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A Mistress, A Scandal, A Ring
Angela Bissell
His scandalous mistress…Bound with a vow?Ruthless billionaire Xavier de la Vega has worked relentlessly to throw off the emotional shackles of his past. Seducing stunning Jordan, with her link to a family he’d rather forget, is a calculated risk—he’s convinced their fire will soon burn out! But when their affair is exposed Xavier can see just one way forward—and it will bind Jordan to him permanently!
His scandalous mistress...
Bound with a vow?
Ruthless billionaire Xavier de la Vega has worked relentlessly to throw off the emotional shackles of his past. Seducing stunning Jordan, with her link to a family he’d rather forget, is a calculated risk—he’s convinced their fire will soon burn out! But when their affair is exposed, Xavier can see just one way forward—and it will bind Jordan to him permanently!
ANGELA BISSELL lives with her husband and one crazy Ragdoll cat in the vibrant harbourside city of Wellington, New Zealand. In her twenties, with a wad of savings and a few meagre possessions, she took off for Europe, backpacking through Egypt, Israel, Turkey and the Greek Islands before finding her way to London, where she settled and worked in a glamorous hotel for several years. Clearly the perfect grounding for her love of Mills & Boon Modern Romance! Visit her at angelabissell.com (http://www.angelabissell.com).
Also by Angela Bissell (#u47945a35-0dc7-5049-9cb5-14a18a34fd8a)
Irresistible Mediterranean Tycoons miniseries
Surrendering to the Vengeful Italian
Defying Her Billionaire Protector
Ruthless Billionaire Brothers miniseries
A Night, A Consequence, A Vow
A Mistress, A Scandal, A Ring
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).
A Mistress, A Scandal, A Ring
Angela Bissell
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-07231-1
A MISTRESS, A SCANDAL, A RING
© 2018 Angela Bissell
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
This book is dedicated to the memory of Susan Chapman, aka Lily Shepherd, an amazing lady who faced her final days with strength, grace and tremendous courage. She will be sadly missed and fondly remembered by her friends in the romance writing community.
Contents
Cover (#ue8b0e749-fcad-5246-9f72-21686d421cb2)
Back Cover Text (#ue4f7d3b7-53e0-5a3e-879c-efd46d1930b1)
About the Author (#u181129d9-e50e-5770-ba39-3c22fea87db3)
Booklist (#u7d96db81-b05b-509b-85dc-ac99bd935068)
Title Page (#u00ec95ec-b012-5a18-85ea-36ecdcc8deeb)
Copyright (#u39fde54c-0429-5bb1-984f-891e5515ae09)
Dedication (#u51410852-94ae-5867-9867-bd7388abb340)
CHAPTER ONE (#ua4a21a9c-5c3c-55f8-998c-3cfd62547ed8)
CHAPTER TWO (#u2da702dc-5bb7-5444-a621-459187aa6a23)
CHAPTER THREE (#u76ee0a5d-d822-5384-9622-364f7efc8f36)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#u47945a35-0dc7-5049-9cb5-14a18a34fd8a)
‘YOU MUST LEAVE NOW, senyorita.’
Jordan Walsh tipped her head back, and back some more, until she stared into the face of the uniformed security guard who towered over her.
‘I’m not leaving,’ she told him, making no move to vacate the chair she had occupied for over two hours in the waiting area of this vast marble foyer.
The big man’s eyebrows beetled together. ‘You must go. The building is closing.’
The building was the Vega Tower—a great big steel and glass monolith that rose from the heart of Barcelona’s thriving business district and dwarfed everything around it. It had cost one point two billion US dollars to construct, had taken two years and three months from foundation to completion, and comprised forty-four floors of bustling head office activity for one of Europe’s largest and most successful multinational conglomerates.
Jordan was well acquainted with these facts because she had picked up the glossy hardbound book titled The Vega Corporation: Sixty Years of Success off the low table beside her and, out of sheer boredom, read the entire thing from front cover to back. Twice.
‘I’m not leaving without an appointment to see Mr de la Vega,’ she said.
This was not news to the security man. She had made the same request on her arrival, and again an hour ago when it had become obvious that his call to the CEO’s assistant had garnered no result.
‘He is not available.’
‘Which is why I want to make an appointment,’ she explained with exaggerated patience. ‘So that I can see him when he is available.’
‘It is not possible,’ the man said, and with that he clamped a giant hand around her upper arm and hauled her to her feet.
Jordan gasped. ‘Wait!’ She braced her legs to resist, her flat rubber-soled shoes giving her feet a much-needed moment of purchase on the shiny marble. ‘You’re not seriously going to manhandle me out of the building?’
‘I am sorry, senyorita,’ he said, but the sidelong glance he sent her didn’t look apologetic so much as...pitying.
She bristled at the implication of that look. It wasn’t difficult to guess what he and his colleagues behind the desk were thinking. A man as wealthy and powerful as their boss must have an abundance of female admirers and hangers-on, and his staff were no doubt required to act as gatekeepers on occasion.
But Jordan was no jilted lover or wannabe mistress. ‘Please,’ she persisted, hating the desperate note that crept into her voice. ‘Can you just call his office one more time?’
Somebody must still be up there. Sure, it was almost six-thirty p.m., but didn’t working hours in Spain differ from the norm at home? And hadn’t she read an online article just yesterday in which the CEO was quoted as saying he not only worked long hours himself, but expected key members of his staff to do the same?
But the guard shook his head. ‘Call tomorrow,’ he said.
Jordan felt the sharp bite of frustration in her belly. She’d already phoned the day before, and the day before that. Each time she’d been stonewalled by the CEO’s uppity assistant. Which was why she had trekked across the city in the stifling mid-August heat this afternoon and shown up in person.
She planted her feet and locked her knees, but her strength was no match for the guard’s. He started walking and she was forced to stumble along beside him, clutching her tote bag and the shreds of her dignity as he marched her towards the automatic sliding glass doors.
Her heart lurched. A few more steps and she’d be out on the street, back to square one.
The glass doors parted before them, letting in a blast of hot air, and she thought of the envelope in her bag—the letter she’d carried ten thousand miles across the globe—and a crushing sense of failure engulfed her.
All because she couldn’t find her way to the top of this imposing corporate fortress to see one man.
Her body stiffened in protest. ‘I’m Mr de la Vega’s stepsister!’ she cried out, and the guard pulled up short, surprise making his grip slacken just enough so she could wrench herself free.
Around them the cavernous foyer came to a standstill, the other security personnel behind the desk and the few office workers making their way to and from the lifts having paused and fallen silent in the wake of her outburst.
A tidal wave of heat swept up her body and into her face. Doing her best to ignore the curious stares, she levelled her gaze at the guard and said quietly, ‘I’m sure neither his assistant—nor you—would like to inform him that you’ve turned me away.’
The man rubbed the back of his neck, his face screwed up in a grimace of indecision. Finally, he said in a gruff voice, ‘Please wait.’
He returned to the desk to make a phone call and two minutes later a tall, elegant woman wearing a sleek navy shift dress and high heels emerged from a lift. She looked to the guard, who steered her in Jordan’s direction with a tilt of his head.
Jordan saw the woman give her an assessing, narrow-eyed once-over before striding across the marble floor towards her.
‘Ms Walsh.’ Her tone was cool. ‘Mr de la Vega is extremely busy, but he is willing to give you ten minutes of his time.’
Her English was accented, but good, and Jordan recognised the voice at once. She was the assistant who’d screened her phone calls and refused to give her an appointment.
Jordan forced a smile and resisted asking if Mr de la Vega was sure he could spare a whole ten minutes from his extremely busy schedule. Instead she offered a gracious, ‘Thank you,’ but the woman had already pivoted on a spiked heel and started back across the foyer, leaving Jordan to follow.
The guard held the lift doors open and then boarded with them, taking a position at the rear as they hurtled upwards to the forty-fourth floor.
Jordan’s heart raced and her hands grew clammy. After all the careful thought she’d put into this, the endless days of agonising indecision, the time spent working out what she’d say when...if...this moment came, she hadn’t expected to feel quite so nervous.
But then it was no small thing she was about to do. She had no idea how Xavier de la Vega would receive her. How he’d react. She wasn’t sure how she’d react herself in his position.
She cast a critical glance at her reflection in the highly polished panels of the lift doors. In a sleeveless white blouse, khaki capris and a pair of comfy shoes, she looked plain and unremarkable next to the tall, stunning Spanish woman. Her one feature worthy of note—her long, copper-red hair—was pulled into a high, no-fuss ponytail, and the tinted moisturiser she’d rubbed into her skin that morning was the closest thing to make-up her face had seen in weeks.
The lift doors opened and all thoughts of her appearance were swiftly forgotten as she followed the other woman into a large suite of offices. They walked along a wide corridor and she was conscious of the guard trailing close behind them, of thick carpet underfoot, high walls hung with expensive artwork and a hushed atmosphere. But the escalating flutter of nerves in her belly made everything else a blur.
And then they entered a big corner office and every shred of her attention was snagged and held by the man sitting behind the massive oak desk.
Jordan had seen photos of him online. Not many, mind you. Unlike his younger brother, of whom there were literally hundreds of photos scattered across the Internet, Xavier de la Vega appeared to value his privacy. But as her breath caught and her hands inexplicably shook she realised those two-dimensional images had not in any way prepared her for a personal, up-close encounter with this devastatingly handsome man.
And his eyes.
Grey...just like Camila’s.
Her throat thickened and she had to swallow hard and blink fast to contain her emotion.
He stood, and she was struck by his height. Six foot at least, which surprised her. Her stepmother had been tiny, her figure perfectly proportioned but petite. By the time Jordan had turned sixteen she’d easily been able to rest her chin on top of Camila’s head when they’d hugged.
He walked around the desk and she saw that everything about him, from his neatly cropped black hair to his tailored grey suit and expensive-looking leather shoes, was immaculate. Even the full Windsor knot in his tie looked as if it had been flawlessly executed.
He had an air of authority about him—and something else she couldn’t quite pinpoint.
Arrogance?
Impatience?
Her gaze went to the hard line of his jaw and then up to his high, intelligent forehead and slashing jet-black eyebrows.
Yes, she concluded with a touch of unease. This man looked as if he had little tolerance for weakness or compromise.
Suddenly she was conscious of the silence blanketing the room. Of the fact that he was returning her scrutiny with hard, narrowed eyes. He didn’t smile. He didn’t even step forward and offer to shake her hand in greeting. Which probably wasn’t a bad thing, given her hands now felt as damp as soggy dishrags.
