His Unknown Heir. Chantelle Shaw

had deliberately engineered the situation. The million dollar question was why? What did he want from her?

      She was agonisingly aware of him sitting beside her. The spicy tang of his cologne assailed her senses, so achingly familiar that she felt a sudden constriction in her throat. Her eyes were drawn to his face, searching for an answer that was not forthcoming, and instead she glimpsed a ruthless determination in his gaze that sent a prickle of unease down her spine. The moment passed, and he gave her a bland smile as he reached into his briefcase and retrieved a folder.

      ‘These are the details of the properties I am interested in. Perhaps you could spend some time looking through them this morning, and we can discuss your opinion on their potential suitability over lunch?’

      He was too much! ‘How about I read through the notes and email you a résumé of my initial thoughts?’ she countered, oh-so-politely. ‘I don’t want to interrupt your schedule.’

      Sherry-brown eyes glinted gold with amusement, but the subtle nuance in his tone brooked no argument. ‘One o’clock, the Vine, Covent Garden. I expect you to be there, Lauren.’ He stood up and extended his hand towards Alistair Gambrill. ‘Thank you for your time, Alistair.’

      ‘It’s a pleasure to do business with you, Ramon.’

      ‘The pleasure is all mine, I assure you.’ There was pure devilment in Ramon’s smile as he paused in the doorway and glanced back at Lauren, satisfied to see that she looked flustered and pink-cheeked—and infinitely kissable. But the expression in her eyes made him frown. What had he ever done to cause her to look at him as if she feared him?

      She had been on edge from the moment she had walked into Alistair Gambrill’s office, he brooded. But perhaps she was simply surprised to see him again after their affair had ended so explosively eighteen months ago. He recalled the ridiculous argument they had had because she had objected when he had referred to her as his mistress. Notoriously hot-tempered, he had reacted to her threat to walk out by telling her that if she did, he would not have her back.

      Later, when his temper had cooled and he’d had time to think rationally, he had acknowledged that he had spoken in anger, and he had wondered if Lauren had too. But by then he had returned to Spain, after a frantic call from his mother telling him that his father’s health had deteriorated and that the Duque was gravely ill. Sorting out his personal life had come way down the list of his priorities as he had taken charge of his family.

      It was not only business that had brought him back to England, Ramon admitted to himself. He had come because he hoped to persuade Lauren to resume their affair. She was a fiercely independent career woman, and had informed him that she did not want to be his mistress, but he was confident he would be able to convince her that they should be lovers and enjoy an affair for as long as either of them wanted it to last.

      He was the Duque de Velaquez, and had a duty to choose a bride from the ranks of Spanish nobility. But he was in no hurry to marry—certainly not until he had got Lauren out of his system, he acknowledged self-derisively. But first he needed to discover why she seemed so wary of him.

      CHAPTER TWO

      LAUREN arrived at the restaurant at two minutes to one. From his vantage point seated at the bar Ramon watched her slip out of her coat and hand it to the waiter, who had sprung to attendance the moment she walked through the door. Her smile was a killer, he mused. He had never met anyone who could resist its warmth.

      Her hair was still swept up into an elegant chignon, and her designer suit and heels were the uniform of a busy professional—a corporate lawyer with a high-flying career. But he remembered the other Lauren. The passionate and sensual woman who had responded to his lovemaking with such sweet eagerness. As she walked towards him Ramon fought the fierce urge to tug the pins from her hair, bury his fingers in the silky mass and hold her captive while he claimed her mouth until she melted against him.

      ‘Ramon.’

      He stood up as she reached his side, faintly irritated that while the waiter had received a smile he did not. ‘As punctual as ever,’ he murmured.

      ‘It would be extremely unprofessional to be late for an appointment with a client,’ she replied crisply.

      A subtle reminder that business was the only reason she had agreed to have lunch with him? Ramon felt a spurt of amusement at Lauren’s determination to put him in his place, but he also acknowledged a strong desire to shake her equilibrium.

      ‘Our table is ready.’ He paused, and then added softly, ‘It’s a pity it’s not summer; we could have eaten outside as we used to. Remember, Lauren?’

      Her eyes flew to his face. Of course she remembered, Lauren thought shakily. The memories of the good times they had shared during their affair were ingrained in her mind for ever. The Vine had been one of their favourite haunts, and they had frequently dined here before returning to Ramon’s penthouse apartment to sate another kind of hunger. The sex had been urgent, intense, and unbelievably erotic—a sensual nirvana that was beyond anything she could ever have imagined.

      But it had just been sex. Without strings or the expectation of commitment or emotion. At least it had for Ramon, she thought bleakly. For her it had become something infinitely precious, and the realisation that she had fallen in love with him was one reason why she had left him.

      A waiter led them to their table. ‘What would you like to drink?’ Ramon enquired when they were seated.

      ‘Iced water, please. And I’d like the Dover sole with new potatoes.’ Forgoing a starter and dessert meant that, with luck, lunch should last no longer than thirty minutes.

      The waiter departed with their order and she glared across the table. ‘What are you playing at, Ramon?’

      Dark brows rose slightly at the sharpness of her tone, but he did not immediately reply, instead surveying her flushed face with a speculative gleam in his eyes that lit a flame to her temper.

      ‘Why did you invite me here?’ she demanded.

      ‘You know why. I wish to discuss a business venture with my new legal advisor.’ He paused, and then added laconically, ‘I admit I chose the Vine for purely nostalgic reasons. We shared some good times here.’

      ‘I have no desire to take a trip down memory lane,’ she said shortly. ‘We’ve both moved on.’

      Ramon stared at Lauren speculatively, aware of the surreptitious glances she had been darting at him. The chemistry was still there, simmering beneath the surface of her cool façade, but the faint tremor of her mouth warned of her determination to fight her awareness of him. For now it was enough to know that he bothered her. He controlled the urge to walk around the table and kiss her into submission, and instead turned his attention to the approaching waiter.

      Lauren gave a sigh of relief when their meals were served. The fish was delicious, but she was so acutely conscious of Ramon that her appetite deserted her after a few forkfuls.

      ‘I ran a few preliminary checks on the properties you are interested in, and I can see possible problems with two of them,’ she explained, taking the folder of notes from her briefcase. ‘The property in Chancery Lane is a Grade II listed building, which means it is of historic interest and you would need to apply for special building consent to do any kind of refurbishment. The property in Jermyn Street has a short lease. I’ve spoken to the company who own the freehold and have learned that they would consider extending the lease. But obviously that would have to be negotiated.’

      Ramon speared his last forkful of steak and savoured it before replying. ‘Your efficiency is commendable.’

      ‘That, presumably, is the reason you hired me.’

      ‘One of the reasons.’ He met her glare with a bland smile. He’d forgotten how much he enjoyed their verbal sparring, and their conversations about everything from the arts to topical news items.

      ‘Alistair Gambrill thinks highly of you,’ he commented. ‘Eighteen months ago