Summer With Love: The Spanish Consultant

Her father looked at her impatiently. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Katherine. You’re going to do this cordon bleu cookery course in Switzerland. I’ve paid the fees.’

Katy took several gulps of air and realised that her father was so dismissive of her that he didn’t even listen to her any more.

‘But I don’t want to cook, and I don’t want to model,’ she said hesitantly, refusing to let the subject drop, digging her fingers into her damp palms as she faced her father. ‘I’m going to be a doctor.’

She’d applied for a place and had been accepted subject to her exam results. Telling her father was the last step to achieving her dream.

Her father’s expression became ugly, his stance suddenly menacing. ‘You’re not. It’s bad enough that Alex has chosen to be a doctor when he’s got the brains to join me and make a fortune in the City, without you doing the same thing.’

Katy refrained from telling him that it had been glancing through Alex’s prospectuses from medical school that had helped her finally make up her mind. She’d already wasted enough time modelling.

Now she was going to study medicine.

‘You have the looks to be a highly successful model,’ her mother added nervously, lifting a hand to wave at one of the guests and pinning a false smile on her face. ‘Thanks to your father, you’re wealthy enough not to have to work. Have some fun until you meet someone suitable and then get married.’

‘But I want to work,’ Katy blurted out, forgetting that they were surrounded by people. ‘I want to earn a living. I want a career.’

‘Lower your voice, Katherine!’ Her mother’s tone was a soft mutter and she glanced round self-consciously. ‘Your father has important guests here. We don’t want everyone gossiping.’

Katy gritted her teeth. She didn’t care about gossip. She just wanted him to listen to her for once. For once she wanted him to respect her opinion on something.

‘Please Dad, I—’

‘The subject is closed, Katherine.’ Her father’s face was cold and unsmiling. ‘On the first of October you’re going off to your cookery course and that’s the end of it. Don’t mention it again or you’ll make me angry.’

And Katy knew exactly what that meant.

Her heart started to beat faster and she dug her nails deeper into her palms. It was the threat of her father’s fury that had prevented her from saying something before now. She’d sneaked off to interviews, accepted Alex’s help in finding accommodation and the only thing left to do now was to tell her parents.

And she was going to tell them.

‘Dad—’

‘I don’t want the subject mentioned again.’ With that her father strode off across the lawn to talk to the guests, leaving Katy with a desire to scream with frustration.

How was she ever going to get her father to accept her plans?

Suddenly it was all too much.

Tears springing into her eyes, she spun round and ran across the lawn, ignoring the astonished looks she received from the guests, ignoring her mother’s frosty glare.

She didn’t slow her pace until she reached the stables. There was only one thing that would ease her tension and that was a ride. She needed to get away from her own party.

Brushing the tears from her cheeks, she grabbed a bridle from the tack room, relieved that the grooms were obviously busy elsewhere. Then she hurried back across the yard and slid into one of the stables.

‘Hi, sweetheart.’ She stroked her favourite mare on the neck and slipped the reins over the horse’s head and the bit into her mouth, fastening the bridle quickly. ‘We’re getting out of here.’

She led the mare out into the yard, slipped off her high heels and vaulted easily onto the horse’s back, clattering out of the yard before anyone spotted her.

The moment she reached the fields she kicked the horse into a gallop and sped along the track at a breakneck pace.

Part of her knew it wasn’t safe. She was wearing a loose summer dress and no riding hat and she was crying so hard she couldn’t see where she was going, but she just had to get away.

She headed for the barn at the far end of her father’s estate. The place she always escaped to when she didn’t want anyone to find her.

As she approached the barn the horse suddenly veered to the left to avoid a ditch. Katy lost her balance and slid off the animal’s back, landing awkwardly in the long grass.

She lay still for a moment, staring at the sky, wondering which part of her she’d hurt most.

‘Well, that was dramatic.’ The low masculine drawl came from beside her and she struggled to sit up, her eyes widening as she recognised the man staring down at her.

Jago Rodriguez.

He worked for her father in the bank and everyone knew who he was. Especially the women. He’d clawed his way up from what could only be described as an underprivileged background. But if nature had deprived him of material wealth, it had more than compensated by giving Jago sensational good looks, a ruthless ambition to succeed and a brain as sharp as the business end of a razor. It was those qualities that had brought him to the attention of her father and had made him a millionaire several times over by the time he was in his early twenties.

He was a frequent visitor to the manor and Libby often sat on the stairs, hoping for a glimpse of him. Katy wasn’t so bold. She hid in the shadows and watched in mute admiration as Jago coolly ignored her father’s moodiness and childish displays of temper. He was one of the few people who remained completely undisturbed by Charles Westerling’s thoroughly abrasive business manner and bully-boy tactics.

‘The boy’s brilliant,’ her father would grunt as they ate dinner in the formal dining room after Jago had left. Of course, he was never invited to join them. ‘Has an instinctive feel for what will work and goes with it. He’s making a fortune for himself and the bank at the moment.’

Their mother looked pained. ‘I just wish you didn’t have to invite him to events here. He has absolutely no respect for English social convention.’

‘Hallelujah,’ Libby muttered, and Katy stared at her plate, wishing that she had just one small portion of Jago Rodriguez’s courage.

What must it be like to have such self-confidence that you didn’t care what people thought?

‘I think he’s gorgeous,’ Libby piped up, and then subsided as she met her father’s glare.

‘I know he’s got a dreadful reputation with women, but I bet he’s a brilliant kisser,’ Libby said later as they got ready for bed, both of them lost in their own fantasies about Jago. ‘I wonder if he’d kiss me just once so that I could find out what it feels like to do it properly.’

Lying in a tumbled heap and staring into his wicked, masculine face, Katy remembered her sister’s comment and felt her heart miss a beat.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘Escaping,’ he said dryly, glancing in the direction of the manor house where the party was still in full swing. ‘Just as you are, presumably.’

He was expecting an answer but suddenly she found herself horribly tongue-tied and totally unable to speak.

He hunkered down next to her, lifting a dark eyebrow as she shrank away from him. ‘Ah—the shy sister who always avoids me. You know, you shouldn’t believe everything you hear.’ He sounded mildly amused. ‘I don’t seduce children.’

She blushed hotly, mortified that he’d read her mind and self-conscious about her appearance. ‘I’m not a child.’ She brushed her tangled blonde hair away from her face and looked at him shyly. ‘It’s my eighteenth birthday today.’

She was supposed to be a woman.

‘I know that. I was invited to the party. If party is the right word.’ His voice was soft and his gaze assessing as it slid over her body with a thoroughness that left her gasping for air. ‘So why are you galloping across the fields wearing a party dress and not much else? Why aren’t you mingling with your guests?’

‘They’re mostly my parents’ friends and colleagues. Contacts.’ She stared into those lazy dark eyes and fought the temptation to blurt out all her problems. What was the point? A man like Jago wouldn’t begin to understand what it was like to have someone dictating your life. He never let anyone dictate to him. ‘I needed to get away.’

‘Hardly surprising. If someone gave me an eighteenth birthday party like that I’d want to get away, too.’ His gaze moved down her bare legs and rested on her feet. ‘What happened to your shoes, Cinderella?’