Wed For The Spaniard's Redemption. Chantelle Shaw

a crush on a pop star they were never likely to meet in real life, Juliet thought ruefully.

      ‘I may be able to help you,’ Rafael said, jolting her out of her reverie.

      Her heart leapt. If he agreed to allow her to continue selling sandwiches to his office staff her business might just survive.

      ‘Help me how?’

      ‘I have an idea that would resolve your financial worries and also be advantageous to me.’

      Juliet stiffened. ‘What do you mean by “advantageous”?’

      Was he suggesting what she thought he was? She knew that some of the women on the housing estate where she lived worked as prostitutes. Most of them were single mothers like her, struggling to feed their children on minimum wages. She didn’t judge them, but it wasn’t something she could ever imagine doing herself.

      She put her hand on the door handle, ready to jump out of the car. ‘I won’t have sex with you for money,’ she said bluntly.

      For a few seconds he looked stunned—and then he laughed. The rich sound filled the car and made Juliet think of golden sunshine. She felt as if it had been raining in her heart since her parents had died and she’d been left alone. How wonderful it would be to have someone to laugh with, be happy with.

      With a jolt she realised that Rafael was speaking.

      ‘I don’t want to have sex with you.’

      His slight emphasis on the word you made Juliet squirm with embarrassment, which intensified when he skimmed his gaze over her. His dismissive expression said quite clearly that he found her unattractive.

      ‘I have never had to pay for sex with any woman,’ he drawled. ‘What I am suggesting is a business proposition—albeit an unusual one.’

      ‘I make sandwiches for a living,’ she said flatly, wishing the ground would open up and swallow her. ‘I can’t think what kind of business we could do together.’

      ‘I want you to be my wife. If you agree to marry me I will pay you five million pounds.’

       CHAPTER TWO

      ‘VERY FUNNY,’ JULIET muttered, disappointment thickening her voice. ‘I’m not in the mood for jokes, Mr Mendoza-Casillas.’

      ‘Rafael,’ he corrected her. ‘And it’s not a joke. I need a wife. A temporary wife—in name only,’ he added, evidently reading the crucial question that had leapt into her mind. He stared at her broodingly. ‘You have admitted that being a single parent is a financial burden. What if, instead of struggling, you could live a comfortable life with your daughter without having to work?’

      ‘Some hope,’ she said ruefully. ‘I’d have to win the lottery to be able to do that.’

      ‘Consider me your winning ticket, chiquita.’

      His sudden smile softened his chiselled features and stole Juliet’s breath. When he smiled he went from handsome to impossibly gorgeous. He reminded her of the male models on those TV adverts for expensive aftershaves—only Rafael was much more rugged and masculine.

      She tore her eyes from him, conscious that her heart was beating at twice its normal rate. ‘You’re crazy,’ she told him flatly.

      And so was she, to be still sitting in his car. Five million pounds! He couldn’t be serious. Or if he was serious there must be a catch. She felt hot, remembering his amused reaction to her suggestion that he was offering to pay her for sex. God, what had made her say that? Many of today’s newspapers had a photo on the front page of Rafael and a beautiful blonde woman with an eye-catching cleavage. Juliet glanced down at her shapeless figure. She looked like a stick insect compared to Rafael’s latest love interest.

      ‘If you need a wife why don’t you marry your girlfriend, whose picture is all over the front pages of the papers?’

      ‘For one thing, Michelle is already married—but even if she were free to marry me she would not be suitable. All of my lovers, past and current, would expect me to fall in love with them,’ he said drily.

      He was so arrogant! She wanted to come back with a clever comment but she was mesmerised by the perfect symmetry of his angular features, which were softened a little by his blatantly sensual mouth.

      ‘But you’re not worried that I might fall in love with you?’ She’d intended to sound sarcastic, but instead her voice was annoyingly breathless.

      ‘I don’t recommend that you do,’ he said in a hard voice. ‘I do not believe in love,—or marriage, for that matter. I’m not crazy,’ he insisted. ‘I have a genuine reason for needing to be married.’

      He swore when his phone rang, and then took his mobile out of his jacket pocket and cut the call.

      ‘We can’t talk now. I’ll meet you this evening and we can discuss my proposition.’

      She shook her head. ‘I’m not interested.’

      ‘Not interested in earning yourself five million pounds for being my wife for a couple of months?’ He reached across her and put his hand over hers to prevent her from opening the car door. ‘At least give me a chance to explain, and then you can make up your mind whether I’m crazy or not. Although, frankly, you would be foolish to miss out on the chance to earn a life-changing amount of money. Think what you could do with five million pounds. You would never have to worry about the cost of buying your little girl a pair of shoes ever again.’

      ‘All right.’ Juliet released a shaky breath. He was relentlessly persuasive. She couldn’t think properly when his face was so close to hers that as he leaned across her body she was able to count his thick black eyelashes. ‘I’ll meet you to discuss your proposition, but I’m not saying that I’ll agree to it.’

      She pressed herself into the leather seat, hoping he would not notice the pulse at the base of her throat that she could feel thudding erratically. It would add to her humiliation if he guessed that she was attracted to him—especially as he quite obviously did not feel the same way about her.

      ‘It will have to be after nine,’ she told him. ‘I work the evening shift as a cleaner at a shopping centre close to where I live.’

      Juliet felt a mixture of relief and disappointment when Rafael straightened up and moved away from her.

      He handed her a business card. ‘Here is my phone number. Text me your address and I’ll collect you from your home at nine-fifteen.’ He frowned. ‘What about your daughter? Does someone look after her while you are at work in the evenings?’

      ‘Of course I have childcare for Poppy. I certainly wouldn’t leave her on her own,’ she said indignantly, stung by his implication that she might be an irresponsible mother.

      It was the accusation that Bryan’s lawyer had levelled against her, and remembering the custody battle she was facing over her daughter evoked a heavy sense of dread in the pit of her stomach.

      Five million pounds would enable her to hire her own top lawyer to fight Bryan’s claim on Poppy, Juliet thought as she climbed out of Rafael’s car and ran through the rain back to her van. But she would be nuts even to consider the idea.

      * * *

      Rafael parked his Lamborghini outside a grim-looking tower block and his conviction that it had been a mistake to suggest to a woman he had never met before today that she should marry him grew stronger. He visualised Juliet Lacey, who had resembled a drowned rat when he’d shoved her into his car out of the rain. Her voluminous apron had covered her figure, but from what he’d been able to see she was skinny rather than curvaceous. Her face had been mostly hidden behind by the peak of a baseball cap that was surely the most unfeminine and unflattering headwear.

      In Rafael’s