8 Magnificent Millionaires. Cathy Williams
Читать онлайн книгу.
was no use, Zoë realised as they walked into the kitchen. She would never be able to relax with a man like Rico. She would never know what it felt like to be properly kissed by him. But that didn’t stop her wanting to.
‘The work for this meal isn’t proving too much for you?’ He looked around when she had given him a glass of fresh juice. ‘You seem to have made enough for an army already.’
‘I’m never happier then when I’m cooking.’ She stared at him as he went to wash out his empty glass at the sink. She was so used to clearing up after people she knew she would never get used to this.
When he had finished, Rico turned back to her. He slipped one thumb into his belt-loop, and before she knew what she was doing Zoë had followed the movement. Feeling her face flame red, she redirected her gaze into his eyes.
‘It all smells wonderful.’ Rico smiled.
‘Thank you.’ Zoë’s throat seemed to have closed up. The riding breeches moulded him precisely, revealingly—terrifyingly. ‘Why are you here?’ Her voice sounded faint, and she was glad there was a table between them.
‘It’s such a beautiful morning I thought you might like to ride out with me—if you’re not too busy…’
She could hardly pretend to be when she had been lazing on the veranda when he arrived. ‘I’ve thought about riding lots of times since I got here, but—’
‘But?’
‘Well, I can’t ride like you.’
‘There are plenty of quieter mounts than mine to choose from in the stables.’
‘I’d really like that.’ Zoë frowned. ‘But I’d have to change.’
‘Go right ahead. I’ll wait for you.’
‘All right, then.’
Closing the door behind her, Zoë leaned against it for a moment to catch her breath. What was she doing? She closed her eyes. She couldn’t let her old life get in the way. She had fought her way out; she wasn’t going to slip back now. There was nothing wrong in riding with Rico. She could do with the exercise. The rest of the day was for shopping and cooking, so an hour’s recreation would be perfect. In fact, it was just what she needed.
Zoë changed her clothes quickly, putting on jeans and a shirt. When she returned to the kitchen Rico was gazing around at the changes she had made.
‘I trust you approve?’ Zoë hoped she didn’t sound too defensive. He put the pottery dish he had been examining back on the shelf. The changes were small, but it made the place feel like home—and that was no easy task in a castle.
She spent so much time in the kitchen it had to feel right. It was where she prepared everything, painstakingly testing each dish any number of different ways long before the cameras rolled on set. So she had hung some new blinds at the windows to control the flow of light while she worked, and there was a row of fresh herbs lined up in terracotta pots along the window-sill. She loved the local pottery. It was precious in a world where everything was growing more and more alike.
‘Wouldn’t it have been easier to do the filming in here?’
‘Yes, but my director felt there was more space in the hall, so I gave in to him on that point.’
‘Your director? He works for you?’
‘For my production company.’
‘I’m impressed.’
‘No need to be. It’s not unknown in the television world for people to take the independent route.’
‘So whose fault was the set dressing?’
‘Mine,’ Zoë said quickly. ‘I own the company. The buck stops here.’
Rico’s lips pressed together as he stared at her, then curved as if he was amused. ‘Are you ready to go?’ He glanced towards the door.
As he held it open for her, and she walked past him, Zoë felt a tingle race down the length of her spine. The heady scent of saddle soap and leather laced with warm, clean man was overwhelmingly attractive, and her thoughts turned wilfully to what was beneath Rico’s breeches. She had never indulged in erotic thoughts before, always dreading where they might lead. But there was something about Rico Cortes that made it impossible to think about anything else.
Daydreaming was a dangerous game…
Once they were outside in the fresh air Zoë knew that at least for the next hour or so she was going to put every negative thought from the past out of her mind.
They stood on the veranda side by side for a few moments, enjoying the view. They were standing very close, close enough to brush against each other, but then Rico’s stallion scented his master’s presence and squealed with impatience.
‘I think he’s trying to tell us that he’s been kept waiting long enough,’ Zoë said.
‘We had better go down,’ Rico agreed, ‘before he pulls that post out of the ground.’
She followed him down the steps.
‘We should find you a horse.’ Rico tipped his chin towards the stables. ‘Before Rondeno breaks free.’
‘Rondeno?’
‘A native of Ronda. My stallion is named after the most famous of all the White Towns in Andalucia. Ronda is surrounded by rugged mountains that once sheltered bandits and brigands.’
‘How very romantic.’ And how perfectly suited to Rico, Zoë thought, looking up at him. He would have made a very good pirate, with his swarthy, dangerous looks. Had Rico’s career taken a similar path to her own, she could see him as a leading man, breaking hearts on the small screen as well as the large. There was always a hunger for new talent. ‘Have you ever thought of acting as a career?’
‘Never.’ He slanted her a look. ‘I prefer reality to fantasy every time.’
‘Flamenco, cooking, riding…’ She smiled. ‘Is there no end to your talent?’
‘You haven’t even begun to scratch the surface yet.’ He laughed. ‘Come on, let’s get you that horse.’
At a gentle canter, and with the warm wind lifting her hair, Zoë began to wonder if she had ever felt so carefree before. The countryside was bathed in a soft, golden light, and the sky was as clear a blue as she had ever seen.
In this part of Spain the ground was well fed by a fast-flowing river, but now it was approaching the hottest months of the year the water was little more than a sluggish trickle. The pastures in the shadow of the mountains, however, were still green, and provided the perfect ground for riding over.
‘We’ll stop over there by the bridge.’ Rico had brought his stallion alongside her horse, and was keeping pace at an easy canter. ‘There should just be enough water for the horses to drink.’
As she cantered ahead of him, Zoë couldn’t believe she hadn’t ridden one of the horses stabled at the castle before. She had assumed they were in livery for any number of local riders, and therefore not included in her lease. Not so, Rico had explained. They all belonged to the same person—someone he knew, presumably. He knew the horses, and had chosen a quiet gelding for her to ride, saying Punto was perfect for her.
And he was, Zoë thought, patting the horse’s dappled neck. Punto was just the type of horse she liked: he was kind, and willing, and wore an American-style high saddle, which was a lot more comfortable than the English saddle she was used to.
Rico’s stallion moved ahead as he scented water. Urging her own horse forward, Zoë caught him up by the slow-moving stream. She allowed the reins to fall loosely on Punto’s neck and gazed around. Apart from the gurgle of water and the sound of the two horses drinking there was utter silence. Lifting her face to the sun, Zoë closed her eyes, allowing the light to bathe her in its warmth.
‘It’s