скачать книгу бесплатно
In The Spaniard's Bed
HELEN BIANCHIN
Diego de Santo: dynamic, charismatic, he's made millions and he believes everything is for sale….Cassandra Preston-Villiers: heiress to an empire, she's beautiful and sophisticated everything Diego's ever wanted in a woman so he blackmails her into becoming his mistress. But now that he's got Cassandra, Diego wants more an affair is no longer enough for this hot Latin lover!
“The deal is subject to a condition?” Diego’s expression was coolly aloof.
Cassandra’s eyes glittered with barely repressed anger. “My brother said it was personal. How personal?”
“Two separate nights and one weekend with you.”
It took her a few seconds to find her voice. “I won’t have sex with you.”
“You’re not in any position to bargain.”
“I’m not for sale,” Cassandra replied with dignity.
“Everything has its price.”
VIVA LA VIDA DE AMOR!
They speak the language of passion.
In Harlequin Presents, you’ll find a special
kind of lover—full of Latin charm. Whether he’s
relaxing in denims or dressed for dinner, giving
you diamonds or simply sweet dreams,
he’s got spirit, style and sex appeal!
Latin Lovers is the miniseries
from Harlequin Presents for anyone
who enjoys hot romance!
Watch for more Latin Lovers—
you can never have enough spice in your life!
In the Spaniard’s Bed
Helen Bianchin
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
‘I’M ON my way.’ Cassandra released the intercom, caught up her evening purse, keys, exited her apartment and took the lift down to the foyer where her brother was waiting.
At twenty-nine he was two years her senior, and he shared her blond hair, fair skin and blue eyes. Average height in comparison to her petite frame.
‘Wow,’ Cameron complimented with genuine admiration, and she responded with an affectionate smile.
‘Brotherly love, huh?’
The ice-pink gown moulded her slender curves, its spaghetti straps showing silky skin to an advantage, and the diagonal ruffled split to mid-thigh showcased beautifully proportioned legs. A gossamer wrap in matching ice-pink completed the outfit, and her jewellery was understated.
‘Seriously cool.’
She tilted her head to one side as she tucked a hand through his arm. ‘Let’s go slay the masses.’
Tonight’s fundraiser was a prestigious event whose guests numbered among Sydney’s social élite. Held in the ballroom of a prominent city hotel, it was one of several annual soirées Cassandra and her brother attended on their father’s behalf after a heart attack and stroke two years ago forced him into early retirement.
Guests were mingling in the large foyer when they arrived, and she summoned a practised smile as she acknowledged a few acquaintances, pausing to exchange a greeting with one friend or another as she selected iced water from a hovering drinks waiter.
Observing the social niceties was something she did well. Private schooling and a finishing year in France had added polish and panache. The Preston-Villers family held a certain social standing of which her father was justly proud.
While Cameron had been groomed to enter the Preston-Villers conglomerate from an early age, Cassandra chose to pursue gemmology and jewellery design, added the necessary degree, studied with a well-known jeweller and she was now beginning to gain a reputation for her work.
Mixing and mingling was part of the social game, and she did it well.
Committee members conferred and worked the room in a bid to ensure the evening’s success. The hotel ballroom was geared to seat a thousand guests, and it was rumoured there had been a waiting list for last-minute ticket cancellations.
‘There’s something I need to discuss with you.’
Cassandra met Cameron’s gaze, examined his expression, and restrained a faint frown as she glimpsed the slight edginess apparent.
‘Here, now?’ she queried lightly, and waited for his usual carefree smile.
‘Later.’
It couldn’t be anything serious, she dismissed, otherwise he would have mentioned it during the drive in to the city.
‘Darling, how are you?’
The soft feminine purr evoked a warm smile as she turned to greet the tall, slender model. ‘Siobhan.’ Her eyes sparkled. They’d attended the same school, shared much, and were firm friends. ‘I’m fine, and you?’
‘Flying out to Rome tomorrow, then it’s Milan followed by Paris.’
Cassandra uttered a subdued chuckle in amusement. ‘It’s a hard life.’
Siobhan grinned. ‘But an interesting one,’ she conceded. ‘I have a date with an Italian count in Rome.’
‘Ah.’
‘Old money, and divine.’
The musing twinkle in those gorgeous green eyes brought forth a husky laugh as Cassandra shook her head. ‘You’re wicked.’
‘This time it’s serious,’ Siobhan declared as Cassandra’s smile widened.
‘It always is.’
‘Got to go. The parents are in tow.’
‘Have fun.’
‘I shall. In Italy.’ She leaned forward and pressed her cheek against Cassandra’s in a gesture of affection.
‘Take care.’
‘Always.’
Soon the ballroom doors would be open, and guests would be called to take their seats. There would be the introductory and explanatory speeches, the wine stewards would do their thing, and the first course served.
Speaking of which, she was hungry. Lunch had been yoghurt and fruit snatched between the usual weekend chores.
Cameron appeared deep in conversation with a man she presumed to be a business associate, and she sipped chilled water from her glass as she debated whether to join him.
At that moment she felt the warning prickle of awareness as her senses went on alert, and she let her gaze skim the guests.
There was only one man who had this particular effect on her equilibrium.
Innate instinct? An elusive knowledge based on the inexplicable?
Whatever, it was crazy. Maddening.
Maybe this time she had it wrong. Although all it took was one glance at that familiar dark head to determine her instinct was right on target.
Diego del Santo. Successful entrepreneur, one of the city’s nouveau riche…and her personal nemesis.
Born in New York of Spanish immigrant parents, it was reported he’d lived in the wrong part of town, fought for survival in the streets, and made his money early, so it was rumoured, by means beyond legitimate boundaries of the law.
He took risks, it was said, no sensible man would touch. Yet those risks had paid off a million-fold several times over. Literally.
In idle fascination she watched as he turned towards her, then he murmured something to his companion and slowly closed the distance between them.
‘Cassandra.’
The voice was low, impossibly deep with the barest trace of an accent, and possessed of the power to send tiny shivers feathering the length of her spine.
Tall, broad-framed, with the sculptured facial features of his Spanish ancestors. Dark, well-groomed hair, dark, almost black eyes, and a mouth that promised a thousand delights.
A mouth that had briefly tasted her own when she’d disobeyed her father and persuaded Cameron to take her to a party. Sixteen years old, emerging hormones, a sense of the forbidden combined with a desire to play grown-up had proved a volatile mix. Add her brother with his own agenda, a few sips too many of wine, a young man who seemed intent on leading her astray, and she could easily have been in over her head. Except Diego del Santo had materialised out of nowhere, intervened, read her the Riot Act, then proceeded to show her precisely what she should be wary of when she heedlessly chose to flirt. Within minutes he had summoned Cameron and she found herself bundled into her brother’s car and driven home.
Eleven years had passed since that fateful episode, ten of which Diego had spent in his native New York creating his fortune.
Yet she possessed a vivid recollection of how it felt to have his mouth savour her own. The electric primitiveness of his touch, almost as if he had reached down to her soul and staked a claim.
Diego del Santo had projected a raw quality that meshed leashed savagery with blatant sensuality. A dangerously compelling mix, and one that attracted females from fifteen to fifty.
Now there were no rough edges, and he bore the mantle of power with the same incredible ease he wore his designer clothes.
In his mid-to-late thirties, Diego del Santo was a seriously rich man whose property investments and developments formed a financial portfolio that edged him close to billionaire status.
As such, his return to Australia a year ago had soon seen him become an A-list member of Sydney’s social élite, receiving invitations to each and every soirée of note. His acceptance was selective, and his donations to worthy charities, legend.
Preston-Villers’ involvement with similar charity events and her father’s declining health meant they were frequently fellow guests at one function or another. It was something she accepted, and dealt with by presenting a polite façade.
Only she knew the effect he had on her. The way her pulse jumped and thudded to a rapid beat. No one could possibly be aware her stomach curled into a painful knot at the mere sight of him, or how one glance at his sensual mouth heated the blood in her veins in a vivid reminder of the way it felt to have that mouth possess her own.
The slow sweep of his tongue, the promise of passion, the gentle, coaxing quality that caught her tentative response and took it to an undreamt-of dimension.
Eleven years. Yet his kiss was hauntingly vivid…a taunting example by which she’d unconsciously measured each kiss that followed it. None matched up, no matter how hard she tried to convince herself imagination had merely enhanced the memory.
There were occasions when she thought she should dispense with her own curiosity and accept one of his many invitations. Yet each time something held her back, an innate knowledge such a step would put her way out of her depth.
His invitations and her refusals had become something akin to a polite game they each played. What would he do, she mused, if she surprised him by accepting?
Are you insane? a tiny voice queried insidiously.
‘Diego,’ Cassandra acknowledged coolly, meeting his compelling gaze with equanimity, watching as he inclined his head to her brother.
‘Cameron.’
