A Mistress, a Scandal, a Ring

His eyes held hers again, and suddenly the air shimmered with a potent mix of heat and sensuality. ‘Do I need to remind you how persuasive I can be, amante?’

Desire tugged in her belly, so intense it almost took her breath away, and she wondered if he was right about a passion like theirs having an expiry date. If he was, would she be foolish to walk away from it prematurely? To deny herself the enjoyment of something she might never experience again?

The waiter reappeared then, with their starters, and they ate and moved on to an easier, less sexually charged conversation.

She was fascinated by the multiple facets of his family’s business—or perhaps it was his obvious commitment and passion for his work that captivated her as he patiently answered her questions.

And saddened her.

How would his future wife and children ever compete for his attention when his work consumed him so completely?

Her heart ached at the thought of his children—Camila’s grandchildren—feeling the way her mother had made her feel.

Unloved. Unimportant. Unwanted.

And yet... Xavier had made it clear he wanted a family, hadn’t he? Moreover, when she’d questioned whether he would love his children he’d reacted almost angrily. Which had to mean...what? That he believed in parental love but not in love between a man and a woman?

Why not the latter? He was capable of tenderness. Affection. She experienced that side of him every time he held her in the aftermath of their lovemaking. Every time his strong arms cocooned her and held her to his side, or her back snuggled against his front. He made her feel protected and cherished. Made her long for something deeper, stronger, more permanent than just sexual gratification.

Was that how his future wife was destined to feel? Would she forever yearn for something her husband wasn’t willing to give? Or would her patience be rewarded? Because surely it wasn’t a leap too far to think that tenderness and affection could eventually turn into love...

Jordan reached for her wine, her hand a little unsteady as she took a sip. She was letting her thoughts drift along a dangerous path. Maybe even subconsciously casting herself in the role of his future wife.

Which was crazy. Xavier desired her—she didn’t doubt that—but she would never fit the mould of perfect corpora

te wife.

Annoyed with herself, she put down her glass, picked up the dessert menu and concentrated on reading it. Everything looked divine, but she’d eaten so much already.

‘The cheesecake sounds good,’ she mused. ‘But I’m not sure I have the room.’

‘We could share one,’ Xavier suggested.

And in the end they did—and Jordan told herself that it wasn’t the slightest bit romantic.

They finished off with digestifs of brandy—and that was when the male diner whose eye she’d been studiously avoiding stood up and approached their table. She opened her mouth to warn Xavier but she was too late. The man was already beside him, clapping a hand over his shoulder.

‘Buenas noches, querido primo.’

Xavier’s entire body tensed, and before he even looked up and acknowledged the other man the atmosphere grew frigid.

Jaw locked tight, he sat back in an abrupt way that forced the man’s hand off his shoulder. ‘Diego.’

Gone were the relaxed lines of his face and the smoky warmth in his silver-grey eyes. His expression was fixed and unreadable. The men exchanged a few sentences in Spanish, and Jordan didn’t need to understand the language to know these two weren’t friends. Their tones weren’t aggressive, but Xavier’s words were clipped, his body language closed-off, and although the other man smiled there was an antagonistic quality to his manner.

More than once his gaze strayed to her, but Xavier made no effort to introduce her and she grew increasingly uncomfortable.

Then, abruptly, the man turned to her and stuck out his hand. ‘Hola, soy Diego de la Vega. Mucho gusto.’

Jordan froze. De la Vega? These two were family?

Not wanting to appear rude, she put her hand in his and said simply, ‘Jordan Walsh.’

Instantly she regretted offering her hand. The way he gripped her fingers and sent his gaze travelling down her body, as if he didn’t already have a beautiful woman waiting back at his table, made her skin crawl.

‘Ah, you are English?’

She reclaimed her hand. ‘Australian,’ she said automatically, then wished she hadn’t when she flicked her gaze to Xavier and saw his face darken.