Bought Bride For The Argentinian (Conveniently Wed!) Page 3

  Emily screwed up her eyes. If she admitted to knowing stuff about his current lifestyle, mightn’t that seem as if she was somehow trolling him, like some sad ex-lover who couldn’t bear to let go? But Alejandro Sabato wasn’t just anyone, she reminded herself. Everything he touched made headlines—both work and play. Who hadn’t heard of him?

  ‘I know you suddenly retired from polo,’ she said. ‘And that your decision took everyone by surprise.’

  He nodded but provided no explanation. His verdant gaze just continued to cut through her, like a knife slicing through a ripe melon. ‘What else?’

  She hesitated. After all the drama and fallout she’d experienced while growing up, she tried not to place too much importance on wealth—but in this case that would be like trying to ignore a whole herd of elephants who were trying to trample their way into a small cupboard. Especially with that top-of-the-range black helicopter, which was shining like a giant beetle in the field not far from where they were sitting, and the fact that Alejandro had recently come in at number thirty-four on a list of the world’s richest men.

  ‘That you invested in an energy drink which is pretty much drunk everywhere and used some of the money you made to help a friend set up a social media app. And then you bought into a motor-racing team, which has reaped its own rewards,’ she offered. ‘So you’ve exchanged one kind of high-intensity sport for another.’

  ‘Very neatly summarised,’ he said, raising his dark eyebrows. ‘Perhaps I should be flattered that you’ve taken such an interest in my progress, Emily.’

  ‘Please don’t be,’ she said sharply. ‘I work in PR and it’s my job to read the papers. And since you take up a lot of column space in the international press, it’s hardly surprising that I should have picked up some facts about you over the years.’

  From the thick lashes which framed the startling green eyes, he continued to survey her. ‘Then you will know about Colette?’

  There was the briefest of pauses before Emily nodded, surprised by how much it hurt to hear him say another woman’s name. ‘Doesn’t everyone? Supermodels of her stature are few and far between. I gather you broke up,’ she added blandly. ‘And she wrote an unauthorised biography about you.’

  ‘Did you read it?’

  Emily shook her head. Was he mad? Of course she hadn’t read it! She’d seen the title and hadn’t even been able to face giving it a quick skim-through. Because what woman would want to absorb details of her ex-lover’s wild sex life with one of the world’s hottest supermodels? ‘No,’ she said, and then—because he seemed to be waiting for more—she forced herself to continue. ‘But I gather it wasn’t favourable towards you.’

  Alej almost smiled. He’d forgotten the English penchant for understatement, just as he’d forgotten how Emily’s cool beauty had the ability to ignite something deep inside him. It always had. He hadn’t seen her in eight years, yet the lust which was pulsing through his body was as powerful as it had been when he’d met her way back when. Back then, she had been forbidden fruit for all kinds of reasons. Too young, for a start—even before you factored in that she was the stepdaughter of his mother’s employer and that nobody in their right mind would dare mess around with the boss’s family.

  But desire was a powerful driver. It had eaten him up from the inside out. Plagued and tormented him like a fever, so that he’d had to work extra hard to concentrate on the polo which had always consumed him and had promised a route out of the poverty into which he’d been born. And wasn’t the truth that Emily hadn’t been like the other girls who hung around the polo field with their breasts practically falling out of their shirts? An out-and-out tomboy, she’d somehow made him feel stuff. Stuff he wasn’t used to feeling, which had made him want to buy her flowers and brush her hair in the moonlight and tell her that her skin was paler than the stars. He’d thought it had been the same for her—that she had reciprocated his see-sawing emotions during those long months of stolen kisses and furtive embraces before he had finally made love to her.

  His groin hardened. Because of her innocence and relative youth he had employed an uncharacteristic restraint around Emily Green. It had almost killed him to hold off until her eighteenth birthday, though in the end they had missed it by a day because they just couldn’t wait any longer. Never had a sexual build-up been so exquisitely slow or sweetly torturous, so that when he had finally slipped inside her, he’d come almost as quickly as she had done. He’d been having safe sex with willing partners since the age of sixteen—but nothing could have prepared Alej for his first time with Emily, when he plunged deep into her tight and molten heat. The only time, he reminded himself bitterly, before forcing his attention back to the present and the sapphire-blue eyes which were regarding him with a curiosity which was somehow adding to his frustration and long-suppressed anger.

  ‘It was, as you say—an unfavourable piece,’ he conceded, his temperate tone at odds with his turbulent thoughts. ‘But, unfortunately, mud sticks and she told a lot of lies about me.’

  She tilted her head to one side, so that her thick blonde plait fell forward and lay enticingly against the firm thrust of her breasts. ‘What kind of lies?’

  ‘What man would wish to list their supposed transgressions to another woman? Why don’t you just read the book for yourself?’ There was a pause. ‘And in the meantime, I could make sure that Joya is taken care of.’

  Her attention was momentarily distracted as she watched a lizard slithering its way across the decking before looking up at him.

  ‘That’s a very generous offer,’ she said uncertainly.

  ‘Which obviously isn’t motivated simply by my love of horses.’

  ‘No?’

  He shook his head and gave a glimmer of a smile. ‘Of course not. I expect to extract a reward for my benevolence.’

  Behind the smile an undeniable threat was underpinning his words and as Emily stared into his eyes she felt a sudden chill whisper its way over her skin. If she hadn’t been so worried and in such a helpless position about helping Joya, she wouldn’t have needed to ask the question, but the reality was that she did. ‘What kind of “reward” did you have in mind?’

  The slow smile he flicked her was tinged with sensual promise, but the words which followed were the last thing Emily was expecting to hear.

  ‘You work in public relations, don’t you?’

  She blinked. ‘How did you know that?’

  ‘It wasn’t difficult. I did a little research, before you arrived. Your reputation is modest, but it’s growing. I read nothing but good things about you.’ There was a brief pause. ‘So how about you come and work for me, as my PR representative?’

  ‘You don’t have one at the moment?’

  ‘Never saw the need.’ He shrugged. ‘But if you can polish my tarnished image for me, then we’ll call it quits.’

  ‘But why?’ Her brow creased into a frown. ‘I mean, why do you suddenly care what people think about you when you never did before?’

  He didn’t answer for a moment and when he did his voice was reflective. ‘Because I’m thinking of throwing my hat into the political ring and my current reputation will do me no favours. If you can make this bad-boy billionaire into a respectable member of polite society, I will reward you very handsomely.’

  Emily stared at him. Was he actually offering her a job? Asking her to create a squeaky-clean image for him, which would involve her delving into aspects of his life which made her feel ill just thinking about them? She couldn’t do it. In fact, she wouldn’t do it. You could only ever take a job like this if you were properly impartial and impartiality was the last thing she felt towards the Argentinian billionaire.

  She shook her head. ‘I don’t think you realise how my kind of business operates, Alejandro,’ she said. ‘I can’t suddenly start working exclusively for you—even if I wanted to, which I don’t. I have commitments.’
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  His hand sliced through the air with that same impatient gesture. ‘I’m not interested in the detail. I’ve told you what I want, so make it happen. Leave your job if necessary.’

  ‘Leave my job?’ Her lips fell open. ‘I’m in partnership with a friend from uni. That’s just not possible.’

  ‘Anything is possible, Emily,’ he bit out. ‘We both know that. We live in a world where a poor illegitimate boy can rise up the greasy pole to have more money than he knows what to do with.’

  She shook her head. ‘Find someone else, Alejandro. There are plenty of public relations officers who are of an equally high standard who would bite your hand off to get this kind of job.’

  ‘But they aren’t you,’ he said silkily. ‘Are you haggling with me because you want to obtain the highest price for your services—is that what this is all about? In which case, let me tell you something which might influence your opinion.’

  He mentioned a sum of money which took her breath away. Emily dug her fingers into the arms of the wicker chair and levered herself up, needing to get away from his distracting gaze as she tried to process the offer he’d just made her. That was a lot of money. Walking over to the edge of the veranda, she stared out at the lush Argentinian landscape and the cotton-wool clouds which were billowing up on the horizon.

  She knew she ought to refuse because only a fool would accept—given their history. She’d hurt him for no reason other than that she’d been scared. But she had reasons for being tempted by the money—and not just because her embryo PR business could do with a financial cushion. And there was Great-Aunt Jane to think about—her only living relative who Emily kept a tender eye on as often as she could. Because her pension was tiny, wasn’t it? She had become one of those old people who were scared of the future because they weren’t quite sure if they would have enough money to fund whatever lay ahead. Wouldn’t it be great if she could take away some of her worries by presenting her with a generous cheque?

  But deep down Emily knew that her eagerness to accept Alejandro’s offer was about more than helping care for a dear relative. The truth was that for too long she’d felt as if she was existing on some kind of plateau. As if life was passing her by. These days she rarely dated but when she did, she felt empty. As if she’d been carved from stone. And the reason for that was standing right in front of her. Tall, dark and indomitable. The man who made all other men seem as insubstantial as shadows. The man who made the idea of loving someone else seem impossible.

  Sometimes she suspected that she’d idealised Alejandro Sabato and allowed time to distort her memory of him, although the reality of seeing him in the flesh was as powerful as it had ever been. But if she’d been guilty of putting him on a pedestal, then surely here was the perfect opportunity to dismantle it. To see for herself the man he really was, rather than the superhero of her young and lovestruck imagination. She could feel the thunder of her heart as she tried to imagine it. Wouldn’t daily contact with the arrogant billionaire reinforce all the reasons why it was the best decision to walk away, as well as saving Joya and helping her great-aunt in the process?

  She turned back to find him looking at her and the most stupid thing was that all she really wanted was for him to hold her. To cradle her in his strong arms and make her feel truly desired again. Determinedly, she pushed those thoughts away.

  ‘Since I can’t see any alternative,’ she said slowly, ‘I’ll take the job.’

  Alejandro felt a beat of anger because he’d seen the way her eyes had lit up like a Christmas tree when he’d mentioned the money. It seemed she was just like her mother, he observed bitterly—available to the highest bidder. Yet she wore no outward signs of the wealth she clearly craved. Her clothes were decidedly unsexy and her face bare of make-up. He wondered if she had been disappointed with the laughable legacy left to her by her stepfather and was surprised how much pleasure it gave him to hope so.

  ‘I thought that might sway it,’ he remarked, raking his fingers back through the thick tumble of his hair. ‘There are very few women who aren’t persuaded by the prospect of instant wealth.’

  And then he remembered why he was here—not to stand in judgement or to remind himself that she was shallow and avaricious. The real reason was as old as time itself. She had hurt him. Badly. And now it was time to hurt her right back.

  He flicked her a smile. ‘I’m flying out to Australia for the Melbourne Grand Prix next week and I want you there,’ he said silkily.

  She nodded as she looked up, her expression composed, but he sensed an inner tension about her which echoed his own. He could see those blue eyes widening. Darkening. He could see the almost surreptitious way that the tip of her tongue slid out to moisten the lush cushion of her lower lip. Soon, he thought, with a beat of anticipation. Soon he would make her realise what she was missing and how stupid she had been to turn her back on him in such a cold and callous manner.

  And then he could walk away.

  His mouth hardened.

  For ever.

  CHAPTER THREE

  ‘EMILY, ARE YOU OKAY? I mean, seriously?’ Marybeth’s voice was full of concern. ‘I’ve never seen you like this before, not in all the years I’ve known you.’

  Slowly Emily turned around to survey her business partner, who’d been her best friend since they’d met during their final year of college. Still reeling from her mother’s sudden death, Emily had been floundering when Marybeth Miller had swooped in and taken her under her wing. She’d insisted on bringing Emily back for weekends at her family’s rambling farmhouse in north Devon, where Emily had come into contact with the kind of noisy, good-hearted atmosphere she’d never known before. It had been her first experience of teasing siblings and walking for miles in the fresh country air before sitting down to eat enormous hunks of home-made cake, and it had helped her come to terms with her bereavement, though that hadn’t been easy.

  Her pain had been compounded by other feelings: by guilt and regret—but especially guilt. She kept wondering if she could have done something to stop her mother’s inevitable decline. If she could maybe have stopped her taking tranquillisers or shown her that there was a life worth living, even as a divorcee. But alongside the guilt had come a rush of something else and Emily hadn’t been able to shake off her relief that she was now liberated from all the emotional trauma of her mother’s life. She wondered if it had been that liberation which had prompted her to mail Alejandro a letter, apologising for everything that had happened and offering a cautious olive branch, suggesting that if he was playing in England any time soon, then perhaps they could meet up for a drink. But he hadn’t even bothered to reply. And maybe part of her couldn’t blame him. Did she really imagine that the proud Argentinian would share a cocktail with her after she’d dumped him so brutally?

  ‘I mean, look at you now—you’re miles away!’ Marybeth was staring at Emily in bemusement. ‘And you’ve got this look on your face, like...’

  ‘Like what?’ Emily prompted curiously.

  ‘You’re all wired,’ said her friend. ‘As if someone’s turned on a light inside you and you’ve suddenly come alive. Yet you look scared, too. As if something’s waiting just around the corner for you and you don’t like what it is.’ She paused. ‘You know, you don’t have to accept this job from this guy Alejandro Sabato.’

  Emily gave a hollow laugh. ‘What, and turn down the best money and exposure we’ve ever been offered just because I once stupidly had sex with him?’

  Marybeth looked shocked—probably because Emily was never usually that frank. Or maybe it was because she’d lived like a nun for so long that her partner thought she was still a virgin.

  ‘Is that what happened?’ Marybeth questioned. ‘I mean, I guessed there had been someone.’

  Emily blinked. ‘You did?’

  Marybeth shrugged. ‘Of course. You’re lovely,’ she said gently. ‘But you alw
ays clammed up when it came to talking about men and then this really sad look would come over your face, so I didn’t like to pry. And whenever you’ve dated anyone—which doesn’t happen often—nobody has come close to capturing your heart, which suggested it must have been badly broken. Is that what happened, Em—with this guy Sabato? Did he break your heart?’

  Emily hesitated as she folded another cotton shirt before adding it to the neat and sensible pile already in her suitcase. She never talked about it because it still had the power to hurt and also because she was aware of how badly she’d handled it—in fact, she couldn’t have handled it more badly if she’d tried. But maybe she should talk about it. Maybe she needed to make sense of it in her own head, so that she could deal with it competently when she came into contact with him again. ‘Alejandro was the housekeeper’s son when I lived in Argentina,’ she began slowly. ‘In the days when my mother was married to Paul Vickery.’

  ‘That’s the guy who left you the horse?’

  Emily nodded. ‘That’s the one. Cruel and calculating, but ultimately very rich—at least, he was when I was a child. My mother was completely in thrall to him, mainly because he’d rescued her from a life of poverty as a widow. My father was a fisherman who drowned off the Cornish coast, but even when he was alive, money was scarce. After he died my mother met Paul and felt as if she’d hit the jackpot. She’d found herself a rich husband who gave her a financial security she didn’t have to work for. It’s one of the reasons why my career has always been so important to me. Why I’ve been determined never to rely on a man like that.’

  She heaved out a sigh. ‘And even though he was chronically unfaithful, Paul only had to snap his fingers and she came running, which is what rich men really want women to do—and then they despise them for it. He had a thing about status. A big thing. Socialising in the highest echelons of society was his bag and his stepdaughter mixing with the illegitimate son of the hired help certainly didn’t fit into that image, despite the fact that Alej was clearly going to be a big star in the world of polo. It may have been even more basic than that. Alejandro was at his physical peak and poised on the cusp of glory and my stepfather was getting very old by then—so maybe it was that old lion, young lion thing. When he found out I was involved with Alej, he demanded I finish it.’