Surrender To The Ruthless Billionaire

Segovia. Finally he was home.

He had deliberately left the motorway some twenty minutes earlier in order to enjoy this moment—a moment of private communion with the city of his childhood.

A city he loved.

A city he’d shunned for five years.

Five years that had felt like a life sentence.

Although really he’d got off lightly...

His breath caught in his chest and he felt a twisting rush of guilt that made his hands tighten painfully around the handlebar grips.

It was the same guilt that had almost stopped him from coming home. But this time he’d had no choice. His mother’s sixtieth birthday was a celebration he couldn’t miss, whatever the consequences to himself, and so he’d reluctantly agreed to fly in the morning before her party then catch a flight back to California at the weekend.

Her actual birthday was just over a week later, and he knew that his parents had been hoping he would stay. He’d wanted to, and he would have done so only—

Only that would mean forgetting the past and trying to celebrate a present none of them had ever imagined, much less wanted. There was no way he could face that. Nor could he imagine being able to keep his emotions locked down for longer than a couple of days.

It would be better—easier and less painful—to go to the party, so that was what he’d agreed with his parents.

His jaw tightened. He knew they were disappointed but he could live with that. His mouth thinned. In fact he welcomed their disappointment, for he deserved it more than they knew.

But then without telling them he’d changed his mind and instead he’d flown to Athens a month earlier than planned, bought this bike and taken the road trip across Europe that he and his brother, Bas, had promised to do together.

It was the best, the only way he could think to honour Bas’s memory.

His head swam and he felt the same surge of guilt and loneliness that came whenever he thought about his brother. Bas—Baltasar—his best friend as well as his brother. And now he was gone.

On the flight over he’d told himself that it was the right time to come back, that five years of self-imposed exile would be long enough. Only now that he was here he knew that he’d been kidding himself. That nothing—no words, no gestures—could atone for what he’d done.

But he couldn’t just sit there, trapped in the endless maze of his thoughts. Soon enough he was going to have to face his past—but not yet. First he wanted just one last night—not of freedom but of fantasy. A chance to cheat time...to forget who he was and what he’d done.

He breathed out slowly, listening to his heartbeat, and then, twisting the throttle, he leaned forward, feeling the bike move beneath him as he accelerated down the road.

After the wide emptiness of the motorway the city streets seemed narrow and busy. Braking gently to avoid an elderly couple crossing the road, Luis glanced up at the five-star Palacio Alfonso VI hotel. It was tempting to book a room there. Despite his dishevelled appearance, he had no doubt that the roll of banknotes in his back pocket would ensure a warm welcome.

But right now he needed more than a generous-sized bed and a power shower. He wanted anonymity. And he wouldn’t get that in a hotel like the Alfonso VI.

Scooting down the side streets, he found what he was looking for twenty minutes later. This hotel only had two stars, and it was not central. But it was clean and unobtrusive, and the dueño was a keen biker himself. Not only did he have a lock-up for the bike, he offered to pressure-wash it too.

Two hours later, having showered and changed into his cleanest pair of jeans and a plain black T-shirt, Luis walked back out onto the street. The dueño had obviously kept his promise—aside from a couple of scratches to the metalwork, his bike looked just as it had when it had left the showroom and, climbing on, he set off towards the city centre.

It was warm enough for him not to need his battered leather jacket, but over the last few days he’d grown comfortable wearing it—he particularly liked the way it seemed to discourage anyone from trying to make conversation.

Although, remembering his reflection in the hotel bathroom’s small mirror, it seemed unlikely that would be a problem anyway. The dark, rough stubble shadowing his jaw and the coolness in his equally dark grey eyes would probably deter all but the most persistent or thick-skinned of people from talking to him.

Outside, the light was starting to fade as he made his way through the crowds spilling off the pavements. He had no real idea of where he was going, and yet for once he didn’t care. He was happy to drift through the streets for it felt so familiar—the warm night, the buzz of chatter and laughter, the smell of oranges and exhaust fumes.

It was as though the last five years had never happened. If he closed his eyes he could almost imagine that Bas was there beside him, that at any moment he would slap him round the shoulder and tell him to lighten up, because tonight was the night he would meet the woman of his dreams.

Lost in thought, he stared dazedly across the square.

As a child, the four years between them had felt vast. Then his big brother had been so much taller than him, handsome, sporty. The coolest person on the planet, in fact. Of course he’d got older and grown taller himself, until finally they were the same height. But in his head nothing had changed. Bas had always been his big brother, always at the centre of everything, his dark eyes pinballing across the room to whatever beautiful girl had caught his attention.

Whatever beautiful girl had caught his attention...

The words were still echoing inside his head as he sidestepped carefully through the groups of people pacing the pavements like glossy thoroughbreds in a paddock when from nowhere his gaze collided with a pair of soft brown eyes the colour of dulce de leche.

For a fraction of a second heat—unexpected and all-consuming—burned his skin. He registered traffic-stopping red hair, a husky laugh and long golden limbs. And then, just like that, she was gone, swallowed into the crowd funnelling through the doorway into a nightclub.

He stared after her, motionless, another ripple of heat that had nothing to do with the air temperature thrumming across his skin. And then moving swiftly, he did something he’d never done before. He followed her.

Inside, the club was exactly the kind of place he loathed and normally avoided. Hot, loud and crowded, with a dress code and a VIP area. The men were sleek and groomed, the women doubly so.

But he spotted her as soon as he stepped through the door.

How could he not?

Even without the warning beacons of that striking auburn hair and those matching crimson lips, the young men congregating around her like a pack of hungry coyotes made her impossible to miss.

He gritted his teeth. It was easy to see the attraction.

Her feminine curves promised the kind of pleasure that men would fight for with their fists, and she was beautiful and confident in her charms in a way that reminded him painfully of his brother. But that was where the similarity ended, for Bas had never sought the attention he’d received, whereas this woman was deliberately using her beauty and her body to seduce.

His groin tightened as his eyes swept over her.

Okay, maybe that wasn’t completely fair.

Her bright yellow top covered her arms and breasts, and her shorts were actually modest in comparison to those worn by most of the women in the club. But they still revealed an inordinate amount of long golden legs—legs that ended in some of the highest heels he’d even seen. And in fact, now that he was closer, he could see that her top was actually transparent!

His face hardened. Basically, she was sexy and she knew it.

So not his type at all—and yet he had followed her.

Still not entirely sure why he had done that, but somehow reluctant to leave, Luis shrugged off his jacket and pushed his way to the front of the bar.

‘Una sin.’

At least that was something that had changed for the better in the five years since he’d been away. Alcohol-free beer was widely available now, and an acceptable substitute for the real thing.

Not that it would have made any difference if it hadn’t been. He would drink dishwater rather than break his vow. Never again would he risk that loss of control that had ripped his world apart.

Staring straight ahead, he lifted the glass to his lips. He had deliberately chosen to sit with his back to the red-haired woman, and she should have been out of sight and out of mind. But, despite not actually being able to see her, he could still sense her every move. Could picture her hand reaching up to tuck her hair behind her ear, almost hear that soft, sexy laugh that hinted not just at fun and flirtation but at a fantasy come true.

Annoyed with the direction of his thoughts, but unable to stop himself, he looked up at the mirror above the bar, his eyes fixing on her reflection. Instantly he regretted his lack of self-control, for she was laughing at something one of the men was saying, her hand brushing against his arm as she leaned in closer to him.

Luis scowled. No doubt he was her boyfriend—for now. The rest were just watching and waiting. Or maybe she was watching and waiting to see which of the men in the room were prepared to make a move.