8 Magnificent Millionaires. Cathy Williams
Читать онлайн книгу.
saddle then, and kiss her as he had kissed her before. This time she wouldn’t pull back. No bad feelings could intrude here, on such a beautiful day.
But Rico didn’t kiss her. He didn’t even try to touch her. He just sat patiently, waiting for their horses to finish drinking.
Of course he wouldn’t kiss her. Men couldn’t stand women who pulled away at the last minute. It was every man’s idea of a turn-off. There were only so many knocks to his pride a real man could take. Wasn’t that what her ex-husband had told her? He was right, and this was the proof.
She collected up the reins. ‘I’d better get back to the castle. There’s still so much to do. I have to get to the market before all the best produce is sold.’ She turned Punto away from the water.
‘You don’t have to do that,’ Rico insisted. ‘Why don’t I get someone to collect what you need?’
The breeze flipped Zoë’s hair from her face as she turned to him. ‘That’s very kind of you, Rico, but I prefer to choose everything myself.’
‘Force of habit?’
‘That’s right.’
They began to trot, and then the horses broke into a canter. ‘So, are you still coming tomorrow?’ She had to yell to make him hear.
‘Try and keep me away. Shall we race back to the castle?’
The challenge excited her. Urging Punto on, Zoë loved feeling the wind in her hair and hearing the sound of Rondeno’s hooves pounding after her. She knew Rico had to be holding back, and, snatching a glance over her shoulder, she laughed with exhilaration. Rondeno was far more powerful than her own mount, but she could almost believe Punto was enjoying this as much as she was.
The control Rico exercised over his mighty stallion was the biggest turn-on of all, and Zoë’s heart was thundering louder than the combined sound of both horses’ hooves. The friction of the saddle as she brushed back and forth was something new to her. She had never taken notice of it before, but now she was intensely and electrifyingly aroused. Leaning low over Punto’s neck, she begged the horse to speed up and carry her away from Rico—and away from temptation.
He had to dig his heels into Rondeno’s side to catch up with her. His laugh of pleasure and surprise was carried away on the wind because they were moving so fast. She was quite a woman. He liked her spirit. In fact he liked Zoë Chapman—a lot, Rico realised, easing up so they were galloping alongside each other.
Her lips were parted to drag in air, and there was a faint line of pink along the top of her cheekbones that had not been put there by the wind. Her lips were moist where she had licked them, and when she flashed him a glance he saw that her exquisite eyes had darkened to the point where only a faint rim of turquoise remained.
She was not leading him on even a little bit—she was sexually unawakened. The realisation sent arousal streaking through him like a bolt of lightning. So much sexuality packed into one woman with everything to learn about the art of love. Even if he’d cared nothing for her, he would still have had to find that a turn-on. But after Zoë’s fearful response to him sorting her out in the sex department was starting to feel more like a crusade. Her frustration was obvious—something had to give. And he wanted to be around when that happened.
As they approached the castle they both reined in, but Zoë kept the lead. She laughed, and smiled across at him in triumph.
The change in her was striking. Where was the cool professional businesswoman now? Where was the frightened girl who had pushed him away? Right now she radiated confidence. The grey cloud that sometimes hung over her had vanished; he hoped it stayed that way.
She wanted to feel this good for ever, Zoë thought as she sprang down from the saddle. ‘Thank you.’ She turned to Rico, smiling. ‘That was the best time I’ve had for—’
‘Ever?’ he suggested.
‘I should definitely try to ride more frequently. Perhaps I will, now I know I can take one of the horses from the stables here.’
‘The groom will always pick one out for you, or just tell him you prefer to ride Punto.’
‘I will.’ Zoë rested her cheek against Punto’s neck for a moment. ‘He’s the best—aren’t you, Punto?’
‘Don’t ride unaccompanied until you know the lie of the land better.’
Zoë’s pulse began to race as she gazed up at Rico. ‘I won’t.’ It was such an easy promise to make. With Rico riding next to her she would be in the saddle every spare moment that came her way.
‘The groom will ride with you if you ask him.’
Somehow she kept the smile fixed to her face. ‘That would be great.’
‘Adios, Zoë!’
‘Adios, Rico.’ He was too busy holding his black stallion in check to note her sudden lack of enthusiasm, Zoë saw thankfully. ‘I appreciate you taking me out.’
‘Don’t mention it.’ He wheeled Rondeno away.
I wouldn’t dream of mentioning it, Zoë thought, smiling to herself as Rico cantered away.
Turning, she viewed the elderly bow-legged groom with wry amusement. Riding was definitely crossed off her ‘must-do’ list for now.
CHAPTER SIX
TUESDAY was almost too busy for Zoë to give much thought to anything apart from cooking—cooking and Rico. Now she knew for sure he was coming, everything had gained an extra impetus. She wanted to make Maria feel she was part of something special, something that gave the exceptional flamenco dancer the recognition Zoë believed she deserved.
She was in the kitchen by nine, having been up at dawn to go to market to find the freshest ingredients for those dishes that could not be made in advance. On her return she had laid everything out on the counter to make one last check. But, however many times she looked at them, she couldn’t get past the feeling that there was still something missing.
She had decided upon a menu of clams à la marinara, in a sauce of garlic, paprika and fino sherry, with an alternative of zoque, the popular gazpacho soup made with red peppers and tomatoes. But for the main course she had called upon her secret weapon—a wise old man from the village who seemed to be everyone’s tio, or uncle. Zoë had been debating over the best recipe for paella, and the tio was the only person who could advise her properly, according to Maria, who had unexpectedly appeared at her side at the market.
Thanks to the introduction from Maria, the elderly expert uncle had approved Zoë’s choice of ingredients, after turning them over and sniffing for freshness. He had even demanded a heavy discount from the stallholders, reminding them, as Zoë would never have dreamed of doing, that they would be eating the food they had just sold to her when they came to the castle for the party that night.
‘Locals care more about the rice than the rest of the meal,’ the tio had said, patting his nose with one finger just as Zoë had seen Maria do. ‘It must be well washed if you want the grains to separate, and then the rice must be cooked in fish stock—never water—water is for soup. You must have caldo—sorry, broth—for your rice. And the yellow colour of paella comes as much from the noras—you would call them peppers—as it does from the strands of saffron you add to the broth. Did you enjoy your ride?’
Cooking methods and Rico in the same breath! Zoë knew her astonishment must have shown on her face.
‘It’s a very small village,’ the tio had explained with a smile, tapping his nose once again.
So it was, Zoë had thought, as she thanked him for his kindness.
Armed with quite a lot more local knowledge than she had bargained for, she had returned to the castle to prepare the main dish.
Balancing a cheap pan the size of a bicycle wheel on the counter, Zoë laid out pieces of