be able to compete with Lucinda’s expensive sophistication. Shrugging, she decided she would have to rely on the novelty of simplicity instead. Arranging the glossy length of her hair in a single thick plait over her exposed shoulder, she finished the look with a touch of coral lip gloss.

Simplicity seemed to work. When she appeared in the doorway of the salon, every eye turned her way. Guthrie actually did her the honor of choking slightly on his drink. Lucinda looked thunderous but, for once, had nothing to say. Instead she rearranged the folds of her designer gown and patted her immaculately styled hair before whispering behind her hand to the woman who sat beside her.

“You look stunning,” Matt said, coming forward to greet Connie.

“Stunning in a good way?” She winced at how needy the words sounded. Four years ago she had made a vow never to cover up the scars on her neck. They were proof that she was a survivor. But on a night like tonight—wearing a dress that attracted rather than deflected attention—she needed all the reassurance she could get.

“Definitely in a good way.” He guided her into the room. “Let me introduce you to Ellie and Jonathan Carter, who must, like else everyone in the room, be some sort of distant cousins of ours.”

Ellie, Connie was relieved to note, was considerably less threatening to look at than Lucinda. Connie judged her to be a couple years older than herself and she had a chatty manner and bright eyes that missed nothing. Ellie explained she was a New Yorker, born and bred. She was also unmarried.

Jonathan was her older brother. Tall and handsome, with dark hair and penetrating green eyes, he was quiet to the point of taciturnity. Ellie informed Connie that he worked for a firm of accountants, but he was also an aspiring author. Jonathan, who seemed annoyed his sister had shared this personal information with a complete stranger, moved away to look at the view out the window.

“The news of the moment is that Sylvester will be joining us anytime now.” Ellie clearly had no idea of the heart-dropping effect those words had on Connie.

A light step outside was the signal they had all been listening for. A laughing, masculine voice responded to something Vega was saying and then Sylvester stepped into the room. He paused on the doorstep, those brilliant eyes scanning the company.

Connie willed herself to remain outwardly calm, despite the fact her heartbeat was thundering in her ears. Thinking fast, she placed her glass on a nearby side table so no one would notice and comment on the sudden trembling of her hands.

Sylvester’s eyes seemed to linger on each face. Except hers. He didn’t even glance in Connie’s direction. Yet she knew, just knew with a certainty that branded itself into her heart, that he was as intensely aware of her as she was of him. You can’t possibly know that. She tried to force her rational self to take over, to stop this nonsense now. You are trying to make this into something it’s not. It was no good. Whatever this force was that existed between her and Sylvester, the very air between them shimmered with the ferocity of it.

“What sort of dreadful host arrives after his guests have assembled? I do hope you’ll forgive me.” Sylvester’s easy charm was legendary. Up close, it was devastating. In an instant the whole room was his to command. Connie was immediately aware of the strangeness of the phrase. Why would he want the sort of power that allows him to command us? It was a long time since she’d drunk alcohol and a few sips of Guthrie’s potent rum punch were clearly sending her imagination into overdrive. Water for you from now on, my girl. If only she could do something about the equally forceful impact of Sylvester’s presence. “Vega tells me dinner is ready.”

He led them into a long, hacienda-style dining room. The arched, full-length windows were open onto the terrace, allowing them views over the beach. A light breeze wafted the mingled scents of mimosa flowers, citrus and the tang of the sea into the room. Connie couldn’t help contrasting this elegant scene with years of eating takeaway meals, or sometimes nothing at all, alone in a meager room, while planning her next one-step-ahead-of-the-madman journey. Would she take luxury and tension over poverty and terror? She almost laughed aloud at the stupidity of her own question.

Sylvester took his place at the head of the table and immediately started a conversation about sailing with Ellie, who was on his right. Lucinda was quick to claim the seat on his left. Connie moved to a chair as far away from Sylvester as possible. She was glad to look up and receive an encouraging smile from Matt as he slid into the seat opposite her.

Guthrie was next to Connie, and she was surprised to learn he and Lucinda were twins. She wondered why on earth he allowed himself to be bullied by her and supposed it must be a habit that had started in the womb.

Vega’s food was delicious. Made with fresh ingredients, each dish was well cooked and plentiful. For Connie, who had spent plenty of time wondering where her next meal was coming from, it was heavenly. As she ate, Connie found her ears tuning out Guthrie’s comments and listening, almost with a will of their own, to the conversation going on beyond him at the head of the table.

“Whatever have you done to your hand?” Ellie asked as Sylvester struggled to cut his food.

“Didn’t you hear?” Lucinda cut in before Sylvester could speak. “Cousin Sylvester was so shocked by the appearance of some of our little group that he crushed his wineglass in his hand.”

Connie risked a glance at Sylvester’s face. It was impassive, but there was a flash of something in those blue eyes that might have been anger. He turned to Ellie. “Lucinda is joking, of course. I have nothing to blame for my injury other than my own clumsiness.” His voice was dismissive and Connie got the distinct impression he was making an effort not to look in her direction as he spoke. Perhaps he was able to convince himself that what he said was true. She knew better, and so did everyone else who had been present at the time.

Determinedly, Connie turned back to Guthrie. She had made a pact with herself to keep her distance from Sylvester. She should probably include eavesdropping on his conversation as part of the deal. Not an easy task in a group as small as this one.

Once he was free of Lucinda’s tight rein, Guthrie proved to be surprisingly good company. He kept Connie entertained with a steady stream of anecdotes about his job as a junior manager in a convenience store chain.

His life appeared to lurch from one comical episode to another. Although he was at pains to let Connie know how invaluable he was to his company, reading between the lines she speculated about how competent he actually was. An alarming number of unfortunate incidents seemed to occur in his working life. She decided Guthrie was one of those people for whom it was always somebody else’s problem or somebody else’s fault. He consumed a remarkable amount of alcohol during the course of the meal and Connie couldn’t help wondering how much of a contribution drink made to the mishaps that befell him.

It was during the main course of Spanish-style chicken and rice that Connie’s attention, along with that of everyone else at the table, was drawn back to Sylvester as Lucinda began to question him about the history of the island.

“The word Corazón means heart in Spanish, of course.” Lucinda’s penetrating voice carried around the room. “And the island is well known for its heart-shaped coastline. So I assume that is where the name came from?”

“You assume wrong.” Although Sylvester’s tone was softer, his words were equally compelling. Other conversations stopped as they all turned to look at him. “The island’s full name is Corazón de Malicia. It means ‘malevolent heart’ or ‘heart of malice.’”

“But that’s nowhere near as pretty.” Lucinda pouted. “In fact, it makes it sound quite nasty.”

“That’s because the story of how the island came by its name is nasty.” Sylvester paused, taking a sip from his glass.

As though drawn by a force beyond his will, he looked directly at Connie for the first time since he had entered the room. And nothing else mattered. The people around them faded into insignificance. Time stilled. In that instant she could sense his feelings as clearly as she knew her own. There was no doubt in her mind. She knew his reaction on the beach had not been about the scars on her neck. This was something deeper and darker, and it was inside them both. Neither of them wanted it, yet at the same time it was unavoidable. They could be silent and reserved, avoid each other’s gaze and pretend, but when their eyes did meet—as they met now—there was no hiding place for either of them. Connie didn’t try to understand what was going on; all she knew was that when she gazed into Sylvester’s eyes her heart leaped with a combination of joy, fear and something older and unfathomable. And she never wanted to look anywhere else.

“Well, you can’t say that and then not explain!” Lucinda’s indignant exclamation had the effect of rousing Sylvester from his trance.

Connie caught a brief flash of regret in his eyes as he withdrew them from hers. Then a slightly mischievous smile touched his lips as he turned to Lucinda. “Very well, but it’s a strange tale and an old one. I can’t vouch for its truthfulness. It concerns an ancestor of mine, one Máximo Silvestre de León y Soledad.”

“Are you named after him?” Ellie asked.

The smile deepened. “Of course. The name was handed down through the generations...and Americanized in the process, of course. Máximo was the founder of our great family.”

“And is it true? Are you descended from Ponce de León himself?”

“There are no formal records, but it’s a link that has repeatedly been made. Not necessarily within my own family.”

“How amazing!” Lucinda’s eyes sparkled. “To think you can trace your family tree back to the man who discovered Florida.”

Sylvester’s smile had vanished now and his voice held a harsh note that was unlike his usual charming tone. “I prefer to think Florida was here all along and needed no discovery by the Spanish. But, back to the story of Máximo...

“Juan Ponce de León’s intention when he arrived here in 1521 was to set up a Spanish colony in La Florida, or the place of flowers, as he had named it on his earlier visit. When he arrived, he encountered a hostile reception from the native Calusa Indians. In a skirmish, Ponce de León was shot in the thigh with a poisoned arrow and, although he managed to escape to Cuba, he died of the wound. Máximo fared rather better. His life was spared by the Calusa. It was an unusual move. They were not known for their merciful nature. On the contrary, they were known to be quite savage to their enemies.”

“Is it known why they changed their habits for Máximo?” It was Matt who spoke up this time. Although he lounged back in his seat, he, like everyone else around the table, appeared to have picked up on the tense atmosphere generated by the story.

“There has been much speculation. Perhaps it was Máximo’s personal charm—according to records kept at the time, he was accounted a very charismatic man—although the ability to enchant an entire warlike tribe must have been quite an achievement.”

Watching his face as he spoke, listening to that, soft, lyrical voice, Connie could believe the Máximo of all those years ago had possessed that sort of magnetism. His descendant certainly did.

“The most popular theory is a high-ranking Calusa maiden, possibly the daughter of a chief, appealed for mercy on his behalf.”

“So Máximo was a bit of a ladies’ man?” Guthrie gave a smirk around the table.