Mills & Boon Stars Collection: Passionate Bargains: The Perfect Cazorla Wife / The Russian's Ultimatum / Once a Moretti Wife. Michelle Smart
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home they’d shared by the beach, although just as grand, had been modern. This villa was steeped in splendour, with mosaicked floors and high, arched frescoed ceilings, a sense of history breathing through the whitewashed walls.
Here was the evidence, if she hadn’t already guessed it by his two years of silence, that Raul had moved on.
She swallowed the acrid taste that had formed in the back of her throat. ‘Where are the staff?’ At this time of day the house should be teeming with activity, especially on a Monday.
‘I told the household staff to take the day off.’ Raul’s eyes gleamed with something she couldn’t interpret. ‘I thought it best for us to be alone.’
Low, down in the juncture of her thighs, heat pulsed and licked through her veins.
How could she still react to him like that, as if the past two years had never happened?
She rubbed her arms, her trepidation growing with each passing second. ‘What are the terms you want to talk about? Only, I’m working at the centre tomorrow and want to get back to Valencia before it gets late.’
‘We can talk while we eat.’
She followed him through to a dining room with huge windows that looked out onto the villa’s gardens. The sun shone down, beaming on the manicured lawn and the abundance of flowers and shrubs.
A long dark wood table had been set for two. Raul pulled a chair out for her. ‘Lunch has been prepared for us. Make yourself at home.’
Home? She gagged at the thought. This would never be her home. In a few weeks they would be officially divorced. She was almost counting the days.
She sat gingerly, running her fingers over the silver cutlery in silent contemplation.
Any moment now and his real motive for bringing her here would be revealed. She doubted it was to do with the money. Unlike Charley, who’d proven herself to be a spectacular failure in business, her husband had a habit of turning whatever he touched into gold. Much as she tried to avoid reading media reports on him, it was like telling a child not to touch the nice shiny toy in the corner. Already worth hundreds of millions, he’d sold the technology firm he’d founded and run before his father’s stroke had forced him to take over the running of the Cazorla luxury hotel chain. The sale had earned him a reported two and a half billion euros. Since taking over the family firm he’d added a fleet of aeroplanes and half a dozen brand spanking new cruise liners to the stable.
Simply speaking, her husband was worth more than entire countries.
If she’d taken her lawyer’s advice she could have taken a good slice of his wealth, far exceeding the ten million he’d transferred into her account without consulting her. She hadn’t wanted to take even that, had left it untouched for months. It was Raul’s money, not hers. She’d contributed nothing to it so why should she have a claim to it?
She’d spent enough of his money during their marriage as it was.
He came back into the dining room carrying a platter of antipasto: deli meats, marinated vegetables, roasted peppers and sundried tomatoes, olives, cheese, rustic breads...all her favourite bites. And to think this was only the first course...
He poured her a glass of the red wine that had been left to breathe on the table, then raised his glass in a toast before swallowing half his wine and taking the seat beside her.
Charley couldn’t bear it a moment longer. ‘This all looks delicious and I thank you, but I can’t eat anything until you tell me what your terms are.’
Helping himself to a little of everything before them, Raul took a bite of some bread then fixed his eyes on her as he ate. Once he’d swallowed and taken another drink of his wine, he answered. ‘I am prepared to give you the money you need to buy the building and for all the renovations that will be needed to make the day care centre fit for purpose.’
She returned his stare, waiting for the catch that was surely coming.
‘When do you have to get the renovations done by?’ he asked. ‘Four months, was it?’
‘Yes. The new owners agreed to give us six months to relocate.’ She watched him with caution. ‘Two of those months have already gone.’
The owner of the building that housed Poco Rio had died unexpectedly, leaving the team who worked there rudderless. Worse still, his family had not shared his sentimentality and opted to sell to a developer, only telling the staff about it when it was a done deal.
‘Four months to complete the purchase and the renovations?’
‘It sounds like a long time but it isn’t. We need to make it as safe and as suitable for the children’s needs as it can possibly be. Walls need to be knocked down, doorways need to be extended...’
Raul made a dismissive motion with his hand. ‘All of that can be discussed when we have reached an agreement.’
‘But what is it you want me to agree to?’ she asked in bewilderment. ‘The centre receives sufficient funds to repay any loan.’
His lips curved upwards. It was like looking at a sensuous shark. ‘As I said earlier, I will not be giving you a loan. With your track record, who knows when I will get it back?’
Her ire, already simmering at his mocking attitude, rose. ‘I already told you...’
‘You have the business acumen of a child. I trust your figures as much as I trust your judgement.’
‘My judgement must have been seriously off when I married you.’
She regretted her hotly spat words before they’d left her tongue. So much for not antagonising him until the deal was done.
Raul’s smile remained but his eyes had turned to ice. ‘It is a shame you feel that way but it’s not a sentiment I happen to share.
‘When I say giving I do not mean it in the literal sense. I will require a form of payment but not one of monetary value.’
She’d known it. From the minute she’d got into his car she’d known there was a catch involved.
‘My condition for giving you the money and for giving your project all the skills and expertise at my disposal is modest. I want you back in my bed and living with me as my wife until the work on the new building is complete.’
THE COLOUR DRAINED so quickly from Charley’s face that Raul braced himself to steady her should she faint.
Then the colour returned, her cheeks staining a dark, angry red.
‘What do you mean, live as your wife? We’re getting a divorce.’
‘Which we can put on hold.’ Deliberately he drained his wine. ‘If you want this new home for the centre, then that’s the payment I require.’
‘But why? Of all the things you could want, why that? Until Saturday night we hadn’t spoken in almost two years. Our marriage is dead.’
‘Our divorce isn’t finalised.’ He swallowed a plump black olive. ‘We will put it on hiatus until the renovation work is complete and the centre reopened.’
‘I don’t see why that means we have to pretend to be back together.’
‘There won’t be any pretence about it. But to answer your question, I will be donating a considerable amount of money to your project and I want to be there to make sure you don’t give up on it halfway through.’
‘I would never do that.’
‘You founded three different businesses in our time together. They all failed because you lost interest, failed to take the good advice I gave you, and let things slip. I won’t just be backing