“There is no need to rush, Jules,” he drawled softly.

“We have a lot to catch up on. Or is that what you are afraid of?”

Her green eyes collided with deep dark brown. “Not you, that’s for sure,” she snapped. But then his smallest finger trailed over her full lips, and a shiver lanced through her slender body and she knew she lied. Because suddenly she was desperately afraid—afraid of what Rand was making her feel.

“Well, if you’re sure about that, then you won’t mind this,” he declared huskily, and she was pulled against the solid wall of his chest….

Mama Mia!

Harlequin Presents®

ITALIAN HUSBANDS

They’re tall, dark…and ready to marry!

If you love marriage-of-convenience stories that ignite into passionate dramas, then look no further. We’ve got the Mediterranean heroes you love to read about—step into the shoes of the women who marry and tame them.

Watch for more exciting tales of romance, Italian-style.

Coming in Harlequin Presents®:

A Sicilian Husband

by

Kate Walker

May #2393

The Italian’s Suitable Wife

by

Lucy Monroe

July #2407

His Inherited Bride

Italian Husbands

Jacqueline Baird

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER ONE

JULIA DIEZ—Jules to her friends—glanced up at the ornate carved gargoyles that decorated the outside of the old stone building and shivered, not with cold but with nerves. She had exchanged the freezing January weather in England for mid-summer in Chile, and the temperature was a sunny eighty degrees. She had arrived in Santiago late last night, and right at this moment it was the last place she wanted to be. The land of her late father, a father she had hardly known!

She had barely slept, and, getting up at the crack of dawn, she had called her mother, Liz. Reassured she was fine, Jules had spent the past few hours in a state of nervous anticipation. Unable to eat breakfast, she had consumed numerous cups of coffee, her whole attention focused on the appointment she had to keep at twelve.

She glanced at the slim gold watch on her wrist—almost noon. Time to keep her appointment with Randolfo Carducci. The name alone was enough to make her nervous, but realistically she knew as the executor of her father’s will he was her last hope.

Personally she would rather live in abject poverty than take a penny from her father’s estate, she thought, straightening her slender shoulders and walking into the marble foyer of the building. But she was not prepared to risk the chances of her mother making a full recovery from her breast cancer operation for the sake of a few thousand pounds.

In Jules’ mind her father owed her mum that much. It had been the age-old story. Liz, as a naive eighteen-year-old, had met and fallen madly in love with Carlos Diez at a polo match in the Cotswolds; he had been a visiting Chilean polo player and a much older man. Liz had been pregnant and married within months, and Jules, born in England, was the result. Carlos had continued on the polo circuit and when he had finally returned to take mother and baby back to his ranch in Chile, the marriage had not lasted six months.

Her mum had confided in Jules, when her own youthful engagement had broken up, that her charming husband had freely admitted he’d had a mistress in Santiago, and he’d had no intention of remaining celibate while travelling the world playing polo. Liz had returned to England with her baby. She had basically run away and a quick divorce had followed.

Jules did not blame her mum. Her own experience with her father had been a disaster. Offered a holiday in Chile at the age of fourteen, she had leapt at the chance of meeting a dad she had never seen since she was a baby, and had no memory of. Immediately she had developed an enormous crush on the neighbouring rancher’s son, twenty-year-old Enrique Eiga. Encouraged by her father, she had visited Chile each summer and had been engaged at seventeen and set to marry Enrique at eighteen before she had woken up to reality and broken the whole thing off. She had never been back to Chile or spoken to her father in the seven years since, and she would not be here now if it weren’t for her mother.

Reception lay through a set of wide glass doors, and she caught a glimpse of her reflection as she passed through them, and held her head a little higher. Not bad, she told herself. Jules had opted to wear a cream knee-length linen skirt, with a loosely tailored short-sleeved linen jacket to match. She had woven her long hair into a French braid, and with the addition of fine-heeled sandals lending height to her average five feet five she thought she looked smart and businesslike.

The receptionist was a young man, and his appreciative glance swept over her as she stated her business.

‘Señor Carducci is expecting you.’ He smiled and added in Spanish, ‘Lucky dog,’ unaware Jules understood, and her lips twitched as he ushered her into an elevator adding, ‘His secretary will meet you and escort you to his office suite.’

Jules said, ‘Thank you,’ with a smile. It never ceased to puzzle her why men seemed to find her attractive. After all, because she was a chef and with her mother ran a successful bakery, her figure was more lush than lean, and so she dressed to disguise the fact. Her features were even, and she had inherited her mother’s pale complexion, and large, unusually brilliant green eyes, but her hair revealed her mixed parentage, a dark auburn with a tendency to curl wildly unless strictly controlled.

It was a short journey, two floors, but long enough for Jules suddenly to be stricken with another attack of nerves. The elevator door slid open and she stepped into a deeply carpeted hall, and utter silence.

Jules looked around. There was no secretary in sight, and only one door as far as she could see, directly opposite the elevator. She waited, minutes passed and another glance at her watch showed it was past twelve. Was Carducci playing some kind of diabolic mind game? She wouldn’t put it past him, and in a way she didn’t blame him. He had called her out of the blue five months ago and proposed she reconcile with her father; three more calls had followed and she had ignored his every suggestion.

Mainly because, by an appalling coincidence, it had been at the same time as her mother had been diagnosed with breast cancer. Jules had received the first call from Randolfo Carducci the week before her mother’s operation had been scheduled. A call telling her that her father had had a slight heart attack, nothing serious, he was not in hospital, but Randolfo thought Jules should maybe visit, or at least call her father. In his opinion it was time father and daughter buried their grievances and made up.

She had been so surprised at hearing a voice from the past that she had said she would try, and the call had ended amicably.

The next call had been on the eve of her mother’s operation. Carducci had told her that her father had had another much more serious attack, and was hospitalised, and he had arranged a flight for her from Heathrow to Santiago at ten the following morning. The ticket was waiting for her at the airport.

Jules had abruptly turned his offer down, as she had wanted to be at her mother’s side when she had her operation. The conversation had ended far from amicably. The third call had been over a week later, to inform her her father was dead, and the date of the funeral had been brutally blunt. Still Jules had declined to attend, more worried about her mother’s recovery…

Jules knew how it must look to Carducci, a daughter not speaking to nor visiting her father and not turning up to his funeral! But perhaps when she explained the circumstances he would be reasonable.

Still the thought of seeing him again filled her with unease. Randolfo had been staying at the ranch when she had arrived as a teenager visiting her father for the first time. An Italian with business interests in South America, apparently he had visited the ranch the previous year at the request of his stepmother Ester. Ester was the sister of Jules’ father and technically she supposed Rand was her cousin but no blood relation.

At twenty-seven he had already been a highly successful businessman, and engaged to a Chilean girl—the stunningly beautiful Maria. He had met Maria in Santiago when she had been singing in a nightclub and trying to make a name for herself in the music business. Coincidentally it had turned out that her mother had lived and worked as the cook on the Eiga ranch, next door to the Diez ranch that Randolfo visited.

To the young Jules he had seemed a different generation altogether, too uptight to be a friend—an acquaintance at best, and a disapproving adult at worst. Personally she had been unable to imagine what the young, trendy Maria had seen in him. But later she had found out…

Jules grimaced. Knowing what she knew, meeting the pompous Randolfo Carducci again was not going to be easy. Still, she would brave a lion’s den for her mother, and with that thought in mind she gave up standing in the hall, ‘like patience on a monument’, and briskly opened the door in front of her.

A quick glance around and she realised she was still alone. The room was elegant, a mixture of soft creams and beige contrasted with deep-cushioned sofas in taupe leather, and the artwork on the walls looked genuine. The whole ambience was one of understated elegance and serious money, but the room was empty.

She walked over and sank down on one of the sofas, a sense of anticlimax making her shoulders slump dispiritedly. Geared up to do battle at twelve, she found it very deflating to be still waiting at quarter past. What now? she wondered. And looked around again.

At that moment a door opened and Jules automatically glanced across to the man who walked into the room. Randolfo Carducci…

Her eyes widened in shock, and for a moment she was stunned by the sheer masculine power of his presence. He was over six feet tall, with black hair slightly silvered at the temples and cut expertly to his arrogant head; his sculptured features were not classically handsome. Striking was a better description, with high cheekbones, a typical Roman nose that proclaimed his Italian ancestry, and a determined jaw. He was certainly the most impressive specimen of manhood she had encountered in quite a while. But then she was no expert, Jules ruefully acknowledged. She had had very little to do with men since her broken engagement. And this one was almost certainly married anyway.

The light grey suit he was wearing was tailored perfectly over broad, powerful shoulders and a white shirt open at the neck contrasted sharply with his olive-toned skin. The jacket was open and a grey leather belt supported softly pleated trousers that hugged lean hips, powerful thighs and long legs. He was awesomely male and Jules suddenly wondered how she had never noticed the fact as a teenager. As she tilted her head back her green eyes clashed with hard black, and thick arched brows came together in a frown. Nothing had changed there then, Jules thought dryly.

Jules had always felt uncomfortable around the man in the past. At thirteen years older he had seemed so commandingly superior. When he had frowned disapprovingly at her, especially when she had been with Enrique, she had felt somehow threatened.

But with hindsight she realised she had been equally disapproving of him. She had resented the easy relationship he had shared with her father, a father she had only just been beginning to know. Also his friendship with Enrique Eiga, who at the time Jules had thought was the love of her life.

Squashing the unwanted memories, she rose to her feet, and her heart gave a sudden jolt as his lips, perfectly moulded and sensuous, parted in a brief social smile. Jules shivered without knowing why… She was wrong; he had changed. He appeared even more arrogantly aloof than ever.

Stay cool, calm and in control, it is business, nothing else, Jules told herself. She had the confidence to handle any situation, and politely she held out her hand.

‘Mr Carducci, nice to see you again.’

‘Rand, please; after all we are almost family,’ he said smoothly, his dark eyes widening speculatively on the woman before him. A lustrous mass of red hair was swept back in a braid and revealed the exquisite oval of her face. Large, thick-lashed dark green eyes looked up at him, but avoided direct contact with his. Add a small straight nose and a luscious pink mouth that begged to be kissed and the woman was dynamite! His gaze dropped lower to a hint of cleavage exposed by the vee neckline of her jacket. His body tensed. The picture of a red-headed beanpole-type teenager he had carried in his head for years blasted into oblivion by the physicality of the woman before him. Julia Diez had developed into one very sexy lady.

He watched as she looked at him, noted the flare of recognition in her brilliant eyes, and the flicker of something very like fear. She had good right to be afraid, he thought cynically, the heartless little tart. He had not seen the woman in eight years, her shape had changed, but he would have recognised those eyes anywhere.

‘Sorry for the delay, Julia, my secretary should have been here. I hope you have not been waiting long.’ And he grasped her still-outstretched hand.

Jules swallowed hard. His handshake was firm and warm and did very odd things to her pulse rate. ‘No, not long,’ she managed to respond steadily. ‘And please call me Jules, everyone else does,’ she said, but when she tried to pull her hand free of his he simply tightened his grip.

‘Please, sit down.’ Leading her back to the sofa, he waited until she sat down before freeing her hand, adding, ‘It’s been a long time since we met. It must have been your engagement party when you were what? Seventeen, eighteen.’

‘Seventeen,’ she confirmed shortly; the last thing she needed was to be reminded of her engagement party, especially not by this man. Jules hadn’t seen him since, but, lifting her head, she stared at him, and for a fleeting moment she sensed something dangerous in the unfathomable black eyes and his wide-legged stance. Rand was a man to be wary of, her every instinct cried, and, remembering his fourth and final call some days after her father’s funeral, she shivered slightly.

Rand Carducci had informed her with mocking cynicism evident in his tone, that he was the sole executor of her father’s estate, and her father had added a codicil to his will the week before he died, the gist of it being if she agreed to return to Chile within six months of his demise she would receive something of value.

Jules had bluntly informed him she was not interested, and she had never intended taking Rand up on the offer, but now five months later she needed money. Strictly speaking it was her mother who needed the money. Her consultant had recommended a new three-year course of treatment from America as her best chance of a full recovery after her operation, but it was only available privately in England, and Liz was scheduled to start the treatment in ten days’ time. Jules had assured her mother they could afford the extra expense as only the best was good enough for her beloved mum.

Jules had taken over the running of the bakery a year ago from her mum and she had embarked on an expansion scheme to provide corporate catering. At Jules’ instigation they had moved from the flat above the shop, and bought a new house six months ago. The flat had been converted into another kitchen and office space with the help of a loan from the bank, plus the addition of a new catering vehicle. Unfortunately for Jules by the time the new treatment had been mentioned their finances had been stretched to the limit.

Jules had kept the information to herself, not wanting to worry her mother. She had approached the bank but they would not lend her more money so soon after the original investment, and suggested perhaps in another six months when her business plan showed a profit. Her mother could not wait six months, and Jules had tried every avenue but could not raise the cash. Finally in desperation she had contacted Rand Carducci’s office in Italy. Courtesy of his secretary a flight ticket and a hotel booking had arrived two days later for Jules to travel to Chile as instructed. From the man himself she had heard not one word.

But now that she was face to face with Rand, asking what her father had left her, and demanding if whatever it was could be converted into cash, seemed a hundred times more daunting then it had yesterday.

‘I was sorry to hear your engagement to Enrique did not work out.’ Startled out of her troublesome thoughts by his deep, mocking voice, she tensed warily as he continued, ‘I arrived at Carlos’ home the day before your wedding only to discover you had called it off, according to your very disappointed father, because you thought you were too young, and you wanted to have some fun before you settled down. Rather sudden, wasn’t it?’

Fun… It had been the worst time of her life and yet, according to Rand, her father had made her sound like some flighty bimbo. Her green eyes cautiously searched his, and for a second she thought she saw a flicker of some emotion in the dark depths—sympathy or censure? She wasn’t sure. Did he know the real truth about her broken engagement?

‘Yes, well. I had my reasons.’ She lowered her long lashes, avoiding the question in his too astute gaze. It wasn’t up to her to tell Rand the truth. If her late father had chosen to tell everyone it was because she had thought she was too young for marriage, so be it.

The reality was different. Three days before her marriage, when most of the household had been taking a siesta, she had been too strung up with excitement at her approaching wedding to rest. Instead she had decided to walk across to the neighbouring ranch where Enrique had lived and surprise him…

The two haciendas were situated either side of the river not a mile apart, the river being the border of the two ranches. She had crossed the water not by the bridge, but by the old stepping-stones set a few hundred yards downstream hidden by the trees.

She had only gone a few yards through the trees when she had stopped dead, and to this day she could not forget the sight that had met her eyes.

Enrique her fiancé, stark naked, with an equally naked Maria, Rand’s fiancée, and completely oblivious to her presence! There was not the slightest doubt about what they had been doing, and with nausea rising in her stomach she had run away.

Jules had made it back to the other side of the river before she’d collapsed on the bank crying her eyes out. That was how Maria had found her. Jules had slapped Maria’s hand away when she’d reached out to comfort her, and Maria had instantly guessed what had happened. ‘You saw us.’ Jules had not needed to confirm it. Maria had been able to see it in her face.

What had followed had been a painfully succinct lesson in life for Jules. Maria had informed her that she and Enrique had been lovers since the age of fourteen until her mother had found out and sent her to live in Santiago with an aunt. No one else knew of her relationship with Enrique, and no way did she want Jules revealing the truth to anyone, especially not her fiancé, Rand Carducci. He had financed her singing career and she had fully intended to marry him eventually, when she’d become tired of the music scene.

When Jules had said that was disgraceful, and if Maria married anyone it should be Enrique, because Jules certainly wasn’t going to marry him now, her teenage view of love had been killed stone-dead and the very thought of Enrique touching her turned her stomach.

Maria’s response had been a shake of her black head. ‘God, you are such an innocent. Surely you must have realised no hot-blooded Chilean male would be content to see his girlfriend for one month a year, and even then Enrique barely kissed you. Do you really think he is marrying you for anything other than your father’s ranch? Look around you—your father and Enrique’s have agreed between them you will inherit this and consequently, as your husband, Enrique. Two good properties amalgamated into one great one and the two families united. Grow up, girl, and face reality. Why do you think your father waited so many years before sending for you? Because he waited until you were of an age to be used,’ she told Jules cynically. ‘As for Enrique, he loves me, and he would marry me tomorrow if I agreed, but no way do I want to be stuck out in the country for the rest of my life. Rand is a much better bet, and I’ll get to travel the world in the lap of luxury.’

With the veil of innocence so brutally torn from her eyes Jules had been forced to face the fact that what Maria had told her made a horrible kind of sense. When they had finally parted Maria had elicited a promise from Jules that she would not mention her name in connection with Enrique.

Later Jules had told her father she was calling off the wedding because she had caught Enrique with another woman. He had told her not to be so silly, sex was not the same as the love between a married couple, and she would soon learn.

Jules had tried to argue, but had been finally silenced when her father had lost his temper and told her the truth. It had all been arranged with Señor Eiga that the two ranches would amalgamate when Jules married his son. As his only child and a female, it was her duty to do as she was told. If not he would cut her off without a penny.

It was then that she had finally seen her father for what he had been.

Remembering the episode again now still made Jules wince, mortified at her own blind innocence.

Rand saw the tightening of her full lips, but stared down at her making no effort to break the lengthening silence. He wasn’t surprised Jules was lost for words with what she had on her conscience. Idly he speculated what excuse she would come up with for her callous disregard of her father, but as she continued to avoid looking at him he found his anger rising. ‘I suppose you heard Enrique died in a car crash a few months later,’ he prompted with barely veiled contempt.

At the sound of Rand’s voice Jules blinked, banishing the hurtful memories to the back of her mind. ‘Enrique’s father sent me a note,’ she confirmed shortly. It had arrived via a solicitor, and it had been a shock. She recalled the hatred in the short one-liner, the gist of it being that it was her fault his son was dead. Enrique had been driving recklessly because Julia had broken his heart and his father hoped she rotted in hell!

A flash of rage sparkled in Rand’s black eyes. She knew about the car crash, the crash that had killed his fiancée as well as her ex, and yet she had the nerve to face him. God, she was hard, but, controlling his temper, he said, ‘Even though you had parted, it must have come as quite a shock to you.’

His large hand reached and squeezed her shoulder for a moment, and Jules felt the pressure of his fingers right through to the bone. ‘Yes,’ she murmured, surprised by his apparent if somewhat fierce gesture of comfort.

‘I am sorry. Forgive me for reminding you of your grief,’ he drawled softly.

From her sitting position she felt at a distinct disadvantage, his great frame towering over her, crowding her, and, lifting her chin, she looked up into his dark face. Was that sincerity in the night-black eyes that held hers? She wasn’t sure. He had the ‘sorry’ and the ‘forgive me’ in there—so why did she have the uneasy feeling she had just been insulted?

‘Yes, well, thank you,’ she murmured, feeling more of a hypocrite by the second, ‘but I prefer not to talk about it.’ She lowered her eyes from his intent gaze, her mind in a state of flux. He must know why she was here, so why was he being so nice? Perhaps marriage and a few children had mellowed him, she thought.

CHAPTER TWO

THIS interview was not going at all as Jules had planned; she was not here to relive the past but to hopefully assure her mother’s future. ‘I did not come all this way to talk over the past. The present is more my concern,’ she said firmly.

‘Yes, of course, how foolish of me to think you might need sympathy. After all, you left Enrique virtually standing at the altar.’ Rand stepped back and with a lift of one broad shoulder added, ‘Why would you be worried about the death of an ex-fiancé, years ago, when you were not even concerned with the recent death of your own father?’

Jules’ head shot back up, her green eyes clashing with contemptuous black, her doubts of his sincerity confirmed, and she realised the gloves were off with a vengeance.

‘You know nothing of my relationship with my father.’ She leapt to her feet. ‘Or, rather lack of one,’ she added cynically. ‘And it really has nothing to do with you anyway.’

One of the few times Jules had had a conversation with her dad he had explained how years ago when his sister Ester had been a student she had got involved with a far left political party in Chile. After spending a term in prison for her beliefs, she had finally escaped to Europe. She had met and married an Italian widower with a four-year-old son, Randolfo, and never returned. Brother and sister held completely opposing political views, and they had been estranged for decades. Which with hindsight should have told Jules something about her dad’s character years ago, but it had taken her own engagement to reveal him in his true colours.

Jules seriously doubted her father would ever have contacted his sister, if she had not made the first move years later by asking her adult stepson to check up on her only sibling on her behalf. Carlos Diez had been a cold-hearted, manipulative man as Jules had discovered for herself.

‘It does have something to do with me in as much as I am the sole executor of your father’s will,’ Rand reminded her.

‘And of course your obvious concern must be looking after your stepmother Ester’s interest, I understand that,’ Jules shot back throwing caution to the wind. ‘But I don’t—’

‘Stop right there,’ Rand cut in. ‘I have no intention of discussing business with you on an empty stomach. Join me for lunch, and then we will talk.’

She didn’t want to join him for lunch; in fact she wanted to escape from his powerful presence as soon as humanly possible. But one look at the grim determination in his darkly attractive face, and she knew she had little choice in the matter. Rand Carducci was not a man to be pushed around by anyone, and, if she was to have any chance of getting what she had come for, she could not afford to antagonise the man. ‘Lunch would be nice,’ Jules agreed.

Nice was not a word Rand would have used. Jules had developed into a very beautiful woman, on the outside at least, but at the moment the red tinge to her cheeks and the angry confusion in her flashing green eyes told him all he needed to know. Jules was a gold-digging, heartless little witch and she knew what side her bread was buttered on.

His firm lips twisted in a cynical smile that did not reach his eyes. He might have had some lingering sympathy for the skinny kid he remembered, but the simmering sexuality of the woman before him did not evoke sympathy, but a much more basic emotion. She was the type who could get any man she wanted with a glance from her brilliant emerald eyes and probably did. Carlos Diez apart, Jules owed him personally—if Señor Eiga was to be believed she had indirectly cost him a fiancée. A long time ago, true, but not something Rand could easily forget.

It was in his power to make sure she did not get a cent and he was sorely tempted to do just that. But he was an astute businessman, with a multimillion-dollar corporation to run, and he had neither the time nor inclination to hang around in Chile longer than was necessary. He would settle with the woman for as little as possible. There were other people more worthy who had to be considered.

‘Good. I am glad you agree, and I do understand your concern over your father’s estate,’ Rand said smoothly, not by a flicker of an eyelash revealing the anger simmering inside him. ‘And I can assure you, you will get your just reward, trust me—’ cupping her elbow with one strong hand, he urged her towards the door ‘—but there is no great hurry. As you have taken advantage of the travel arrangements my PA arranged for you I gather you aren’t planning on going anywhere for the next week,’ he opined hardily. ‘And it is good to see you looking so well and with the past firmly behind you.’

‘Yes, well…’ Was that a compliment? Or was he being sarcastic yet again? Jules wondered. But, glancing at him, she added politely, ‘Thank you.’ What else could she say? She needed his help.

Rand’s glittering black eyes scanned her beautiful face, his strong jaw line clenching hard as he noted the evasiveness in her expressive eyes, exactly as he’d expected. When he had heard Jules had run away from her fiancé and her father, he had not been very surprised. She had seemed little more than a child to Rand when she’d got engaged, and far too immature for marriage. As for her father, Carlos, he had been a hard man to like. If it had not been for Ester, the only mother he had ever known and adored, asking him to visit the man when he was in Chile on business, he doubted he would naturally have made friends with Carlos Diez.

Rand let go of her arm a moment and turned to lock the office door, his firm lips twisting in a dry smile. He was quite sure she would not run away from him; she had too much to lose, and yet for years he had not thought badly of her.

The car accident a few months after the aborted wedding had been just that, an accident, Rand had told himself at the time, and, though he had been devastated by the result, it had never entered his head to blame Jules. If anything he had felt slightly sorry for the girl. But he knew Señor Eiga had been convinced Enrique had been driving recklessly because he’d still been heartbroken over Jules, a hard-hearted young woman, and her own father had agreed with him.

Privately Rand had thought if anyone had been to blame it had been Enrique for allowing his emotions to overcome his common sense. It was all right to be reckless with one’s own life, but not with somebody else’s.

Rand’s opinion had begun to change when Jules had not contacted her father after he had called her to suggest she do so. Then he’d begun to wonder if the two old men had been right all along. Maybe Jules at eighteen had not been the innocent young girl he had thought. Then when she had never responded to his second call or the third, nor turned up for the funeral, he’d been virtually convinced of it, and his own anger and guilt had clicked in with a vengeance. Seeing the beautiful, sophisticated woman she had become, he was totally convinced, and any thought of trusting her was banished from his mind.

Turning, he took her arm again, his hard, chiselled features schooled into a polite, sympathetic mask. ‘Your father’s death must have been unsettling even though you two were estranged at the time. Grief has a way of sneaking up on one, when one least expects it,’ he said softly, ushering her into the elevator.

He was right. The night of her father’s funeral, alone in the house, she had cried her eyes out for the man who had given her life, recalling only the good times they had spent together. Carlos Diez had not been a bad man, Jules had finally acknowledged, simply a product of his environment, an environment totally different from the sleepy English market town she had grown up in.

‘Yes,’ she murmured, glancing up at him, and for a second he stared down into her brilliant green eyes, and she was suddenly aware of Rand’s hand on her arm, and the warmth of his large body reaching out to envelop her, his slight masculine fragrance teasing her nostrils. It made her breath catch in her throat, and her every muscle tense. She felt her breasts swell and the sudden tightening of her nipples, something that had never happened to her before. She was so shocked by her body’s treacherous reaction she shuddered, and, drawing in a deep unsteady breath, she swallowed hard. ‘Yes,’ she repeated.

Rand felt the slight tremor and his eyes slid astutely over her bent head, the pulse fluttering at the base of her throat, and his lips quirked at the corners in the briefest of satisfied smiles. The lovely Jules was not immune to him, he was sure. He was well aware of his effect on the opposite sex. He did not delude himself that just his face was his fortune; in his experience power and money were a much more potent aphrodisiac to the female of the species. Add a sophisticated expertise in the bedroom, and he knew without conceit he could please any woman he wanted. Not that he had bothered for quite some time, he suddenly realised.

Well, that was about to change, he decided, his eyes glinting with the thrill of the chase as they skimmed over her shapely length. The next few days promised to be very interesting, and he set about putting Jules at her ease by letting go of her arm and leaning back against the lift wall.

‘I have to admit, Jules, I only visited Carlos a few times in the last eight years, mostly at the instigation of Ester, of course,’ he said smoothly. ‘She and my father still live in Italy and as Ester is not fit enough to undertake a long-haul flight, the unfortunate result of her imprisonment here decades ago, she also missed the funeral, but it never stopped her thinking about her only sibling.’

His mention of the funeral was deliberate, but Jules ignored his comment.

‘And do you still live in Italy?’ she asked. With a bit of space between them she managed to speak reasonably steadily and, glancing up, her green eyes met amused black, and his firmly chiselled lips parted over gleaming white teeth in a mocking smile, letting her know he had noted her evasion, but he answered her question.

‘I visit the family home in Rome frequently, though I do have a place of my own at the coast. But my business takes me all over the world, so I have an apartment in New York, another here in Santiago, and yet another in Japan.’ His smile lightened. ‘Oh, and a beach house on the Gold Coast in Australia. I believe in controlling all my considerable assets personally,’ he said and her gaze slid involuntarily down over his impressive body. ‘I am very particular as to who I allow to check my assets.’

She would have had to be as thick as a brick not to get his very obvious double entendre, but even so Jules felt the tell-tale flush of colour burn up her cheeks, and was mortified when she realised where she had been looking. Plus the quite unexpected heat curling in her belly did not help. She had never felt that kind of sexual curiosity about any man… Her head jerked up. Get back to the reason you are here, girl, she admonished herself.

‘Well, lucky you,’ Jules blurted. ‘It must be nice for you and your wife.’ She reminded herself he must be married by now. Maria would never have let him get away, but she could not bring herself to say the other woman’s name. ‘But some of us are not so fortunate, and that is really why I am here.’ At that moment the elevator doors slid open.

Rand grasped her arm again and she shot a startled glance up at him and saw the flash of rage in the depths of his eyes and tensed. ‘I am not married, and you are fortunate to be alive,’ he declared forcefully, then as if sensing her unease he added. ‘We both are, so we should celebrate the fact,’ and with an elegant shrug of his broad shoulders concluded, ‘You are a long time dead, I believe is the English expression.’

She must have imagined the anger in his eyes, because he was smiling down at her, encouraging her to share his humour. ‘Yes,’ she murmured, still reeling from the shock of discovering he had never married Maria after all. They had been engaged for at least four years that Jules knew of.

‘Come.’ His hand dropped from her arm and settled in the small of her back and urged her outside to where a chauffeur-driven car waited.

In no time at all she was sitting in the back seat of a limousine with Rand at her side, and the driver was weaving the car through the midday traffic, and out into the countryside.

‘Where are we going to eat?’ Jules asked, the prolonged silence playing havoc with nerves strung so tightly that the tension was a frantic beat through her body. ‘We seem to have left the city,’ she mumbled, swallowing hard as the car took a bend and his hard-muscled thigh brushed against hers, with a resulting electric effect on her fragile control. She could not believe what was happening to her.

Normally she was the most staid of women; in fact she was still a virgin. Somehow after the fiasco of her engagement to Enrique she had gone off the idea of sex and love altogether. Yet, glancing at Rand’s hard, chiselled profile, she found herself wondering what his lips would feel like on hers and tore her gaze away. But there was worse as she found herself watching his large elegant hand resting lightly on a strong thigh, and for a moment wished it were resting on hers. Where were all these crazy feelings coming from, for heaven’s sake? Surely it wasn’t just because she now knew he was single… She hadn’t even liked him as a teenager.

‘My surprise,’ Rand declared, slanting her a slow, intimate smile. Her heart missed a beat and for a moment she simply stared at him. ‘But I am sure you will like the place,’ his deep voice drawled, soothing and seductive. ‘And don’t worry, we can talk seriously later.’

‘Yes, b…’ A long finger closed over her lips.

‘Relax, and prepare yourself for a gourmet delight,’ he told her. ‘As long as you like fish,’ he ended with a spark of rueful amusement in his tone.

‘Yes.’ She was fast becoming a yes-woman, Jules thought dryly. Most unlike her. But he really was a very compelling man. Strikingly attractive, add power and that aura of untouchability that only the seriously wealthy exuded, combined with one hundred per cent virile masculinity, and he was a walking aphrodisiac to any female from eight to eighty. Not a type that had ever impressed her in the past. Unfortunately for the first time in years Jules was forced to face the fact she was no exception, she conceded ruefully.

She had always thought of him as a dark, serious kind of man and yet he had a smile that she suspected could beguile any woman’s heart, even hers. She gave a small involuntary shake of her head. How had she never noticed before? she wondered in amazement. Maybe because in the past he had rarely smiled at her, but that wasn’t strictly true. He had on one occasion.

A memory of sitting on the paddock fence watching Enrique perform on his horse suddenly surfaced. Rand had strolled up beside her, and put a friendly arm around her waist. ‘Mind you don’t fall, kid,’ he murmured. ‘I don’t want you injured before Ester has a chance to know you or she will have my guts for garters—an English expression…no?’

She laughed at his funny accent, and then he asked her if she would mind if Ester wrote to her, explaining he had told his stepmother he had met her, and Ester had never known her brother had married or had a daughter until now.

Jules glibly answered, ‘Yes, fine, but I should warn you I’m not much of a letter-writer.’ She turned her head to look at him; his face was only inches from her own. ‘But I’ll add her to my Christmas card list.’ He ruffled her hair and said thanks and she recalled for a moment being dazzled by his smile, but putting it down to the bright sunshine…

The restaurant was everything Rand had said and more. A timber building set on stilts and with a long deck stretching out over the Pacific Ocean. They opted to eat outside and Jules took her seat and looked around her in awe. On the edge of a headland the sweeping view of a huge sandy beach and the sea gave the impression of being surrounded by water. ‘This place is incredible.’ She turned shining eyes up to Rand.

‘Good, I am glad you approve. Now let me get you a drink. Champagne by way of a celebration, perhaps—it has been a long time.’ One dark brow arched sardonically. ‘Some might say too long’. He still found it incredible she had not turned up for her own father’s funeral, and he wondered what excuse she would come up with. But he was not about to ask her. Not yet…

He had thought with each month that had passed after he had informed her of the codicil to her father’s will, as she had refused point-blank to have anything to do with it, that maybe the woman had a grain of integrity after all. At least she was consistent in ignoring her father in life and death. But when Jules had contacted his office just a few weeks before the deadline on claiming any inheritance ran out, he had realised cynically her initial refusal had obviously been a ploy not to sound too eager, and make him think better of her.

Well, it hadn’t worked; it simply confirmed what a hard, selfish woman she was. Carlos had maybe not been a good husband or father, but whether he had deserved a wife who had run out on him within a year of their marriage, taking his daughter with her and then divorcing him, was debatable.

To give Carlos his due, he had tried to make it up with his daughter years later by welcoming the teenage Jules into his home. When she had pleaded she was old enough to get engaged to Enrique, at the tender age of seventeen, Carlos had not objected, but had given her a big engagement party. The next year he had arranged a huge wedding at considerable expense, only to have his daughter run out on her fiancé, much the same as her mother had run out on him. In fact one could say it was Carlos Diez who had come off worse with his involvement with the English women all down the line.

Yet here this beautiful woman sat looking as cool as a cucumber, and after all she could get. Well, this time she was in for a rude awakening; Rand was going to make sure of that…

‘I was sorry I couldn’t make the funeral, but my mother wasn’t very well.’ Jules chose her words with care. She still had difficulty saying ‘cancer’ out loud, especially to a relative stranger. But she knew exactly what he was referring to by his ‘too long’. She could recognise sarcasm when she heard it. ‘And it was too short a notice to get out of an extremely important commitment I had already made.’ It was the truth; she had promised to stay with her mother while she was in hospital. But she did not want to offend the man when she was hoping to get money out of him so she did not elaborate.

Never mind her mother, it was probably down to some man, Rand thought cynically. Jules had dressed down her sensational figure, but to the discerning eye she was the epitome of female pulchritude, full breasted, a tiny waist and softly rounded hips plus long, shapely legs. He stirred uncomfortably on his chair, surprised by the stirring in his groin and resenting the effect she had on him, but masking it with a fulsome compliment.

‘I understand. An exquisitely beautiful young woman like you must have many more pressing calls on your time,’ he drawled silkily, and turned his attention to the waiter who had miraculously appeared at his side.

‘No champagne for me; a soft drink, please,’ Jules said coolly, not rising to the bait as he placed their order with the waiter in fluent Spanish. He really was a many-talented man but he was also a sarcastic swine; she didn’t believe his compliment for a moment. She had no illusions about her looks. Attractive, yes, but ‘exquisitely beautiful’ was overdoing the hyperbole just a tad even to try and charm the dimmest female.

A wry smile twisted her mouth. Jules considered herself a reasonably intelligent adult woman, with a good career doing what she loved. In life as in business luck and timing was everything. Sadly for her mother, she had had no say in when her illness had struck. Jules could think if only it had been a year or two later, and at her worst moments if only it had been just six weeks sooner, then Jules would not have invested all their capital and the bank loan in the house and business. But her real wish was if only her wonderful mother had never taken ill at all.

Bad timing… Whatever, the reality was she needed money and she needed it now and, whether she liked it or not, Rand was her only hope. Unfortunately he held the purse strings. She knew the amount she needed would barely dent the value of her father’s estate. But whether this autocratic man would give it to her, she was not so sure. Then any hope Jules had harboured that he might have forgotten about the past was dashed with his next words.

‘So.’ Rand returned his attention to her. ‘I have ordered the seafood special; take my word, you will love it. I do.’ He paused, and Jules felt her heart flutter in her breast, hypnotised by the smouldering warmth in his dark eyes. ‘I love this place.’ He leant back and waved an elegant hand in a gesture at the view and looked around. Released from the magnetic pull of his powerful gaze, Jules concentrated on steadying her breathing, but stifled a gasp of outrage as he continued. ‘I must admit I was surprised you gave up the opportunity to live in this wonderful climate with a wealthy father and the prospect of a handsome husband for the doubtful pleasures of the British climate. Dare I assume you have changed your mind?’ he prompted cynically.

He was doing it again, insulting her; did he take her for a fool or what? ‘No, I have not. People are more important than places,’ Jules said tightly.

‘Forgive me for saying so, but that sounds rather strange coming from a girl like you.’

‘You know nothing about me,’ Jules shot back, bristling with anger at his implication.

‘True.’ Rand leant back in his chair as the waiter appeared with a jug of juice and two glasses, eyeing Jules though narrowed eyes. Amazingly she looked quite genuine in her indignation. He had to admit she was one hell of an actress, and he wondered what else she was good at. He could see the rise and fall of her firm breast beneath the soft linen of her jacket, and again felt a sudden tightening in his groin area he had some difficulty controlling.

Leaning forward to allow his body to subside, he filled a glass with juice. ‘I am so embroiled in my work, I have trouble keeping track of the side issues.’ Rand straightened and held out the glass of orange juice. ‘But it is good to see you again.’

Jules felt the colour rise in her cheeks. ‘Side issue’ said it all, which was all she ever had been to her father or any other man. She reached out and took the glass from him, his long fingers accidentally brushing hers, and felt the tingling effect of his touch right up her arm. But as she controlled her shock her green eyes clashed with deep brown. Was it mockery she saw in the dark depths?

‘Yes, well…’ She cleared her throat, refusing to let her simmering anger show. ‘Given you are so busy, perhaps we can combine lunch with business. I would hate to take up too much of your precious time,’ she suggested, taking control of the situation and, lifting the glass to her mouth, she took a long, cooling swallow.

‘As you like,’ Rand said with a dismissive shrug of his broad shoulders. ‘After all, I am here on behalf of your late father. Perhaps an enquiry on your part about his last illness would not go amiss,’ he prompted sardonically.

‘I had heard nothing from my father in seven years until you called to tell me he was ill. A heart attack, I believe you said, and I have no reason to disbelieve you,’ she offered. ‘For all I know he could have married again. I might even have a brother or sister I know nothing about,’ she suggested dryly, ‘but I am sure you can enlighten me.’ Rand was not going to intimidate her and she boldly held his dark gaze, her own expression, she hoped, one of cool concern.

Her father and her ex-fiancé Enrique had been two of a kind. Arrogant, autocratic tyrants, who thought they could do what they wanted and everyone else had to do as they were told. Jules and her mum had both suffered at their manipulative hands, and she had to be mad to put herself in Rand’s power, she had no doubt he was just the same, but what choice did she have?

First her mother had discovered her husband had a mistress right under her nose, and years later Jules had caught Enrique, Rand’s supposed friend, with Maria, Rand’s fiancée… No, she was not going there, or she might lose her temper completely and tell Rand the truth.

But then again he might already know all about Maria’s unfaithfulness. Maybe that was why he had not married her. Whatever… Jules was not going to ask…

‘I’m sure my father was well looked after to the end.’

‘Oh, he was,’ Rand assured her smoothly. ‘And to ease your mind I can tell you he never married again.’ He paused, his eyes narrowed intently on her delicate face. He would stake his fortune Jules knew damn fine she was the closest living relative of her late father, but he was prepared to play her along for now. ‘And there are no other children,’ he emphasised with an edge of cynicism in his tone. ‘Though it pains me to admit, I had only seen Carlos half a dozen times in the last few years. I have a very efficient manager in the Santiago office and I don’t come to Chile very often, but luckily I was staying at the ranch when he took ill. Too much red meat and too many cigars, a small heart attack that even the doctor thought was nothing too serious, and then a massive one and he died three days later. I attended the funeral, of course.’

‘Good for you,’ Jules said swiftly. ‘I am glad he had someone with him.’ Not that her father was ever alone, living on a ranch with several staff and never without a woman, as far as Jules knew. He had hardly needed Jules as well. But the constant mention of her father was churning up memories she preferred to forget and, pinning a smile on her face, she forced herself to look up into his eyes.

‘But to be honest I did not really know him very well—a few weeks’ holiday every summer for four years. You knew him much better than I.’ She saw a brief flare of some powerful emotion on his face, but was quickly reassured when his firm lips parted into a reciprocal smile.

‘You’re right, of course; all the more reason why you must stay awhile,’ Rand declared adamantly. ‘Ah! The food has arrived. Let’s enjoy our lunch.’ He smiled again, his dark eyes mesmerising her. ‘I have a very large appetite and it badly needs filling.’ Jules blinked and tore her gaze away. Crude, she thought, and colour flooded her face at his suggestive comment, but she went pale as he added, ‘We can talk about your father later when we get to the ranch.’

‘The ranch?’ she parroted, her eyes widening in puzzlement.

‘Don’t worry, I have made all the arrangements. After missing your father’s funeral I knew you would want to visit his grave as soon as possible,’ he said and she could only agree.

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