Rafael's Contract Bride. Nina Milne

curves of her body. Cora looked miles away from the cool, aloof woman who had climbed into his car a few hours earlier.

      He found himself holding his breath as he waited her response.

      ‘So,’ he said. ‘Are you on board?’

       CHAPTER FIVE

      WAS SHE ON board with the idea of marrying Rafael Martinez? Faking a marriage for money and a vineyard? It was a con of gigantic proportions and as such it should fill her with disgust. After all, she herself had suffered hugely at the hands of a con artist. Yet it didn’t feel wrong. Instinct told her that whatever Rafael Martinez was he wasn’t immoral—this was more than a business deal to him, for sure, but she knew his hidden purpose wouldn’t be sinister.

      Stop it, Cora. Why was she kidding herself? Her instincts had let her down before and she knew nothing. Everyone had an agenda. Including herself. The point here was that Rafael would give Don Carlos a fair price for his land. If the Duque de Aiza chose to sell just because of their marriage that was his look-out, and she would win her way back to the Derwent fold.

      ‘I’m in.’

      The words filled her with apprehension, and yet exhilaration zinged through her body as he lifted his glass and this time she raised her own, and clinked it against his. The sunlight glinted off the cut crystal and the sound echoed in her ears like an omen.

      ‘So what now?’

      ‘We get engaged. I thought we could do it here. I’ve got a ring.’

      As he reached into his pocket a small thread of sadness tugged at her heart. True, she’d written off the idea of romance in her life, had accepted that men only wanted her for her title or as a conduit to gain access to her infinitely more desirable sister. But the cool, clinical nature of this engagement made her swallow down a stupid regret that it wasn’t real.

      ‘Is there a problem?’ His words were said with a surprising gentleness. ‘We can do it somewhere else if you prefer.’

      ‘No. You’ve put a lot of thought into this.’

      A sweep of her hand encompassed the beauty of their surroundings, the tang of the food, the smooth burst of the wine on her tastebuds. She glanced round, inhaled the glorious scents, heard the lazy drone of bees, let the sun warm her skin. Every sensation was suddenly heightened. The only necessity lacking was love; the irony was bittersweet.

      ‘It’s the perfect setting for a proposal. Are you sure you want to waste it on a fake engagement?’

      ‘It’s not a waste. Believe me, I have no intention of ever doing this for real.’

      ‘How can you be so sure? Maybe there is an ideal woman for you out there.’ After all, surely a man who had put so much thought into a fake proposal must have a romantic side to him—however deep it was buried.

      ‘I’m sure. If I ever met my “ideal woman” I’d sprint a marathon in the opposite direction.’