Valdez's Bartered Bride. Rachael Thomas

lips. Even worse, his reaction sent a skitter of something she’d never experienced hurtling through her and her pulse leapt just from having that sexy hint of a smile, which had sparked briefly in his eyes, directed at her.

      ‘At least we agree on that.’ He sat back in his chair, his dark eyes locking with hers, full of challenge. ‘You may be assured I have absolutely no desire to make a spoilt little rich girl my wife.’

      So his opinion of her hadn’t changed. ‘I am no such thing.’

      She fought hard to resist the urge to jump up and walk away; only the fact that her solicitor had told her the terms of the contract her father had signed with Banco de Torrez, however bizarre, would stand up in court, kept her from doing just that—for now.

      ‘What about all the properties? Many of them are worth millions. Your father hid them by putting them in your name as he defaulted month after month on the agreement he’d signed with my father.’ He folded his arms across his chest, serving only to emphasise the strength in them as the dark grey suit pulled over his biceps. Since when did she ever notice such things about a man?

      ‘That is something I had no knowledge of, but, if they are in my name and worth that much, I will sell them to clear the debt.’ The discovery several weeks ago of what her father had done had been just another bit of her life falling to pieces. Angry at the man who was supposed to protect her, she’d maintained a stony silence with him, to show him her disappointment and anger that once again he’d risked everything, including this time her future, her happiness.

      Raul looked at her and she knew he didn’t believe her. The cold lack of interest was too obvious. Was he really as ruthless in business as those reports she’d read on the Internet implied? She had hoped to strike some sort of deal with him. After all, a man who rarely dated the same woman twice was as unlikely to want marriage as she was.

      ‘I would be more than happy to accept such an offer—’

      ‘Good.’ She stood up, content that this absurd conversation was over. ‘Then you can liaise with my solicitor over the matter.’

      ‘Do you always talk over people?’ His question stopped her as she was about to leave for the second time and she looked down at him, stunned into silence, and the elusive sensation of being in control slipped further away with each erratic heartbeat. From the moment he’d arrived and their eyes had met, she’d lost that control.

      * * *

      Raul had never known such self-assured insolence from a woman as beautiful and alluring as the prim and proper Lydia Carter-Wilson. She certainly didn’t want to hear what he had to say and wasn’t prepared to listen to his suggestion for dealing with the situation they were both now in. A solution he was certain would be acceptable. Yet it was blatantly clear all this fiery beauty cared about was herself. She hadn’t changed a bit since he’d met her ten years ago. Granted, she’d become a beautiful and sexy woman, but she wasn’t any different. She was still a spoilt little rich girl. Daddy’s princess—and a liar.

      He pushed down the irrational anger that engulfed him every time he thought of what his father had done. That last meddling dig at the son he’d never wanted threatened to unleash all the bitterness and contempt he’d kept hidden since his father had died five months ago. The devious old man had even known he was terminally ill and changed his will to get at him one last time.

      ‘No, I don’t, but then I’ve never had the dubious pleasure of lunch with a man like you.’ The hot retort fired at him and he couldn’t help but smile. It was definitely an inconvenience having to extricate himself from such an agreement with this woman, but he’d certainly not expected to find it so entertaining. She was a bundle of hot sparks and defiance. Just the mutinous tilt of her chin and the rapid rise and fall of her breasts as she glared at him fired something deeper than merely lust. Something he had no wish to get tangled in—ever.

      She tempted him, daring him with that sexy body that begged to be made love to, and almost all rational thought slipped from his mind. But he was not his father. He would not be drawn by the lure of sex. His playboy reputation was deserved, but only as part of his armour, his defence in order to remain emotionally intact and very single.

      ‘And what would a man like me be?’ He taunted her, enjoying the fire of annoyance that flared in those green eyes, reminding him of the fresh leaves of spring on the trees in Retiro Park, in his city of birth, Madrid.

      ‘A man who thinks he only needs to smile at a woman to have her falling at his feet—or into his bed.’ The slight nod of her head, the little so there gesture, as she finished speaking made laughing at her impossible to resist.

      ‘My bed?’

      ‘Don’t you dare laugh at me.’ Indignation hurtled out with those words, all but lashing at him, and he reluctantly pushed away the image of this woman in his bed.

      ‘Maybe a little laughter is how we need to deal with this situation. Now, please sit down. The poor waitress has no idea if we are staying or going.’ He tried to instil some order into their meeting, which didn’t feel anything like a business lunch.

      He watched as she turned to look at the waitress who was approaching their table for the second time. He liked the way Lydia’s brunette hair moved, slipping over her shoulder, the loose curls bouncing with the movement, and the way she tucked it back behind her ears. There was an air of vulnerability about her he didn’t buy into at all. There was no way this fiery creature was vulnerable. Spoilt and used to getting her way, yes, but vulnerable, no.

      ‘I’m not entirely sure being forced into a marriage is a laughing matter.’ She fixed those gorgeous eyes on his face, her full lips pouting slightly, making him briefly wish this were a date and that by the end of the evening he would be able to kiss them. Savagely he pushed those thoughts aside. This was not a time to become distracted.

      ‘Then on that we agree.’ He beckoned the waitress forward with a subtle move of his hand and watched as Lydia took the menu, appearing to use it as a shield. Against him or the situation? He watched her long lashes lowering as she read and took the opportunity to study her further. Her skin was pale, making it obvious she hadn’t spent the summer in one of her Mediterranean properties. The menu shook very slightly in her hands and he wondered if it was possible for such an audacious woman to be nervous. Much more likely to be anger, he decided, anger that was directed firmly at him. Anger was good, because then at least they could sort out this mess their fathers had selfishly created for them.

      As she gave her order her voice became soft and gentle, not at all like the hard and sharp tones he’d been treated to so far. How would she sound if they were here as lovers? Would that softness be beguiling him to take her home and to his bed?

      Alarmed by the train of his thoughts yet again, he dragged his mind back to the truth of the situation and placed his order. Employing all the charm he’d perfected as his armour, he smiled at the waitress.

      ‘So, how exactly do you propose to deal with this situation?’ The softness had gone and the question fired at him with force. Had she meant to use that word? Propose was the last thing he intended to do. He focused his attention back to the woman opposite him, the woman his father had decided would make him a suitable wife simply because of the substantial properties that she owned and her misfortune to have such a reckless and weak father.

      He kept his gaze fixed on the pale beauty of her face, watching for any signs of compliance. ‘You have considerable property assets and these were the security used by your father. The terms are more than clear, as I have already informed your lawyer.’

      ‘I have said that I am more than happy to sell them in order to raise the funds required.’ She cut across him again, stemming the flow of his well-prepared proposition.

      ‘If that were possible, it would be the most sensible option. Unfortunately, my father has used this security as part of his conditions of his will.’ The outrageous terms his father had insisted on still infused him with rage as fiercely as the day he’d discovered what his father had done. A final jab at his son, even after his death, to get just what he