The Buenos Aires Marriage Deal. Maggie Cox

‘I’ve just been a bit distracted, that’s all. This weekend simply has to go well, Mum. I’ve got three entrepreneurs entertaining some billionaire from abroad, and I’ve got to help take care of them in a Tudor mansion I haven’t even had a chance to familiarise myself with yet. I have to get there early and get my act together to greet them or I’ll be for the high jump! Thank God Tina went there yesterday, to do some groundwork for me! If I impress, it’s been hinted that there might be some more work coming my way from that direction—so keep your fingers crossed for me, won’t you?’

      ‘You shouldn’t need me to keep my fingers crossed!’ Frances Douglas announced, her smoothly powdered features gently chastising. ‘You are the very best at what you do, Briana Douglas, and don’t you forget it! Your trusting nature brought you that bad debt that’s got the business into trouble…not your lack of ability!’

      ‘Thanks, Mum. I needed a boost this morning. You’re an angel!’

      ‘And don’t fret about Adán either. I have a lovely weekend for us both lined up. I just want you to go to work and concentrate on what has to be done without worrying about us.’

      ‘I promise I won’t let you down.’

      The older woman’s light grey eyes glistened. ‘You’ve never let me down in the whole of your twenty-seven years, child, so don’t even think such a thing!’

      Her own eyes moist, Briana sniffed and gave her mother a brief hard hug. She was so lucky. She had the most wonderful mother a girl could wish for, and a darling little boy who was the light of her life. All things considered—financial problems aside—she wasn’t doing badly. So why, then, just at the moment when she had determinedly decided to look on the bright side, did a disturbing vision of her child’s father slide across the cinema screen of her mind and clamp her heart hard enough and painfully enough to take her breath away?

      The house was startlingly impressive. Set in the napped velvet green of the gently undulating Warwickshire landscape, in what was known as Shakespeare country, it was a genuine beautiful relic from England’s tumultuous Tudor past that anyone with half an interest in history would relish.

      Pascual had stood outside for several minutes after the chauffeur had opened the door of the Rolls-Royce that had brought him from the airport—simply to admire its black and white three storeyed wattle and daub façade and the small arched windows with their leaded panes. The grounds were stunning too. On the way in they had driven past an imposing gatehouse and parkland, as well as some trees that looked as durable as any fascinating ancient monument he had ever seen. As if to doubly remind him that he was in the English countryside now, and far from the vibrancy, colour and heat of Buenos Aires, rain had started to fall—softly at first, then hard enough to make him immediately dash for cover.

      As he did so he literally bumped into a young slim blonde who announced that her name was Tina and that she was working for the businessmen who were hosting Pascual’s stay this weekend. After showing him to his suite of rooms she said she would bring him some coffee and refreshments—then her colleague would take him to meet his hosts.

      Welcoming the opportunity to shower and take stock of his surroundings before partaking of any refreshments and putting on his ‘business head,’ Pascual took his time getting ready for his meeting. All the while the steadily falling rain drilled against the diamond-patterned leaded windows of his bedroom and, glancing outside, seeing the boughs of the surrounding trees bend almost to the ground, he realised that the wind was whipping up quite a storm too. But inside it was cosy and warm, and the kind of peace and quiet that he almost never experienced at home descended like a soft down blanket, cocooning him from the rest of the world.

      His ensuing sigh was almost contented. After all…what had he to worry about? However long he made his hosts wait, the last thing they would do would be to voice a complaint. They were getting the chance to buy the most sought-after thoroughbred polo ponies in the business—the elite of the elite—and so they would stem their impatience and relax for however long it took before Pascual finally sought them out.

      Absorbed with fastening the small diamond cufflinks on his tailored deep blue Savile Row shirt, he frowned at the sudden knock on the door. No doubt it was the little blonde, returning with his refreshments, he thought lazily. Good. He could do with some strong black coffee.

      Outside the panelled oak door in the long, lowceilinged corridor, Briana was schooling herself to try and breathe more slowly. She’d arrived late, despite all her best efforts, and had just got there in the nick of time to take the tray of coffee from Tina and bring it up to their VIP guest’s room. Patting down her hair, she hoped her motorway dash and her lack of time to retouch her make-up would not detract from the warmth and professionalism that was usually her byword. She hadn’t even had the presence of mind to ask Tina what their important guest’s name was! Never mind. Perhaps he’d just be so grateful for the coffee he wouldn’t notice that she didn’t address him by his name.

      The silver coffee pot, patterned cup and saucer and little white jug on the elegant silver tray rattled a little between her hands as Briana held it, and she made herself take another steadying breath.

      ‘Good timing! I was just—Dios mio!’

      Hooded eyes the intensity and colour of luxurious cocoa set in a handsome strong-boned face with high cheekbones and the most sensuous masculine mouth imaginable stared back at her, as though its owner hardly believed the validity of his own eyesight.

      ‘What in God’s name are you doing here?’

      Just in time Briana held onto the already precariously rattling tray. Was she dreaming? As her heart pounded out a shocked tattoo, she had to struggle to maintain her balance. Pascual was the VIP guest? How could she not have known that? Suddenly her equilibrium and professionalism fled altogether, and she was left feeling so painfully vulnerable, exposed and inadequate that tears were a mere breath away.

      ‘Did you hear what I said?’

      For a moment his accent sounded heavier than she remembered. The naturally sensuous timbre of that arresting voice still had the power to turn her limbs to the fluidity of water Briana discovered disturbingly. ‘I’m working…and I’ve brought you your coffee,’ she managed through numbed lips, giving him a nervous lopsided smile. ‘Do you mind if I put the tray down? I’m afraid I might drop it.’

      Holding the door wide so that she could enter, Pascual allowed his dark, accusing gaze to follow her like sharpened daggers as she crossed the room to deposit the tray on a small carved oak side-table.

      ‘What is the meaning of this?’

      He was studying her as if she were a nasty trick being played on him…a trick he abhorred and detested.

      ‘I told you…I’m here working. Your hosts hired my company to provide hospitality services for your stay. I didn’t realise that you were the VIP guest. I’m sorry, Pascual…’

      Biting her lip, she felt herself blush hard at the old familiar use of his name and instantly regretted voicing it. Especially when his handsome face demonstrated no pleasure whatsoever in seeing her again…in fact the exact opposite!

      ‘This is probably the last thing you need. Seeing me again, I mean,’ she murmured. Her confidence drained away as his eyes tracked slowly and devastatingly up and down her body, in a simple but professional black A-line skirt and jacket, as if checking her out for flaws.

      What was he going to do? If he dismissed her and she couldn’t carry out her job it would be the last straw as far as her finances and her reputation went. Briana prayed he wouldn’t go as far as that. And at the same time as she worried about losing this job—and laying the hurt of the past aside—her hungry eyes wanted to weep with joy at the flesh-and-blood evidence of the man she had loved and had secretly dreamed of one day seeing again.

      He looked wonderful. ‘A sight for sore eyes’, as her mum would say. And he’d hardly changed at all—though his stature seemed more imposing than ever. His physique was still