The Spaniard's Baby Bargain. HELEN BIANCHIN

you imagine that gives us carte blanche?’

      Tony, ever the satirist.

      ‘You’re kidding, right?’ Ariane crossed to the chiffonier. ‘More coffee?’ She refilled her cup, added sugar, and turned to face the cameraman.

      She’d worked with him on various assignments in the past, and they’d formed an easy camaraderie that had its base in friendship and a mutual respect for each other’s talent.

      ‘No, thanks.’ He checked his watch. ‘Anything you want to go over before we hit the sack?’

      Ariane surveyed him over the rim of her cup. ‘I want this to be hard-edged, not a piece of condescending fluff,’ she specified, and glimpsed his faint smile.

      ‘You don’t do fluff.’

      No, she didn’t. What was more, she’d earned a reputation for being able to dig deep and get the facts.

      So why did she have this niggling feeling it would be Manolo del Guardo who controlled the interview, and not her?

      She finished her coffee and returned the cup and saucer to the chiffonier.

      ‘OK, let’s get an early night.’ Tomorrow she needed to be bright-eyed and mentally alert.

      Instinct warned parrying words with Manolo del Guardo would be the antithesis of a walk in the park.

      So, she’d go over her notes one more time, explore a few angles and fine-tune some of the questions.

      Ariane preceded Tony from the room and walked at his side as they ascended the stairs to the upper floor.

      ‘See you at breakfast.’ Tony offered a slow smile as they paused outside their adjacent suites. ‘Relax. It’ll be fine.’

      She shot him a quizzical glance. ‘Breakfast?’

      The smile widened. ‘Sleep well.’

      Usually she did, but a leisurely shower followed by an hour with her notes did little to ease the faint edge of tension, and she switched off the bedside lamp in a determined bid to gain a good night’s rest.

      In the darkness her thought-train remained with Manolo del Guardo and the possible scenarios the next day would bring.

      It was impossible not to dwell on the man himself…the sheer physicality of his height and breadth of shoulder, raw-boned facial features, a strong jawline and a sensual mouth.

      As to her electrifying reaction to his presence…what the hell was that?

      CHAPTER TWO

      ARIANE woke bathed in sweat, still caught up in a disturbing dream so hauntingly vivid it left her on the brink of fear. There had been the distant cry of a baby, and she wasn’t able to distinguish whether it belonged in the dream or was seated in reality.

      She lay still for a few minutes, checked the time, and opted to shower and dress. It was early, but it would give her an opportunity to go over Manolo del Guardo’s personal profile, check details she’d highlighted in order to delve more deeply into his past, then she’d appear downstairs at the appointed time for breakfast.

      Alone, she determined as she entered the dining room an hour and a half later. The table was set for one, and an elegant chiffonier held a covered dish, a carafe of steaming coffee, and a jug of orange juice.

      The morning newspaper lay folded within reach, and she scanned the newsprint as she ate, then when she was done she returned to her suite to freshen up and gather her notes.

      Five minutes to showtime, she determined as she entered the informal lounge, and found Tony checking the audio equipment. The video recorder was set up in readiness.

      ‘Hi.’ He glanced up from the task in hand. ‘Sleep well?’

      ‘OK.’ There was no point in admitting to a restless night. ‘You?’

      ‘Fine. Woke early, did a few warm-ups in the gym, then swam a few lengths of the indoor lap pool.’ He offered a grin. ‘Santos granted permission.’

      A gym? It figured. As to an indoor lap pool…she might need to avail herself of it in order to cool off after a day parrying words with Manolo del Guardo!

      ‘I’m impressed.’

      Tony raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘With my early-morning zest for exercise?’

      ‘That, too.’

      His soft laugh brought an answering smile, only to have it die as the soft burr of her cellphone signalled an incoming text message. Business…had to be. Yet it didn’t stop her stomach muscles clenching with nervous tension as she read the script.

      Is he good in bed, darling?

      Roger. Stepping up his ongoing campaign to stalk and harass. Didn’t he have anything better to do?

      Stupid question. She was his obsession, the focus of his delusion. And he was clever…sufficiently so to fool the legal system.

      He intruded into her everyday life. Appearing wherever she happened to be, silent but there…among the occupants of a café where she happened to meet a friend for coffee; a restaurant where she chose to dine; in a supermarket; the cinema. On the fringes, never making direct contact, but ensuring she was aware of his presence.

      It was irritating, maddening…as he meant it to be.

      ‘Problems?’

      Ariane deleted the message. ‘Nothing I can’t handle.’

      Tony didn’t appear convinced, and she sent him a reassuring smile. ‘Really.’ She spared her watch a glance. ‘We did say nine, didn’t we?’

      ‘Indeed.’ The faintly accented drawl held a degree of cynical humour. ‘Although I was unaware of the need for a strict timetable.’

      Their host and the subject of the interview stood just inside the doorway, looking totally at ease in black tailored trousers and white chambray shirt with the top few buttons left undone and cuffs turned back.

      He moved with the lithe grace of a jungle cat, for she hadn’t heard a sound.

      Lean-hipped, broad-framed and tall, Manolo del Guardo cut a dynamic figure. Raw-boned facial features, a sensuous mouth and eyes that didn’t miss a thing. Aware of his background, she had to concede a compelling ruthlessness lurked beneath the surface of his control.

      ‘Good morning.’ He included Tony in the greeting. ‘I trust you both slept well?’

      Ariane met his gaze with level coolness. ‘Thank you.’ Nerves were something she’d learnt to disguise, and it irked her that this man unsettled her more than most.

      Recognition of sexual chemistry, that’s all it is, she rationalised, and did her best to dismiss it.

      She was here to do a job. What was more, she had no interest in men. Especially someone of Manolo del Guardo’s calibre.

      ‘Tony is about through checking the sound equipment.’ Professionalism was everything. ‘Is there anything in the questionnaire you’d like to discuss at this point?’

      One eyebrow rose. ‘I’m familiar with the interview process.’

      ‘Yes, of course.’ A conciliatory smile offered a soothing salve. ‘As you’re aware, we intend to focus on three key elements: your background; business success; your nominated charity interest. With sufficient personal details to give the interview an individual touch and tie it all together.’

      Doing that would be a challenge. Perhaps more than she bargained for. This man was no pushover, and far too warily astute to be led into any indiscriminate revelations.

      She’d suggested ‘smart casual wear’ for the morning session. Trousers by Armani, shirt by Versace. She was willing to swear both styles had been worn by male models in a fashion show she’d compèred