Bought Bride For The Argentinian - Sharon Kendrick

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knew she ought to refuse because only a fool would accept—given their history. She’d hurt him for no reason other than that she’d been scared. But she had reasons for being tempted by the money—and not just because her embryo PR business could do with a financial cushion. And there was Great-Aunt Jane to think about—her only living relative who Emily kept a tender eye on as often as she could. Because her pension was tiny, wasn’t it? She had become one of those old people who were scared of the future because they weren’t quite sure if they would have enough money to fund whatever lay ahead. Wouldn’t it be great if she could take away some of her worries by presenting her with a generous cheque?

      But deep down Emily knew that her eagerness to accept Alejandro’s offer was about more than helping care for a dear relative. The truth was that for too long she’d felt as if she was existing on some kind of plateau. As if life was passing her by. These days she rarely dated but when she did, she felt empty. As if she’d been carved from stone. And the reason for that was standing right in front of her. Tall, dark and indomitable. The man who made all other men seem as insubstantial as shadows. The man who made the idea of loving someone else seem impossible.

      Sometimes she suspected that she’d idealised Alejandro Sabato and allowed time to distort her memory of him, although the reality of seeing him in the flesh was as powerful as it had ever been. But if she’d been guilty of putting him on a pedestal, then surely here was the perfect opportunity to dismantle it. To see for herself the man he really was, rather than the superhero of her young and lovestruck imagination. She could feel the thunder of her heart as she tried to imagine it. Wouldn’t daily contact with the arrogant billionaire reinforce all the reasons why it was the best decision to walk away, as well as saving Joya and helping her great-aunt in the process?

      She turned back to find him looking at her and the most stupid thing was that all she really wanted was for him to hold her. To cradle her in his strong arms and make her feel truly desired again. Determinedly, she pushed those thoughts away.

      ‘Since I can’t see any alternative,’ she said slowly, ‘I’ll take the job.’

      Alejandro felt a beat of anger because he’d seen the way her eyes had lit up like a Christmas tree when he’d mentioned the money. It seemed she was just like her mother, he observed bitterly—available to the highest bidder. Yet she wore no outward signs of the wealth she clearly craved. Her clothes were decidedly unsexy and her face bare of make-up. He wondered if she had been disappointed with the laughable legacy left to her by her stepfather and was surprised how much pleasure it gave him to hope so.

      ‘I thought that might sway it,’ he remarked, raking his fingers back through the thick tumble of his hair. ‘There are very few women who aren’t persuaded by the prospect of instant wealth.’

      And then he remembered why he was here—not to stand in judgement or to remind himself that she was shallow and avaricious. The real reason was as old as time itself. She had hurt him. Badly. And now it was time to hurt her right back.

      He flicked her a smile. ‘I’m flying out to Australia for the Melbourne Grand Prix next week and I want you there,’ he said silkily.

      She nodded as she looked up, her expression composed, but he sensed an inner tension about her which echoed his own. He could see those blue eyes widening. Darkening. He could see the almost surreptitious way that the tip of her tongue slid out to moisten the lush cushion of her lower lip. Soon, he thought, with a beat of anticipation. Soon he would make her realise what she was missing and how stupid she had been to turn her back on him in such a cold and callous manner.

      And then he could walk away.

      His mouth hardened.

      For ever.

       CHAPTER THREE

      ‘EMILY, ARE YOU OKAY? I mean, seriously?’ Marybeth’s voice was full of concern. ‘I’ve never seen you like this before, not in all the years I’ve known you.’

      Slowly Emily turned around to survey her business partner, who’d been her best friend since they’d met during their final year of college. Still reeling from her mother’s sudden death, Emily had been floundering when Marybeth Miller had swooped in and taken her under her wing. She’d insisted on bringing Emily back for weekends at her family’s rambling farmhouse in north Devon, where Emily had come into contact with the kind of noisy, good-hearted atmosphere she’d never known before. It had been her first experience of teasing siblings and walking for miles in the fresh country air before sitting down to eat enormous hunks of home-made cake, and it had helped her come to terms with her bereavement, though that hadn’t been easy.

      Her pain had been compounded by other feelings: by guilt and regret—but especially guilt. She kept wondering if she could have done something to stop her mother’s inevitable decline. If she could maybe have stopped her taking tranquillisers or shown her that there was a life worth living, even as a divorcee. But alongside the guilt had come a rush of something else and Emily hadn’t been able to shake off her relief that she was now liberated from all the emotional trauma of her mother’s life. She wondered if it had been that liberation which had prompted her to mail Alejandro a letter, apologising for everything that had happened and offering a cautious olive branch, suggesting that if he was playing in England any time soon, then perhaps they could meet up for a drink. But he hadn’t even bothered to reply. And maybe part of her couldn’t blame him. Did she really imagine that the proud Argentinian would share a cocktail with her after she’d dumped him so brutally?

      ‘I mean, look at you now—you’re miles away!’ Marybeth was staring at Emily in bemusement. ‘And you’ve got this look on your face, like...’

      ‘Like what?’ Emily prompted curiously.

      ‘You’re all wired,’ said her friend. ‘As if someone’s turned on a light inside you and you’ve suddenly come alive. Yet you look scared, too. As if something’s waiting just around the corner for you and you don’t like what it is.’ She paused. ‘You know, you don’t have to accept this job from this guy Alejandro Sabato.’

      Emily gave a hollow laugh. ‘What, and turn down the best money and exposure we’ve ever been offered just because I once stupidly had sex with him?’

      Marybeth looked shocked—probably because Emily was never usually that frank. Or maybe it was because she’d lived like a nun for so long that her partner thought she was still a virgin.

      ‘Is that what happened?’ Marybeth questioned. ‘I mean, I guessed there had been someone.’

      Emily blinked. ‘You did?’

      Marybeth shrugged. ‘Of course. You’re lovely,’ she said gently. ‘But you always clammed up when it came to talking about men and then this really sad look would come over your face, so I didn’t like to pry. And whenever you’ve dated anyone—which doesn’t happen often—nobody has come close to capturing your heart, which suggested it must have been badly broken. Is that what happened, Em—with this guy Sabato? Did he break your heart?’

      Emily hesitated as she folded another cotton shirt before adding it to the neat and sensible pile already in her suitcase. She never talked about it because it still had the power to hurt and also because she was aware of how badly she’d handled it—in fact, she couldn’t have handled it more badly if she’d tried. But maybe she should talk about it. Maybe she needed to make sense of it in her own head, so that she could deal with it competently when she came into contact with him again. ‘Alejandro was the housekeeper’s son when I lived in Argentina,’ she began slowly. ‘In the days when my mother was married to Paul Vickery.’

      ‘That’s the guy who left you the horse?’

      Emily nodded. ‘That’s the one. Cruel and calculating, but ultimately very rich—at least, he was when I was a child. My mother was completely in thrall to him, mainly because he’d rescued her from a life of poverty as a widow. My father was a fisherman who drowned off

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