The Spaniard's Pleasure: The Spaniard's Pregnancy Proposal / At the Spaniard's Convenience / Taken: the Spaniard's Virgin. Margaret MayoЧитать онлайн книгу.
this day get any worse?
He soon discovered that it could.
Chapter Three
‘HERE boy…Sandy…?’ Fleur rattled the lead in her hand hopefully. Actually she didn’t feel very hopeful—the light was fading fast and her hopes of finding the dog any time soon along with it.
She muttered, ‘Damn,’ under her breath as her jeans snagged on a bramble. A worried frown creasing the smoothness of her brow, she carefully detached her arm from the barbs of yet another aggressive bramble and rubbed the blood welling from the long scratches on her forearm. Finally abandoning her cajoling tone, she yelled.
‘You stupid animal, where are you?’ She had definitely had better birthdays.
One last yell and she was going home…she really was. Fleur didn’t even convince herself.
Her shoulders sagged in relief when her exasperated screech was rewarded with the sound of an indistinct but definite bark. The excited canine cry seemed to come from the wooded area on a rise to her left. Stumbling a little on the uneven ground, she set off in its direction hoping that Sandy stayed put.
She turned a blind eye to another Keep Out Private Property sign—she had passed several—and entered the wooded area. Once inside she realised it was a lot denser than it had looked. Very little light managed to pierce the leafy canopy overhead and there was a lot of leafy rustling Fleur didn’t like going on.
She hesitated for a moment, suddenly wondering whether if left to himself Sandy might not find his own way home, when an outbreak of agitated barking made her mutter, ‘Wimp,’ under her breath and, with her firmly rounded chin set, plunged into the woods proper.
About fifty yards inside the dense growth began to thin. At the same time she became aware of the human voice the dog’s barking had until now masked. A male human voice. A loud, angry male voice.
Oh, my God, that’s all I need.
Breathless, she burst noisily into the clearing. The figure with his back to her was dressed in jeans and a dark jacket. He was very tall, broad of shoulder and long of leg with a lean, athletic build. On his feet he wore mud-splashed leather boots; the toe of one was very close to poor Sandy.
Fleur, her protective instincts on full alert, planted her hands on her hips and said in a loud, clear voice, ‘Get away from that dog this instant!’
‘Me get away from him?’ Despite the irritation he was feeling, Antonio’s lips spasmed into an ironic grin as his gaze slewed from the snarling dog to the young woman who had flung the stern command.
As he turned his head towards her the breath caught sharply in Fleur’s throat.
Oh, my good gosh! Generic his clothing might be, but there was nothing standard about that face. No wonder the paparazzi loved it. Her first thought when the shock of recognition wore off was—Jane will be pleased I found a man.
The corners of her mouth twitched into a rueful half smile. This wasn’t the sort of man Jane had had in mind, because, above all things, her best friend was a realist with an understandable—given her history—prejudice against Mediterranean males.
And men like this were extremely thin on the ground, even if you went looking for them.
Not that Fleur was looking. She didn’t want a man. She blinked, felt the heat bloom in her face as his piercing, astonishingly blue gaze zeroed in on her face and thought, Especially not this man!
Not that she was going to find herself in the position of breaking the news to him that he didn’t meet her requirements. Men like this were only ever seen with perfectly groomed trophy girlfriends. And she was no trophy! No trophy for a shallow, superficial billionaire playboy perhaps, but Fleur did like to think that she was the epitome of an in-control sort of person these days.
So what were the sweaty palms and pounding pulse about? As if you don’t know, said the scornful voice in her head. She was mortified to feel desire clutch low in her belly as, staying a stumble away from rising panic, she forced herself to exhale the breath trapped in her throat.
If she’d known when she had woken that morning that she would meet someone who would reduce her to a mass of raging hormones she’d have stayed in bed!
I am such a coward, she decided in disgust.
In her own defence, Fleur had to admit she wasn’t dealing with anything as simple as a pretty face here. She was dealing with a bucketful of raw sex appeal, and that sex appeal happened to belong to six feet five inches of lean male radiating undiluted testosterone from every gorgeous pore.
My God, he really was spectacular: golden skin, electric-blue deep set eyes, magnificent cheekbones you could cut yourself on and a mouth that was…Fleur licked her lips nervously as her reluctant but fascinated stare lingered on the mobile curve…wow! Even compressed into a line of impatient disapproval, his lips were indecently sensuous.
Everyone in the village had a story about him. How delightful he’d been as a young man. How since he’d inherited the manor from his grandfather he didn’t stand on ceremony but just mucked in like everyone else.
Fleur had listened politely, and thought, Sure, that’s really likely. The person they described bore little resemblance to the reputedly charismatic and ruthless entrepreneur who got almost as many column inches in the gossip pages as he did in the business pages.
And, anyhow, if he was so involved, how come she’d been living here for almost twelve months and she’d never set eyes on this beloved member of the community?
Until now.
‘This…animal belongs to you…?’
If, while they were singing his praises, someone had touched on the subject of his extraordinary eyes and mentioned the fact that they were so blue that looking into them made a person light-headed, Fleur might have avoided the humiliating experience of being temporarily struck dumb.
Unlike the animal, Antonio noticed that its owner was not unattractive. Young, she looked barely out of her teens, long dark blond hair shaggily cut—not, he suspected, by an expert hand—surrounded an oval face. Her face was in shadow, but he could see that her mouth was soft and her eyes exotically slanted beneath the delicate curve of darkish brows.
She was dressed in jeans and what appeared to be several layers of clothing. The layers made him wonder about what was underneath. As he stared she lifted a hand to brush aside a thick strand of hair from her eyes, the knitted thing she wore hung open and the action pulled her shirt tight against the curve of her breasts. The unexpected lick of lust that travelled through his body reminded Antonio that it had been over two months since he had come out of a relationship.
‘Yes, he is.’ Fleur was relieved that, in contrast to the shameful sexual heat that made her skin prickle, her voice, when she regained the power of speech, was cool and composed. ‘Come here, Sandy,’ she said, clicking her fingers. ‘Good boy,’ she added coaxingly.
The dog looked at her, wagged his tail on the ground, and then went back to acting like some sort of savage beast interspersing his malevolent growls with the occasional loud, excited yap.
‘Good boy…?’ Antonio rolled his eyes skyward and wondered irritably, ‘Why do people have animals they cannot control?’
One thing was certain—when he was back in a relationship again it wouldn’t be with anyone who bore any resemblance to this petite blonde. No, not his type at all, and as for that wide-eyed innocent quality—did grown men really fall for that?
Fleur’s chin went up. ‘Was that question directed at me?’ she asked him frostily.
‘He is your animal, I take it?’
‘Don’t raise your voice—you’ll only scare him more.’
His dark brows lifted at the sharp