Husband By Arrangement

Dexter surprised himself with a low chuckle. Just thinking about Maddy had energised his tired body.

Grateful for the diversion from the nightmare of the ruined Quinta, he stepped out of the tub to dry himself before wandering into the suite of rooms to gather his clothes together.

Halfway through buttoning his fine linen shirt, he stopped, arrested by a tempting idea. He could pretend to be dazzled by Maddy. In fact, he could show every sign of eagerness for the match that would link their two families.

Clearly Maddy and her grandfather had set their mercenary hearts on the marriage. Old man Cook had often complained that part of the Fitzgerald fortune was morally his.

Dexter’s eyes narrowed in determination. By leading her on and raising her hopes to fever pitch—and then dumping her—he’d teach her a salutary lesson. Maybe she wouldn’t mess with men again.

A sardonic curl lifted his upper lip. Who was he kidding? She’d keep trying till she landed some unsuspecting, besotted elderly guy with a healthy bank balance and five years to live.

Surprisingly, the thought of the nubile, laughing Maddy tied to an elderly invalid didn’t give him the satisfaction it should. He found the idea of gnarled old hands wandering over her firm young body quite disturbing. It would be a waste of her life. She needed a tough, no-nonsense guy to teach her the true values in life…

Damn it! Why was he wasting valuable time by thinking of Maddy’s future? She could make her own bed and lie in it—and probably would. He had his own problems to worry about.

And his grandmother had to recognise that he intended to carve his own path in future—and that she must not interfere. He wasn’t going to be blackmailed by anyone, not even an eighty-six-year-old lady.

Over and over again he’d told her he would never marry again. Didn’t want the anguish and risk of commitment. Didn’t want his wings clipped by a wife who’d expect him to stop roaming the world.

Besides, he wouldn’t let any woman risk her life in the kind of places he frequented in his line of work. Not after what had happened to Luisa.

The pain ripped through him so fiercely that he had to stand perfectly still until it had eased. He had loved Luisa so much. Had been ecstatic when she’d become pregnant. At last, he’d thought, he would have a family; people to love and cherish for the rest of his life.

But his wife and unborn child had been snatched from him, just as his parents had been all those years ago. He had never known such anguish. It had crippled him, had paralysed his mind and turned him into a shambling wreck.

And still it hurt whenever he was unwise enough to think about his gentle, sweet Luisa. Hence the fact that he always blocked out the past and kept it locked away so that no one knew how he felt.

Perhaps he should explain to his grandmother that he’d suffered enough and didn’t want to, couldn’t ever love anyone again. Then she might understand. Yes. He’d tell her tonight, during dinner, if an opportunity presented itself.

Musing on this, he adjusted the collar of his dark suit. The dirty truck driver had become the suave heir to a multimillion-pound business. An unexpected grin of mischief split his face. Maddy would be speechless for once when she saw him!

And he’d enjoy giving the little minx a run for her money. Correction, he thought, the grin widening. No money. She’d go home empty-handed and serve her right.

CHAPTER FOUR

THE dinner-party guests had gathered on the terrace above the hotel’s swimming pool. His grandmother’s friends were normally reserved and totally humourless, but the loss of the Quinta had cast an even greater restriction on any conversation that might remotely be considered cheerful.

As a result, everyone stood stiff with inhibition. In fact, they looked as if they’d been sucking raw lemons. All, that was, except Maddy.

A bright jewel amid his grandmother’s drab and morose gathering, she laughed and gestured, her lively face and colourful clothes a startling contrast to the shocked, stony expressions of the people around her.

She didn’t seem to give a damn that they were looking down their noses at her, and from his vantage point, partially concealed by a gigantic Strelitzia reginae, he found himself admiring her sublime confidence.

Again, everyone seemed mesmerised. The waiters in the dining room, the diners and the staff in Reception were all clearly talking about her. And smiling. No wonder.

This time she’d whisked her hair up to one side and fastened the chaotic burgundy curls with enormous artificial hibiscus flowers in a searing red. The effect was oddly flattering, showing off her fine bone structure and long neck.

With amused dark eyes sparkling at her sheer verve and vivacity, Dexter assessed the shock factor of her outfit and gave it a ten. One of those basque-corset things in poppy-red. Strapless. Coping—just—with her beautiful breasts.

His grandmother’s horrified gaze kept drifting to the heaped mounds above the tight corset, her eyes popping as Maddy energetically made a point and, in consequence, set her bosoms bouncing.

And on one of those bosoms was a tattoo. No, a transfer. It hadn’t been there earlier. He would have noticed. He was too far away to see it clearly, but it looked like a snake. And it writhed in a spectacular manner with the sensual undulations of her breast.

He found himself grinning at her audacity and continued his examination avidly. Her long legs were encased in fishnet stockings, her feet in scarlet sandals that must have added two inches to her height. And the skirt in between was…only just in between, hugging her hips and emphasising their slenderness.

Well, Miss Cook, he thought with delicious anticipation. Prepare to meet your downfall. Excitement lit his eyes. He continued to grin because he just couldn’t help it when he looked at her.

‘Oh, look, Sofia!’ she was crying, excitedly peering over the balcony at the pool.

His rigid and sour-faced grandmother winced to be so informally addressed and he stifled a chuckle of delight. Far too many people had been crushed by Sofia’s severity. Seeing someone so blithely unafraid of her was something of a novelty.

And it came to him then that as a lively and happy five-year-old Maddy had been slapped by his grandmother and called a stupid, naughty child for spilling her fruit juice on an antique table. So in her early childhood Maddy had not been nervous or subdued, he thought with increasing interest.

It hadn’t taken long, though, for Maddy’s domineering grandfather to turn her into a frightened rabbit. And, of course, Maddy’s mother had never shown any interest in her daughter, let alone affection and encouragement. Dexter frowned. Much as he despised Jim Cook, at least the man had showered love on his timid child.

And now here she was, her bounce and confidence miraculously restored. His gaze scanned her lissom body as she leaned precariously over the balcony. And he felt his pulses beginning to thud.

‘Sofia!’ Maddy called again, a sweet tremor in her voice. ‘Do come!’

‘What?’ barked Sofia, looking as if she’d been heavily starched.

‘Down there,’ sighed Maddy, oddly gentle-faced. ‘What a dear little kiddie!’

Sofia looked. So did everyone else, including Dexter, who shifted to the balcony a few feet from the party and glanced over.

A curly-haired little girl and her father were in the pool, and she was blissfully pouring bucket after bucket of water over her besotted father’s balding head.

Dex found himself smiling wistfully through the pang that sliced his heart. That could have been him, with his child. He drew in a sharp breath and hid his anguish.

It was then he saw to his alarm that a faint hope had appeared on Sofia’s worried face.

‘You like children?’ she asked.

He froze. His grandmother would forgive inappropriate dress sense if an heir might be in the offing.

Maddy seemed to blink and recoil, then recover herself.

‘Love them!’ she replied solemnly. ‘But I couldn’t eat a whole one!’

Sofia’s shocked gasp and his roar of surprised laughter coincided. The guests turned to him as he strode forward and he murmured subdued greetings, aware that Maddy was staring at him in astonishment.

He leant forward and kissed his grandmother on her cool, powdery cheeks and under his breath he offered his apologies for his lateness.

‘I understand. You have the Quinta on your mind. But we have our guest from England. Let me introduce you,’ began his grandmother stiltedly.

‘We’ve met. I did the Faro run instead of Manuel,’ he murmured, swiftly forestalling the naming of names for as long as possible and shaking Maddy’s hand in a double handclasp. ‘You look wonderful, Maddy!’ he enthused.

She looked startled and not entirely pleased.