“You just told your staff that we’re engaged. What would you like me to call you? Creative? Inventive?” Alyssa blew a lock of hair out of her eyes. “I did a lot of thinking today. Tonight. Whatever you call it when you fly through umpteen time zones.”
“Three time zones,” Lucas said coolly. “I know it’s difficult but try to be accurate.”
“Four, counting this one, and that’s not the point!” She strode toward him, eyes hot. “And now, here you are, telling your staff, telling the entire world that I am something I most definitely am not.”
Lucas folded his arms. “Are you finished?”
“No, I am not finished. If you think, if you for one second think I would ever agree to the terms of that—that stipulation—”
“Amazing, how you make that into a dirty word.”
“I wouldn’t marry you if—if—”
“If I were the last man on earth. A cliché, amada, but why worry about such things when you’re in the middle of a tirade?”
He was right. She was ranting and what was the point? Hadn’t she spent hours coming up with a plan? Well, with parameters for his plan, the one that involved making his grandfather see the light?
Alyssa took a deep breath.
“The point is—”
“The point,” Lucas said grimly, stalking toward her, grabbing her by the shoulders, hoisting her unceremoniously to her toes, “the point, my charming novia, is that you have nothing to worry about. I would not marry you, either, not if you were the last female in the universe!”
“Then why—”
“Because,” he growled, lowering his head so their eyes met, “because I am a fool who suddenly realized that bringing you here could ruin your reputation.”
She opened her mouth, then shut it. Her reputation? This man had insulted her, threatened her, bullied her, accused her of lying about being a virgin, and now he was worried about her reputation?
He had to be joking.
“I admit, I should have thought of it sooner.”
“Thought about my reputation,” Alyssa said slowly.
“Yes. This is a small place. A world unto itself.”
“What small place? What world?”
“This one,” he said with impatience. “Andalusia. Those who live here. Those who breed these horses.”
“I
don’t live here. And, as you surely know, I don’t breed horses, Andalusians or otherwise.” Her mouth thinned. “Not anymore.”
“But you did.”
“Once, a very long time ago, my mother bred them.”
“And so will you, once I find a way to break the contract and return the land to you.”
Her heart lifted. That was what he’d said he wanted to do, to his grandfather during their phone call and then to her. Did he actually mean it?
“Trust me, amada. It is a small world we live in. You don’t want people talking about you. I have no right to permit people to assume I need you here for—for the wrong reasons.”
“You mean,” she said coolly, “a man like you needs women for only one reason.”
“Yes. No! Damn it, Lyssa—”