JACQUELINE BAIRD – His Inherited Bride (страница 2)

A quick glance around and she realised she was still alone. The room was elegant, a mixture of soft creams and beige contrasted with deep-cushioned sofas in taupe leather, and the artwork on the walls looked genuine. The whole ambience was one of understated elegance and serious money, but the room was empty.

She walked over and sank down on one of the sofas, a sense of anticlimax making her shoulders slump dispiritedly. Geared up to do battle at twelve, she found it very deflating to be still waiting at quarter past. What now? she wondered. And looked around again.

At that moment a door opened and Jules automatically glanced across to the man who walked into the room. Randolfo Carducci…

Her eyes widened in shock, and for a moment she was stunned by the sheer masculine power of his presence. He was over six feet tall, with black hair slightly silvered at the temples and cut expertly to his arrogant head; his sculptured features were not classically handsome. Striking was a better description, with high cheekbones, a typical Roman nose that proclaimed his Italian ancestry, and a determined jaw. He was certainly the most impressive specimen of manhood she had encountered in quite a while. But then she was no expert, Jules ruefully acknowledged. She had had very little to do with men since her broken engagement. And this one was almost certainly married anyway.

The light grey suit he was wearing was tailored perfectly over broad, powerful shoulders and a white shirt open at the neck contrasted sharply with his olive-toned skin. The jacket was open and a grey leather belt supported softly pleated trousers that hugged lean hips, powerful thighs and long legs. He was awesomely male and Jules suddenly wondered how she had never noticed the fact as a teenager. As she tilted her head back her green eyes clashed with hard black, and thick arched brows came together in a frown. Nothing had changed there then, Jules thought dryly.

Jules had always felt uncomfortable around the man in the past. At thirteen years older he had seemed so commandingly superior. When he had frowned disapprovingly at her, especially when she had been with Enrique, she had felt somehow threatened.

But with hindsight she realised she had been equally disapproving of him. She had resented the easy relationship he had shared with her father, a father she had only just been beginning to know. Also his friendship with Enrique Eiga, who at the time Jules had thought was the love of her life.

Squashing the unwanted memories, she rose to her feet, and her heart gave a sudden jolt as his lips, perfectly moulded and sensuous, parted in a brief social smile. Jules shivered without knowing why… She was wrong; he had changed. He appeared even more arrogantly aloof than ever.

Stay cool, calm and in control, it is business, nothing else, Jules told herself. She had the confidence to handle any situation, and politely she held out her hand.

‘Mr Carducci, nice to see you again.’

‘Rand, please; after all we are almost family,’ he said smoothly, his dark eyes widening speculatively on the woman before him. A lustrous mass of red hair was swept back in a braid and revealed the exquisite oval of her face. Large, thick-lashed dark green eyes looked up at him, but avoided direct contact with his. Add a small straight nose and a luscious pink mouth that begged to be kissed and the woman was dynamite! His gaze dropped lower to a hint of cleavage exposed by the vee neckline of her jacket. His body tensed. The picture of a red-headed beanpole-type teenager he had carried in his head for years blasted into oblivion by the physicality of the woman before him. Julia Diez had developed into one very sexy lady.

He watched as she looked at him, noted the flare of recognition in her brilliant eyes, and the flicker of something very like fear. She had good right to be afraid, he thought cynically, the heartless little tart. He had not seen the woman in eight years, her shape had changed, but he would have recognised those eyes anywhere.

‘Sorry for the delay, Julia, my secretary should have been here. I hope you have not been waiting long.’ And he grasped her still-outstretched hand.

Jules swallowed hard. His handshake was firm and warm and did very odd things to her pulse rate. ‘No, not long,’ she managed to respond steadily. ‘And please call me Jules, everyone else does,’ she said, but when she tried to pull her hand free of his he simply tightened his grip.

‘Please, sit down.’ Leading her back to the sofa, he waited until she sat down before freeing her hand, adding, ‘It’s been a long time since we met. It must have been your engagement party when you were what? Seventeen, eighteen.’

‘Seventeen,’ she confirmed shortly; the last thing she needed was to be reminded of her engagement party, especially not by this man. Jules hadn’t seen him since, but, lifting her head, she stared at him, and for a fleeting moment she sensed something dangerous in the unfathomable black eyes and his wide-legged stance. Rand was a man to be wary of, her every instinct cried, and, remembering his fourth and final call some days after her father’s funeral, she shivered slightly.

Rand Carducci had informed her with mocking cynicism evident in his tone, that he was the sole executor of her father’s estate, and her father had added a codicil to his will the week before he died, the gist of it being if she agreed to return to Chile within six months of his demise she would receive something of value.

Jules had bluntly informed him she was not interested, and she had never intended taking Rand up on the offer, but now five months later she needed money. Strictly speaking it was her mother who needed the money. Her consultant had recommended a new three-year course of treatment from America as her best chance of a full recovery after her operation, but it was only available privately in England, and Liz was scheduled to start the treatment in ten days’ time. Jules had assured her mother they could afford the extra expense as only the best was good enough for her beloved mum.

Jules had taken over the running of the bakery a year ago from her mum and she had embarked on an expansion scheme to provide corporate catering. At Jules’ instigation they had moved from the flat above the shop, and bought a new house six months ago. The flat had been converted into another kitchen and office space with the help of a loan from the bank, plus the addition of a new catering vehicle. Unfortunately for Jules by the time the new treatment had been mentioned their finances had been stretched to the limit.

Jules had kept the information to herself, not wanting to worry her mother. She had approached the bank but they would not lend her more money so soon after the original investment, and suggested perhaps in another six months when her business plan showed a profit. Her mother could not wait six months, and Jules had tried every avenue but could not raise the cash. Finally in desperation she had contacted Rand Carducci’s office in Italy. Courtesy of his secretary a flight ticket and a hotel booking had arrived two days later for Jules to travel to Chile as instructed. From the man himself she had heard not one word.

But now that she was face to face with Rand, asking what her father had left her, and demanding if whatever it was could be converted into cash, seemed a hundred times more daunting then it had yesterday.

‘I was sorry to hear your engagement to Enrique did not work out.’ Startled out of her troublesome thoughts by his deep, mocking voice, she tensed warily as he continued, ‘I arrived at Carlos’ home the day before your wedding only to discover you had called it off, according to your very disappointed father, because you thought you were too young, and you wanted to have some fun before you settled down. Rather sudden, wasn’t it?’

Fun… It had been the worst time of her life and yet, according to Rand, her father had made her sound like some flighty bimbo. Her green eyes cautiously searched his, and for a second she thought she saw a flicker of some emotion in the dark depths—sympathy or censure? She wasn’t sure. Did he know the real truth about her broken engagement?

‘Yes, well. I had my reasons.’ She lowered her long lashes, avoiding the question in his too astute gaze. It wasn’t up to her to tell Rand the truth. If her late father had chosen to tell everyone it was because she had thought she was too young for marriage, so be it.

The reality was different. Three days before her marriage, when most of the household had been taking a siesta, she had been too strung up with excitement at her approaching wedding to rest. Instead she had decided to walk across to the neighbouring ranch where Enrique had lived and surprise him…

The two haciendas were situated either side of the river not a mile apart, the river being the border of the two ranches. She had crossed the water not by the bridge, but by the old stepping-stones set a few hundred yards downstream hidden by the trees.