A Deal Before the Altar

‘Just one.’

‘And that is?’

‘When are we going to finalise this deal and get married?’

That isn’t the question, her mind screamed as she watched a sexy smile spread across his lips. You should have asked when you can call Emma, she scolded herself. She wanted to tell her sister that she could start making plans for her own wedding.

‘Tuesday.’

‘What?’ All the air seemed to have left her lungs, as if she’d run into a brick wall, and her heart was pounding madly. ‘But that is only three days away.’

‘Is there a problem with that?’ His voice resonated with control and his expression hardened in challenge, the smile of moments before gone.

‘No...no,’ she stammered, hating herself for doing so. ‘I just hadn’t expected it to be so soon.’

‘I see no reason to delay.’

His eyes hardened and his voice was firm as he spoke and she knew deep down that he was right. The sooner they were married the better. But Tuesday felt all too soon. She hardly knew him. You don’t need to, a nagging voice inside her chided.

‘I’ll need to get something to wear. I’m sure you don’t want your bride turning up in jeans.’ She tried at humour, but her voice sounded brisk even to her ears.

He looked at his watch. ‘That wouldn’t be the image I was planning—which is why I’ve arranged for outfits to be brought here this afternoon. Select whichever one you want, and also something suitable for this evening.’

The velvet-edged strength of his voice and sexy accent caused her to drag in a ragged breath.

‘What exactly is this evening?’ In a bid to quell the nauseous tremor in her stomach she lifted her chin, dropped her shoulders and met his gaze.

‘Our engagement.’

The words were curt and she watched as he walked back around to his side of the desk. He picked up the pen, pulled the papers towards him and signed next to her signature on the contract before looking back up at her.

‘I fully intend for us to be seen out this evening as if we are a couple madly in love.’

‘It’s only Emma who needs to think we actually want to get married. It doesn’t matter to me what anyone else thinks—not now.’ She couldn’t believe he wanted to put on a public engagement.

‘I don’t want doubt in anyone’s mind,’ he said as he sat back and looked up at her. ‘Least of all people I’ve known for many years. I want them to think that we are in love.’

‘There will be people you know there tonight? Not family, surely?’

It was all getting too much. Everything was happening so fast—much faster than she’d ever planned. She was getting deeper and deeper all the time into something she obviously hadn’t given enough thought to.

‘Sí, my cousin.’

Amusement shone from his eyes. Was he enjoying her discomfort?

‘Other than that, just friends—but they will talk. I want the right things said.’

Further conversation was halted as the maid Georgina had seen earlier knocked on the door. Spanish words flowed melodiously between her and Santos, and Georgina felt strangely excluded. Her grasp of the language was basic to say the least.

‘I shall leave you now to select your wedding gown. Señora Santana is well known in Spain for her gowns.’ He turned his attention back to her, the smile that the maid had been treated to still lingering on his lips.

She felt a nervous panic at the thought of being left alone, hardly able to communicate with his staff, let alone whoever was here with wedding outfits. Santos laughed. A soft throaty chuckle that was maddeningly sexy.

‘Don’t panic. I shall be in here. I have plenty of work to do.’

‘I’m not panicking,’ she flung at him, and smiled at the maid, who was waiting to show her where to go. How did he always manage to know what she was thinking?

‘I’ll wait for you on the balcony at seven,’ he said as she left the room.

She stopped on the threshold and turned to look at him. His tall frame dominated the study so that he seemed almost dangerous. And he was, if the way she reacted to him was anything to go by.

Georgina was taken to yet another bedroom, as big and airy as the one she’d been shown to on arrival. The only difference was the rail of white and cream silk almost mockingly awaiting her approval. One glance at the dresses and Georgina knew that most of them weren’t suitable.

‘Buenas tardes, señora.’ An immaculately dressed woman in her forties all but glided across the marble floor. ‘A little too romantic maybe?’ Her accent was heavy and she stroked the dresses lovingly and smiled at Georgina.