The Spanish Consultant (Westerling)

The hotel manager suddenly looked over her shoulder and smiled warmly. Following his gaze, Katy turned to find Jago approaching. Just looking at him made her legs turn to jelly. He was so good-looking it was almost indecent. Surely no one man should be blessed with such incredibly good looks, she thought helplessly. Didn’t he have a single flaw? He was wearing jeans and a black polo shirt that emphasised his dark, exotic brand of masculinity.

Reaching her side, he gave her a brief smile and then turned his attention to the hotel manager, conversing in rapid Spanish which she found totally incomprehensible.

The two men obviously enjoyed a good relationship and suddenly they were descended on by staff who carried her luggage towards the door of the hotel, leaving them to follow.

‘You shouldn’t have had to carry your case downstairs,’ Jago muttered as he strode towards the entrance of the hotel, leaving her struggling to keep up with him.

She looked at him with some amusement. ‘Jago, I can carry my own case!’

‘Not in this hotel,’ he growled, pushing open the swing doors and snapping his fingers.

Katy’s mouth fell open as a stunning black Ferrari pulled up at the entrance.

Accepting the keys with a nod of thanks, Jago shot her a satisfied smile. ‘Your carriage, senorita.’

In awe of the sleek lines of the beautiful car, she slid inside, feeling herself enveloped by the sumptuous leather interior.

‘Wow…’

He slid into the driver’s seat next to her and smiled at her childish exclamation.

‘I agree,’ he said, laughter in his voice. ‘This car is definitely “wow”.’

She couldn’t resist teasing him. ‘Boys with toys, Jago?’

‘Of course.’

‘Everyone’s staring,’ she muttered, clearly conscious of the looks they were receiving.

‘That’s why I bought the car,’ he drawled. ‘It increases my street cred no end.’

He pulled out into the traffic and she looked at him curiously. ‘It’s yours?’

‘It is mine. I keep it here for my trips home.’

He kept a Ferrari just for his trips home. She couldn’t contain her questions any longer. ‘Do you often come home?’

‘As often as I can.’

She rolled her eyes at his answer, which was typical Jago. ‘Do you ever give anything away?’

His smile was totally unapologetic. ‘As little as possible.’ There was a silence as he negotiated a particularly busy junction and then he spoke again. ‘I come back to Spain about once every two months—sometimes more if I have to.’

‘To stay with your family?’

He hesitated. ‘I have business interests in Seville.’

‘But you’re a doctor.’

He smiled. ‘How can you be the child of Charles Westerling and be so totally lacking in commercial awareness?’

She blushed and looked away. She hated business and found her father’s approach to business ruthless and distasteful.

‘Working with your father taught me just how fragile financial success can be,’ Jago said quiet

ly. ‘After I left his company I used the money I’d made to invest in various business ventures in Spain. I own the hotel where we just stayed.’

He owned it?