A Spanish Inheritance

He knew she would never agree to that. She was already far too committed to the finca. ‘No, I prefer to handle this myself.’

His eyebrow quirked expressively. ‘As you wish.’

His scrutiny made her uncomfortable at the best of times. Right now his flagrantly male presence shrank the room around them, giving her nowhere to look but straight up into his disturbingly lambent gaze.

She had to say something. Refusing his offer would make her look weak—hardly the best opening gambit. She held his gaze for a few moments, then agreed coolly, ‘Before we involve our respective legal teams there’s no harm in laying our cards on the table.’

‘I couldn’t agree more,’ he said. ‘We can do that over dinner, and once we come to an understanding we can instruct our lawyers.’

Annalisa’s smile grew more confident. Now he was talking her language. Though whether her work as a newly qualified solicitor equipped her to do battle with Ramon Perez remained to be seen—even with all of Don Alfonso’s years of experience to back her up. But, still, it would be better to have some idea of what she was up against. ‘Dinner will be fine,’ she said firmly.

‘Good,’ he said with a formal nod as he turned for the door. ‘I’ll pick you up around nine.’

‘I’ll look forward to it.’

She waited until the throaty roar of Ramon’s sports car had died away before racing upstairs to change. There wasn’t much point in entering discussions if she didn’t have a clue how to make the best use of his water. And she had no intention of looking foolish. If only she hadn’t been so busy making the finca attractive to prospective purchasers she might have paid more attention to the mechanics of fruit production. But what had started out as a short trip to lay the ghost of her Spanish father, sell his estates and return to England with enough money to set up her own legal practice, had suddenly mushroomed into something quite different. And now she had committed herself to the revival of the finca, she wasn’t about to back down.

Plucking some clean clothes out of her wardrobe, she shrugged them on and hurried out. Chances were the same people who’d used to work at the finca still lived in the village. She would seek them out and ask for advice.

Standing beneath the creaking hand-painted sign of the local bodega, Annalisa groaned. The owner, Juan, spoke a crazy form of Spanglish, but somehow they managed to communicate. She had gone straight to him, knowing he was a mine of information. But now… She blew some strands of hair off her face as she pulled away from the wall. Her head was bursting with facts. Whether she would be able to marshal them in time for her meeting with Señor Perez…

‘Pigs,’ she murmured fiercely, distractedly, as she marched off down the narrow pavement. That was one thing Juan had been adamant about. Pigs snuffled up the fallen fruit and kept the ground clean once it had all been cleared and weeded.

She stopped outside the bakery, not really seeing the rows of delicious pastries and fat crusty loaves, her mind full of Juan’s insistence that she clear out every single weed. She could have repeated his mantra by heart: weeds were the enemy; weeds drank all the water. And water… Annalisa’s mouth tipped down at the corners as she remembered what else he had said. ‘Feuds could last for generations where the precious agua was concerned.’

Didn’t she know it! she thought with a sigh, seeking sanctuary in the bakery.

‘Señorita?’

The vibrant woman behind the counter was the best possible advertisement for her fragrant assortment of freshly baked wares. Thrumming with vitality, she carried her weight lightly, and a dazzling flash of strong white teeth underscored the glow of genuine welcome in her attractive nut-brown eyes.

‘I don’t suppose…no,’ Annalisa said, shaking her head as if to shake some sense back into it. The smiling shopkeeper probably wouldn’t even understand her haphazard mix of Spanish and English, let alone know where she could lay her hands on some pigs.

‘How can I help you, señorita? What about this?’

Annalisa’s eyes cleared as she looked at the generous slice of moist chocolate cake the woman was holding out for her inspection. Tearing her gaze away from the delicious-looking treat, she exclaimed happily, ‘You speak English!’

‘Many years ago I worked in a household where English was spoken,’ the woman agreed cheerfully. Then, taking another glance at Annalisa, she placed the cake on her scales. ‘I recommend this when life gets on top of you. One bite and—’ She smacked her lips together and shut her eyes in sublime concentration.

It took Annalisa about two seconds to decide that a few moments of bliss couldn’t hurt. ‘I’m sure you’re right,’ she said reaching for her purse. ‘I’m Annalisa Wilson, by the way. I moved into the finca Fuego Montoya—’

‘And I am Maria Teresa Gonzalez,’ the cheerful assistant said placing the succulent portion of cake into a candyfloss-pink box. ‘If you need anything else, señorita,’ she insisted, deftly securing the container with a length of silver ribbon, ‘please don’t wait until you are worried. Come straight to me.’

‘Well, as it happens…’

Maria Teresa was the answer to her prayers, Annalisa mused, feeling a rush of confidence as she put the finishing touches to her make-up that evening. Now she could meet Ramon with her head held high. Half an hour with Maria was as good as a year in the village. Pigs? No problem. A lusty cockerel to drill some life into her lethargic hens? He would be delivered tomorrow.

Better yet, Maria shared the bakery business with numerous relatives and could spare the time to help out at the finca. And, as if that wasn’t enough, she knew every worker who had ever been employed at finca Fuego Montoya.

Oh, yes, Annalisa thought, taking a last look at herself in the mirror. Now she was ready for anything… Even Ramon Perez? a small but insistent voice in the back of her mind demanded. Narrowing her eyes, she answered back, ‘Oh, yes. Especially him.’

Never, never again! Annalisa buried her head under the black satin pillows as she tried to convince herself. But the erotic reminders were everywhere… In the crumpled bedding, the evocative scent of him, and in the gentle swell of the waves as they rocked her in this, Ramon’s cradle of seductive opulence.

OK, admit it, she thought, sitting bolt upright again. He had set the bait and she had gobbled it up. Had she no pride, no scruples, no principles? And that was just on the personal front. The thought that she had slept with a married man filled her with horror enough, but who in their right mind slept with the opposition? A first-year law student would have shown more sense!

Dinner had sounded so harmless…so innocent. But dinner on Ramon’s yacht was pleasure squared. Romantic, sensuous, seductive… It wasn’t even as if he had made any secret of his wider intentions. As far as Ramon Perez was concerned there was no urgency. Even the sequence of events was irrelevant to him. But he would own finca Fuego Montoya…and take her to bed.

‘What are you doing?’

Annalisa jumped guiltily and grabbed the sheet to cover herself as Ramon strolled back into the stateroom. Squeezing her eyes tightly shut until they burned as hot as her face, she sent desperate mind messages for him to leave. He was a married man—out of bounds, out of the question! Where was her common sense? Her sanity? As remorse bludgeoned her emotions she stretched out her long legs, searching for some cool spot to soothe her overheated senses. But she only succeeded in setting up some delicious after-shocks in a region of her body that insisted on responding to Ramon however hard she fought to remain detached.

‘Get up.’ His voice was sharp.

And was that contempt too?

‘Look at me, Annalisa,’ he warned when she only buried herself deeper under the sheets. ‘This won’t work.’ And, crossing to the bed, he deftly flipped back the covers.

With an exclamation of alarm Annalisa snatched out a hand to grab them back, then realised that instead of being naked, as she had expected, she was in fact wearing the top half of a pair of rather elegant pyjamas. Clearly made for a man, in burgundy-coloured silk piped with black, they did an excellent job of preserving her modesty. With her vision partly obscured by tousled hair, she slowly raised her head.

Fresh from the shower, Ramon was wearing a dark grey impeccably tailored suit, which he had teamed with a crisp white shirt and a sober silk tie in shades of blue. Business uniform, she realised, vaguely recalling a phone call to Don Alfonso some time the previous evening to arrange a meeting in his office.

‘What time is it?’ she asked, trying desperately to instil some normality into the situation.

‘That’s better,’ he said approvingly, seeing that she was at last making some effort to wake up.

There was amusement in his expression and, watching his lips, Annalisa found her mind wandering back—or rather stumbling back through a half-remembered tangle of impressions… Shock rippled through her when she thought what must have happened between them.

‘You might want to drag your focus away from me and go and freshen up,’ he suggested coolly.

It wasn’t that easy, not when you had just spent the night together…and his arrogance pointed to there being another notch on his bedpost. But if that were the case would he not show some reaction? Even scorn would be better than nothing.

‘The meeting with our legal teams is at eleven,’ he said pointedly, ‘and it is now—’ he shot a glance at his wristwatch ‘—a little past ten o’ clock.’

His commanding voice managed to convey any manner of things, but nothing of a personal nature. Mortified, Annalisa drew her knees up to her chin as he went on.

‘As there is no time for you to return to the finca, I have taken the liberty of having a suitable outfit delivered to the yacht. I hope you will find it to your liking.’ With a look he drew her attention to an Armani suit hanging inside an otherwise empty wardrobe.

Under anything approaching normal circumstances she would have been ecstatic. But right now it was the final humiliation! No doubt this was his way of paying her off. Or maybe he was just cruelly underlining the fact that unwittingly she had been more suitably dressed for seduction than business the previous evening. The black slip-dress had seemed a good idea at the time, simple yet sophisticated. Her only nod towards frivolity had been a pair of high-heeled mules. And she had taken care to see that her unusually full breasts were safely concealed beneath a dove-grey cashmere shawl…

But in a sudden flashback she remembered the shoes going even before she embarked! She had taken them off to preserve the teak decks as they’d approached the gangplank, steadying herself with her hands planted tentatively on Ramon’s arm… And as the white cruiser had slipped its moorings the sea breeze had plucked at the shawl until Ramon took it and handed it to a member of his uniformed crew.

Dinner had been set out on deck under a protective glass canopy. Just the two of them, waited on by men like shadows who had known just when to attend and when to disappear. As the sleek hull had sliced through a mirror-flat sea she had begun to sip the first glass of champagne…

‘I think you’d better take a cold shower,’ Ramon observed briskly.

Her dazed eyes transferred slowly to his face. ‘What?’

‘A cold shower,’ he repeated patiently, as if trying to coax a child into action.