The Brazilian's Blackmailed Bride

As it began to dawn on Cristina that she was not going to be allowed to ask any questions as to what was going on here, she took a piece of toast, liberally spread with butter, bit into it, and sipped her tea while the other two women slipped into conversation about the advantages and disadvantages of living abroad. She silently seethed.

She was going to kill Luis when he put in an appearance. Who did he think he was? Taking over her home as if he owned it just because she had agreed to—

She stood up. It was the shock that made her do it.

But she had said it—hadn’t she? She had lain in his arms and said yes to his marriage proposal—his proper marriage proposal, complete with—

‘Cristina, what’s wrong?’ his mother asked sharply.

‘I want to see Luis,’ she insisted tautly. ‘I demand to see Luis!’

‘Querida, he isn’t here…’

‘I am not your darling, Scott-Lee,’ Cristina repli

ed. ‘I am viuva de Ordoniz—the woman you travelled thousands of miles to stop from marrying your son!’

‘That was yesterday.’ Maria touched Cristina’s hand in a gentle conciliatory gesture. ‘Today I could not be happier for both of you—’

‘Why should you be?’ Cristina demanded.

‘Ah, here are my two handsome young escorts.’ She smiled with relief as Luis’s two executives appeared at the kitchen door. ‘I hope this means that Anton has returned?’ she enquired hopefully.

‘He went straight to the library—’

‘My library?’ Cristina swung on them.

‘Er—yes.’ They were startled. She did not blame them. If Luis had been there to see her face he would be taking a very wary step back by now.

‘Please excuse me,’ she said, with an icy politeness that did not reflect what she was feeling inside.

Polite? she thought as she walked out of the kitchen, having to sidle past the woman from the village who was mopping the hall floor. Then she caught sight of the architect person, carefully scraping at the plaster on the walls. It was like being invaded, she thought as she stalked past him across the hall and pushed open the library door. Luis was there, all right, standing by her desk, using her telephone, dressed in a sharp dark pinstripe suit and giving off the arrogant appearance that he ruled the world!

Her world.

Cristina slammed the door shut to get his attention. He swung around and snatched her breath away, because he looked so big and lean and alive and—

‘What do you think you are playing at?’ she scythed at him.

The smile that had been about to arrive on his lips disappeared before it made it. With smooth aplomb Anton concluded his call and replaced the receiver on its rest. Then he settled his hips against the desk and just looked at her while he decided how he was going to tackle this.

The tempting way was to provoke what he could already see was erupting. The safer way was to soothe the situation down.

He went for the irresistible. ‘You’ve forgotten.’

‘Forgotten what?’

‘That in a week you and I will be getting married,’ he provided. ‘It is usual to—’

‘A week? I didn’t think it would be so soon!’

‘I moved the date up. I told you I was going to do it last night, when we—’

‘All right.’ She held up a hand. ‘We will begin this stupid conversation again!’ She took in a deep, calming breath. ‘Luis—there is a man wandering around my house, picking plaster off the walls.’

‘An architect.’ He nodded.

‘I know what he is!’ she snapped. ‘Your mother kindly informed me of it. I want to know when it was exactly that I gave my permission for him to be here!’