The Gold Collection. Maggie Cox

      ‘The move to PGH has certainly given me an opportunity to further my career,’ she agreed. ‘And I work hard at my job.’

      He could not know that she felt pressurised to work harder than her contemporaries. Discovering that she was pregnant a month after she had started at PGH had meant that her career had no longer been a choice but a necessity as she faced life as a single mother.

      Anxious to prove her worth to Alistair Gambrill and the other senior partners, she had continued to work long hours. Fortunately Mateo’s birth had been straightforward, and three months later she had returned to work full-time, afraid that lengthy maternity leave would be detrimental to her chances of promotion in the male-dominated, highly competitive world of corporate law.

      She took a sip of water, fiddled restlessly with her napkin, and then said abruptly, ‘I’m sorry about your father.’ Ramon had always been reluctant to discuss his personal life, and she knew little about his family, but Esteban Velaquez had been a prominent politician in the Spanish government and his death had been reported worldwide.

      She did not expect him to comment, and was surprised when, after a long pause, he admitted, ‘It was a shock. Cancer had been diagnosed six months earlier, but after surgery his prognosis was good. Unfortunately the disease returned in a more aggressive form and there was nothing more the doctors could do. My mother has taken his death badly,’ he continued heavily. ‘My parents had been married for over forty years and she is heartbroken.’

      His mother’s grief had been as much a shock as the loss of his father, Ramon conceded silently. He had assumed that his parents’ marriage had been a union between two influential Spanish families—an arrangement that had developed into a contented relationship based on mutual friendship and respect. But after witnessing Marisol Velaquez’s raw despair as she wept for her husband he had realised that it had been love that had bound his parents together for almost half a century—the kind of profound and everlasting love that poets wrote sonnets about and which he had cynically doubted existed in real life.

      Lauren stared at Ramon’s handsome face and felt her stomach dip. He was impossibly gorgeous, but she was not the first woman to be blown away by his sexy good-looks and she certainly would not be the last. Since Esteban Velaquez’s death, the press had frequently reported on the playboy lifestyle of his only son and heir. Ramon had been photographed with a number of women—in particular a well-known catwalk model, Pilar Fernandez, who was the daughter of a Spanish aristocrat and whose impeccable pedigree was reflected in her exquisite features. The pictures of Ramon and beautiful Pilar had reinforced Lauren’s belief that he would not be interested in his illegitimate child.

      ‘I’m sorry for your mother,’ she murmured. ‘Perhaps the prospect of you marrying soon will help to alleviate her grief a little? There is speculation in the media that you are about to announce your engagement to Pilar Fernandez,’ she added, when his dark brows lifted in silent query.

      ‘I’ve no doubt my mother would be delighted at the news of my impending nuptials,’ he drawled. ‘Since my father’s death she seems to have made it her life’s mission to find me a bride. But the speculation is unfounded. Certain elements of the Spanish press are fascinated with my private life, but Pilar is simply a friend. Our families have known one another for many years. I’m afraid that even for my dear madre’s sake I am in no hurry to find a duquesa.’

      His eyes rested deliberately on Lauren’s mouth, and the sensual gleam in his eyes sent a quiver of reaction down her spine. His message was loud and clear. Some time in the future he would select a member of the Spanish aristocracy to be his wife and provide him with blue-blooded heirs to continue the Velaquez name, but until then he would enjoy his freedom and satisfy his high sex-drive with numerous mistresses.

      But she had been there, done that, Lauren brooded.

      Ramon had gone to some lengths to arrange for her to work for him. She recognised the hunger in his eyes, and could feel the undercurrent of sexual tension that had simmered between them since she had walked into the restaurant. It was inconceivable that he wanted to re-ignite their affair when he had insisted eighteen months ago that if she left him he would never take her back. But if that was his intention—dear heaven, she thought shakily—she could only pray she had the strength to resist him.

      Tension tightened its grip on her. She could not allow him to find out about Matty. He would surely not deem her son a suitable heir for a family who could trace its ancestors back to the eleventh century, when Rioja had been fought over by the ancient kingdoms of Castile and Navarre. Matty was her baby, her responsibility, and it would be better for everyone if he remained her secret.

      The arrival of the waiter dragged her mind back to her surroundings. ‘Would you like dessert?’ Ramon asked.

      ‘No, thanks.’ Her hands were trembling as she shoved the notes on the properties back in her briefcase. ‘I should go. I need to get back to the office to hand over the accounts on my file to other lawyers in the department.’

      ‘I’m sure they can wait another fifteen minutes,’ he said dryly before he turned to the waiter, ‘An Americano, please, and a jasmine tea.’

      Did it mean anything that he remembered she always liked to end a meal with cup of herbal tea? All it proved was that he had a good memory, Lauren told herself firmly.

      The waiter returned with their beverages and she sipped her fragrant tea.

      ‘So, what has been happening in your life since we split up?’ Ramon queried in a casual tone, the intent expression in his eyes shadowed by his thick lashes. ‘Is there anyone special in your life, Lauren?’

      Only her son, who filled her life so completely that there was no room for anyone else—but she could not tell Ramon that, and gave a noncommittal shrug. ‘I don’t think that’s any of your business.’

      So there was some guy. It was hardly surprising, Ramon conceded. Lauren was a beautiful, sensual woman, and she would not have spent the past eighteen months alone. What was surprising was how much he disliked the idea of her with a lover.

      He leaned back in his chair and studied her broodingly. ‘I feel sorry for this guy, whoever he is.’

      ‘What?’ It took a few seconds for it to sink in that Ramon believed she was dating someone. Lauren frowned. ‘Why?’

      ‘Because he doesn’t satisfy you.’

      ‘Oh? You know that, do you?’ She had forgotten how infuriatingly arrogant he could be.

      ‘I can tell.’ He moved so suddenly that she had no time to react as he leaned across the table and captured her chin in his hand. ‘If lover-boy satisfied you, your eyes wouldn’t darken to the colour of woodsmoke when you look at me.’ He ran his thumb pad over her lower lip and felt its betraying tremble. ‘And your mouth wouldn’t soften in readiness for my kiss.’

      ‘It doesn’t… I don’t…’ Shaking with anger, and another emotion she refused to define, Lauren jumped to her feet so abruptly that her chair toppled over and hit the floor with a clatter that drew curious glances from around the restaurant.

      The noise brought her to her senses and she snatched a breath, willing herself to act with calm dignity even though her heart was pounding.

      ‘I don’t know what game you’re playing,’ she said coldly, ‘but perhaps I should remind you that I ended our affair a year and a half ago. You might have employed me to work for you, but I expect our relationship to be conducted on a purely professional level, with no references to my private life and no…’

      ‘Kissing?’ Ramon suggested dulcetly.

      His teasing smile tugged on her heart. She had forgotten his wicked sense of humour, and how often he had made her laugh, and for some inexplicable reason tears stung her eyes.

      ‘You are insufferable,’ she hissed, suddenly aware that the waiter, who had hurried over to pick up her chair, was clearly intrigued by their conversation. ‘I’m going back to work.’