A Spanish Passion: A Spanish Marriage / A Spanish Engagement / Spanish Doctor, Pregnant Nurse

But her bout of sentimentality took a nosedive when he announced, ‘And because I care about your future I insist you finish your education.’

Waiting at traffic lights he glanced across at her. Mutiny writ large on her expressive features, she said on a note of triumph, ‘I ran away. They won’t take me back!’

‘You’re enrolled in a sixth-form college in Gloucester. Joe Ramsay will drive you in and collect you daily. You may remember Mrs Ramsay, my housekeeper? Joe’s her husband and looks after the grounds. Mrs Ramsay will look after you when I’m not at the lodge.’

Of course she remembered Ethel Ramsay. She had let her help make the mince pies. She remembered everything about the last happy Christmas with her parents, but rarely looked back because it still hurt too much and made her feel weepy when she wanted to be tough.

‘And another thing.’ Javier hardened his heart. Someone had to tell her she looked like the trollop she wasn’t. ‘The way you’re dressed gives the wrong impression.’ How to get the message through without making her feel cheap? ‘Besides, it doesn’t do you justice. You’re a pretty kid and, as I recall, your hair was beautiful.’

Discounting the iffy ‘kid’ bit, ‘Pretty and Beautiful’ were like manna from heaven. She shot him a wide-eyed look.

‘And?’ she asked, scarcely daring to breathe, wondering if his caring was beginning to get a bit more personal.

‘You wash that ghastly colour out and let it grow again, and you and I will go shopping for clothes that strike a happy medium between someone’s ancient aunt and a slapper. Do we have a bargain?’

It wasn’t nearly as personal as she’d have liked, nothing like a declaration that he fancied her. As if! But it was all a darn sight better than being stuck with Grandmother Alice. And who knew? Living with each other for the next year and a half or so—and maybe even longer, until she was twenty-one, say—he might come to look on her as a young woman instead of a kid. And she’d do anything he asked of her but she wasn’t going to let him know that. So. ‘Let me get this straight. I go back to school.’ A theatrical groan. ‘You dictate how I look instead of Grandmother Alice. What’s in it for me?’

Javier smothered a grin. He could recognise manipulation when he saw it. The poor kid would have had a miserable eight years with Alice Rothwell and wasn’t about to agree to more of the same. ‘You do as I want and in term breaks you get grown-up treats. Winter skiing, holidays in Spain. Paris, maybe—whatever you fancy. A deal?’

Happiness threatened to choke her. All that—with him! Heaven had arrived on earth!

‘Done!’

CHAPTER ONE

Two and a half years later…

‘I’M EVER so sorry for bothering you, Mr Masters,’ Ethel Ramsay ventured as Javier slammed the car door behind him with force and strode over the gravel to where she had the main door of Wakeham Lodge open. With a quiver of apprehension the housekeeper noted the tension in his wide mouth, the rigid set of his shoulders beneath the white cotton shirt he wore.

Smouldering with anger, that was what he was, anyone could see that! And she could understand it because making sure the construction empire that straddled the world ran on oiled wheels kept him flat out, so he wouldn’t exactly thank her for dragging him back here, but she’d been so concerned, so had Joe—

‘You did exactly right, Ethel,’ Javier said, making a conscious effort to keep his tone moderate in view of the trepidation in her mild brown eyes. ‘If anyone should apologise it is I. I should have kept a closer eye on things.’

His fault entirely. He’d kept actual face-to-face contact with Zoe to a minimum for the last fourteen months, ever since that episode beside the swimming pool behind his parents’ winter home in Southern Andalucia. He’d thought it best. He now feared he’d been wrong. His lack of judgement in this case made him furious with himself.

‘So where is she?’ he questioned as something that looked like a cross between a small hairy hearthrug and a jack-in-the-box shot between his straddled legs and out onto the drive, where it sat, panting in the hot June sun, its head tipped expectantly. ‘What the hell is that?’

‘Boysie.’ Ethel relaxed a little. It would seem that the letter she’d written wasn’t responsible for that obvious annoyance, and she felt easier already. Her employer rarely lost his temper but when he did it was spectacular. She hadn’t wanted to bring his wrath down on her own head.

She gave a resigned shrug but her eyes smiled as they rested on the small dog. ‘Miss Zoe’s stray. They’re devoted to each other. He’d been wandering the village street for days so she took him in. He leaves hairs all over, I’m afraid, but we have rid him of fleas.’

Javier vented a sigh. So the menagerie had increased by one very ugly dog. At the last count she’d collected three cats from the local rescue centre and an abandoned fox cub, now thankfully half grown, fit and healthy and released back into the wild.

Emotionally starved for most of her formative years, Zoe needed something to love, so her menagerie was fine by him. At least he was no longer the recipient—

‘Where is she now?’ He repeated his query, walking further into the coolness of the wide hallway.

‘On a driving lesson.’ Ethel’s kindly face puckered with a concern Javier didn’t then understand. A few weeks ago Zoe had phoned him with the perfectly reasonable request that she have her own car. After all, she was pushing nineteen. The trustees had agreed and had coughed up. So a driving lesson gave him no problems and allowed him more time to delve deeper into his housekeeper’s worrying written request, faxed through to him on a construction site in northern France by his senior PA. ‘You are needed here,’ it had informed him. ‘Miss Zoe’s got mixed up with a wild crowd. Me and Joe do our best but it isn’t enough.’

He needed to know far more before he confronted Zoe.

‘Then you’ve time to paint a clearer picture.’ One hand cupping her plump elbow, he drew her into the sunlit drawing room, where she refused to sit, just stated with breathy agitation, ‘The driving’s part of the bigger problem. She—Miss Zoe, bless her, insisted on buying one of those flashy sports cars. Joe tried to persuade her to go for something more suited to a learner but she wouldn’t listen, she’d rather listen to the likes of that Oliver Sherman. And do you know what? He somehow persuaded her to let him keep the car, and he comes up here in it most afternoons to take her out supposedly to teach her to drive, and he’s already smashed up two of his own cars to my certain knowledge! And that’s not the worst of it.’ Her face was getting steadily redder. ‘She’s taken up with a fast crowd, at least they took up with her—mostly for what they can get out of her, is what me and Joe reckon. You’ll know, of course, how her allowance got a hefty lift upwards after she turned eighteen—well, it goes on that crowd of hangers-on and that Sherman is the worst of them. Always hanging around her. I’ve tried to warn her, so has Joe, but she takes not a bit of notice. She stays out all hours. I’ve caught her coming in at dawn often enough. And another thing—’

Her catalogue of woes was cut short by the sound of an engine at speed, the squeal of brakes and the showering of gravel. ‘That will be them—’

His mouth set in a hard, flat line, Javier strode out with long, impatient steps. The bright yellow Lotus was parked alongside his Jag and even through the windscreen he could see that Zoe looked shaken. His mouth took on a grimmer line.

Ignoring her for the moment—he’d deal with her later—he wrenched open the driver’s side door and removed the ignition keys.

‘Out!’ The single word exploded with cutting arrogance.

The initial look of utter shock was replaced by sulky belligerence on Oliver Sherman’s playboy-pretty features. ‘And what if I won’t?’ he muttered.

‘I didn’t hear that,’ Javier gritted. What he knew of Sherman, spoiled only child of a local estate agent with a decidedly dubious reputation, put him firmly in the low-life category. He didn’t want him anywhere near Zoe. ‘You’ve two seconds to get out under your own steam.’ His voice carried a steely threat that the younger, shorter man wisely chose not to ignore.

‘Start walking.’

‘But—’ An ugly tide of red swept over the blond’s face, his pale blue eyes swivelling over the roof of the car to where Zoe was standing, a wriggling, face-licking Boysie high in her arms. As if his courage had been bolstered by that moment of eye contact, he drawled, ‘Zoe allows me use of her car; it’s not for you to say.’

‘No?’

Unwavering grey eyes turned to black ice. Shrivelled, Oliver Sherman took a shaky backwards step, turned, and began to walk.

For a moment or two, Zoe watched his retreat with a surge of relief. Ollie hadn’t let her behind the wheel at all today, claiming he had better things to do than sit beside a learner who didn’t know her clutch from her windscreen washer.

He’d driven them up onto Kenley Common and tried it on. She was used to his passes, his protestations of love and marriage proposals and could handle them one hand tied behind her back, no problem.

But today he’d got really heavy and she’d literally had to fight him off, and that wasn’t her idea of harmless fun. And coming back he’d driven like a maniac, which hadn’t been a bundle of laughs, either.

Happily, she dismissed him from her mind. She was supposed to be seeing him tonight with some of the others, and no doubt he would try to make a joke out of her guardian’s old-fashioned heavy-handedness and if she defended him, as she knew she would, they would think she was really uncool. Besides, she didn’t want to go clubbing while Javier was here. So she’d cancel.

She turned her attention to Javier, a river of delicious excitement running right through her. He was still watching Ollie tramp down the long drive. The moment she’d seen him walk out to the car, his face like a thundercloud, her heart had soared on wings of joy. He’d been away for so long. She’d missed him for every minute of every day. Giving Boysie one last cuddle, she set the little dog down on its small hairy feet and walked round the bonnet of her gorgeous little car towards him.

Dancing eyes watched the way he slid her car keys into the pocket of the sleek-fitting dark trousers of a business suit, watched the play of seriously honed shoulder muscles beneath the fine white cotton of his shirt as he at last turned to face her.

‘You came! You remembered!’ She could hardly get the words out through a smile wide enough to split her face in two, through the absence of breath that always afflicted her when in his presence.

He said nothing, just studied her through the thick veiling of those heavy black lashes, his beautiful all-male features impassive. ‘Remembered?’ he enquired blankly.

So he hadn’t come to celebrate her birthday with her tomorrow. Her smile slipped then powered out again. It didn’t matter. He was here, that was all that mattered. She desperately wanted to hurl herself at him and give him a huge hug of welcome but knew she mustn’t. After what had happened in Spain he would think she was making amorous advances again. Her cheeks reddened at the embarrassing memory of how crass and obvious she’d been.

Belatedly, she answered his question with a tiny dismissive shrug. ‘Nothing. Forget it.’ This time her smile was simply polite. She must make herself remember not to wear her heart on her sleeve. ‘It’s lovely to see you. How long are you staying?’ If he said five minutes she’d curl up and die with disappointment!

He gave her a level look as inner anger stirred. He should have kept a closer watch over her, dammit. A flash of memory seared his brain. The only holiday he’d shared with her. At his parents’ winter home near Almeria. Zoe scrambling out of the pool as he approached. Her tiny bikini. Throwing herself at him, arms clinging, lips kissing, lips saying ‘I love you, love you! I always have!’

His put-down had been firm but kind. Surely he’d been kind? Whatever, the incident had thrown him off balance, making him neglect a duty for the first time in his adult life. He’d kept physically well away from her, knowing that the schoolgirl crush would fade to nothing but an embarrassing memory if it had nothing to feed on.

He vented an impatient breath. He was wasting time. He wasn’t here to beat himself up over past mistakes. He gave back, ‘Long enough to sort out your immediate future. Shall we go in?’