The Spanish Billionaire's Hired Bride (2 page)

Helen blushed and was glad of the fading light.
Talk about shameless ego.
She tossed her hair belligerently and silently slid into the passenger seat.

“You’ve got to admit this is more fun than the bus,” Ricardo said a few minutes into the journey.

“I guess …” Helen clutched the door trim as he took a sharp bend and sounded his horn at a truck carrying oranges. She swallowed hard and stared pointedly out of the window. He didn’t need to see how he was affecting her equilibrium. It wasn’t his driving either. Each time he thrust the Ferrari into another gear, his trousers pulled tightly over firm thigh muscles and she could feel the heat of his body in the snug confines of the car. Sharp darts of awareness unexpectedly pulsed between her thighs and she was shocked at how difficult it was proving to suppress them. His scent was good too—the cologne she’d smelled earlier had complex layers and was crammed with pheromones. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to pretend he wasn’t there. What was the matter with her? He had all the hallmarks of a first class jerk.

“Don’t worry,” Ricardo said as his long fingers tapped impatiently on his knee. “We’re just coming onto a straight bit, so I can speed up.”

“Oh, good,” Helen said looking warily across at his angular profile. “How long until we’re back in town?”

“About ten minutes.” He flicked through at least three gears before she could even gasp. The bus took about half an hour.

“Don’t rush on my account.”

He grinned and looked straight ahead before flooring the accelerator.

The sensation was like being struck from behind by a runaway juggernaut. The engine roared, its power prickling the soles of her feet as they shot along the peninsula. She couldn’t help admiring how the mechanical beast submitted to its master’s touch, fluidly cornering each sharp bend. It was thrilling. It was dangerous.

This was the second time today she had faced the prospect of an untimely death, and on both occasions at the hands of Ricardo Almanza. The sooner she could get out of this car and away from him the better. She didn’t have time to die on Ibiza, and more to the point, she couldn’t afford to. She didn’t like the effect he was having on her. She had much more important things to do than indulge in wild fantasies involving Spanish playboys.

“So, tell me,” Ricardo suddenly said, his voice raised above the throaty roar the engine. “What brings you to work in Ibiza?”

“Oh this and that. It’s a beautiful part of the world.” She felt a surge of relief as she spotted a sign indicating the harbor was just one mile away. The ordeal would soon be over.

“How long are you here for? Six months or so? What’s the deal?” After a few seconds of silence, Ricardo gestured with a hand that he was waiting for an answer.

Helen sighed. She had nothing to lose by telling him. “I came over last season with some friends. I needed a break. I liked it and decided to stay for a while. It wasn’t planned from the outset. I had a few jobs, office work, bars, and when my last contract was terminated I needed to get a better-paid job quickly. I got lucky, and an agency came up with the position for your stepmother. The money was so good I said yes immediately.”

Ricardo nodded thoughtfully. “How long is your contract?”

“We agreed to work on a week to week basis,” Helen said cautiously. “I guess she needs to be sure that I’m up to the job. Although I’ve made it clear I probably won’t stay any longer than six months. I should head back to England after that.”

“It’s all about the money then?” Ricardo said as he carefully inched the Ferrari through the narrowing streets of Ibiza town.

“It’s amazing here, and I’d love to stay for lots of reasons, but I have responsibilities back home.” Her thoughts jettisoned back to the ungodly mess waiting in England and her resolve stiffened. Her own dreams would have to wait. “So, yes, it’s all about the money for now. It has to be.”

Ricardo slowed the car to a crawl and looked quickly left and right. “Where to next?”

“You can drop me here and I’ll walk the rest of the way. I’m just off Calle Manuel round the corner, it’s not far.”

“No, I’ll take you to your door
. I
t’s dark,” he said and kept on driving.

Helen smiled and unzipped her handbag. “Ibiza town is never really dark and your car won’t fit in the road outside my place, it’s too narrow.” She found her house keys and rattled them in her fingers. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

“Humor me. I won’t sleep from worry if I don’t see you safely home.”

“So gallant.” She pointed to the left. “Just there, by the postbox. It’s as close as you’re going to get.”

Ricardo pulled up, killed the engine, and took the keys out of the ignition. “I’ll walk you to your door.”

“No,” she said firmly. “I can look after myself and you’ve done more than enough already. But thanks for the lift.”

…

Helen leapt out of the car and slammed the door shut before Ricardo could argue with her. He watched her briskly walk up a dusty side alley, her golden ponytail catching a few beams of yellow-gr
a
y streetlight as she went. It was a rough area, but to his surprise she still waved him away with an agitated hand as he watched her unlock a green wooden door. He was being dismissed! It had to be the first time a woman hadn’t asked him in for coffee as well, which made his ego smart.

He didn’t give a damn if she was living in a run-down area full of dealers and pimps, being a wealthy man didn’t make him a snob. But she didn’t know that. All she knew was that he was a flashy relative of her employer who’d tried to strangle her.

God, she was attractive. In spite of the ferocious kick to the groin she’d dealt him earlier, he stiffened below the belt as images of her flashed through his mind. Her full breasts strapped into the passenger seat of his car, and the sway of her hips in the sensible black trousers she’d been wearing taunted him. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as his mind began to race.

He wanted her.

He had six months left to get married or lose a long-standing bet and his honor forever. Time was running out.

She wanted money.

He needed a wife.

A plan was taking shape, and he didn’t care if he went straight to hell for even considering the idea.

Chapter Two

Helen quickly locked the battered door to her studio flat behind her and slumped against the cold interior wall. She was breathless after racing up three flights of dark narrow stairs. They were far too dank and sinister to hang around in. Perhaps on reflection she had been stupid to agree to living out. This was a dark and dangerous area at night for a woman by herself. She had to admit to feeling genuinely unsafe, but the Condesa had made it obvious that she didn’t want Helen living under the same roof as her. Helen knew why—the entire household did—but she was in no position to judge what her employer got up to with her young, buff protégés.

A loud knock on the door shattered the silence and a surge of adrenaline ripped through her. “Who’s that?” Helen said. Her hands were trembling. The rent had been paid up two weeks in advance so she wasn’t due for an unpleasant visit from her landlord yet…

“It’s me.

Ricardo. Open up before I get mugged out here, will you?”

Helen exhaled a tiny laugh, relieved it wasn’t her greasy landlord, and rattled the heavy key in the door to admit a large angular mass of Spanish male. Ricardo slid lithely in before it was even properly open.

“
Dios
, this place is a dump!” He quickly looked around the tiny living room. “How much are you paying for this?”

“It’s the cheapest I could find.” The half smile on her face disappeared as she followed his eyes around the shabby interior. “I’ve been waiting for my day off to have a bit of a tidy up.”

“I don’t think there’s much you can do with it, frankly,” he said, flicking the flat of his hand roughly across her back.

“Damn!” she exclaimed when she registered what he was doing. “I must remember not to touch the walls. There’s bloody paint peeling off everywhere in here.”

“It would appear so,” he agreed, allowing his hand to rest a moment longer than necessary on her shoulder.

“So, er, did I leave something in the car?” She picked up a pile of mail and pretended she was sorting through it. “It could have waited until tomorrow, I’m sure.”

“No, it couldn’t. It’s been a long day and I’m starving. I wondered if you’d like to go for something to eat.”

“Oh.” She hesitated a moment. It was a tempting offer. “That’s very kind of you, but no, I really—”

“You really planned a lavish meal at home?” He flung open the battered fridge with one hand and a Formica cupboard door with the other sending her a withering look. “A tin of
sardinas
, some rather dubious looking bread, and I’ll bet there’s not a drop of wine in the place.” He slowly closed each door and turned to face her. “I think you just ran out of excuses, so are you coming or not?”

He had her cornered. And she
was
hungry. “Okay, I’d love to.” There was no going back now. “But we split the bill.”

“Go halves?” Ricardo sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair. “Do you think I’m poor? Or mean?”

“Neither,” she said flatly with a warning glare of defiance. “I’d prefer it that way, that’s all.”

“You really are annoyingly independent, aren’t you?” He looked around the shambolic kitchen area once again. “As you wish, pay the whole bill if you must, but let’s get out of here. I need to eat.”

…

Helen felt herself being eased through the glazed wooden doors of a small Italian restaurant with Ricardo’s large hand at the base of her spine. A thrill ricocheted through her as their bodies came into contact, and she had to sharply remind herself that this was chivalry and good manners. Nothing else.

A jovial man in his seventies noisily embraced Ricardo. “Hey Ricardo!
Il molto tempo nessun vede
! Long time no see!” He reached up and grabbed him by both cheeks and then wobbled his head from side to side between slab-like hands.

“For God’s sake
,
Alfonso, take it easy on the hair, will you? I don’t want to end up as bald and ugly as you.” Ricardo flinched as the old man cuffed him playfully around the ear.

“No one but an Almanza could speak to me like that and still get a table. You are a very bad boy, Ricardo. You notice I speak the English for you, eh?” He then winked conspiratorially. “Fabiana has been beside herself with excitement since I told her you wanted a table for two. She’d get me with the filleting knife if I sent you away before she got a look at your British girlfriend.”

“This is Senorita Helen Marshall. I’m showing her a few of the sights.” Ricardo was oblivious to the embarrassment that prickled her face. “And before you and Fabiana get any silly ideas, please be aware that she speaks very good Spanish. You won’t get away with anything.”

“I also speak Italian,” Helen said bluntly.

Ricardo forced a tight smile as they followed their host through the restaurant. “And Mandarin.”

Helen was irritated that he hadn’t corrected the old man on his “girlfriend” assumption. No doubt Ricardo was so self-absorbed he hadn’t even noticed her squirm, but she slipped politely into the chair he held out for her. Their table was in a discreet corner. The place had a homely feel with copper pans on one wall and a hodgepodge of faded prints on the other. Tattered Italian soccer posters mingled with an eclectic mix of ceramics, and the warm air was heavy with garlic and olive oil.

“I assume it
is
Senorita?” Ricardo asked quietly. “It was presumptive of me, but Alfonso can be quite a nuisance when it comes things like that. If he thought for one second I was out with a married woman he’d have slung us into the street.”

“Has that happened before?” Helen whispered in alarm.

Ricardo dipped his chin and
leveled
his sharp eyes with hers. “I don’t
do
married women.” His expression was serious. “So am I safe?”

“Yes,” she said firmly. Ricardo poured her a glass of red wine from a stubby carafe. Finding it impossible to maintain eye contact with him any longer, she took a sip from her glass. “Presumably Alfonso’s moral code extends to both parties?”

“If you’re asking me if I’m married, then the answer is a definite no.” He leaned back into his chair and smiled lazily. “Would you be here if I was?”

“I don’t see why not,” Helen said brightly. “We’re only having dinner. It’s not as if anything sordid is going on between us, is it?”

“No, no it isn’t.”

For the next hour Helen enjoyed a selection of the day’s special dishes, made to order using the freshest seasonal produce from the market each day. Helen nibbled first on
fragaglie
, deep-fried baby fish, and they were so delicious she ate the lot as Italian opera played subtly in the background. Consequently, she struggled to finish her exquisitely charred pizza. Ricardo had no such difficulty and not only demolished his pizza, but managed to finish a steaming bowl of pasta and a whole
mozzarella di bufala
as well
.

“Dessert?” he said as Helen dabbed her napkin to her lips.

“You’re kidding. I’m fit to burst.”

“I can see you need some practice when it comes to eating five course meals. It’s no wonder you’re so skinny.”

“Hardly!” Helen said, but was secretly pleased at the compliment. She’d never been skinny, and never would be. Her genes wouldn’t allow it.

“Okay, shall we take our coffee outside? It’s quieter and less crowded out there.” He stood and gestured for her to follow, but not before she saw Alfonso leaning out of the kitchen door, winking at Ricardo. “Ignore the old fool. He’s trying to embarrass me. He’s been doing things like that since I was a teenager.”

The tiny courtyard was surrounded by high stone walls that looked centuries old. It was illuminated by lanterns and a spot-lit fountain that trickled pleasantly in the darkness. The perfume of jasmine flowers and basil filled the night air as she followed Ricardo to a round table.

“It’s lovely.” Helen closed her eyes in appreciation. “I can’t believe we’re the only ones out here.”

“And I have seen to it that it stays that way,” Ricardo murmured.

The hairs stood up on the back of her neck as his eyes fixed her with a strange intensity. “What do you mean?”

“I have a proposition for you, and I don’t want it to be the talk of the Balearics by morning. Not until I choose it to be, anyway.”

“Go on,” she whispered, trying to hide the excitement in her voice.

“You need money, yes?”

“I’ve already told you that.”

“You didn’t tell me how much though, did you?”

Helen began to feel nervous. “It’s not any of your business.”

“It could be.”

“I’m not following you, Mr. Almanza, and I now think it’s time I went home.”

“You can’t possibly call that hovel down the street home. And the other place? The place you call home in England? You can’t go back there until you’ve put your hands on enough money to satisfy whatever squalid needs you have there. I’ve deduced that much.”

“How dare you! You know nothing about me or my circumstances.”

“Maybe not, and I’m not the least bit interested in your life in England, but you need money fast and I’ve got lots of it.”

“So? Am I supposed to be impressed?”

“Please be quiet and listen. I
also
need something quickly, and I think you’re the perfect person to help me out.”

Helen went to get up. She wanted to walk away from the bizarre discussion. She’d heard enough. “This conversation is over.”

“I will pay you one million euros if you agree to work with me for three months.”

Her hands froze on the tabletop. “As
what
, might I ask?”

“As my wife.”

Helen stared at him in horror for a second, and then she began to smile. “Oh, very clever. How long did it take for you to cook that joke up with Alfonso? Was it when you were quietly discussing the house red? Or was it when I went to the loo? Well, I must say I’m relieved, because for one awful moment I thought you’d brought me out here to sell me a dodgy franchise. Or a timeshare.”

“I am serious.”

“Yeah, sure you are. I might be unsophisticated, but I’m not a complete fool.”

“Let’s hope not, because I get very tired of the sound of my own voice saying the same thing over and
over
again.” He leaned forward across the table, his fingertips pressed together in a tent shape. “My offer is genuine. A marriage in name only for, say, three months and you get one million euros. Go away and think about it for twenty-four hours. Don’t say another word now or you may regret it. Believe me, I do deals like this all the time.”

“I’ll just bet you do,” she said, pushing her coffee cup with a scraping noise to the center of the table. “I can only begin to imagine what sort of a woman you think I am, but don’t expect things to go your way this time. I’m not one of the local whores you can pay to do your bidding.”

“You do me a disservice. I’m only marrying to satisfy an outstanding matter of honor, not to slake some perversion, and you’re perfect for the job. Attractive, intelligent, the perfect trophy wife.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“You also want to leave for home within six months, divorced by then obviously, so we both win. This is a once in a lifetime offer. The last thing I want to do is get married, but I need to before I’m thirty or I’ll lose a long
-
standing bet. A very big bet.”

“A bet? My God, you really are as shallow as a puddle. I can never see a time where I’d willingly enter a contract of marriage with such an arrogant, spoiled
,
and insensitive man. The only way I’ll ever consider marriage is when I fall in love, so the answer is no. Double plus no. And now,” she said with a flourish as the chair tipped over behind her, “I’m leaving.”

.

Early morning sunshine cut through the dirty windowpane and seared across Helen’s eyelids. She had slept badly, and as she forced herself out of bed, the nausea of extreme fatigue washed over her. She eyed the magnum of champagne Ricardo had quietly left outside her door the previous night. The expensive bottle looked extremely out of place on the
aluminum
sink, and memories of shouting at him to leave came flooding back. She shook her head and groaned, realizing the events of the night before really hadn’t been a dream.

Ricardo Almanza must be out of his arrogant mind thinking he could pay her to marry him! The idea was ridiculous, and he certainly had too much time and money on his hands if he spent his life getting involved in bizarre wagers. He’d even had the nerve to push his flashy business card under the door before he left. She brushed her teeth roughly in the rust-tinged sink, and it wobbled as she turned off the tap. The entire plumbing system was vintage 1960s by the look of it, air bubbles clattering around the building like loose marbles.

While drying her face, her cell phone began to ring and she considered not answering it. “Go away!” she muttered into the towel. It was probably the Condesa wanting her to bring something particular from the market for her breakfast. It had been goji berries the day before. She’d seen them featured on TV overnight and had become like a woman possessed until she had some.

Helen scooped the cell phone up in one hand and swore as she fumbled and dropped it, buzzing like a hornet, on the floor. “Hello?” She managed to answer calmly and then felt the blood drain from her hands when she heard her mother’s strained voice.

“The bank’s brought everything forward. If we don’t come up with the money in one week, we’re out.”

Helen’s breath caught. “They can’t! Not just like that. Can they?”

“Apparently they can.” The connection crackled. “We’re set to lose everything in five working days time.”

“But, Mum, we had six months.” Helen squeezed her eyes shut to quell the panic.

“There’s nothing to be done now, love,” her mother said. “I thought I’d better call you about your things before the bailiffs get hold of them. Your dad and I are running out of places to send everything. Is there a friend who can look after them until you get back?”

There was a moment of silence as Helen sensed her mother was thinking exactly the same she was:
back to what exactly?