The Spaniard's Summer Seduction: Under the Spaniard's Lock and Key / The Secret Spanish Love-Child / Surrender to Her Spanish Husband

He turned his head briefly and flashed her a grin that did not reach his steely eyes. ‘Yes.’

Her jaw tightened as she angled a narrow-eyed glare of seething dislike at his profile. ‘You really must be Mr Popularity.’

‘People generally overlook my manners.’

‘You’re not that good-looking,’ she lied, then flushed at the implied compliment.

‘I’m crushed,’ he said, sounding anything but.

‘It shows,’ she retorted, wondering how she could ever have thought this man sensitive and charming—he was a shallow, arrogant chauvinist.

‘But I am that rich.’

This boast drew a scornful snort. ‘I suppose you own this half of the mountain,’ she said, nodding to the towering bleak presence to their left.

‘And the other half and the village and two others actually.’

‘And I’m a duchess. I’m not that gullible, and you’re not that good a liar and as for your…wow!’ Maggie let out a silent whistle, her gaze riveted on the illuminated façade of a stone castle complete with turrets that loomed before them. ‘That is the most incredible hotel I have ever seen!’ she admitted, envying the glamorous people who must stay at a place like that.

Was he planning on staying there?

If so, it was distinctly possible he hadn’t been exaggerating the rich part. Well, that was one problem solved—they would have to part company. A place like that would not let her through the door looking like this.

‘It is not a hotel.’

‘You mean a family still lives there?’ What an anachronism, she thought, in this day and age for one family to occupy so much space, but maybe seeing it sold off to a developer might be a worse crime.

Directing his car through large ornate wrought-iron gates that swished open silently at their approach, Rafael shook his head as he drove down the avenue lined with lime trees.

‘No, just one person.’

‘All that for one person…’ She stopped, the colour receding from her already pale face as the penny finally dropped. ‘It’s yours, isn’t it?’

CHAPTER EIGHT

HE confirmed her suspicion with a tiny nod of his head. ‘You can use the landline to leave that message about your change of plans.’

‘My plans haven’t changed.’ Maggie found herself protesting to his back.

She was presuming they were expected because as his feet hit the gravel people started to appear. Presumably, she thought sourly, to respond to the commands he was issuing—at command issuing he was definitely not an amateur.

Maggie began to struggle with the car door, her spirits slightly buoyed because she realised that all she had to do was ask the hotel to send a taxi out to pick her up.

She wasn’t stranded or reliant on Rafael.

‘Allow me.’

Of course the door opened smoothly for him. Maggie nodded her head in an attitude of cold courtesy. ‘Thank you.’ It was good to feel in control again—you wish.

‘Can you manage or shall I carry you again?’

Was that a joke? Maggie decided she didn’t want to know. She pushed away the memory of being held in his arms and waving a hand in a shooing gesture, snapped crankily, ‘I’ve told you I’m fine.’

Catching sight of her reflection in the wing mirror, she realised that she did not look fine.

The inner masochist in her made Maggie take a second look, she barely repressed a groan.

It wasn’t hard to see why the smouldering Spaniard had stopped smouldering, and who could blame him for going off her big time?

Her hair had returned to its natural curly state; surrounding her face in a dark tangled froth and hanging loose down her back, it made her look scary. As for her face minus all make-up and plus a lot of dirt… She closed her eyes and thought it was just as well the seduction idea was off the menu.

‘We have mirrors inside.’

His tall figure, backlit by the light streaming through the open door, stood there, his arms folded across his exposed chest radiating impatience.

Maggie gave a grimace, embarrassed at being caught out staring at her reflection. ‘I’m coming,’ she huffed, jogging to catch him up.

Rafael watched her approach with a frown. ‘Slow down. There’s no fire.’

Maggie rolled her eyes. ‘Make up your mind!’ It seemed to her that it didn’t really matter what she did—as far as this man was concerned it would be the wrong thing.

The massive metal-banded oak door she followed him through opened directly into what appeared to be an old banqueting hall complete with roaring fire, suits of armour and tapestries on the stone walls.

How many centuries had his family lived here? she thought, wondering what it must be like to trace your roots this far back. Her eyes widened…my God!

She spun around. ‘I’ve forgotten your full name.’

He blinked at the confession. ‘Rafael-Luis Castenadas,’ he revealed, watching her face carefully for a reaction.

There was none. If she had come to search for her mother, he would have thought she would be more than familiar with the name.

‘Ramon will show you where you can use the phone.’

‘You…?’ She was talking to his back. She wrapped her arms around her body, fighting the vulnerable sensation—vulnerable because Rafael Castenadas’s presence did not offer her security.

Quite the contrary was true.

A tall thin man wearing a dark suit and a sombre expression, presumably the Ramon in question, escorted Maggie to a room off an inner hallway. Despite the massive dimensions it was actually quite cosy-looking, with book-lined walls, vibrant-coloured rugs on the polished wood floor and a fire burning in the open fireplace.

To complete the domestic picture a dog of indeterminate parentage lay asleep on one of the large sofas. It opened one eye when Maggie walked in, wagged its tail and went back to sleep.

The thin man nodded towards the phone, and went to leave.

‘No…don’t…’ She dropped her outstretched hand when he turned.

‘Can I help you?’

She gave a sigh of relief. ‘Great, you speak English. I was wondering, where am I exactly…the address, I mean, of here? Does here have a name?’