Kept By The Spanish Billionaire. Cathy Williams
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astonishment. The man opened the door, glared at her and informed her that she could come inside.
For the first time, with the lights in the room switched on, she saw him properly. He was tall and she had been right about the raven-black hair. In fact the only thing she had missed and that was becoming patently clear was that he was incredibly, undeniably sexy. Not sexy in a magazine centrefold kind of way, but sexy in a powerful, brooding, rough-edged kind of way. It almost took her breath away, then she stared around her, curiosity temporarily silencing her.
The house might have been small but it was far from shabby. The rich patina of wooden flooring glistened, invited the eye to linger over the comfortable sitting area, which was dominated by a large, modern-style fireplace, coaxed it into straying just a bit further to glimpse a high-tech kitchen, then up a few short stairs to where, presumably, the bedrooms were.
‘Not bad for a squatter,’ she said, adding, ‘ha, ha,’ when he frowned at her. ‘Look, I’m sorry if you’re suffering a severe case of wounded pride because I called you a squatter, but I was a little shocked to find somebody out here, holed up miles away from the house.’
Rafael stared at her, fascinated against his will. Not only did she appear to have no braking mechanism controlling what came out of her mouth, but she was now wandering through the house as if she really were a guest, rather than an intruder who had managed to wrangle her way in by dint of threat.
The fact of the matter was that Rafael did not want his presence on the grounds to be an open secret. He genuinely didn’t want to be a dampener on proceedings, nor did he want to feel obliged to join in the fun. He had his own idea of fun. Dinner with friends, intimate jazz clubs with like-minded women. Certainly not drinking till dawn around a pool at the family mansion in the Hamptons with a random selection of people he didn’t know from Adam but was pretty sure he wouldn’t particularly like. Just as he didn’t particularly care for the woman standing in front of him, making no pretence at covering up her nosiness.
‘So if you’re not a squatter, then who are you?’
I just own the company you work for, Rafael was tempted to inform her. It didn’t surprise him that the woman had failed to recognise him. As she was a member of the ‘forgotten crew’, he suspected that whatever job she did would be fairly low profile and definitely out of sight. It had to be said that he was also rarely in London, choosing to oversee things from New York, and judging from her accent she was definitely one hundred per cent Londoner.
‘I’m the…gardener,’ Rafael improvised.
‘And you live here?’
‘Where else would you expect me to live?’
‘In a small, average house on a small, average estate somewhere fairly close by…like any other normal gardener…’
‘In case it missed you, this isn’t exactly a small, normal garden. It’s a full-time job, hence my residence on the grounds.’
‘And your staff come in every day to mow the lawns…’ That made a bit more sense because she couldn’t really picture him pushing a mower himself. He didn’t look the type, although if his body was anything to go by he had no end of muscular brawn at his disposal. No, he definitely looked more the sort to give orders and, furthermore, to enjoy giving orders. She felt immediate sympathy for his absent staff.
‘Mow the lawns…keep the gardens in check…do whatever needs doing…’
‘And you control the whip.’ It was said in a light-hearted tone of voice, but of course he refused to crack a smile, prompting her to enquire whether a lack of a sense of humour was part of his job description.
Amy liked people with a sense of fun. She came from a sprawling family of six children and, like most children from large families, she had never had much experience with the concept of privacy. She enjoyed sharing. She laughed easily. She liked to have a good time. It was one of the many things about James that she found so attractive. His wicked sense of fun.
This man on the other hand was the epitome of grim-faced seriousness.
‘Are you always so…serious?’ she asked, looking at him, but not for too long because he really was very sexy indeed, if you went for the brooding kind of man. Which she didn’t.
Rafael, unaccustomed as he was to being spoken to like this, was temporarily lost for words and in the brief silence Amy carried on blithely.
‘I mean…what have you got to be grim about? You live in a fantastic place, paid for by your employer. And I bet you also have lots of other perks that go with the house.’
‘Perks?’
‘Sure.’ She tabulated them on her fingers, one at a time. ‘Car. Hiding in a garage somewhere, I expect, and probably not any old banger. Pension plan. End-of-year bonuses. Am I right?’ The tiredness that had seen her stepping out of the house for a breath of fresh air, then wandering much further than she had intended, seemed to have disappeared.
‘I can tell from your silence that I’m right!’ she said triumphantly. ‘Lucky old you.’
Rafael did not intend to be drawn into any conversation with a dippy blonde who had managed to stray out of her depth. He opened his mouth to tell her politely, but firmly, that it was time for her to leave.
‘Why do you say that?’ he heard himself ask and she shot him a wide, infectious grin.
‘Because I do a similar sort of thing and I certainly don’t have the great perks that you do.’
‘You’re a…gardener?’
‘Caterer.’
‘And catering is similar to gardening?’
‘Well, we both work with our hands and are creative with it…so, yes…pretty much, wouldn’t you agree?’
‘I can’t say that there’s anything creative about gardening.’
Amy looked at him in surprise. Again, she was struck by the force of his physical presence, which, she told herself with a little inner laugh, was just silly. ‘Then why do you do it?’
Rafael gave an impatient shrug and ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Look. I’ve humoured you by letting you in and you now know why I’m here. So time for you to go and I’d appreciate it if you could keep my presence here to yourself.’
‘Because…?’
‘Because I don’t want to be overrun by James’s house guests when I’m trying to do my job.’
‘You’re on first names with your boss? Hmm.’ She thought about it for a few seconds, then her face softened. ‘Not surprising really.’
‘What’s not surprising?’ Rafael frowned. ‘No. Forget I said that. Have a good time here. I’m sure you will. It’s a beautiful place. Lots to do and explore if you choose to leave the house and pool.’
He began walking towards the door, not giving her time to continue with her relentless chatter.
‘Do you realise we haven’t even exchanged names?’ Amy said, sticking out her hand. ‘I’m Amy.’
‘Why should we have exchanged names?’ He pulled open the door and stood back, sticking one hand in the pocket of his cream Bermuda shorts.
Even at night, the temperatures meant that shorts and tee shirts could be comfortably worn. For Rafael, who lived most of his life in his tailored, handmade suits, a pair of shorts and a faded tee shirt constituted the highest form of luxury.
‘That’s very rude.’ Amy withdrew her hand and pulled herself up so that she could fix him with a gimlet eye.
‘What’s very rude? You know what? I’m not really all that interested anyway.’ Outside, in the balmy air, a very gentle breeze lifted the breathtakingly blonde curls and made them dance.
‘I don’t care whether you’re interested