Bought Bride For The Argentinian (Conveniently Wed!) Read online

  It hurt, as it was probably intended to do, but Emily nodded as if it didn’t. As if all those years of friendship and companionship and then love had never happened. As if the man who’d used to suck on her breasts as if they were freshly peeled grapes had just made the most reasonable of requests. She’d learnt many things over the years but one of the most important was to keep pain hidden away, where nobody could see it.

  ‘Of course,’ she responded, before adding a somewhat flippant amendment of her own. ‘It’s probably the shock of seeing you again, Alejandro.’

  ‘Would you really describe it as a shock, Emily?’ he questioned, his richly accented voice thoughtful. ‘Or a deep and abiding pleasure? From the darkening of your eyes and the tension in your body I recognise so well, I would guess it’s the latter.’

  Emily worked in PR, so she knew everything there was to know about putting a positive spin on things, but never had an upbeat mindset seemed so distant as it did right then. He was talking to her with sensuality dripping from every word, yet he was staring at her with a flicker of contempt in his green eyes, as if she meant nothing. And yet that didn’t seem to have any effect on her reaction to him. All the feelings she’d thought were dead and buried started bubbling up inside her and she couldn’t seem to stem them, no matter how hard she tried. She wanted to feast her eyes on the liquorice-black waves of his just-too-long hair and the burnished bronze of his glowing skin. Just as she wanted to ogle his body in the way that someone who’d been wandering around in the desert for days might stare greedily at a cool flask of water. And most of all she wanted to hurl herself into his arms and kiss him.

  Concentrating very hard, she fixed him with an expression of polite curiosity, trying to behave as if he was someone she’d just met. But her outward calm didn’t mirror what was happening inside, because suddenly it felt as if her hormones had remembered what they’d been designed for. As if his presence had the power to make her body prickle with desire and heat and expectation. Her nipples were thrusting uncomfortably against her bra and she felt a long-forgotten twist of lust low in her groin as she looked at him.

  In the past he’d always worn jodhpurs or faded jeans, which hugged his hips and thighs in a way which had seemed indecently provocative. But not today. Today, clad in an immaculate lightweight suit, he was looking like the billionaire he’d become—not the rookie polo player she’d fallen in love with, who’d barely had two pesos to rub together. And love was the last thing she needed to think about if she was going to get through this, she reminded herself fiercely. She needed to find out what had prompted his unexpected appearance and then for him to leave as quickly as possible. She certainly didn’t need to respond to his provocative observations about her body. Even if they happened to be true.

  ‘Why are you here, Alejandro?’ she questioned, instantly becoming aware of the slight edge to her voice and trying her best to iron it out. ‘Why have you turned up out of the blue?’ Briefly, she cast her gaze towards the sky. ‘Quite literally in this case?’

  ‘Don’t play games, Emily,’ he said softly. ‘It’s a waste of both our time. I came because you need me.’

  Emily blinked very fast. ‘I need you?’

  ‘Are you going to repeat everything I say?’ His voice was silky. ‘Haven’t you grown out of that kind of docile behaviour by now?’

  Don’t react to that either, she told herself. You don’t need to get into a fight with him. You’re no longer that giddy teenager who used to follow him around like a tame dog and lap up everything he said to you. And you’re not the young woman who cried every night for months after she’d walked away. You left that person behind a long time ago. You became somebody else. Somebody grown-up and together.

  So Emily tilted her chin in the way she’d learned from watching other women. The way which sent out a message to the world that you were super-confident, even if inside you wondered why you couldn’t ever seem to lose that little stone of sadness which was buried deep inside you.

  ‘I’m not here to trade insults, Alejandro,’ she said calmly. ‘I asked you a perfectly reasonable question about why you were here.’

  For a moment his green eyes narrowed. ‘Tomas emailed me. I assumed with your blessing.’

  She screwed up her brow in a frown. ‘What did the email say?’

  He shrugged and she wished he hadn’t because it made her uncomfortably aware of the iron-hard muscle which lay beneath the fine silk of his shirt. Just as it made her aware of the rocky power of the arms which used to hold her so tightly, so that all the troubles of the world seemed to ebb away.

  ‘That your stepfather had died—which I already knew, obviously, since news travels fast—and that he had bequeathed you your old horse. And since you didn’t have the means to look after him, you were desperate for someone to step in and help you out.’ He stared at her. ‘Is that true?’

  Desperate? Was she? Emily met the question in his piercing green gaze. She was certainly still reeling from the recent events which had recently turned her life upside down. Her loathsome stepfather had finally paid the price for his long-standing love affair with the bottle and had died a lonely death, which she couldn’t really be sad about. She hadn’t seen him since the bitter events following his acrimonious divorce from her mother and had been shocked to find herself listed as a beneficiary of his will. She still wondered what had possessed her to beg her business partner for some unplanned leave and then to turn up in a dusty lawyer’s office in Buenos Aires to discover what he had left her. Was it simply curiosity or just a sudden desire to lay to rest the ghosts of her past?

  Either way, she had been disappointed. It seemed there had been no deathbed conversion which had made Paul Vickery want to make amends for the harsh treatment he’d meted out to her and her mother. It had been just another twist of the knife really.

  ‘Some of it is true,’ she said huskily. ‘My stepfather did leave me Joya. But no way did I ask Tomas to get in touch with you. You’re the last person I’d ever choose to contact.’

  Alejandro’s mouth flattened as her soft English voice washed over him. Of course he was. He was disposable, wasn’t he? A poor boy with a hard body who could be dispensed with once he’d done his job as stud. He had been deemed suitable enough to introduce her to the art of pleasure and then afterwards tossed aside like a piece of trash. And Emily Green had played him for a fool, hadn’t she? Stared at him with those big sapphire eyes. Tossed her fair hair like a feisty pony, so that it rippled down her back like a field of golden wheat. He’d been transfixed by her Englishness. By her pale beauty and the pert vigour of her young body. Long legs and slender arms and a pale bottom, which curved like the moon.

  She’d driven him mad with frustration and desire those hot summer nights when he’d lain alone on his narrow bunk next to the stables, sweat pouring from his brow and his groin close to bursting as he imagined losing himself in all her sweet, secret places. And then, when his dream had finally come true and he had bedded her at last—she had turned around and crushed his honour and his hopes beneath one of her costly leather shoes, before walking away from him without a backward glance.

  At the time he had been astonished by her behaviour—but not for long. Because soon after that he was to discover that all women were liars and cheats. But it had been Emily who had hurt him the most, who had wielded the sharpest blade, which felt like it was digging deep into his heart. And didn’t they say that the first cut was the deepest?

  ‘So what are you planning to do?’ he said, slanting a compassionate look towards the horse who was still trying to summon up the strength to nuzzle Emily’s hand. ‘Put a bullet to his head?’

  She recoiled, staring at him as if he had just ascended from the depths of hell.

  ‘Are you advocating I kill my horse?’ she accused shakily. ‘You, who always loved animals?’

  ‘Yes, I loved them and still do,’ he grat
ed. ‘More than I ever loved any human, that’s for sure—and way too much to want to condemn them to a life of neglect. Is that what you want for Joya, Emily? For his eyes to grow so dull that he can barely see and he doesn’t even have the strength to put food in his mouth?’

  ‘Of course that’s not what I want,’ she declared, the quick shake of her head drawing his eyes reluctantly to the thick shimmer of her blonde hair. ‘But I don’t have...’

  ‘Don’t have what?’ he prompted silkily.

  Emily stared at him, not wanting to divulge the truth—not to him of all people. But what good was pride in a situation like this? Shouldn’t she be thinking about Joya, rather than how humble her life must appear to this new and very different Alejandro, who breathed wealth and power from every pore of his spectacular body?

  ‘I don’t have the means to look after him,’ she admitted. ‘I live in a small apartment in the middle of London and I couldn’t possibly move him there—’

  ‘I doubt he would survive the journey anyway.’

  She nodded, wishing he hadn’t made the curt intervention because she didn’t need reminding of how frail Joya was. ‘I also have a very modest lifestyle,’ she continued, a rush of blood heating her cheeks as he continued to look at her with a trace of scorn. ‘Which certainly wouldn’t allow me to fund Joya’s care here in Argentina.’

  He appeared to be mulling over her words when Rosa appeared on the veranda carrying a couple of the wooden drinking cups known as gourds, and Emily felt a quick pang of nostalgia as she recognised the traditional Argentinian drink of yerba maté. Because it had been Alejandro who’d first introduced her to it—showing her how to suck it up out of the straw-like strainer, which prevented the leaves from clogging up your mouth. Who had told her laughingly that if she wasn’t careful, the caffeine would keep her awake all night—but that was okay by him. She remembered how cosmopolitan he’d made her feel and how the whisper of his fingertips over her skin had made her stomach turn to jelly.

  ‘Why don’t we go over to the veranda and have this discussion in the shade, while Tomas takes Joya back to the stables?’ Alejandro suggested smoothly.

  To Emily’s surprise she found herself agreeing, even though instinct was telling her it might not be such a great idea. Maybe it was the shock of seeing him again which made her follow him up the old wooden steps. Or maybe it was just that old habits died hard, because she’d always been a sucker for his suggestions. Either way, she was glad to take a seat on the veranda, taking a thirsty pull of the bitter drink Rosa had left for them.

  Once her thirst had been quenched, she became aware of the Argentinian’s cool gaze fixed on her and she fidgeted a little. He had undone a third button on his white shirt and was stretching his long legs in front of him, drawing her attention to the taut fabric of his trousers, which stretched across the muscular definition of his hard thighs. She could feel beads of sweat breaking out on her forehead as she found herself remembering those thighs hair-roughened and naked as they thrust against the smoothness of her own skin. Yet their physical relationship had been cut abruptly short, she reminded herself, wondering how something so brief could have had such an enduring impact. And then she remembered something else.

  ‘Tomas told me that your mother had died last year,’ she said quietly. ‘I’m very sorry for your loss.’

  It was then that his face changed. She watched it darken with anger and she shrank back a little against the battered wicker chair.

  ‘You are hypocritical enough to express your condolences?’ he demanded. ‘When it was your spite which meant my mother lost her job?’

  CHAPTER TWO

  THE LOUD SWELL of the cicadas was the only sound which could be heard above the loud beat of her pounding heart as Emily stared at Alejandro across the faded veranda. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she breathed. ‘How could I have possibly been responsible for your mother losing her job?’

  He sliced his hand through the air with a gesture of disdainful impatience. ‘Don’t give me that false wide-eyed look of innocence, Emily.’

  ‘It’s not false. It’s genuine. I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  His brow darkened, his green gaze narrowing. ‘After we were discovered together and you flew back to England as if the hounds of hell were at your heels, my mother was called into your father’s study and told to leave the property immediately, never to return.’ His face contorted with contempt. ‘Twenty-one years of devotion thrown back in her face.’

  Emily’s lips fell open and she shook her head in vehement denial. ‘I swear I didn’t know that. I thought she’d left of her own accord.’

  ‘Oh, come on. Women of such subservience don’t just leave of their own accord,’ he mimicked cruelly. ‘Did you know your stepfather refused to provide any references for her, so she couldn’t get any more work? And although I was able to provide some means of support, she complained that her life felt empty without work.’

  Alejandro felt his mouth harden with anger and frustration. He had wanted to help his mother in more practical ways than simply buying her a small house. Having given birth to him at just seventeen, she’d been young enough to retrain in something different. Young enough to start again. But she hadn’t wanted a new life. She had just smoked cigarette after cigarette while continuing to spin him the same old lies, which for a time while he’d been growing up had made him feel special and different. And wasn’t it crazy that he’d hung onto the myth he’d been spun for so long—so that when he had finally learned the truth, it had nearly broken him?

  He stared at Emily. Maybe it was true what she said and she hadn’t been directly responsible for his mother’s sacking, but that didn’t change the anger he felt towards her, did it? Because he had loved her in a way he had never loved anyone else and he’d thought she loved him, too. But she hadn’t. She had been the only woman who had ever rejected him and she had done it in a cruel and dismissive manner which had emphasised his subservient status. He would never forget the way she had looked through him, as if he had been invisible. As if he were nothing. Was it that which had planted the bitter seed of anger, deep in the empty place he called his heart?

  He watched as, with an unsteady hand, she put down her half-empty gourd and fixed him with those incredible sapphire eyes of hers.

  ‘You still haven’t explained what brought you here today, Alej.’

  He leaned his head back against the chair and surveyed her from between slitted eyes. ‘Because I think I can help you. Or rather, I think we can help each other.’

  She shook her head. ‘After the things you’ve just accused me of, I’m amazed you’re offering, but I’ll decline if it’s all the same to you.’ She gritted him a polite smile. ‘I don’t need your help.’

  ‘Oh, I think you do,’ he contradicted softly. ‘That is, if you want to save Joya. If you’d like him to live out his days happily in a flower-filled meadow, with a loving groom to tend to his every need rather than ending up on the scrapheap, which is where he’s heading right now.’

  ‘Are you trying to use an old, sick horse in order to blackmail me?’

  ‘Not at all. I’m simply stating facts,’ he said. ‘And suggesting we do a trade-off.’

  Still reeling from the fact that he held her responsible for his mother’s sacking, Emily wondered what on earth he was talking about. Because what could someone like her do for someone like him, when he was an iconic billionaire and she was...? She stared down at her jeans and canvas sneakers. At the unmanicured hands which were resting on the sides of the chair. She was just an ordinary woman trying to find some balance after a tumultuous upbringing, which had bounced her round like a rubber ball. A woman who had been chasing independence since she’d graduated from college. Normality was what she craved more than anything and contact with Alejandro Sabato certainly wouldn’t go anywhere towards helping her achieve that aim.
Because he made her want something it was dangerous to want and that something was him. He made her think of slow touching and long kissing—both of which she’d like to do right now, even though he was looking at her with an expression of barely veiled contempt. And hadn’t that been the root cause of her mother’s tragic story—that she had been hooked on a man who had secretly despised her? Did she really want the same thing for herself?

  Her instinct was to finish her drink, to smile politely and tell him she would manage somehow. She would find a way to save Joya, though she wasn’t quite sure how she was going to go about it in a country which now felt distinctly foreign to her, despite having spent so much time here.

  But Argentina was Alej’s homeland, wasn’t it? If anyone knew how best to deal with rehoming an ancient horse and rescuing him from certain death, it was him. And because he looked so powerful and dependable as he sat opposite her on the shaded veranda, she found the words leaving her mouth before she’d had time to consider the wisdom of saying them. ‘What kind of trade-off?’ she questioned cautiously.

  Reflectively, he stirred his drink with the bombilla before lifting his gaze to hers, rugged features darkened by the shade cast by the overgrown shrubs which tumbled down the side of the veranda. ‘How much do you know about me, Emily?’

  It was an unexpected question and Emily wished he hadn’t asked it. Because she knew him intimately, as only a lover could. His hard body. That low, exultant moan he’d given as he had bucked to fulfilment—over and over during that night. The only night. Flustered, she shrugged, trying to dredge up some of the facts she’d buried deep in her mind, where she rarely allowed herself to venture. ‘I know you came from a poor family and that your mother—’

  ‘No, not back then,’ he interrupted, and suddenly there was a bitterness about him which she’d never seen before. Or maybe she just hadn’t hung around long enough to see it.

  ‘Spare me the rags-to-riches story which has been told a million times,’ he ordered roughly. ‘I’m talking about modern day. Real time. Now.’