The Spanish Groom

Blinking in hot-faced bewilderment that he had actually noticed she almost never looked directly at him, Dixie glanced up.

César’s aggressive jawline eased only slightly. ‘That’s only one of your most annoying habits.’

As he turned away, Dixie cleared her throat awkwardly. ‘What did you tell Miss Stevens to explain why you are hiring her for my benefit?’

Complete surprise flared in his stunning eyes. ‘I don’t explain my actions to anyone. Why should I?’

Why should I? The baseline on the way César Valverde lived his entire life, Dixie registered. He was so self-contained, so unapologetic about guarding his privacy. Naturally he wouldn’t have the slightest inhibition about snubbing people who exercised their curiosity.

‘Dixie…we’d better get started,’ Gilda Stevens called. ‘We’ll begin with a weigh-in.’

Dixie hadn’t been on the scales since she was sixteen, and inside herself she simply cowered.

‘I’LL SEE YOU TOMORROW,’ Gilda told Dixie.

Face-down on a mat, perspiring freely, Dixie tried to nod, but even that took muscle power and she decided not to bother. After all, at some stage she would have to get up, walk…well, maybe crawl, she decided. She was beyond caring about putting a proud face on her exhaustion.

‘You’re out of condition,’ her torturer sighed as she took her leave. ‘But now I’ve shown you the ropes you’ll be able to follow through on your own every day.’

Every day. Dixie suppressed a groan but she forced a grateful smile. Gilda might be tough, pitiless and completely lacking in the humour department, but she had worked out alongside her and had been tireless in her efforts to ensure that Dixie did every single exercise correctly. Horribly, hatefully tireless.

Left alone, Dixie slowly slid into a comfortable doze. The sound of footsteps made her stir. Tipping back her head, she focused sleepily on Fisher’s polished shoes.

‘Where would you like to eat lunch?’ the butler asked.

‘Here will do.’

A tray was set on the floor. A plate piled high with salad greens and raw slivers of vegetable awaited her.

‘I never liked salad,’ Dixie confided guiltily.

‘It’s a detoxifying diet, I believe,’ Fisher commented. ‘You do get a whole grapefruit mid-afternoon.’

Dixie’s tastebuds shuddered, but she was so hungry she munched at a piece of celery. ‘I like starchy food. I like meat, pasta with lashings of cheese…chocolate fudge cake,’ she enumerated longingly, mouth watering as she fantasised.

Another pair of shoes appeared in her field of vision. Italian leather casuals with handstitched seams. She froze.

‘But you’re not allowed to cheat,’ César Valverde drawled.

‘I thought you were at the bank,’ Dixie said accusingly.

‘I intend to keep an eye on this project. Just as well,’ César condemned. ‘Gilda’s gone, and here you are lazing about like you’re on holiday!’

‘I’m so weak I can’t move!’ Dixie gasped in disbelief.

César crouched down to her level with athletic ease. Hard dark eyes assailed her dismayed orbs in a head-on collision. ‘I checked your staff medical. You’re healthy. There’s no reason why you shouldn’t follow a structured fitness regime. Why didn’t you change into one of the exercise outfits I had sent over?’

They had all looked so incredibly small, and Dixie hadn’t fancied struggling to squeeze herself into figure-hugging garments with Gilda around.

‘You’re over-tired because you let yourself get far too hot.’

‘I need to eat to have energy,’ Dixie muttered self-pityingly.

César dealt her a chilling glance of reproof. ‘Your attitude to this is all wrong. In fact your attitude to life in general is your biggest flaw. You’re so convinced you’re going to fail you won’t even bother trying!’

‘I’ll follow the schedule…OK?’

‘That’s not good enough. I want one hundred and five per cent commitment from you.’ As César studied her with fulminating intensity, his jawline squared. ‘Keep in mind what this is costing me. The sum total of your debts was considerable. And if you haven’t learnt it yet, learn it now. There is no such thing as a free lunch.’

Having paled during that crushing speech, Dixie could no longer meet his ruthlessly intent gaze. ‘I…I—’

‘I paid for the right to expect you to stick to your side of this deal. Start slacking and you’ll have me standing over you with a stopwatch! And if you think Gilda’s bad, you ain’t seen nothing yet!’ César swore in unapologetic threat.

THAT EVENING, SCOTT’S welcoming, ‘Am I glad to see you!’ was balm to Dixie’s low self-esteem when she arrived on his doorstep.

Shyly pushing her heavy fringe off her brow, Dixie smiled up at him. Tall, slim and fair-haired, Scott responded with a friendly punch that hurt her shoulder, and showed her straight into his kitchen.

‘I had some friends staying for a couple of days. What a mess they left this place in!’ he complained.

‘I’ll soon have it sorted out,’ Dixie told him eagerly.

On his way back out again, Scott glanced at her and then frowned slightly. Pausing in the doorway, he stared at her. ‘Have you done something to your hair or changed your make-up or something?’

Dixie tensed. ‘No…I don’t wear make-up.’

‘It must be the colour in your cheeks. You look almost pretty.’ Scott shook his handsome head over this apparently amazing development, frowned as if he was rather surprised to have noticed the fact, and departed, leaving her to the mounds of dishes stacked on every available surface.

Almost pretty. In real shock at the very first compliment Scott had ever deigned to pay her, Dixie hovered in the centre of his filthy kitchen with a dreamy look on her face. Colour in her cheeks? It was the effect of the exercise, it had to be! Maybe the detoxifying diet was starting to work already! Scott had finally noticed that she was female…

Suddenly feeling like a woman on a mission that might just miraculously transform her life, Dixie swore to herself that she would be up early the next day and into the gym to work out. Humming happily, she washed dishes, scrubbed the floor and cleaned the cooker.

‘I don’t know how you do it!’ Scott exclaimed appreciatively as he paused by the kitchen door in the act of donning his jacket. ‘What would I do without you, Dixie?’

Like a starved plant suddenly plunged into water and sunlight, Dixie blossomed and beamed at him.

‘I’m off now, but there’s no need for you to hurry home,’ Scott assured her. ‘And if you could find the time to run the vacuum cleaner round the sitting room, I’d be really grateful.’

‘No problem,’ Dixie hurried to tell him. ‘Is the washing machine fixed yet?’

‘No, the mechanic’s coming on Wednesday.’ Scott grimaced. ‘He says I must have one of those rogue machines.’

Dixie followed him to his front door with the aspect of someone walking on hallowed ground. ‘Hot date?’ she asked with laden casualness.

‘Yeah. A real stunner too,’ Scott chuckled. ‘See you, Dixie!’

‘See you,’ she whispered, closing the door in his wake.

It was after ten when Dixie and Spike got back to César Valverde’s imposing home. She had to use the front door and press the bell to gain entry. She just hadn’t been able to bring herself to leave Scott’s apartment sooner, not until she had polished every piece of furniture and vacuumed every inch of carpet. As Fisher said goodnight to her, Dixie gave him a vague smile and drifted away.