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He sounded mesmeric. Dixie couldn’t peel her wet eyes from him either. In the dusk light, his bronzed features were half in shadow, dark eyes glimmering silver beneath the sort of long, incredibly luxuriant black lashes that would drive any sane woman blessed with less to despair.
‘My dog, Spike…’ she muttered uncertainly, so very, very tired it was becoming an effort even to string words together, her mind a confused sea of incomplete thoughts and fears.
‘Spike can come too. One of my staff will pick up the rest of your possessions tomorrow. You won’t have anything to do,’ César asserted gently.
At that moment, the concept of not having anything to do impressed Dixie like the offer of manna from heaven. ‘I…I—’
César slid out of the driver’s seat, strolled round the front and opened the door beside her. ‘Come on,’ he urged.
And Dixie found herself doing as she was told, all the fight drained out of her. ‘A harmless fiction’, César had called it. A pretend engagement to make Jasper’s last days happy. And it would make Jasper happy. She knew how much Jasper longed to see César on the road to creating the family circle that Jasper had never managed to create for himself. Maybe lying wasn’t always wrong…
Her landlady emerged from her small flat on the ground floor. As she broke into angry, accusing speech, César settled a wad of banknotes into her hand. ‘Miss Robinson will be moving out. I hope this takes care of her notice.’
A PHONE WAS RINGING somewhere horribly close to Dixie’s ears. Struggling to cling to sleep, she sighed with relief when the shrill buzz stopped, but her eyes slowly opened on the dawning realisation that she didn’t have a phone in her flat.
Her brain in a fog, Dixie surveyed her unfamiliar surroundings. For a moment she couldn’t even remember where she was. Then her attention fell on the suitcase lying open with miscellaneous garments tumbling untidily out of it. And whoosh, everything came back in a rush; she was in César Valverde’s London home.
The phone by the bed started ringing again. This time Dixie reached for the receiver. ‘Hello?’ she said nervously.
‘Rise and shine, Dixie.’ César Valverde’s rich, dark drawl jerked her bolt upright in the bed. ‘It’s half-six and I want you in the gym by eight, dressed appropriately and fully awake.’
‘The gym?’ Dixie was aghast at the news that she was expected to be up before seven in the morning, particularly on a Saturday. Even Spike was still asleep in his basket. He was as fond of sleeping in as his owner.
‘I’ve engaged a fitness instructor to put you through your paces,’ César completed drily, and rang off.
A fitness instructor? Dixie stared into space with wide eyes, picturing some giant, suntanned musclebound male standing over her like a bullying sergeant-major, bawling instructions liberally splattered with abuse. She shrank. Maybe the instructor would be nice and break her in gently. She tried to imagine César hiring someone nice. Hope dwindled fast. The fitness instructor would be tough and pitiless. César was, after all, the male who had called her a lazy lump.
Scrambling out of bed, Dixie roused Spike and left the bedroom. A short corridor beyond led out to a small enclosed courtyard.
On her arrival the night before, Dixie had been handed over to César’s butler, Fisher, like an unwelcome parcel. The comfortable en suite bedroom she had been assigned on the ground floor was former staff accommodation. Dixie had understood the distinction being made. She was not going to be treated like an honoured guest in César Valverde’s palatial Georgian mansion.
Having attended to Spike’s needs, she went for a shower. Appropriate clothing? Dixie had never been in a gym in her life. A baggy pair of sweat-pants and an oversized T-shirt were all she had to wear. The unflattering combination made her look as wide as she was tall. A slim Dixie Mark Two? But what if the exercise routine worked? a more seductive voice asked, and she dawdled by the mirror then, imagining Scott suddenly recognising her as a member of the female sex…
Her stomach growling with hunger, she was about to go off in search of the kitchen when a quiet knock sounded on the door.
Fisher appeared with a tray bearing a tall glass filled with some strange greyish green liquid. ‘Miss Stevens faxed your diet plan to Cook yesterday,’ the butler explained. ‘I believe this is the lady’s own personal recipe for an early-morning energy boost.’
‘Oh…’ In bewilderment, Dixie accepted the glass. Diet plan? She didn’t like the sound of that. She was willing to exercise, but diet? And who on earth was Fisher talking about?
‘Miss Stevens?’ Dixie queried with a frown.
‘Gilda Stevens, the fitness instructor,’ Fisher supplied expressionlessly. ‘Her instructions regarding your menus were most precise.’
At that point, Dixie’s tummy gave an embarrassing gurgle. So her fitness instructor was a woman. Taking a sip of the noxious brew, Dixie tried not to grimace. A cruel woman. The drink tasted like dishwater with bits of floating weed, but, remembering her manners, Dixie drank it down and waited eagerly to be told when she might receive her first meal of the day.
‘Mr Valverde will be in the gym in five minutes,’ the butler informed her as he retrieved the glass and returned to the door.
‘What about breakfast? Do I eat later…or something?’
‘That was breakfast, Miss Robinson.’ At her aghast look of disbelief, the older man averted his eyes.
‘A drink…a drink is all I’m allowed on this plan?’ Dixie breathed shakily.
In silence, the older man nodded.
Fisher gave her directions to the gym. On her way there she caught tantalising glimpses of magnificent paintings, marble floors and wonderful rugs. She was not surprised to walk into a superb purpose-built gymnasium worthy of the most élite health club.
At the far end of the spacious room, César was lounging elegantly back against a piece of machinery that looked like an instrument for torture. He was talking to a brunette wearing less clothing than Dixie wore in bed. Presumably Gilda Stevens. A tiny white crop top adorned the lady’s dainty bosom. Skintight white shorts hugged her impossibly slender hips. Every inch of visible skin was tanned and satin smooth.
Oh, no, why does she have to be so gorgeous? Dixie thought, cringing from such a cruel comparison, such an impossible peak of feminine perfection.
Tall and supremely authoritative in a dark designer suit, sunglasses dangling from one brown hand, César spoke without turning his dark, arrogant head. ‘Don’t skulk, Dixie. Come and join us. Gilda’s done us a very special favor in agreeing to devote her personal attention to you at such short notice.’
The very thin brunette studied Dixie critically as she walked towards her.
Dixie flushed, her soft mouth tightening with embarrassment. César swivelled round, as light as a dancer on his feet in spite of his size. His winged brows pleated as he took in her appearance with frowning dark deep-set eyes. ‘Haven’t you got anything more suitable to wear?’
‘Dixie would probably feel too self-conscious in more revealing garments. I’ve seen this so many times before,’ Gilda Stevens informed them both. ‘Fortunately, diet and exercise can work real miracles—’
‘Look…’ Dixie began. ‘I’m not an inanimate object you can discuss—’
‘I’ll send out for some gear for you,’ César cut in, lean bronzed features already distant as he strode towards the door.
Gilda gave Dixie a cool, assessing appraisal from glassy blue eyes, and a panicky sensation twisted Dixie’s empty tummy. Before she could even think about what she was doing, she raced in César Valverde’s wake. Suddenly he felt like her only friend.
‘César!’ she gasped strickenly.
At the door he wheeled round, brilliant eyes glittering with impatience.
‘César…she’s not a normal woman,’ Dixie whispered almost pleadingly. ‘When she stands sideways on she’s only about six inches wide! I didn’t know anybody could be that thin and still live…and of course I look enormous to her, but I can’t help the shape I was born with!’
After a stunned pause, César threw back his arrogant head and burst out laughing.
‘It’s not funny,’ Dixie hissed in severe mortification. ‘When you talked about hard work and effort, you didn’t mention depriving me of food and putting a stick-insect in charge of me. Did you see how she looked at me? Like I was the size of an elephant and she wanted to skin me?’
César pivoted round to the wood-panelled wall and braced one lean hand against it as he struggled to contain his mirth. Turning his head back to her, silvered dark eyes still vibrant with reluctant amusement, he murmured drily, ‘It’s the deal, Dixie. Gilda has an international reputation in the fitness field.’
‘I’m hungry,’ Dixie mumbled tightly, but, disorientatingly, she found that she couldn’t take her eyes off him. With laughter dying out of his lean, strong face and his cool, dark brooding air of detachment banished, she glimpsed a different César Valverde. A devastatingly masculine male with megawatt charisma, she recognised in some shock. Colouring with discomfiture, she dragged her eyes from him and stared at the wall instead.
‘Tough…no pain, no gain,’ César rhymed without pity.
‘Have you ever been on a diet, César?’ Out of the corner of her eye she could see his classic profile, and she found her head easing round towards him again without her own volition.
‘I’m too disciplined to over-indulge.’
Dredging her attention from a profile worthy of a Greek sculptor, Dixie decided it would be safer to study the natural wood floor.
‘Don’t do that…it always winds me up!’ César imparted with startling abruptness. ‘Look at me when I’m speaking to you!’
Blinking in hot-faced bewilderment that he had actually noticed she almost never looked directly at him, Dixie glanced up.
César’s aggressive jawline eased only slightly. ‘That’s only one of your most annoying habits.’
As he turned away, Dixie cleared her throat awkwardly. ‘What did you tell Miss Stevens to explain why you are hiring her for my benefit?’
Complete surprise flared in his stunning eyes. ‘I don’t explain my actions to anyone. Why should I?’
Why should I? The baseline on the way César Valverde lived his entire life, Dixie registered. He was so self-contained, so unapologetic about guarding his privacy. Naturally he wouldn’t have the slightest inhibition about snubbing people who exercised their curiosity.
‘Dixie…we’d better get started,’ Gilda Stevens called. ‘We’ll begin with a weigh-in.’
Dixie hadn’t been on the scales since she was sixteen, and inside herself she simply cowered.
‘I’LL SEE YOU TOMORROW,’ Gilda told Dixie.
Face-down on a mat, perspiring freely, Dixie tried to nod, but even that took muscle power and she decided not to bother. After all, at some stage she would have to get up, walk…well, maybe crawl, she decided. She was beyond caring about putting a proud face on her exhaustion.
‘You’re out of condition,’ her torturer sighed as she took her leave. ‘But now I’ve shown you the ropes you’ll be able to follow through on your own every day.’
Every day. Dixie suppressed a groan but she forced a grateful smile. Gilda might be tough, pitiless and completely lacking in the humour department, but she had worked out alongside her and had been tireless in her efforts to ensure that Dixie did every single exercise correctly. Horribly, hatefully tireless.
Left alone, Dixie slowly slid into a comfortable doze. The sound of footsteps made her stir. Tipping back her head, she focused sleepily on Fisher’s polished shoes.
‘Where would you like to eat lunch?’ the butler asked.
‘Here will do.’
A tray was set on the floor. A plate piled high with salad greens and raw slivers of vegetable awaited her.
‘I never liked salad,’ Dixie confided guiltily.
‘It’s a detoxifying diet, I believe,’ Fisher commented. ‘You do get a whole grapefruit mid-afternoon.’
Dixie’s tastebuds shuddered, but she was so hungry she munched at a piece of celery. ‘I like starchy food. I like meat, pasta with lashings of cheese…chocolate fudge cake,’ she enumerated longingly, mouth watering as she fantasised.
Another pair of shoes appeared in her field of vision. Italian leather casuals with handstitched seams. She froze.
‘But you’re not allowed to cheat,’ César Valverde drawled.
‘I thought you were at the bank,’ Dixie said accusingly.
‘I intend to keep an eye on this project. Just as well,’ César condemned. ‘Gilda’s gone, and here you are lazing about like you’re on holiday!’
‘I’m so weak I can’t move!’ Dixie gasped in disbelief.
César crouched down to her level with athletic ease. Hard dark eyes assailed her dismayed orbs in a head-on collision. ‘I checked your staff medical. You’re healthy. There’s no reason why you shouldn’t follow a structured fitness regime. Why didn’t you change into one of the exercise outfits I had sent over?’
They had all looked so incredibly small, and Dixie hadn’t fancied struggling to squeeze herself into figure-hugging garments with Gilda around.
‘You’re over-tired because you let yourself get far too hot.’
‘I need to eat to have energy,’ Dixie muttered self-pityingly.
César dealt her a chilling glance of reproof. ‘Your attitude to this is all wrong. In fact your attitude to life in general is your biggest flaw. You’re so convinced you’re going to fail you won’t even bother trying!’
‘I’ll follow the schedule…OK?’
‘That’s not good enough. I want one hundred and five per cent commitment from you.’ As César studied her with fulminating intensity, his jawline squared. ‘Keep in mind what this is costing me. The sum total of your debts was considerable. And if you haven’t learnt it yet, learn it now. There is no such thing as a free lunch.’
Having paled during that crushing speech, Dixie could no longer meet his ruthlessly intent gaze. ‘I…I—’
‘I paid for the right to expect you to stick to your side of this deal. Start slacking and you’ll have me standing over you with a stopwatch! And if you think Gilda’s bad, you ain’t seen nothing yet!’ César swore in unapologetic threat.
THAT EVENING, SCOTT’S welcoming, ‘Am I glad to see you!’ was balm to Dixie’s low self-esteem when she arrived on his doorstep.
Shyly pushing her heavy fringe off her brow, Dixie smiled up at him. Tall, slim and fair-haired, Scott responded with a friendly punch that hurt her shoulder, and showed her straight into his kitchen.
‘I had some friends staying for a couple of days. What a mess they left this place in!’ he complained.
‘I’ll soon have it sorted out,’ Dixie told him eagerly.
On his way back out again, Scott glanced at her and then frowned slightly. Pausing in the doorway, he stared at her. ‘Have you done something to your hair or changed your make-up or something?’
Dixie tensed. ‘No…I don’t wear make-up.’
‘It must be the colour in your cheeks. You look almost pretty.’ Scott shook his handsome head over this apparently amazing development, frowned as if he was rather surprised to have noticed the fact, and departed, leaving her to the mounds of dishes stacked on every available surface.
Almost pretty. In real shock at the very first compliment Scott had ever deigned to pay her, Dixie hovered in the centre of his filthy kitchen with a dreamy look on her face. Colour in her cheeks? It was the effect of the exercise, it had to be! Maybe the detoxifying diet was starting to work already! Scott had finally noticed that she was female…
Suddenly feeling like a woman on a mission that might just miraculously transform her life, Dixie swore to herself that she would be up early the next day and into the gym to work out. Humming happily, she washed dishes, scrubbed the floor and cleaned the cooker.
‘I don’t know how you do it!’ Scott exclaimed appreciatively as he paused by the kitchen door in the act of donning his jacket. ‘What would I do without you, Dixie?’
Like a starved plant suddenly plunged into water and sunlight, Dixie blossomed and beamed at him.
‘I’m off now, but there’s no need for you to hurry home,’ Scott assured her. ‘And if you could find the time to run the vacuum cleaner round the sitting room, I’d be really grateful.’
‘No problem,’ Dixie hurried to tell him. ‘Is the washing machine fixed yet?’
‘No, the mechanic’s coming on Wednesday.’ Scott grimaced. ‘He says I must have one of those rogue machines.’
Dixie followed him to his front door with the aspect of someone walking on hallowed ground. ‘Hot date?’ she asked with laden casualness.
‘Yeah. A real stunner too,’ Scott chuckled. ‘See you, Dixie!’
‘See you,’ she whispered, closing the door in his wake.
It was after ten when Dixie and Spike got back to César Valverde’s imposing home. She had to use the front door and press the bell to gain entry. She just hadn’t been able to bring herself to leave Scott’s apartment sooner, not until she had polished every piece of furniture and vacuumed every inch of carpet. As Fisher said goodnight to her, Dixie gave him a vague smile and drifted away.
