8 Magnificent Millionaires

How the hell was he supposed to work since she’d walked out on him? Turned her back on him as if the thought of him would never cross her mind again. And who could blame her? That was the thing. She had every right under the circumstances. He was hell on wheels to live with, he was bad-tempered and ungrateful, and to top it all—he’d buried himself too much in unhappy memories of his past, refusing to see the lustre of the glittering diamond that he had right under his nose…Liadan. Her name almost had him clutching his chest in torment at the pain of losing her.

‘It’s nothing to do with Petra or the press or anything like that. I just can’t work at the moment. I can’t think straight, never mind come up with some god-awful ending for the damned book!’

‘I thought you told me you already had the ending worked out?’ Lynne asked tolerantly, clearly deciding that getting anxious wasn’t going to get her the desired result. The publishing house made more money out of Alexander Jacobsen’s books than any other and the last thing she wanted to do was antagonise this particular golden goose.

‘I did.’ His expression ferocious, Adrian picked up a loose sheet of blank copy paper and screwed it up into a ball. ‘But I’ve changed my mind about it. I need some time to work something else out.’

‘Well, sure, Adrian, I can give you extra time, but just so long as you remember that your endings are your trademark. How about coming up to London to meet me for lunch? We can talk about things and it will do you good. You need to get out of that house more; you know that, don’t you?’

Yeah, he knew that. The last person who had told him that had been dead right but he’d been too damn belligerent to tell her so. What the hell did he think he was doing hiding away in this gigantic carbuncle of a house that would be better off as a museum than a home? It patently wasn’t a home. It was even less so now that Liadan had gone.

‘When did you want me to come?’ he asked wearily into the mouthpiece.

‘Tomorrow. Come tomorrow. I’ll book us a table for one o’clock. That all right with you?’

‘Fine. Tomorrow, then.’

True to his word, when Adrian got off the phone to Lynne he went restlessly in search of the Yellow Pages to get the number of a local dealer and hopefully get rid of his no-longer-wanted piano.

Scanning the newspaper in the little newsagents-cum-post-office in the village, Liadan frowned, unable to believe that she hadn’t been able to find anything about Adrian—let alone a picture—in any of the tabloid papers she’d diligently searched through. Could her heartfelt appeal for a little consideration have somehow sunk in with that photographer? Could he really have had an attack of conscience and let them go on their way without printing anything salacious about them? It had been a week since their outing to see La Bohème and…nothing. No story, no incriminating photograph of the writer Alexander Jacobsen and the woman who apparently bore a close resemblance to his dead fiancée. A week—and six days, nine hours and forty-five minutes to be exact since she’d walked out on Adrian.

Replacing the newspaper in the stand, Liadan went to the cluttered little counter, purchased some mints and a small packet of tissues, paid, then left the shop with the jangle of the doorbell sounding like the tinkling of a wind chime in her ears. Walking up the hill to meet the narrow lane where her cottage was situated, she dug her hands deep into her coat pockets and told herself she was pleased that Adrian would have one less thing to worry about since the press hadn’t printed the story of their outing to the opera. He’d be able to get on with his work free from the strain of media intrusion, even if he had to fend for himself until he could get another housekeeper in place.

Unable to hold back the tears that immediately sprang to her eyes at the thought, Liadan hurried on up the hill, welcoming the extra effort required in her legs and telling herself she was doing the right thing putting Drowsy Haunt up for sale. It would be far easier to find work in London than locally and, if she found a job in one of the big chain hotels, she might even be able to cut her costs by living in.

‘But you love this place, Liadan! Surely you don’t really want to sell it?’ Callum Willow, her tall, blond, handsome Adonis of a brother paced her diminutive front room and finally came to a restless standstill beside the fireplace. Somehow, Liadan found a smile. She’d been on her own for a fortnight now since leaving Adrian’s employ and, apart from her neighbour Jack, she’d spoken to no one. Not even Mel or Jennie. Both girls were on a winter skiing break in Italy—a holiday that Liadan had been adamant she couldn’t afford because she’d needed to find work instead. Jennie had urged her to come anyway—she had lost her business but she badly needed a break, she’d told Liadan. But the younger girl had declined. Her determination to hold onto her home come what may had been her prime motivation for staying put. Now, ironically, she was going to lose it anyway.

‘I can’t afford to keep it on any more, Cal. And I can’t get work around here, either. Believe me, I’ve tried.’ She’d briefly explained to her brother that she’d worked for a while as housekeeper to a writer, but that in the end things hadn’t worked out between them. Knowing her well and guessing there was a hell of a lot more that she wasn’t telling him, Callum had declined to press her for more details. When Liadan was ready she would tell him the full story, he was sure.

‘But London? It’s going to be a hell of a shock after this one-horse town.’

‘I’ll soon get used to it. Besides, you know what they say, a change is as good as a rest.’ If she said it often enough, she might convince herself. Except that she didn’t really want to go at all. Anywhere further than her little cottage was too far away from Adrian to bear thinking about…What was he doing right now? she speculated, chewing on her nails. Was he happy? Was his work going well? Did he ever think about her at all?

‘You look miles away,’ Callum chided, his blue eyes that were a shade darker than Liadan’s growing concerned. ‘What’s up, Liadan? We don’t have any secrets from each other, do we?’

He was right. She’d always been able to confide in her brother. Only now, she wouldn’t really know where to start. After the debacle that was her relationship with Michael, how could she tell him that she’d fallen for a taciturn famous writer whose heart was given to a woman no longer on this earth?

At the unexpected sound of the knocker on the door, she almost leapt out of her seat. His eyes narrowing, Callum registered surprise. ‘Expecting someone, sis? Want me to go?’

‘I’m not expecting anyone, unless it’s Jack next door.’

As she pulled the door wide Liadan’s knees went helplessly weak at the sight of Adrian’s broad shoulders dominating her doorway. He was wearing his long black coat over a black shirt and jeans, his mouth unsmiling and his gaze about as foreboding as a locked door to a shivering, hungry orphan. Her glance drank in the sight of him with a frantically beating heart.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘Can I come in?’

She hesitated, glancing over her shoulder into the room behind her. Following her anxious gaze and discovering to his dismay that she had company—good-looking male company—Adrian fought down the violent antagonism that rose immediately inside his chest and glared back at her. ‘I want to talk to you and what I have to say won’t wait.’

Liadan knew the dictatorial tone of that voice and resented it mightily. No matter how glad she was to see him, to know that he was alive and hadn’t moved on, he had no right to just show up at her home and speak to her like that. Especially after not hearing a word from him for almost two weeks.

‘I’ve—I’ve got visitors.’

‘Get rid of him,’ Adrian muttered through his teeth.

‘I will not!’

‘Who is he?’

‘Liadan…aren’t you going to invite your friend in?’ Callum loomed up behind her, unable to hide the interest in his eyes. Desperately glancing from her brother back to Adrian, Liadan hooked her fingers into the belt buckle of her jeans and shook her head.

‘Now isn’t a good time. Come back later if you insist you must talk to me.’

Biting her lip, she waited for the explosion. When it didn’t come, and to her alarm she saw a secret little smile curving that rather serious mouth of his instead, she felt as light-headed as if she’d just been whisked up to the top of the Eiffel Tower.

‘No, Liadan. I can’t come back later. Like I told you, I have something to say to you that just won’t wait.’

‘If you’ve waited nearly two weeks without saying it so far, surely a little longer won’t make much difference?’

How could Adrian have told her what was in his heart a fortnight ago when he’d practically convinced himself Liadan wouldn’t want to set eyes on him again—never mind listen to anything he had to say?

‘I don’t want to say what I’ve come to say standing out here on your doorstep,’ he said evenly, his tone resolute.

‘You’d better come in, then.’ Taking hold of Liadan’s slender shoulders and deliberately moving her out of the way, Callum grinned. ‘Want me to take a walk up the road for a little while? I’m Callum, by the way. Liadan’s brother, in case you were wondering.’ He stuck out his hand and he and Adrian shook hands like long-lost friends. Dumbstruck, Liadan stared at them both, unable just then to summon up one coherent word to indicate her disapproval and dismay. What was wrong with Callum for goodness’ sake? Why was he acting so strangely?

‘Callum, I don’t want you to go anywhere. I have nothing to say to Mr Jacobs! Absolutely nothing!’ When she finally did find her voice, Liadan couldn’t hold back her temper. How dared he just show up on her doorstep, after the agony he’d put her through! For all she knew, there might be more of the same to come and, the way she was feeling, Liadan had a right to wonder if she could bear it.

‘Fiery, isn’t she?’ Adrian remarked, his dark brows briefly coming together.

Reaching for his jacket, which was folded on the arm of the chair, Callum nodded in quick agreement. ‘She’s definitely not as demure as she looks. “Butter wouldn’t melt”, most people think. But that’s because they don’t really know my sister.’ Going to the door, he ruffled Liadan’s long red-gold hair as he passed. ‘Be gentle with him, sweetheart, won’t you?’

When the door shut ominously behind him, Liadan smoothed her hand nervously across her sky-blue sweater to finger the silver locket she wore on a chain round her neck and sighed.

‘I won’t pretend for one minute to understand what all that was about. You men seem to have a code all of your own.’

‘Your brother knows I mean business,’ Adrian said smoothly.

‘Oh, he does? And by that you mean what exactly?’

‘I’ve come here to tell you that I love you, Liadan. It took you walking out on me and telling me some very painful home truths to make me realise that I can’t live without you—let alone work! And I honestly do want you to be my wife. You’re not a substitute for Nicole or any other woman—I swear it! Does that clear up any confusion?’

Liadan gulped. Then she sank down on the plumped-up sofa behind her as her legs suddenly gave way beneath her.

‘This must be some kind of a joke.’ Her wide, puzzled blue eyes with their lustrous lashes tore at Adrian’s heart. After a two-week drought from not seeing her, he’d almost forgotten just how truly beautiful she was…

‘Do you think I’d joke about a thing like that? If you do, then you don’t know me at all.’

‘How could I possibly know you, Adrian? You put up too many walls for that.’

She was right. That was exactly what he had done…but not any more. From now on he wanted to let this woman into his heart. Wanted to let her in and keep her there for ever, because, as sure as the sun was going to rise in the morning, he was crazy about her. And he hadn’t lied. He really couldn’t live without her. It was just a shame that it had taken her walking out on him like that to make him realise it.

‘I know and I’m truly sorry. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Liadan.’

Drawing her to her feet, he smiled smoulderingly down into her startled blue gaze, delighting in the feel of her slender body underneath his hands again, feeling himself growing more and more aroused until he almost couldn’t stand it.

‘But what about—what about Nicole?’ Tears of happiness and confusion springing to her eyes, Liadan bit down tremulously on her lip.

His dark gaze growing even darker, Adrian stroked his hand down the side of her perfectly smooth cheek and smiled again. ‘Nicole is firmly in my past, Liadan. For a long time I couldn’t let the idea of her go because I blamed myself for her death. Holding onto the memory of how she died was like a punishment I was certain I deserved. It wasn’t until you came along with your insistence that there was redemption for everyone that I even started to believe I might be able to forgive myself, and move on. Whether there is redemption, I don’t know. But wherever Nicole’s spirit is now, I know one thing’s for certain. She wouldn’t want me to hold back from telling you how much I love you. Nothing in this world is as important as that—nothing.’

‘And you’re not just trying to butter me up so that I’ll come back and work as your housekeeper?’ Unable to suppress her grin, Liadan leaned in towards Adrian’s iron-hard chest, her whole body lighting up inside like a firework display at the sensation of being held close in his arms once again, when she hadn’t even known if she’d ever see him again.

‘Absolutely not.’ He kissed her then and it was quite a while before he came up for air. When he finally did, Liadan’s lips looked swollen and bee-stung and her lovely blue eyes were shining like twin silver lights that resembled candle-flame.

‘You still haven’t given me your answer. Is this waiting game some new kind of torture you’ve devised to torment me?’

Liadan couldn’t help dimpling as she glanced up into his impossibly attractive face. ‘Oh…you mean the marriage thing?’

‘Liadan…’ Adrian warned, a flash of impatience making him scowl.

‘Okay. I’ll put you out of your misery. Yes, Adrian. I’ll marry you…but only if we can live somewhere a little less ostentatious than that big house of yours. I’m a very simple girl. More cottages and cream than pheasant under glass.’

‘Is that so?’ Grinning in unashamed delight, Adrian swept her up into his arms and strode across the room.

‘Where are we going?’ she asked breathlessly.

‘To your bedroom, hopefully. To get re-acquainted in the best way I know how. We’ve got two weeks to catch up on, remember?’

‘But Callum—’

‘If I’m right about your brother, he won’t be back for quite a while.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘Call it gut instinct, but my guess is he wouldn’t be one to interfere in the course of true love.’

‘Really?’

‘It’s a gift I have.’

‘I’m his only sister. He’s very possessive of me, you know.’

His hands tightening round her body, Adrian’s expression was perfectly serious as he glanced heatedly down into Liadan’s bright blue eyes.

‘So am I, sweetheart. So am I…’

EPILOGUE

LETTING the hardcover book she’d been diligently reading drop back onto the cornflower-blue silk eider-down, Liadan stretched her arms wide before falling back against the plumped-up pillows with a sigh. With a contented little smile playing around her lips, she reflected what a lucky, lucky woman she was. Six months married and she was enjoying the kind of life that she’d only previously believed was to be found in fairy tales, or romantic movies at least. She had a gorgeous, insatiably sexy husband who kept her in bed more than she was out of it. She lived in one of the prettiest cottages in the village—albeit with an acre of garden and a Victorian folly that Adrian had had renovated just for her—and now she was going to have a baby, too. Her hands going automatically to the slight swell of her previously flat stomach, Liadan stroked it gently, marvelling at the astonishing changes that were taking place.

In a week’s time she was going on a nationwide book tour with her famous husband, happy to be at his side and to show her love and pride in his success. He was a complex but wonderful, talented man who had successfully put some of his darkest demons behind him and had had the courage to start life anew, and she was so thankful he’d been able to do that. Happily contemplating the pretty blue and white bedroom of their large country cottage, Liadan sighed again and closed her eyes. When she heard the door open again a few moments later, her eyelids flew open and she pushed herself up immediately into a sitting position.

‘I finished the book,’ she announced breezily to the man who was purposefully approaching the bed with a glint in his eye that only his wife knew the meaning of.

‘Oh?’ The glint disappeared and warily Adrian rested his hands on his hips, his mouth in a straight, sober line. ‘And what’s the verdict?’

‘The verdict is…’ Throwing back the covers and scooting across to where he stood, Liadan threw her arms around her husband’s neck and stroked her lips tantalisingly across his. Immediately sensing his inevitable response, she drew back with a cheeky, coquettish grin. ‘The verdict is, my darling…that I’m going to keep you in this bed for a very long time. So long, in fact, that somebody somewhere might have to send out a rescue party.’

His hands caressing the irresistible shape of her hips and pulling her pelvis flush with his, Adrian’s dark gaze smouldered. ‘And what if I don’t want to be rescued?’ he asked gravel-voiced.

‘Then that’s okay. I’ll simply take care of all your needs.’

‘I have no problem with that.’ Barely able to think about anything else but the promised delights to come, Adrian nonetheless paused when Liadan would have dragged him into bed. ‘You haven’t finished telling me what you thought about the book?’ he reminded her.

‘You changed the ending,’ Liadan said softly, her lovely face unable to hide her intense admiration and love. ‘You made it beautiful, Adrian. You gave your characters hope even though they were in an agonising situation. I’m so proud of you.’

‘That’s all right, then.’ Unbuttoning his shirt with lightning fingers, he discarded it carelessly onto the floor and climbed into bed beside his wife. From now on, he would thank his lucky stars every day for bringing this beautiful, animated, loving woman into his life and giving him the possibility of a brighter future than he could ever have dared to contemplate. Whatever the years ahead had in store for them both, he would do his best never to be cynical about life again. Even if there wasn’t redemption for everybody, as Liadan believed…at least there was hope. Because if Adrian’s life could turn around on a heartbeat—as far as he was concerned—then so could everybody else’s. His lovely, vivacious, warm-hearted Liadan had taught him that.

The Spanish Billionaire’s Mistress

Susan Stephens

For all my long-suffering friends. You know who you are. I couldn’t do it without you.

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

EPILOGUE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

COMING NEXT MONTH

CHAPTER ONE

‘COME here—come closer so we can see you,’ the male voice commanded.

Cursing softly under her breath, Zoë Chapman slithered down to the ground and straightened up. Uncomfortable but invisible, or so she’d thought, she had been wedged into a smooth crevice between two giant rocks, discreetly observing the activity around the campfire.

She had located the flamenco camp and chosen her hiding place before anyone arrived. Her unique and popular cookery shows depended upon the co-operation of special interest groups, but the fact that she worked on a TV programme didn’t make her welcome everywhere. She had wanted to observe the dancing before she introduced herself, just to make sure it was as good as was rumoured in the village.

The man speaking now had arrived shortly after she had. Back turned, he had stood gazing out across the valley. She had seen nothing more than an aggressively tall male figure, a shock of inky black hair and a wide sweep of shoulders—in fact, everything she had vowed to avoid since gaining her freedom.

As more people had joined him, she’d realised he was the leader of the group. Why hadn’t she been surprised? She had wondered who he was, wondered about the quivers running through her as she stared at him. It had made her angry to think she had learned nothing since her divorce. She was still drawn to dangerous men.

Now, walking up to him, she saw he was everything she had expected: strikingly handsome, arrogant, and angry that she was here uninvited. If this hadn’t been work she would have done the sensible thing, and left.

During the course of her television series she searched out interesting people from all walks of life. Local people in whichever country she chose to film were the seasoning in her shows, the magic ingredient that lifted her above the competition.

Generally she enjoyed the research. This time she had to put her personal feelings to one side and hope the dancing started soon. She couldn’t let some local brigand put her off. Forget the man! This was her target group. The only thing that mattered was persuading someone to perform flamenco on her programme.

Dance was Zoë’s passion outside of work. She knew she would never make a professional, but part of her climb-back after the divorce had been to join a jazz dance exercise group. It had proved the best therapy she could have chosen—though right now it looked as if all her good work was being undone.

She could not have prepared for this, Zoë reminded herself. She had not expected to run up against such a strong character again quite so soon.

‘Well, what are you waiting for?’

He beckoned her forward with a short, angry gesture, and his voice was cold. It brought back memories she didn’t need, but she was like a terrier with a bone when it came to work, and she focused her concentration easily. They were attracting a lot of attention. Perhaps one of the people around the mountain hut would agree to audition for her programme?

The man held up his hand to stop her coming any closer. It was close enough for Zoë, too. He was quite something. Along with the aura of power and brute strength, she had to admit he had style. Why did she have to find such a man irresistible when she knew he had danger carved into the stone where his heart should be?

Somewhere between thirty and thirty-five, he was around six feet two or three, and his build was every bit as impressive as she had thought from some distance away. Everything about him was dark: his eyes, his hair…his expression.

‘Why have you come here?’ he demanded.

‘I heard this is where flamenco enthusiasts gather, and I want to learn more about flamenco.’

‘So you can go home to England and show off to your friends?’ He made a derisive sound and clicked his fingers, mimicking the worst of the shows she had seen down on the coast.

‘No, of course not. I…’ His steely gaze remained fixed on her face, but she couldn’t let that get to her. ‘I am genuinely interested in flamenco.’

‘Are you alone?’

‘I am at the moment—’

He cut her off. ‘At the moment?’