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‘Well, I do. Otherwise it would have taken us all day to get to La Rioja.’
Oh, no fair. The way he said the Spanish syllables evoked a strange sensation inside her and she had to force her feet to adhere to the floor of the jet. So he spoke fluent Spanish? No big deal. The man owned a Spanish vineyard, and for all she knew he was Spanish.
Her research hadn’t been clear on that point—it had simply told her what the world already knew: Rafael Martinez had been a teenage phenomenon, a millionaire by the time he was twenty, and he had developed a technological app that had taken the business world by storm. But right now that wasn’t the point.
‘But the expense...to say nothing of the carbon footprint...’
‘I don’t use a private jet every day. I do understand about the carbon footprint, but I also understand about the pilots who work for this company, the beauty of this aircraft, the mechanics who work on it. And I enjoy the luxury of not having to queue up at the airport, change flights and hire a car. I like the idea of not being spotted by some celebrity-spotter who then announces my destination on social media.’
The words arrested her—come to that, she wouldn’t be too keen on recognition either. Her family knew she was safe, but they didn’t know where she was or what she was doing—and right now she wanted to keep it that way. Wanted time and space to lick her wounds. More than that, there was her pride to consider. Next time she saw her parents she wanted to be in a position to hand over at least a fraction of the money she owed them.
Rafael Martinez was giving her five thousand pounds towards that goal, so maybe she should stop carping at his use of a private jet. Especially when in reality it suited her.
‘Fine. I just feel bad that you’re expending all this money on a losing prospect.’
As the roar of the engines signalled their departure he sat down on a chocolate-coloured leather chair that yelled luxury. ‘Why are you so adamant that you don’t want to work for me?’
It was a fair question, she supposed—and not easy to answer.
You’re too good-looking, too arrogant, too successful, too dangerous...
Whilst true, that all sounded stupid. Then there were the fast cars, the private jets, and worst of all that aura that unsettled her more and more with every passing second.
‘I have got to know the Caversham brand very well and I like working for Ethan and Ruby. I only have contacts in the company, and there is also the fact that I know nothing about wine.’
Her eyes narrowed as he shook his head at her. ‘Very good, Cora. Top marks for politeness. Now tell me the real reasons. Tell you what...’ He pulled his laptop towards him. ‘How about I transfer your fee for today into your account now? Then you can feel free to say whatever you like to my face.’
A flush touched her cheeks. ‘That’s not necessary.’
‘Then tell me the truth. Unvarnished. I can take it.’
There was that smile again—the tilt of his lips that somehow indicated that he knew he would win her over.
He tipped his palms upward. ‘How can I hope to persuade you to work for me if I don’t know what I’m up against?’
‘Fine.’
If he wanted straight shooting she’d give it to him. After all, right now she didn’t have to be a lady, and he’d given her carte blanche to be honest. Better for him to understand that her desire not to work for him was genuine and absolute. This was a man who went for what he wanted, and for unfathomable reasons he wanted her—Cora Brookes. Not Lady Cora Derwent.
For a second the idea held a fascination and, yes, a lure all of its own...
Time for a mental shakedown. The words fascination and lure were not apposite, and it was time to prove to Rafael and herself that she had no intention of calling him her boss. Ever. All her life she’d been surrounded by people like him, and for the past few years she’d worked for her parents—she knew what it was like.
‘I don’t like the way you think your wealth and your looks entitle you to—’ She broke off at the sudden flash of something that crossed his face.
‘Entitle me to what?’ he asked, his voice smooth as silk.
‘Entitle you to whatever you want—glamorous women, fast cars, private jets, endless favours... I don’t like the sense of superiority...’
‘My wealth entitles me to whatever I can afford, as long as I’m not hurting anyone or doing anything illegal.’ There was no sign of a smile now, no hint of charm or allure.
‘It doesn’t entitle you to feel superior.’
Any more than her family’s bloodline entitled them to do that.
‘I don’t feel superior.’
‘But you do feel entitled.’
‘To what? To buy a sports car? To hire a private jet? Yes.’
‘What about the women?’ Because, in all honesty, that was what stuck in her craw the most. ‘They are flesh and blood—not carbon fibre or titanium.’
‘I know that, and I’m thankful for it.’
The amusement in the tilt of his arrogant lips made her palm itch.
‘I get that—but you still see them on a par with the car and the jet. As accessories.’
How many pictures had she seen of Rafael with a different model, actress or celebrity on his arm?
Rafael opened his mouth and then closed it again; a flush touched the angle of his cheekbones. ‘I don’t see women as accessories.’
Aha! ‘Do I sense a touch of defensiveness there?’
‘No.’ A scowl shadowed his face and his dark eyes positively blazed. ‘I don’t accessorise myself with women. I don’t collect them and I make it very clear upfront that my maximum relationship span is a few days and that I don’t believe in love.’
Although the heat had simmered down in his eyes every instinct told her she’d hit a nerve.
‘But you do admit these women all have to look good?’
‘I admit I have to be attracted to them.’
For a second she saw the smallest hint of discomfort flash across his expression.
‘But that would be true regardless of my wealth.’
‘I think you’d find that without your wealth and looks you would have to lower your standards.’
‘In which case the women I date are as shallow as I am.’
‘And you don’t have a problem with that?’
‘Nope. I see no need to apologise for dating beautiful women.’
‘What about the fact you only go out with beautiful women?’
‘I don’t force them to go out with me, and I make them no promises.’
‘But even you admit it’s shallow?’
‘It’s called having fun, Cora. I believe in fun. As long as no one gets hurt. I’ve earned my money fair and square and if I choose to spend it on living life to the full then I won’t apologise for it.’
‘So the whole fast cars, beautiful women, party lifestyle is all you want from life?’
Why did it matter so much to her?
Because she wanted to shout, What about women like me? Don’t we rate a look-in? What about those less endowed with natural charm and grace? People like me, who knock things over, say the wrong thing or—worse—say nothing at all. The ones who haven’t been touched by the brush of success. What about us?
‘Not all I want, no.’ His lips were set to grim and a clenching of his fist on the mahogany tabletop suddenly made him appear oceans apart from shallow playboy.
‘What else do you want?’
‘I want to make Martinez Wines a success, I want to run the London Marathon, to climb Ben Nevis, travel the world with a backpack, sail the oceans... I want to live life to the full and set the world to rights.’
Cora stared at him, unsure whether he meant it or was mocking her.
‘What do you want, Cora?’
The question was smooth, but laced with a sting.
What did she want right now? A vast amount of money—enough to repay her parents for the loss of the Derwent diamonds, stolen thanks to her naïve stupidity.
What did she want from life? She wanted the impossible—approval, love, acceptance from her parents, who had shown nothing but indifference to the child they perceived as surplus to requirements.
For an instant she envied Rafael Martinez his brash desire to live his life as he wanted, by his own rules. He wanted to live life to the full and she wanted...
‘I want... I want...’ Her voice trailed off. ‘I want to get on with my life. Be happy.’
But as she stared at him, so handsome, so arrogant, smouldering, for an instant she wanted him—wanted to be one of those gorgeous women he was attracted to. She wanted, coveted, yearned for Kaitlin’s looks and her presence—that elusive ‘It’ factor her sister possessed in abundance. How shallow was that? Clearly the atmosphere was affecting her and it was time to get a grip.
‘Are you happy now?’ he asked. ‘Do you enjoy being an administrator?’
‘It’s what I need to do.’
It had been a cry for approval. Another step on her quest to be a useful daughter. She had slogged through a business studies degree and offered to help manage the Derwent estate. Had been doing just that when she had messed up—big-time. Following the diamond heist her parents had told her they could no longer trust her to carry out her job ‘with any level of competence’. The memory of the ice-cold disdain in her mother’s tone brought back a rush of humiliation and guilt. Reminded her of her imperative need to repay her debt.
‘It pays the bills.’
Her minimal bills. For an instant the depressing contents of her weekly supermarket shop paraded before her eyes. Every spare penny put aside.
For a second a look of puzzlement crossed his face as he surveyed her. ‘Well, the role I have on offer will definitely help with that. If you can get over your prejudice.’
‘What prejudice?’
‘The “I can’t work for you because I disapprove of your lifestyle” prejudice.’
‘It’s not a prejudice. It’s a principle.’
‘No it’s not. A principle is when you don’t do something for moral reasons. Working for me wouldn’t be immoral. So...’ His voice was deep, serious, seductive. ‘Promise you’ll hear me out.’
‘I’ll hear you out,’ she heard herself say, even as cautionary bells clamoured in her ears. Fool. Last time she’d heard someone out it had ended in disaster. A pseudo-journalist who had turned out to be a conman extraordinaire and had stolen the Derwent diamonds.
Turning, she stared out of the window as the turquoise sky and the scud of white clouds receded and the airport loomed.
* * *
Rafael led the way out of the small airport, glanced round and spotted Tomás and his pick-up truck. ‘There’s our ride.’
Cora’s blue eyes widened in exaggerated surprise. ‘And here was me expecting nothing less than a limo.’
‘Tomás loves that truck like a child. In fact, according to his wife María he loves it more than he loves his children. Tomás is a great guy—he has worked at the vineyard his whole life, as his father did before him. I was lucky he and María agreed to stay on when I bought it.’
It had been touch and go—Tomás had deeply disapproved of the sale and hadn’t believed Rafael was serious. Yet he had given him a chance to prove himself.
‘He brings knowledge better than the most cutting edge technology and most importantly he loves the grapes, the soil, the very essence of the wine.’ Rafael set off towards the truck. ‘He is, however, the embodiment of the word taciturn, and doesn’t speak much English, so don’t be offended by him and try and remember he is a valued Martinez employee.’
Cora frowned. ‘What do you think I’ll do?’
Fair question. He bit back the answer that sprang to his lips. In truth he had been worried that she would look down her haughty, aristocratic nose at the hired help. Only Cora’s nose was more retroussé style and...and maybe he was at risk of being a touch stereotypical. Aristocratic did not have to equal Don Carlos.
‘Hey, boss.’ Tomás’s grizzled face relaxed into a fraction of a smile as they reached the car.
‘Tomás. This is Cora. Cora—Tomás.’
Cora stepped forward and touched the bonnet of the truck, then bestowed a friendly smile on Tomás. Rafael’s eyes snagged right on her lips and a funny little awareness fluttered—he’d like Cora to smile at him like that.
‘This is wonderful,’ she said, and turned to Rafael. ‘Could you tell him that I’m truly impressed? It’s better than a limo—this is a classic. I didn’t know there were any pick-ups this age on the road any more. And it’s immaculate.’
Rafael translated, and blinked as the old man’s weather-beaten face cracked a genuine smile. One forty-five-minute journey later and, despite the language barrier, it was clear that Tomás and Cora had struck up a definite rapport. Tomás even went so far as to smile again in farewell as he entered the white villa he and María shared on the outskirts of the vineyard he loved.
‘So.’ Rafael gestured around, filled with a familiar sense of pride. ‘How about a tour?’
As she stood there in the shapeless blue suit, her face tipped up to the sun, Rafael could almost see its rays and the sultry Spanish air spin its magic.
‘Sounds great.’ Cora inhaled deeply. ‘It’s incredible. It smells like...sun-kissed melons mingled with a slice of fresh green apple and—’ She broke off and gave a delicious gurgle of laughter. ‘Listen to me! The vines have gone to my head. Honestly, I could almost get tipsy on the smell alone. But they don’t smell like grapes.’
Rafael glanced down at her face and a strange little jab of emotion kicked at his ribcage. Cora looked genuinely entranced—the most relaxed he’d ever seen her. Almost as if she’d decided to lay aside her burdens and the prickle of suspicion for a few moments. The sun glinted off the colour of her hair. It was a hue he’d never seen anywhere, as if woven by fairies.
He blinked. What? As if what by what? There clearly was a spell in the air.
Focus on the vines, Rafael.
‘I think of it as the scent of anticipation and wonder...the whole vineyard is on the brink of what will eventually lead to this year’s harvest.’
‘So how does it work? I always imagine a vineyard looking as it does just before harvest.’
‘Most people do, but this is a special time too. Bloom time.’ Rafael halted. ‘It’s when the developing grape clusters actually flower, get fertilised. Look.’
He pushed aside a saucer-sized vine leaf and beckoned Cora closer to see the thumb’s-length yellow-green nub, wreathed with a crown of cream-coloured threadlike petals. A step brought her right next to him and she leant forward to smell the cluster.
His throat tightened and his lungs squeezed at her nearness, at her scent—a heady mix of vanilla with a blueberry overtone. Her bowed head was so close he felt an insane urge to stroke the sure-to-be-silky strands of hair. The drone of a bumblebee, the heat of the sun on the back of his neck seemed intensified—and then she stepped back and the spell broke. Reality interceded. There was no room for attraction here.
The whole moment had been an illusion, a strange misfiring of his synapses—no more. Maybe brought on by the importance of his mission.
Her face flushed as she looked up at him. ‘The smell is...intoxicating. You should work out a way to sell it. So tell me—what happens next?’
He wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her.
The unexpected thought made him step away. Fast. ‘You really want to know?’
‘Yes.’
Fifteen minutes later Rafael broke off—at this rate he’d bore her comatose. Which would not further his plan at all. Yet Cora’s interest seemed genuine—the questions she asked were pertinent and proof of that.
‘Sorry. I get a bit carried away.’
She shook her head, the crease in her forehead in contrast to the small smile on her lips. ‘It’s fascinating. I didn’t realise that you were so passionate about the whole process.’
‘How can I not be? The whole process is magical. Though I’ve made sure we have the best technology too. I truly believe that the mix of the traditional and the new works. It took me a while to convince Tomás, but I’ve even brought him round. So it’s a combination of his eye and modern technology that picks the grapes.’
‘So you’re involved the whole time?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘To be honest, I assumed it was a hobby for you. You know...kind of like most people buy a bottle of wine you bought a vineyard. But it sounds like you care.’
‘Of course I do. These vineyards are people’s livelihoods, and they have been here for years—in some cases for centuries. But it’s more than that—this is a job I love.’
‘More than you loved being a global CEO? More than you love your lifestyle?’
‘Yes. The whole CEO gig wasn’t me. Too much time spent in boardrooms. It was restrictive. I mean, I loved it that I invented an app that took the world by storm, but after a while it was all about marketing and shares and advertising and I knew it was time to sell.’
‘So why do you think the wine business will be any different?’
‘Maybe it won’t be.’
‘So if times get tough or you get bored you’ll just move on?’
Cora’s lips were pursed in what looked to be yet more disapproval, yet he’d swear there was a hint of wistfulness in her voice. He shrugged. ‘Why not? Life is too short.’
‘But surely some things are worth sticking around for?’
If so he hadn’t found them yet, and he’d make no apology for the way he lived his life.
His mother’s life had been wasted—years of apathy and might-have-beens because she had never got over his father’s betrayal. At his father’s behest Ramon de Guzman of the house of Aiza had deceived and then abandoned Rafael’s mother, and Emma Martinez had never recovered—hadn’t been able to live her life as it should have been lived. Until it had been too late—when the diagnosis of terminal illness had jolted her into a fervent desire to pack years of life into her last remaining months.
The thought darkened his mood, and it was only lightened by the idea of winning restitution in his mother’s name.
Once Don Carlos sold him the vineyard, Rafael would tell him the truth. That he had sold his precious Aiza land to his own illegitimate grandson, whom he had once named the tainted son of a whore. Don Carlos and his son Ramon would seethe with humiliation and Rafael would watch with pleasure.
‘Come on. Lunch should be ready.’
Time to get this show on the road.
CHAPTER THREE
AS CORA WALKED through the beauty of the flowering vines curiosity swirled with anticipation. Over lunch presumably Rafael would outline the role he had in mind for her, and she had to concede he’d played his hand well.
The vineyard had enticed her with its scents and its atmosphere, and in the glorious heat of the Spanish sun it would be hard to refuse whatever he offered. But she would—because she knew with deep-seated certainty that whatever Rafael offered there would be a catch—a veritable tangle of strings attached. As the saying went, there was no such thing as a free lunch—let alone a lunch you were being paid thousands to eat.
Plus—she might as well be honest—it wasn’t only the vineyard that exerted heady temptation. It was Rafael himself. Her prejudices against Rafael Martinez seemed to be in the process of disintegration. After her harangue on the plane about his lifestyle the very last thing she had expected was what she’d seen on the vineyard tour.
Rafael took his wine seriously—he’d spoken of the grapes with passion and a deep knowledge—and it was also clear that he had ethics and environmental morals she couldn’t fault.
But, be that as it might, it didn’t alter the fact that Rafael Martinez was dangerous. Because there had been moments when her heart had skipped a beat and his proximity had made her shiver despite the heat of the Mediterranean sun. Made her believe that all those beautiful glamorous women might well count themselves lucky.
The thought made her blood simmer. How could she, of all people, be at even the smallest risk of attraction? Rafael was like both her siblings—he only dallied with the beautiful and all he touched turned to gold. Cora was ordinary and average and went pink in the sunshine. Plus, she disapproved of his lifestyle, for heaven’s sake.
As they approached the cool white villa a small plump woman bustled towards them, a beaming smile on her face as she surveyed Cora, and burst into a stream of voluble Spanish.
‘This is María—Tomás’s wife,’ Rafael said.
Cora returned the smile, though a sudden hint of wariness made her hackles rise as María continued to speak, gestured to Cora, and then wagged her finger at Rafael, whose tautened jaw surely indicated a smidgeon of tension?
‘Is everything OK?’ Cora asked.
‘Yes. María seems to feel that you are probably a bit hot and uncomfortable in a suit and is giving me a hard time for not telling you I was bringing you to Spain. She would like to give you a dress.’
Another torrent of Spanish.
‘María says you mustn’t worry. It is not her clothes she is offering.’
María chuckled and waved her hands.
‘She says once she was as slim as you, but that the years have not been good to her.’
Cora shook her head. ‘Tell her I am more scrawny than slim, and that if I look half as good as her in twenty years I will be a happy woman.’
‘Her daughter owns a clothes store in Laguardia and there is some of her stock here. María insists you change so you can eat the lunch she has prepared in comfort.’
‘Um...’ Cora looked down at her suit. ‘It feels a bit unprofessional to change, but I don’t want María to think I don’t appreciate her kindness.’
And she was hot, and it would be a relief to clear her head of all foolish thoughts of attraction and temptation.
‘Come, come.’
The plump woman gestured and Cora followed her into the welcome cool of the whitewashed villa.
María smiled at her, a smile that took away the disapproval indicated by a wag of her finger as she gestured at Cora’s suit. ‘Not right,’ she said. ‘Un dia especial.’
Cora frowned. A special day? Was that what María meant?
The question was forgotten as María led her into a small bedroom, opened a large wardrobe and pulled out a brand-new dress. ‘Perfecto,’ she announced, in a tone that brooked no denial.
Though denial flooded Cora’s system. The T-shirt-style dress was vividly patterned with a butterfly motif. Bright, bold and eye-catching, it represented everything Cora avoided in her wardrobe.
‘Um...’
María beamed. ‘Perfecto,’ she repeated. ‘Rafael. He love.’
The thumbs-up sign that accompanied the words did little to assuage Cora’s sense of panic. Clearly María had grasped the wrong end of the stick. But how could she vault the language barrier and explain that really Rafael’s opinion of the dress meant less than nothing? That she was here on a strictly professional footing?
What really mattered right now was the fact that she could not wear the dress. It was the sort of dress that Kaitlin would pull off, no problem—but Kaitlin would look good in a bin bag. The point was the dress did not constitute ‘professional’.
But as she looked at María’s beaming face Cora managed to manufacture a smile and nodded. ‘Thank you.’
No need to panic, she told herself as María left the room. How bad could it be?
Ten minutes later Cora had the answer. Pretty darn bad. Self-consciousness swamped her, along with a dose of discomfort in the knowledge that there was way more of her on show than she felt the world deserved to see.
The door opened and María bustled in. ‘Bella!’ She handed over a pair of jewelled flip-flops and a sun hat and gestured for Cora to follow her.
Minutes later they approached a paved mosaic courtyard, dappled with sun and shadow and awash with the smell of flowering grapes, the aromatic smell of spices and the tang of olives.
Cora’s legs gave a sudden wobble as Rafael rose from a wooden chair and any last vestige of confidence soared away. No man had the right to look so good. His rolled up shirtsleeves exposed tanned forearms that made the breath hitch in her throat, and as her gaze travelled up his body her eyes drank in the breadth of his chest, the column of his throat, and the sheer arrogant strength of his features.