Taken the Spaniard's Virgin

“Yes. How about you? Have you always wanted to be a business tycoon?”

He laughed, the sound running along her nerve endings like a hypercharged current. “I was born to it, more or less. My father was a businessman and his father before him. You know the story.”

“But you’ve taken the family holdings to unprecedented heights.”

It was his turn to look wary. “Reading the gossip rags?”

“Business weeklies actually. My mother’s a financial consultant and she raised me on bedtime stories where the Big Bad Wolf was a guy selling junk bonds and Prince Charming was a good investment partner.”

Now, his gaze turned speculative. “I am surprised you chose the career you did then.”

“Why? I invested in a personal asset I could enhance at will…my looks. I have worked my tail off to make them pay dividends and they have. That’s a better investment than many business ventures over which I would have less control regarding the principle component my success would depend on.”

“Have the dividends been worth the hard work?” he asked, his tone laced with reluctant respect.

“You tell me. Have your sacrifices been worth the business success?”

“Yes. What is a twenty-hour workday compared to my family’s security?”

She liked that he thought in terms of family commitment. She only had her mom, but they were devoted to each other. Family came first. She sipped at her juice. “Thankfully, since graduating from university two years ago, I don’t have to work twenty-hour days any longer.”

“You went to university?”

“That surprises you?”

“Co

nsidering your dedication to your career, yes. The time and cost of your education would have taken a toll on what is clearly your main goal in life.”

“I saw it that way, but Mom didn’t. She has always supported my desire to be a model, but no model’s career lasts forever and she maintained the better education I had, the better I would be at managing my career.”

“Is that not what an agent is for?”

“A model who leaves her career to others is just looking for a trap door in the floor to fall through to obscurity.”

“That sounds like a well-rehearsed rule.”

“It is.”

The warmth and approval were there again in his gaze. “I like you, Amber.”

“I think I could like you, too, Miguel.”

“Only think?”

“I’m the cautious type.”

He threw his head back and laughed.

And something inside, suspiciously near her heart, melted.

He was there when the shoot finished two hours later.

He’d been there the whole time, watching, asking questions of the ad campaign manager, of the photographer and even one or two questions of her. Was the ground too hot for her bare feet? He hadn’t believed her when she said no and his displeasure at her supposed discomfort had been obvious. So much so that they’d quickly moved to a different shot. Then he’d asked what she’d thought of the ad campaign.

She’d requested a water break to tell him. She was impressed with the ad designer’s vision and thought the campaign would be effective and didn’t mind saying so.

“You’ve studied the market?”