The Most Expensive Lie of All. Michelle Conder
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unfortunately she had. But all that had done was make her determined that she would never be at any man’s mercy again. Which was exactly where arrogant, controlling men like this one wanted their women to be. ‘For just you, Billy?’ she simpered. ‘Or for your daddy as well?’
It took Mr Cocksure a second or two to realise she was yanking his chain and when he did his big head reared back and his eyes narrowed. ‘I ain’t no pimp, lady.’
‘No,’ she said calmly, flicking her riot of honey-coloured spiral curls back over her shoulder. ‘What you are is a dirty, rotten rat and I can see why Grandpa Charles said your kind were just slime.’ Who gave a damn about proper manners anyway?
Instead of getting angry Billy threw back his head and hooted with laughter. ‘You know. I can’t believe the rumours that you’re a cold one in the sack. Not with all that fire shooting out of those pretty green eyes of yours.’ He reached out and ran a finger down the side of her cheek and grinned when she raised her hand to rub at it. ‘Let me know when you change your mind. I like a woman with attitude.’
Before she could open her mouth to tell him she’d mention that to his wife he sauntered off, leaving her spitting mad. She watched him pick up a glass of champagne from a table before joining a group of sweaty riders and willed someone to grab it and throw it all over him.
Of course no one did. Fate wasn’t that kind.
Turning away in disgust, she cursed under her breath when a gust of hot wind whipped her hair across her face. Too angry to stop and clear her vision, she would have walked straight into a wall if it hadn’t reached out and grabbed her by her upper arms.
With a soft gasp she looked up, about to thank whoever had saved her. But the words never came and the quick smile froze on her face as she found herself staring into the hard eyes of a man she had thought she would never see in the flesh again.
The air between them split apart and reformed, vibrating with emotion as Cruz Rodriquez stared down at her with such cold detachment she nearly shivered.
Eight years dissolved into dust. Guilt, shame and a host of other emotions all sparked for dominance inside her.
‘I...’ Aspen blinked, her mind scrambling for poise...words...something.
‘Hello, Aspen. Nice to see you again.’
Aspen blinked at the incongruity of those words. He might as well have said Off with her head.
‘I...’
CHAPTER TWO
CRUZ STARED DOWN at the slender woman whose smooth arms he held and wished he hadn’t left his sunglasses in the car. At seventeen Aspen Carmichael had been full of sexual promise. Eight years later, with her golden mane flowing down past her shoulders and the top button of her dress artfully popped open to reveal the upper swell of her creamy assets, she had well and truly delivered. And he was finding it hard not to take her all in at once.
‘You...?’ he prompted casually, dropping his hands and raising his eyes from her cleavage.
She glanced down and quickly closed the top of her dress. Clearly only men offering part of their vast fortunes were allowed to view the merchandise. The realisation of his earlier assumption as to what she might be using as leverage to raise her cash was for some reason profoundly disappointing.
‘I...’ She shook her head as if to clear it. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Old Charlie would roll over in his grave if he heard you greeting a polo patron like that,’ Cruz drawled. Even one he didn’t think would ever be good enough for his perfect little granddaughter, he added silently.
Cruz’s velveteen voice, with no hint at all of his Mexican heritage, scraped over Aspen’s already raw nerves and she didn’t manage to contain the shiver this time.
She couldn’t tell his frame of mind but she knew hers and it was definitely disturbed. ‘My grandfather probably feels like he’s on a spit roast at the moment.’ She smiled, trying for light amusement to ease the tension that lay as thick as the issues of the past between them.
‘Are you implying he’s in hell, Aspen?’
He probably was, Aspen thought, but that wasn’t what she’d meant. ‘No. I just...you’re right.’ She shook her head, wondering what had happened to her manners. Her composure. Her brain. ‘That was a terrible greeting. Shall we start again?’
Without waiting for him to reply she stuck out her hand, ignoring the racing memories causing her heart to beat double time.
‘Hello, Cruz, welcome back to Ocean Haven. You’re looking well.’ Which was a half-truth if ever she’d uttered one.
The man didn’t look well. He looked superb.
His thick black hair that sat just fashionably shy of his expensive suit jacket and his piercing black eyes and square-cut jaw were even more beautiful than she remembered. He’d always had a strong, angular face and powerful body, but eight years had done him a load of favours in the looks department, settling a handsome maturity over the youthful virility he’d always worn like a cloak.
The apology she’d never got to voice for her part in the acrimonious accusations that had no doubt contributed to him leaving Ocean Haven eight years ago hovered behind her closed lips, but it seemed awkward to just blurt it out.
How could she tell him that a couple of months after that night she had written him a letter explaining everything but hadn’t had the wherewithal to send it without feeling a deep sense of shame at her ineptitude? It was little comfort knowing she’d been distracted by her grandfather’s stroke at the time, because she knew her behaviour that night had probably brought that on too. After he had recovered sending Cruz a letter had seemed like too little too late, and she’d pushed out of her mind the man who had fascinated her during most of her teenage years.
And maybe he was here now to let bygones be bygones. She didn’t know, but why pre-empt anything with her own guilt-riddled memories?
Because it would make you feel better, that’s why.
‘As are you.’
As she was what? Oh, looking well. ‘Thank you.’ She ran a nervous hand down the side of her dress and then pretended she was flicking off horse dust. ‘So...ah...are you here for the polo? The last chukka just finished, but—’
‘I’m not here for the polo.’
Aspen hated the anxious feeling that had settled over her and raised her chin. ‘Well, there’s champagne in the central marquee. Just tell Judy that I sent—’
‘I’m not here for the champagne either.’
Even more perturbed by the way he regarded her with such cool detachment she felt as if she was frying under the blasted summer sun. ‘Well, it would be great if you could tell me what you are here for because I have a few more people to schmooze before they leave. You know how these things go.’
He looked at her as if he was seeing right inside her. As if he knew all her secrets. As if he could see how desperately uncomfortable she was. Impossible, she thought, telling herself to get a grip.
Cruz could almost see the sweat breaking out over Aspen’s body and noted the way her cat-green eyes wouldn’t quite meet his. He didn’t know if that was because he was keeping her from an assignation with Billy Smyth, or someone else, or because she could feel the chemistry that lay between them like a grenade with the pin pulled.
Whatever it was, she wasn’t leaving his side until he had won over her confidence and figured out a way to handle the situation.
His brother’s silky question about ‘handling the lovely Aspen Carmichael’ came into his head. He knew what Ricardo had meant and looking at Aspen now, in her svelte designer dress and ‘come take me’ heels, her wild hair curling down around her shoulders as if she’d just rolled