LITMIR.BIZ

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don’t waste your sympathy on me.’ He pushed away memories of his childhood, of never being able to be what his father wanted, never knowing how to please him and having no idea why. At least that mystery had been solved. ‘My father and I were not close.’

      That was an understatement. He’d lost all respect for his father over ten years ago when he’d taken his womanising to a new level, having affairs with young models and actresses who craved the limelight and high life his name and wealth could give them. The fact that everyone expected him to be just as much of a playboy had irritated him at first, until he’d learnt to use that as defence to keep women at an emotional distance.

      The beautiful brunette who’d been dragged into the latest battle his father had set regarded him sceptically, the spell only broken by the arrival of their wine. He smiled at the waitress as he sampled the wine, aware of Lydia’s scrutiny with every breath he took. ‘Very good, thank you.’

      ‘Yes, I can see any sympathy would be a waste of time.’ Her barbed words flew at him and inwardly he baulked at her directness, but refused to let it show. He was more than used to keeping his emotions away from the scrutiny of others, used to putting on a show of uncaring detachment, and right now that suited him perfectly.

      ‘So, shall we discuss our options?’ Before she could once again talk over him or correct him, he launched directly into all that needed to be said. ‘I have no wish to marry anyone, least of all you, but the terms of my father’s will are very clear. Upon my father’s death, our marriage is the only way your father’s debt can be repaid—unless you have such a large sum of money saved?’

      ‘Why can’t I just sell the properties?’ Her eyes widened with disbelief and her hand came to her face, the tip of one finger dragging across her bottom lip in a very distracting way. He watched as the pink-painted nail dug into the plumpness of her lip, wishing he could sample that plumpness against his lips.

      Again he urged his mind back to the situation. Perhaps he was more like his father than he’d ever imagined. The thought sickened him. ‘Although the properties are in your name, the terms of the transfer your father carried out means you cannot sell them, that they only remain yours until your marriage, at which point they will become your husband’s property.’

      ‘What?’ She pressed her fingertips against her mouth, as if to stem the shocked flow of words, and her neat brows furrowed into a frown. He wasn’t falling for that.

      ‘Hard to believe, but I’m afraid it’s true. It’s also a fact my father sought to exploit when he made his will, just months before he died. I am not happy to have inherited your father’s debt and with it you as my bride.’ He recalled his lawyer’s face, full of apology, and the words that had proved beyond doubt how much his father must have disliked him.

      ‘I tried to persuade him against it, but he was adamant.’

      ‘What century are we in?’ Her shock had turned to anger and she flung her hands out over the table, palms upwards in exasperation. ‘Just what did they think they were doing?’

      ‘It appears we have both been little more than pawns in their game and it’s time now to take control, to thwart whatever it was they each intended.’

      ‘At least now we are on the same page. I have no intention of marrying someone who wants me for what I have. I almost travelled that road and I’m not going there again.’ Her burst of irritation held a hint of passion, intriguing him in a way he was far from comfortable about.

      ‘Are you holding out for love, Lydia?’ It was the first time he’d used her name and it shocked him how he liked to say it as he looked into her beautiful face. If circumstances were different, he’d be tempted to reach out and push her hair back from her face, revealing her beauty. But he couldn’t go there. He didn’t seek the confines of marriage, so for now it was better to hide behind the mask of a hardened businessman.

      * * *

      Lydia’s pulse leapt as he said that word and looked into her eyes. The unyielding blackness of his sent skitters of awareness all over her. Every part of her body was tuned into his, every move he made only intensified it, but the mention of love halted all that, as if she’d just careered into a brick wall.

      ‘I have no intention of wasting my time holding out for love.’ She bristled at the memory of the man she’d thought she’d loved, the man she’d believed had loved her until she’d discovered he’d also been in the habit of loving as many other women as he could. By that point she and Daniel were engaged. This had rankled her father and, just to show him she’d make her own decisions in life, she’d accepted Daniel’s apology. Something she deeply regretted. It would have been almost preferable to have her father look at her with that I told you so expression than the humiliation after Daniel had left her because she no longer had anything to offer him, something her father had made very clear to him, although at that point she’d not understood exactly what he’d meant.

      Now she did. It was the contract her father had signed with Raul Valdez’s father, using her as his leverage, his security.

      ‘So cynical, Lydia. Are you not in search of your Mr Right, the man to live happily ever after with?’ His accented voice sent a shiver of awareness over her and she knew a flush of colour had spread over her face.

      Who was he to mock such dreams? He was a complete playboy.

      ‘Once bitten, twice shy, as they say.’ She couldn’t help the light and flirty tone of her voice and to hide her embarrassment she took a sip of her wine. ‘But that is not why we are here, to discuss such nonsense as love, Mr Valdez, is it?’

      ‘No, we are not.’ He snapped the words out, his accent sharp, and she sensed the impatience in him. Or was it irritation? ‘We are here because your father defaulted on his loan.’

      Before he could say any more Lydia cut across him once more, not missing the frown of annoyance, which gave her a strange sense of satisfaction. ‘And because your father saw fit to use that default in the most devious and unethical way.’

      ‘I agree,’ he said and leant forward in the seat, his dark eyes penetrating hers, preventing her from doing anything other than looking into them, but they were cold and she shivered slightly. ‘That is why we are here. To extricate ourselves from a marriage I certainly don’t want and it would seem you share that view.’

      ‘I still don’t see why I can’t just sign some of the properties over to you, or sell them and clear the debt.’ She wished now she’d had a proper meeting with her solicitor instead of the rushed phone call. She hadn’t understood all he’d told her and in all honesty she couldn’t believe what her father had done.

      ‘You do not own them, Lydia. They are only yours until you marry, at which time they will pass into the legal possession of your husband.’

      She recalled an argument with her father almost a year ago, one of those rare meetings of father and daughter. He’d been smugly pleased with his latest plot to manipulate her into marriage for the good of his company. He’d told her he had found her a husband and that this time she would have no choice but to do as she was told. She’d refused, telling him she and Daniel were engaged, but that had been no deterrent to the lows her father had stooped to in order to save himself from financial ruin. She’d had no idea his vast property portfolio had been put into her name until her marriage.

      ‘By that you mean you.’ She put down her wine glass and glared at him, everything clear at last. ‘Your father added the marriage clause in his will to trick my father.’

      ‘I consider it more of a shrewd tactic to safeguard the considerable amount of money he had loaned to your father’s business. He must have been sure your father wouldn’t obtain such levels of funding through the usual channels and added the extra condition in his will, should the debt remain unsettled in the event of his death.’

      ‘I hardly think forcing either of us into marriage is shrewd or businesslike. It’s medieval.’ She stumbled over the words as she realised how futile they were

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