8 Magnificent Millionaires

‘Thank you,’ Rico said, glancing round at the man. ‘You can leave them here.’

Zoë blinked. There was champagne on ice, two tall crystal flutes, a bowl of sweet wild strawberries, some whipped cream and a bowl of chocolate sauce on the tray. ‘Now I have seen everything.’ She shook her head incredulously.

‘You really think so?’

Rico’s voice was challenging, and soft. She didn’t answer.

Wrapped in fluffy towels, and stretched out on a recliner next to Rico’s, Zoë sipped champagne while Rico lay back watching her through half-closed eyes.

‘If this is the Cazulas way of thanking people for giving a party, I may have to stay a lot longer than I planned.’ Putting her glass down, she relaxed back against the soft bank of cushions and stretched out her limbs in languorous appreciation.

Selecting a plump strawberry, Rico dipped it in rich chocolate sauce. ‘Open your mouth.’

He touched it to her lips, and she could smell the warm chocolate sauce. She wasn’t quick enough, and it started escaping in runnels down her chin. Leaning over her, Rico licked it off, and then he was kissing her—kissing her deeply.

It was the taste of Zoë that made him greedy. It made him want more, a lot more of her. It made him want everything. But he knew better than that. He knew he had to wait. Pulling back, Rico saw that her eyes were still closed, her lips still slightly parted as she sucked in breath, and there were smudges of chocolate all round her mouth.

‘Don’t be mean,’ she whispered, opening her mouth wider. ‘I want more.’

Smiling wryly, Rico began to feed her again. He kept on until she was begging him for mercy as she laughed; until she couldn’t keep up with the chocolate sauce and the cream, and it dripped onto her breasts, and slipped between them. Her lips were stained red with strawberry juice and her eyes were almost as dark as the chocolate. And then he couldn’t help himself. He was kissing her again, and she was clinging to him, not caring that her towel had fallen away.

Zoë gasped as Rico’s tongue began to lave between her breasts. She had sunk lower and lower onto the recliner, wanting him to continue until every scrap of chocolate had disappeared. Her breasts were streaked with juice and cream, and there was a coating of chocolate on each painfully extended nipple. His tongue was deliciously warm, and rasped against her sensitive skin in a way that was unbearably good.

She wanted more. But Rico was heavily into foreplay—something she had never experienced before. He knew how to tease and torment her; he knew every erogenous zone on her body. Her flesh sang with pleasure as she writhed beneath him, and she could no longer make any pretence at shyness. How could she, with his warm breath invading her ears? She cried out to him, shuddering uncontrollably, but just as she did so he pulled back.

Short of grabbing him by the hair and forcing him to suckle her breasts, she had no idea what to do next. She was getting desperate. ‘Shall I feed you now?’

Holding himself up on his fists, Rico looked down at her. ‘What did you have in mind?’

There was such a wicked smile tugging at his lips, Zoë couldn’t resist it. ‘Just this.’ Cupping her breasts, she held them out to him.

CHAPTER EIGHT

RICO stared at Zoë’s breasts. They were magnificent—a fact he had been trying hard to ignore from the moment he had seen her in a tight top pulling plastic oranges down from the walls. His control had never undergone such a painful test—especially now, when she was warm, soft, and more lovely than ever. But was she ready for this?

He couldn’t stop looking at her tight, extended nipples, currently reaching out to him in the most irresistible invitation.

‘Wrong colour?’ she teased him softly.

‘Perfect.’ And they were—the most delectable shade of shell-pink.

‘Wrong size for you?’

She was still smiling, waiting, her eyebrows arched in enquiry as she stared at him.

‘Zoë—’ Rolling off his recliner, he hunkered down by her side. ‘What would you like me to do, Señorita Chapman?’

‘Eat me.’

‘Eat you?’ He pretended surprise. ‘That’s very forward of you…’

‘Yes, isn’t it?’

Taking matters into her own hands, she sat up and locked her hands around his neck to bring him down to her.

Swearing softly in his own language, he pulled back, drawing her with him, staring into her face as he unlocked her hands. Laying her back down on the narrow couch, he took a long, lazy look down the whole lovely, naked length of her. ‘Wild cat!’ he murmured approvingly.

There was barely an inch of Zoë’s body that had been spared the chocolate, the cream, or the sweet red strawberry juice. He applied himself first to the task of cleaning her breasts, using long greedy strokes of his tongue. With each caress she cried out—he might have been inside her, so intense was her response.

Had she never experienced foreplay in her life? He thought not. When he suckled her nipples she moaned rhythmically in time with his actions until he knew he had to stop. He had never known anything like it before; he had never been so aroused before. His senses were on fire and his anticipation of his final possession of her was overwhelming in its intensity. But before he realised what she meant to do she had surprised him.

Scooping up some sticky chocolate sauce, she smeared a handful over his chest. When she began to lick it off, he knew he was in danger of losing control for the first time in his life. Capturing her in his arms, he rolled with her onto a soft rug on the floor, straddling her, and pinning her arms down above her head. Trying to keep her still while she wriggled beneath him was almost impossible. She was moving her head from side to side, laughing and threatening him in the same breath. Finally securing her wrists in one strong fist, he reached for the cream jug with his free hand, and emptied the contents all over her.

Shrieking with surprise, and laughing at the same time, she tried to break away, but when he started lapping at her belly she changed her mind. Meshing her fingers through his hair, she was all compliance, all sensation, as she told him she wanted more. And when he moved lower, nudging her thighs apart, she whimpered with pleasure and angled herself shamelessly towards him.

He stopped just short of where she wanted him to be, making her cry out with disappointment. Before she had a chance to complain any more, he sprang to his feet and swept her into his arms.

The moment had come, Zoë thought, laying her head on Rico’s shoulder. As he carried her across the relaxation room she knew she trusted him completely. By the time they reached the wet room she was shaking with anticipation. She had never been so aroused. This time Rico would make everything right.

Zoë shrieked as she landed with a splash in the hot tub. Moments later Rico was in with her, holding her safe above the water. Reaching for a sponge, he began soaping her down until all the chocolate and cream had disappeared.

He had never been called upon to exert so much control in his life, Rico realised when they’d got out and he had reclaimed his sanity beneath an icy cold drench shower. And he had never had so much fun with a woman.

Wrapping a towel around his waist, he stared at Zoë drying her lush red-gold hair. She looked more beautiful than ever. Her cheeks were still flushed from their seductive play-fight, and her eyes were gleaming as if her zest for life had suddenly increased. She was starting to trust him, Rico knew, and they could never make love until she did. He only had to touch her, to kiss her, to look at her, to know how inexperienced she was. And it troubled him to think what might have happened to her in the past.

She was humming softly to herself, staring clear-eyed into the mirror as she arranged her hair like a shimmering cape around her shoulders. When he walked up to her, and she looked at him, he could feel his heart pounding so hard in his chest it actually hurt.

It seemed that whatever ghosts there were in her past, or in his, they had no power when they were together. He felt a great swell of happiness inside him. It was a dangerous development, and one that made him feel unusually vulnerable.

Dropping a kiss on Zoë’s shoulder, he went to get his clothes. He felt a lot more than lust for her. Her innocence had touched him deeply. Was this love?

When he was almost dressed she came to him. Standing close behind him, she placed her hands on his shoulders. He felt her rest her face trustingly against his back. And in that moment he knew the whole world and everything in it was his.

He wouldn’t have agreed to spending the night in separate rooms at the castle for anyone but Zoë, Rico realised, calling a halt to his pacing. She might be a successful career woman, but beneath the gloss of achievement he knew she was terribly vulnerable, and it made him feel protective, even responsible for her.

It was unusual—no, unique—to find someone so tender and pure. Gold-diggers disgusted him, and there were so many of them around. He had closed his mind years ago to the possibility of ever finding someone who cared for him, and not for his money. Zoë didn’t need his money, but even if she had, he knew she would have been as sickened as he at the thought of using a person’s wealth as a measure for their worth. It warmed him just to be thinking about her. This was special. She was special.

Going to the open window, he planted his fists on the sill and leaned out. A silver-pink dawn was creeping up the sides of the snow-capped mountains, and the sight bewitched him. Zoë would be sleeping now. He smiled to think of her curled up in bed, sleeping the deep, untroubled sleep of the innocent.

Gazing along the balcony they shared, Rico noticed that her window was open. Her career absorbed her completely. She had to be exhausted.

He turned to look at the computer screen. There was nothing yet.

Natural caution made him investigate everyone who threatened his privacy. He knew already that Zoë was no self-seeking adventuress, but his night-owl investigator had been on the case since she’d arrived in Cazulas. It was a juggernaut he couldn’t stop now. He had keyed in his password, and expected an e-mail at any time. Once his mind was set at ease, he would go and wake Zoë in a way he knew she would enjoy.

Just the thought of rousing her from sleep, all warm and tousled, and kissing her into the new day had been enough to keep him from his bed. He was eager to be with her. Throwing back his head, Rico let out a long ragged sigh of frustration. It was hard to believe that here, in one of the remotest regions of Spain, fate had put him on a collision course with someone as honest and forthright as Zoë. He was tempted to go to her right now, without waiting for reassurance.

He tensed abruptly, all senses on full alert. Pushing back from the balcony, he strode quickly to the door. He stood outside his room, in the corridor, and listened intently. He thought he had heard a cry. But there was nothing. He turned, knowing everyone in the castle was asleep. Some nocturnal animal must have disturbed him.

Going back into his temporary study bedroom, Rico closed the heavy door carefully. That was it! He cursed himself for not thinking of it sooner. The doors in the castle were so heavy no sound could possibly penetrate them.

Walking onto the balcony, he quietened his breathing and listened outside Zoë’s window. At first there was nothing aside from the soft swish of fabric as the fine voile curtains billowed in the early-morning breeze. Then he heard her cry out again, and, reaching through the window, he turned the key in the double doors and stepped into her room.

She was just awake, and clearly confused.

‘Zoë—what is it?’ He knelt down at her side. She was as beautiful as he had imagined, still warm from sleep and more lovely than any woman had a right to be if a man was to remain sane.

‘Rico.’ She pressed her hands against his chest. ‘Rico, I’m fine. I’m really sorry if I woke you—’

‘You didn’t wake me. I’m still dressed,’ he pointed out. ‘But as for your being fine—I’m sick of that word. You’re not fine.’

‘All right. I had a nightmare.’

‘A nightmare?’ He turned away. ‘You cried out, and I was worried about you—’

Her face went bright red, as if it was she who was in the wrong.

‘You don’t need to worry about me.’

He was amazed to see how quickly she could recover her composure. Then he remembered that she was used to covering up the truth.

‘As I told you, Rico. There’s really nothing to worry about.’

‘How long are you going to lie to me about this, Zoë?’

There was a long silence, and then she said, ‘I don’t know what makes you say that.’

‘I heard you this time. I heard you cry out. And then, as I came into your room, I heard what you said.’

She covered her face with her hands, but he couldn’t let it rest now. ‘Don’t,’ he said softly. Gently taking hold of her hands, he lifted them away. ‘You were in the throes of something much worse than a nightmare, Zoë. You were crying out, begging—’

‘No!’ She shouted it at him, and he waited until she grew calm again, holding her hands firmly between his own.

‘Begging?’ She forced out a laugh. ‘You’re mistaken, Rico—’

‘I am not mistaken. And I’d like to know what made you call out—‘‘Please, don’t hit me again.’’’

‘I’ve told you, you’re wrong. I would never say something like that. Why should I?’

‘That’s what I’m trying to find out.’

She shook her head, and her eyes wore a wounded expression. ‘Is that why you were so gentle with me, Rico? Is that why you won’t make love to me? Is that why you agreed to stay over in a separate room? You feel sorry for me—’

‘Don’t be so ridiculous!’ He raked his hair in sheer exasperation. ‘I don’t spend time with women because I feel sorry for them.’

‘How many women?’

‘Why are you doing this to yourself, Zoë?’

‘I tell you, Rico, you’re wrong about me.’ She scrambled upright with the sheet firmly clutched in her hand. ‘You don’t need to feel pity for me. It was just a nightmare. Nothing more.’ She shook her head, seeing the disbelief in his eyes. ‘I’m really grateful you came in to make sure I was all right. You’re kind—very kind—and thank you—’

‘Don’t!’ His voice was sharp as he put his hand up. He regretted it immediately, seeing her flinch. ‘I would never hurt you.’ His voice was just a whisper, but she had already gathered herself into a ball and pulled the sheet up to her chin. ‘Don’t ever thank me for being kind to you, Zoë. It’s the very least one human being can expect from another.’ He was consumed with relief when she lifted her head and looked at him.

‘Who hurt you, Zoë?’

‘No one…’

Her voice was tiny, like a child’s, and it hurt him more than anything he had ever heard. ‘Is that why you were crying out?’ he pressed gently. ‘Were you remembering what had happened to you?’

‘Rico, please.’

He could feel the anger pumping through him. His hands, balled into fists at his sides, ached with tension. Who could ever hurt her? It was inconceivable to him that anyone could wish to harm one hair on her head. He wanted to protect her—but how could he when she insisted on pushing him away? ‘Won’t you trust me enough to tell me, Zoë?’

‘I can’t. I just can’t.’

‘Please, don’t shut me out. I want to help you, but I have to know the truth—’

‘The truth?’ Zoë made a short incredulous sound. She hated herself as it was for her weakness. How could she know she would cry out when she was sleeping? ‘Do you always tell the truth, Rico? Do you?’

He couldn’t answer her. How could he when he had been staring at a computer screen half the night? They were both victims of the past in their own way. Suspicion was branded on his heart, but Zoë was damaged too, and her wounds had been carved far deeper and more cruelly than his.

Standing up, he moved away from the bed, carrying the image of Zoë in his mind. Her hair was like skeins of silk, gleaming in the moonlight, and her skin was so soft and warm. The room was filled with the scent of the orange blossom she always wore. As he turned, she turned too, and their eyes locked. He longed to tell her everything. He wanted nothing more in all the world than to take her in his arms and keep her safe for ever. But he could not. Instead, he would go back to his own room and maintain his vigil until the information he had asked for came through.

‘Goodnight, Zoë.’ He walked onto the veranda, closing the doors softly behind him.

Throwing his head back, with his eyes tightly shut, he let out a heavy sigh. For the first time in his life the price he had to pay for being Rico Cortes was far too high.

CHAPTER NINE

CLUTCHING the receiver between neck and shoulder while she scooped up her discarded nightwear from the floor, Zoë listened patiently. There was an opportunity to do a live interview with a national television show—a roving reporter had just arrived with a camera crew. Could she make it in time?

She looked like hell after her disturbed night. She felt like it too, especially remembering what had happened with Rico. But this was work, and there was nothing on her face that make-up couldn’t fix. Her heart was another matter, but that would have to wait.

She was curious, and she was tempted too. The publicity would be great for the series—and she was interested to find out why someone from such a well-known show had come all the way to Cazulas to speak to her. Of course the last series had been a big success, and it had generated a lot of media interest. That had to be it.

‘Of course I’ll do it,’ she said, decision made. ‘Half an hour suit you? OK, fifteen minutes,’ she conceded. ‘But get Marnie and the girls up here right away with the war paint.’

Philip had told her there would be a chance for a run-through first, so there would be no surprises and nothing for her to worry about. It was just what she needed to take her mind off Rico… He must have gone by now. There wasn’t much to keep him at the castle. But she still had her career. The thrill of the places it took her to, and the amazement that she had made something of herself after all, in spite of her ex’s assurances that she never would, had not diminished. She hoped they never would.

She had to stand under a cold shower to try and put Rico out of her mind. Finally, reasonably focused on work and totally frozen, she rubbed herself down vigorously with a towel.

There was a bad feeling niggling away inside her, Zoë realised as she dressed. It made no sense. She had done this sort of thing lots of times before, and knew that nothing was left to chance. It might all appear impromptu at home, but the groundwork had already been covered so that none of the questions came out of the blue. And yet…

‘To hell with it,’ she murmured, spritzing on some perfume. She was a seasoned campaigner and there was nothing to worry about.

Seasoned campaigner or not, she hadn’t factored quite such a bubbly young presenter into the equation. The latest in a long line of glamorous young women with an incisive mind, she was the type of person that Zoë found wearing, but fun in short bursts. They talked through the questions, and decided on the best strategy to adopt to promote the show. Zoë was confident she could keep things moving forward smoothly. They were going to film outside, with a backdrop of mountains behind them, and went on air almost immediately.

‘So, Zoë, how does it feel to be here in such a fabulous location, as opposed to being stuck in an overheated studio?’ The girl fanned herself extravagantly and smiled, as if this made them comrades in adversity.

Her openness made Zoë laugh. ‘It feels great, Lisa—but it’s hot outside here, as well as under the lights. Don’t forget this is Spain—’

‘You’ve got quite a glow going on there, Zoë.’ The girl cut across her, facing the camera to address the viewers. ‘Could this be something more than a suntan? I hear the Spanish men around here are quite something. Or man, rather,’ she added as Zoë stared at her. ‘Come on, you can tell us—we won’t tell a soul, will we?’ she exclaimed, turning again to include several million viewers.

‘Let’s talk about the programme first.’ And last, Zoë thought, keeping a smile on her face while her mind raced. They hadn’t planned to touch on anything other than her new television series. In fact she had made a point of insisting there would be no delving into her personal life. The past was just that—behind her. That was what she and the young reporter had agreed on.

‘You’re right, Zoë. Let’s talk about your programme. That’s what we’re here for.’

Zoë stalled. The look on the girl’s face was open, inviting… Inviting what? There was just enough guile in her eyes to churn Zoë’s stomach. ‘I think this series is going to be my best yet—’

‘You only think? Don’t tell me Zoë Chapman’s become a shrinking violet?’

‘Sorry?’

‘You’re not going to turn coy on us now, Zoë, are you? Disappoint the viewers?’ The girl turned to camera and made a moue, but there was a shrewd gleam in her eyes when she looked back. ‘After spending the night as the prize of a wealthy man?’

She had just managed to leave out the word again, Zoë thought, feeling the blood drain from her face.

‘That’s right, isn’t it, Zoë?’ The girl’s lips pressed down as she shrugged and managed to look ingenuous for the camera. ‘I’ve seen the footage.’ Her eyes opened really wide and she stared around, as if seeking confirmation that her reportage was absolutely accurate from some unseen source.

Zoë’s gaze iced over as she waited for the bombshell to fall. After all, the camera never lied…

‘Half-naked men wrestling beneath the stars in this sultry Mediterranean climate—and the champion, El Paladín, also known as Alarico Cortes, claiming you as his prize for the night.’ She stretched, showing off her taut young belly as if she had all the time in the world to deliver her coup de grâce. ‘Mmm, sounds pretty hot to me. He’s pretty hot!’

‘That was just an item.’ Zoë tried to laugh it off and put on a good-humoured smile for the camera. Inwardly she was seething. The girl’s agenda was obvious. This wasn’t about her series. There was still mileage in the old scandal.

‘Just an item!’ The girl cut her off with a short, incredulous laugh. ‘OK, Zoë, let’s cut to the chase. You bagged Alarico Cortes for one glorious night. I’m only quoting the age-old tradition here in Cazulas, Zo—no need to look at me like that. Alarico Cortes, if you don’t know of him at home, is only the most eligible bachelor in Spain—a billionaire, and a good friend of the Spanish royal family. So, what was it like? How does it feel, mingling with the aristocracy? And were you really just a prize for the night? Or is this love?’

Alarico Cortes? Aristocracy? Billionaire? Zoë was stunned. If what the young reporter said was true… The last way she would have wanted to hear it was like this.

‘I was lucky enough to be invited to take part in a traditional celebration that has been upheld here in Cazulas for centuries. It was great fun—nothing more than that. I’m really sorry to disappoint you.’ She finished with a good-natured shrug towards the camera. Game, set, and match, she thought, seeing the girl’s face turn sulky.

‘Well, you heard it here first, folks.’ The reporter quickly recovered. ‘The most beautiful celebrity chef on the circuit has something really special in the pipeline for all of us. Don’t miss Zoë’s new series, or you’ll miss those yummy men—and we’re talking drop-dead gorgeous in the case of Alarico Cortes, girls. Thank you, Zoë, for sparing us these few precious minutes away from your show.’

‘My pleasure,’ Zoë said, with a last cheery smile to the viewers. ‘Thank you all for your time.’

She even thanked the girl again when the cameras had stopped rolling. They both knew who had come out on top, and Zoë was determined to remain professional to the last. But she couldn’t quite believe she had allowed herself to be set up. It had been two years since the scandal broke. Two years to learn caution. She’d thought she was too wary to be trapped like this—but apparently not.