The Cost of Claiming His Heir Read online

  She’d finally got to grips with the game and even started enjoying it. By always wearing her shades, no one could see her eyes following Emiliano’s every move. It was never deliberate. There was something about the way he charged around the field on a horse—she would never understand why they insisted on calling them ponies—that captured her attention. Truth was, he captured her attention whatever he was doing. Truth was, even if she hadn’t intended the job to be temporary from the start, she would still be resigning.

  Long, lean and broad-shouldered, Emiliano’s long face could have been crafted by Michelangelo. Wide, clear brown eyes, high cheekbones and a wide firm mouth counteracted a too-long nose. Topping it all was dark brown hair cut short at the sides and long at the top, which he rarely managed to tame. Becky quite understood why he set so many fully-grown women’s pulses racing and it was becoming increasingly hard to keep her own pulse controlled around him or the jealousy that coiled inside her at the groupies who fawned over him wherever he went. A natural flirt, Emiliano had the ability to make any woman feel he only had eyes for her. Becky had to constantly remind herself that when he fixed those come-to-bed eyes on her and bestowed her with his lazy lopsided grin it wasn’t anything special. Her reaction to it was nothing special either, as all the fawning groupies would testify.

  It was the dreams that disturbed her most. Dreams from which she would wake flushed and throbbing. Meeting his eyes after one of those dreams was excruciating. Hiding her internal reaction to him was becoming harder by the day. The sooner she left the better. The sooner she started her new job and put her mind back to good use, the sooner she’d stop thinking of him and her life could return to normal.

  His mood was much brighter when he ended the call. ‘The Picasso they said was not for sale? It’s mine,’ he told her triumphantly.

  ‘Congratulations.’ As well as being one of the world’s most successful horse breeders and a top polo player, Emiliano had a penchant for art and had opened galleries free to the general public in London, New York, Madrid and Buenos Aires filled with the exquisite work he’d acquired. ‘If you open a gallery in Oxford you can display it there and I can visit when I have time off.’

  ‘Oxford?’

  ‘Didn’t you read my résumé?’ When he’d offered her the job, he’d told her to email her résumé to his PA for the staff files. She’d assumed basic curiosity about the woman he was entrusting his precious dogs to would compel him to read it.

  He folded his arms across his chest and, face smug, said, ‘I didn’t need to. I’m an excellent judge of character.’

  With another exaggerated roll of her eyes she shook her head and patted her thighs for the dogs’ attention. The first drop of rain had landed on her nose and she wanted to get them inside before the heavens opened. ‘You’ve got four weeks. I suggest you get recruiting.’

  ‘I don’t need to recruit,’ he called as she strode away. ‘You’re staying.’

  She turned back to face him and walked backwards. ‘You’re delusional.’

  ‘Don’t you know I always get what I want, bomboncita?’

  ‘Then consider my leaving a much-needed favour to your ego.’ Giving him one last cheeky wave, she turned back around and, dogs running alongside her, jogged back to the pretty cottage he’d given her as a perk of the job.

  CHAPTER TWO

  TRAVELLING BY PRIVATE jet was, Becky decided the next day, something everyone should experience once in their lives. Travelling by private jet with a grumpy billionaire, however, was something everyone should avoid. Not even Rufus and Barney had been able to put a smile on Emiliano’s face.

  She didn’t have the faintest idea why a visit to his mother’s villa should suck away his normal languid good humour and she didn’t want to know. It was hard enough dealing with her physical response to him without adding personal issues to the mix, so she stuck her earphones in and closed her eyes. Even while she pretended to sleep for the duration of the flight she felt the tension emanating from him. When they landed and he stomped down the metal steps from his plane as if trying to smash through them, she bit her tongue to stop the questions clamouring on it forming. His bad moods, infrequent though they were, rarely lasted this long.

  Swept from the airport by a gleaming black limousine, she had to peer through the tinted windows to see anything of Monte Cleure, a tiny principality wedged between France and Spain. From what she could see, it gleamed as brightly as the car.

  It seemed as if no time had passed before they entered a rambling estate with breathtaking gardens. Becky peered again through the window, awestruck by the sprawling villa with its pale yellow walls and terracotta roof gleaming under cerulean skies rising before them like a squared-off horseshoe.

  ‘We’ll drop you and the boys at your lodging first,’ Emiliano informed her. His jaw had set so tight she was surprised he could get any words out.

  The driver came to a stop outside a one-storey lodge set in a thicket of woodland. One of a dozen identical staff lodges, it was painted the same colours as the main villa.

  ‘Pretty,’ she observed, only realising she’d spoken aloud when Emiliano’s jaw loosened a touch.

  ‘You should be comfortable here. Anything you’re not happy with, let me know and I’ll get it sorted.’

  She ruffled Rufus’s head and smiled. ‘I’m sure we’ll be fine.’

  ‘You have the run of the estate to walk them.’ As Emiliano’s mother refused to allow his dogs in the villa, they would stay with Becky for the weekend. She didn’t doubt Emiliano would drop in to visit them and whisk them away at every opportunity. ‘Carry your passport with you—there’s an army of security guards patrolling the land.’

  ‘Are they armed?’

  ‘Si.’

  The driver opened her door. ‘I’ll try not to get shot then,’ she quipped.

  She caught a glimpse of white teeth before she swung her legs out of the car. The dogs jumped out after her and waited as she said goodbye to their master.

  Emiliano saluted. ‘Chau, bomboncita.’

  ‘Hasta luego,’ she replied. See you later. Usually when she said one of the Argentine-Spanish terms she’d picked up from him he grinned. This time his smile was more of a grimace.

  She watched him be driven away, wondering again why a visit to his mother should put him in such a bad temper.

  * * *

  Emiliano greeted the merry widow, his mother Celeste, with the air-kisses they’d used since he was a boy.

  ‘No lady-friend with you?’ she asked, tucking her arm into his elbow as they strolled the villa’s grounds.

  For some reason his mind immediately flew to his English dog-sitter. ‘Not this time.’

  ‘That’s not like you, mijito. I always look forward to seeing which ravishing creature you’ll have on your arm for my party. My guests do too.’

  Celeste’s annual summer party. The reason he was there.

  ‘I’ve been too busy to date,’ he lied. Truth was, he hadn’t been on a date in two months. The women who swarmed around him like wasps around an open jam jar had lost their appeal. He had no idea why.

  ‘Thinking ahead to when you take over the Delgado Group?’

  ‘Pointless considering Father’s will might still turn up.’ Eduardo, his adoptive father, had died nearly six months ago. The day of his funeral, Emiliano’s half-brother Damián had discovered the will missing from their father’s safe. Emiliano didn’t need to communicate verbally with him to know Damián thought him responsible for it, and for the missing document that had signed the Delgado Group into Damián’s sole control. If they weren’t found within the next three weeks then, under Monte Cleure’s archaic law, the eldest son inherited everything. Which meant Emiliano would inherit the multibillion-dollar finance business Damián had been promised and, if Emiliano was feeling charitable, had earned the right to inherit.

 
‘It might,’ she conceded. ‘But if it doesn’t your father’s empire falls to you.’

  He tightened his lips to stop them saying, He wasn’t my father. His real father had been an Argentine polo player who’d died when Emiliano had been ten weeks old. A year later, Celeste had married Eduardo, who’d adopted her baby son and given him his name but never his love or approval. Emiliano’s only usefulness had been as proof of Celeste’s fertility. Eduardo had needed an heir for the business. He’d found that in Damián.

  The irony that the unwanted non-blood spawn might inherit Eduardo’s entire estate was almost funny. The months Emiliano had spent working for the Delgado Group a decade ago had ended in disaster and acrimony. Having zero interest in finance, he’d only taken the job for Celeste. It had been the last thing he’d ever done or would ever do for her. As a child he’d worshipped the ground she walked on. And then he’d woken up to who she was. A narcissistic bitch.

  But she was still his mother, his flesh and blood. She was a hard woman to feel any kind of affection for but he supposed he felt something akin to love for her.

  ‘I don’t want it,’ he said.

  ‘Then what will you do? Give it to Damián?’ she added with a tinkle of laughter.

  Emiliano smiled grimly. Where his relationship with Celeste was complicated, his relationship with Damián was simple—they loathed each other. They might not have exchanged a word in a decade but they had to suffer each other’s company twice a year. It had always given him perverse pleasure to bring a scantily dressed woman with him to the annual summer party. Seeing Damián’s serious face pucker with disapproval was a never ceasing joy. Damián, like his father, had always thought the worst of Emiliano. Proving them right was something that never grew old.

  ‘I don’t know what I’ll do.’ Burn it to the ground? That was one possibility.

  ‘I appreciate your life is full with the running of your stables...’ she made it sound as if he had a couple of small paddocks he kept his horses in rather than world-class stables strategically located around the world in which he bred and trained horses for racing, polo and dressage competitions ‘...and the polo team and that you would be reluctant to step back from it. I have invaluable experience with all aspects of the Delgado Group. If you feel running it would be too much for you, I am willing to step in and run it. On your behalf, of course.’

  ‘Of course.’ He hid a knowing smile. He’d been waiting for this conversation. Celeste was power-hungry in all aspects of life. It wouldn’t surprise him in the least if it came out that she’d been the one to steal Eduardo’s will and business document. If they were found, any influence Celeste had on the business would be gone. Damián would want to keep control for himself. ‘But this is a conversation for another time. When’s Damián due?’

  ‘His jet’s just landed, so not long. He’s brought a lady friend.’

  ‘So you said. Must be serious.’ Damián hadn’t introduced a woman to the family in, oh, it must be fifteen years. He was probably scared Celeste would frighten them off.

  Celeste arched her brows. ‘Be nice to her.’

  He grunted. His beef was with his brother and no one else. ‘I’m going to freshen up. I’ll see you at lunch.’

  ‘We’ll eat outside. You are not to bring those mutts.’

  He answered with a grin and strolled back into the villa he’d spent much of his childhood in. His mother’s insistence that he not bring his dogs to lunch was too great a challenge to resist.

  * * *

  Emiliano straightened his bow tie with a grimace. He loathed wearing suits of any kind but DJs were the worst. Usually he enjoyed Celeste’s summer parties. The guest list was always inspired, hundreds of the rich, famous and eccentric letting their hair down and behaving disgracefully, staggering to their waiting cars and helicopters clutching their lavish goody bags.

  However, there had been little enjoyment to be found so far that weekend, and he didn’t see why the party should be any different. On the surface, things were exactly as they always were when the family came together: Celeste acting the role of High Priestess, Damián brooding, Emiliano finding amusement in his discomfort, the two brothers ignoring each other in a deliberate manner and making no effort to hide their mutual loathing. But the tension that was always there when they came together felt different this time. Suspicion and distrust underlined every movement and left him with an acrid taste on his tongue.

  On impulse, he pulled his phone out and called Becky. She answered after three rings.

  ‘Where are you?’ he asked.

  ‘Walking the boys and trying not to get shot by your mum’s security guards.’

  He grinned. He could always trust Becky to put a smile on his face. ‘Will you be back soon?’

  ‘I doubt it. We’re about two miles away in the forest. Why? Is everything okay?’

  No, everything was not okay. There was a feeling of dread in his stomach much like he’d experienced as a child in the days before his school reports had been sent out.

  ‘Si. Just thought I’d visit the boys before I start behaving disgracefully and shaming my family.’

  Her laughter echoed like music in his ears. ‘I imagine we’ll be back in half an hour.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it. I’ll see you...them...in the morning. Have a nice evening.’

  ‘And you. Enjoy the party.’

  ‘I’ll try.’

  He put his phone in his pocket and drank a measure of the Scotch he’d poured himself. As he sloshed it round his mouth, he imagined Becky at his side, dressed to the nines. He’d never actually seen her in a dress. Or a skirt. He’d never even seen her legs; as she was always out with the dogs over fields and woodland, she wore jeans to protect them. She had the most fabulous hourglass figure though, a real buxom beauty with killer curves and her bottom filled those jeans.

  Those same musings ran through his head as the guests arrived and he noticed that hardly any of the female guests had curves of any kind, and those that did had gained them with the help of an able surgeon. While hardly anyone had an ounce of spare fat on them, there was, he estimated, enough filler pumped into all the beautiful faces to fill a swimming pool. Becky, he was quite certain, would soon find laughter lines appearing around her eyes and mouth. He was equally certain that she wouldn’t go the filler route. If he had his way, she would still be in his life—his dogs’ life—long enough for him to find out personally.

  As soon as this weekend was done, he would get straight onto the important task of convincing Becky to stay. His boys meant the world to him, and the peace of mind her care and attention for them gave was worth whatever it took to make her stay. She pretended not to care about money but everyone had a price. She must be holding out for something. Why throw in the towel on a job that paid well and had unlimited perks for a limited role in hospitality otherwise?

  ‘Emiliano!’ The shriek of his name pierced straight through him and, wincing, he turned to find Kylie, a spoilt English heiress, tottering over to him in heels so high they could be reclassified as stilts. A moment later and a pair of bony arms were thrown around his neck and his airways filled with a perfume so sweet and cloying he almost gagged.

  ‘You are so naughty,’ she pouted. ‘You said you would call me.’

  He grinned sheepishly and unlocked her wrists from around his neck. ‘My apologies. Life has been hectic.’

  Kylie had been at the polo competition when his dogs had briefly gone missing. She’d joined his team when they’d celebrated their semi-final win. He vaguely remembered promising to take her out for dinner once the competition was done with and then promptly forgot all about her.

  Why was that? he puzzled. Kylie was exactly his type—beautiful, blonde and long-legged and with only a few brain cells rattling around in her head. Emiliano’s one serious relationship a decade ago had been with a woman blessed with ferociou
s natural intelligence. It was his misfortune that she’d also been blessed with natural deviousness and criminality, something he’d discovered far too late and which had seen his world collapse around him.

  As Kylie continued to chatter, his brother came into his eyeline.

  What was going on with him? Something was up; he sensed it deep inside him. And what was he doing with a woman like Mia? The Brit Damián had brought with him to the party had joined the family for lunch the previous day and gone to the casino with them in the evening, and had immediately proved herself to be fun. The last woman Damián had introduced the family to had been as much fun as a Benedictine monk on a stag weekend. Emiliano sensed a dark undertone beneath his half-brother and his new lover’s sociable smiles. It only increased the sense of doom that had been building since his arrival in Monte Cleure.

  Something was going to happen. Something bad. He could feel it in his bones.

  * * *

  Becky was so deep in sleep that it took the dogs barking to rouse her to the banging on her front door.

  Stumbling out of bed, she shrugged herself into her robe and padded out of the room, trying not to trip over the dogs.

  ‘I’m coming!’ she shouted at the unceasing banging, knowing perfectly well it was Emiliano, probably drunk and wanting to see the boys. He’d often turned up at the cottage he’d given her on his English estate after a night out just to see his dogs.

  She unlocked the door and yanked it open but her prepared stern words died on her tongue when she saw his haggard face.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked, stepping aside to let him in.