Marrying for King's Millions / The Spanish Aristocrat's Woman: Marrying for King's Millions

“I guess.” He didn’t want to talk to her right now, but he also was tired of thinking, so he supposed he was grateful for the reprieve.

She turned to look at him and exasperation glittered in her eyes. “Y’know, Travis,” she said quietly, “I’m not the enemy.”

“Well now, that’s yet to be decided, isn’t it?”

“Apparently.” Julie sat back against the seat, crossed her truly great legs, shook her head and flashed him a glare. “I’ve never lied to you.”

“So you say,” he admitted with a nod even as his gaze locked on the slide of her legs.

“That’s right, I do. We’ve known each other since we were kids, for crying out loud. Do you really think I’d blackmail you?”

“We used to know each other,” he pointed out, still trying to look away from the legs she kept crossing and recrossing in an obvious show of nerves.

“What I can’t figure out is why you’re so willing to believe Jean Claude? You’ve never seen him before but you’re willing to take his word over mine?”

“Why would he lie?”

“He’s a blackmailer and you think lying is beneath him?”

“Why bother?”

“To make you pay him?” she asked.

“He didn’t need to name you as a conspirator to get the cash. So why would he?” He watched her and saw a flash of fire in her eyes. So she wasn’t all nerves. There was temper there, too.

“Because he’s a creep and he wanted to do everything he could to make sure I was miserable and you were furious.” She crossed her arms under her breasts and that movement was enough to pry his gaze from her legs. Her crossed arms plumped up his already excellent view of her cleavage. His gaze lingered for a long minute, until she was uncomfortable enough to ease her arms away.

“Seems like a lot of trouble for him to go to,” Travis mused.

“Didn’t take much on his part at all to turn you into an über-jerk,” she said.

Now his own temper flashed and his was a hell of a lot more intimidating than hers. “Jerk? I think I’ve been pretty damn considerate, considering,” he pointed out. “We’re here, aren’t we? Going to get you that divorce and get married again so that the deal still holds and nobody else is the wiser?”

“Yes,” she said, turning her gaze from him to stare out at the passing sights. “And you’ve been a delightful companion so far, too, so thanks very much.”

He fumed silently. She wanted him to be a companion now? Friendly banter? He’d had potential disaster tossed at his feet on his wedding day and she wanted good company? To hell with that.

Thankfully, their debate ended soon after that. Travis sat up as the limousine approached the hotel. Castello de King, or King’s Castle, was opulent, over-the-top luxurious and owned by family, so it would give him exactly the privacy he required.

It was a huge building, taking up half the block. The walls were a soft pink stone that seemed to shimmer in the late afternoon sun. There were round tower rooms on every corner and leaded glass panes of the windows winked with the sun’s reflection. Built more than a hundred years ago by an American businessman who’d imagined himself royalty, the castle had been purchased by the King family several decades before and turned into a hotel.

But it was only in the last five years or so that the castle had been “discovered” by the famous and infamous.

Travis had always liked the place, and since his cousin Rico had taken over the castle, it had become one of Travis’s favorite vacation spots.

Cameramen and tourists lined the front of the hotel, each of them trying to get a picture of someone interesting, and they all moved reluctantly out of the limo’s way as the driver steered the car onto the property.

Travis imagined how Julie was seeing the place and took it in himself as if for the first time. The driveway was wide and circular, and swept past banks of tropical flowers in every imaginable color. A towering fountain stood in the center of the courtyard and water fell from its tip to dance in its base in an unceasing cascade. Doormen in full white livery waited to serve the wealthy guests who flocked here looking to be spoiled in secure, lavish comfort.

Travis could almost feel the lenses of the paparazzi stationed on the sidewalk in front of the hotel. Their cameras were no doubt focused in to help them in their quest for an embarrassing or incriminating photo of celebrity lives. But they were kept off hotel property by a fleet of security guards, who protected the guests privacy at all costs, which was only one of the reasons Castello de King was such a popular resort for the wealthy.

The limo pulled to a stop and before Travis could get out on his side, one of the doormen had opened Julie’s door and offered her a hand. She stood, turning in place and admiring the view, as Travis got out of the limo to join her.

The look on her face was one of wonder—sort of what he imagined a child might look like at her first sight of Disneyland. And he was willing to bet that the paparazzi were getting quite a few great shots of the latest King bride. As long as no reporter thought to check into her background, they might be all right. God help them both if someone got nosy and discovered the truth.

“Señor King, it is good to have you with us again.” The older man had skin the color of milky coffee, snow-white hair and pale green eyes, crinkled at the corners.

Travis nodded. Over the last few years, Travis had become well known to the hotel staff. “Esteban, good to be back. Is my cousin here?”

Of course Rico was here, Travis told himself. His cousin rarely left the hotel that he’d single-handedly built into one of the most sought-after vacation sites in the world.

“Sí. Would you like me to call him for you?”

“Not necessary,” Travis said. “But thanks.” He’d look Rico up himself as soon as he got Julie settled in one of the penthouse suites always kept in reserve for visiting family.

“Hello,” Julie interrupted. “I’m Julie O’—King.” She held out one hand to the doorman, and he took it, surprised a little that she would take the time to introduce herself.

Travis frowned a little and she gave him a smile that told him she wasn’t going to be ignored. He imagined the cameramen stationed out in front of the gates were now busily clicking off shots of he and Julie together. And they probably didn’t look real happy with each other.

That thought paramount in his mind, he took her elbow, nodded at the doorman and led her into the sanctuary of the hotel—away from prying camera lenses.

“That was rude,” she muttered, pulling her elbow from his grasp.

“I don’t ordinarily introduce my companions to the doorman,” Travis muttered and laid his hand on the small of her back.

“God, you’re a snob.”

“I’m not a snob,” he whispered, irritated at the jab. “But Esteban has his job and he doesn’t expect to be pals with the guests.”

“I didn’t say I wanted to have lunch with him, but he knew you. No reason why he couldn’t know who I am.” Her heels clicked musically on the polished marble floor until she stopped abruptly. “Unless of course, you’re ashamed of me.”

“Hmm,” he mused, stopping alongside her. “Ashamed of being married to a bigamist. Why would that bother me? I wonder…”

Her eyes narrowed on him and her jaw went tight. “That wasn’t my fault.”

“So you keep saying.” He glanced around and caught the eye of several people watching him and Julie with open curiosity. Perfect.

He lowered his voice even further. “I’d appreciate it if you’d just keep a low profile until things are cleared up.”

“Ah. Low profile? Like the stretch limo?”

He blew out a breath and looked at her. Her grass-green eyes were practically snapping with nerves and anger. Her mouth was tight, and her chin was lifted in defiance. Her breath rushed in and out of her lungs and her breasts strained against the deep vee neckline of her dark green dress.

She looked ready for battle and so damned edible, his body went hard as a rock almost instantly.

A sex-free year with a woman who managed to turn him on even when he was furious.

Damn it.