A Price Worth Paying?. Trish Morey

called upon to secure this interview seemingly gone. She looked tiny against the sofa. Exactly like that mouse he’d imagined her to be when she’d first spoken so hesitantly on the phone.

      ‘You said he was dying,’ he prompted. And suddenly her chin kicked up and she found that husky note that had captured his interest earlier.

      ‘The doctor said he has six months to live. Maybe twelve.’ Her voice cracked a little on the twelve and she put the cup in her hands down before she recovered enough to continue, ‘I don’t think he’ll last that long.’

      She pushed honey-blonde hair that had fallen free from her ponytail behind her ears before she looked up at him, her eyes glassy and hollow. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, swiping a rogue tear from her cheek. ‘I’ve made a complete mess of this. You didn’t need this.’

      He didn’t, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t a little bit curious about why she thought it so necessary to knock on his door to ask for his help. He had his suspicions, of course—but he had to admit that the whole granddaughter turning up on his doorstep to plead her case was unexpected. ‘Why do you think Felipe won’t last that long?’

      She shrugged almost impatiently, as if the reason was blindingly obvious and there was nothing else it could be. ‘Because he’s given up. He thinks he deserves to die.’

      ‘Because of the land?’

      ‘Of course, because of the land! It’s about losing his wife and daughter too, but don’t you see, losing the land on top of everything else is killing him faster than any disease.’

      ‘I knew it.’ He padded barefoot to the window, strangely disappointed, regretting the impulse to let her in, and not only because his curiosity about Felipe’s long lost granddaughter with the husky drawl had been satisfied with one look at this skinny, big-eyed waif. But because he’d been right. Of course it had to be about the land. And yet for some reason being right gave him no pleasure.

      Maybe because he knew what would come next, and that any moment now she’d be asking for the favour she’d obviously come here to ask—for him to either return the land out of the goodness of his heart, or to lend her the money to buy it back.

      He should never have let her in. Felipe should never have sent her. What had the old man been thinking, to send her to plead his case? Had he been hoping he’d feel sorry for her and agree to whatever she asked? A coiling anger unfurled inside him that anyone, let alone his father’s old nemesis, would think him so easily manipulated.

      ‘So that’s why he sent you, then? To ask for it back?’

      Maybe his words sounded more like accusations than questions, maybe he sounded more combative than inquisitive, because she flinched, her face tight, her eyes clearly on the defensive. ‘Felipe didn’t send me. He doesn’t even know I’m here.’ She hesitated before saying anything more, before she glanced at the watch on her slim wrist and looked up again, already gathering herself, her face suddenly resolute, as if she’d decided something. ‘Look, maybe I should go—’

      He stalled her preparations to leave with a shrivelling glare. ‘You do realise it wasn’t me who gambled the property out from underneath him, don’t you? I bought it fair and square. And I paid a hefty premium for the privilege.’

      ‘I know that.’

      ‘Then surely you don’t expect me to hand it calmly back, no matter how ill you say your grandfather is.’

      Her blue eyes flashed icicles, her manner changing as swiftly as if someone had flicked a switch. ‘Do you think I’m that stupid? I may be a stranger here, but Felipe has told me enough about the Esquivels to know that would never happen.’

      He bristled at her emphasis on the word ‘never’. It was true, Felipe and his father had had their differences in the past, and yes, the Esquivels took their business seriously, but that did not mean they did not act without honour. They were Basques after all. ‘Then why did you come? Is it money you want?’

      She gave a toss of her head, setting her ponytail lurching from side to side, the ends she’d poked behind her ears swinging free once more. ‘I don’t want your money. I don’t care about your money.’

      ‘So why are you here? What other reason could you possibly have for turning up on my doorstep demanding a private hearing?’

      She stood up then, all five feet nothing of her, but with her dark eyes flashing, her jaw set in a flushed face and an attitude that spoke more of bottled rage than the meek little mouse who had turned up on his doorstep.

      ‘All right. Since you really want to know, I came here to ask if you would marry me.’

       CHAPTER THREE

      ‘MARRY YOU?’ HE didn’t wait for her to say any more. He’d heard enough. He laughed out loud, the sound reverberating around the room. He’d known she’d wanted something—land or money—and she had wanted something, but a proposal of marriage had never been on his radar. ‘You’re seriously proposing marriage?’

      ‘I know.’ His visitor clenched and unclenched her hands by her sides, her eyes frosty and hard with anger, her features set as if she didn’t hold it all together, she would explode. ‘Crazy idea. Forget I said anything. Clearly I was wrong to think you might lift so much as a finger to help my grandfather. Sorry to bother you. I’ll see myself out.’

      She wheeled around, her skirt flaring high as she spun to reveal legs more shapely than he would have imagined she possessed before they marched her purposefully towards the door, her words rankling more with each stride. How dare she come out with a crazy proposal like that and then make out that he’d let her down?

      He caught up with her as she pulled the door open, slamming it shut the next second with the flat of his hand over her shoulder. ‘I don’t remember you asking me to lift a finger.’ She wasn’t listening. Either that or she simply took no notice. She worked the handle frantically with both hands, her slim body straining as she pulled with all her might, while the door refused to budge so much as an inch with his weight to keep it closed.

      ‘Let me out!’

      He stayed right where he was, with the tiny fury beneath him working away on the door, bracing herself against the wall for leverage. ‘On the other hand, I do recall you asking me to marry you.’

      ‘It was a mistake,’ she said, frantic and half breathless from her efforts.

      ‘What, you mean you meant to ask someone else?’

      She gave up on the handle, staring at the door as if willing it to disappear with the sheer force of her will. ‘I thought you might help. Turns out I was wrong.’

      ‘And so now you make out that I’ve somehow let you down? Because I’m honest and laugh when you suggest something as ridiculous as marrying you?’

      ‘Ridiculous because you’re such a catch, you mean? God, you’re unbelievable! Do you actually believe I want to marry you?’

      She gave the door a final kick and spun around and almost immediately wished she hadn’t, suddenly confronted by the naked wall of his chest just inches from her face. Bronzed olive skin roughened with dark hair and two hard nipples jutting out at her. God, why the hell couldn’t the man just put on some clothes? Because this close she could see his chest hair sway in the breeze from her breath. This close she could smell the lemon soap he’d used while bathing; could smell the clean scent of masculine skin.

       And she really didn’t need to know that she liked the combination.

      ‘You tell me,’ he answered roughly. ‘You’re the one doing the asking.’

      He had her boxed in on two sides, one arm planted beside her head, the door at her back, with only one avenue of escape left to her. Tempting as it was,