‘Are you telling me that you want to get married? To me?’ Jude laughed incredulously. ‘That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard in my life.’

Cesar stiffened. ‘No child of mine will be born out of wedlock.’

‘Born out of wedlock? Cesar, this is the twenty- first century! In case you hadn’t noticed, pregnancy and marriage no longer necessarily go together! Why would you ask me to marry you?’

‘Isn’t it obvious?’ He frowned. He was doing the honourable thing—the only thing.

‘It isn’t just about the child,’ he told her roughly. ‘I…I still want you…’

‘But I may not want you…’

He curled his fingers into her hair and pulled her towards him.

‘Shall we put that to the test…?’

Cathy Williams is originally from Trinidad, but has lived in England for a number of years. She currently has a house in Warwickshire, which she shares with her husband Richard, her three daughters, Charlotte, Olivia and Emma, and their pet cat, Salem. She adores writing romantic fiction and would love one of her girls to become a writer—although at the moment she is happy enough if they do their homework and agree not to bicker with one another!

Recent titles by the same author:

RAFAEL’S SUITABLE BRIDE

BEDDED AT THE BILLIONAIRE’S CONVENIENCE

THE ITALIAN BILLIONAIRE’S SECRET LOVE-CHILD

KEPT BY THE SPANISH BILLIONAIRE

THE ITALIAN BOSS’S SECRETARY MISTRESS

RUTHLESS TYCOON, INEXPERIENCED MISTRESS

BY

CATHY WILLIAMS

www.millsandboon.co.uk

RUTHLESS TYCOON, INEXPERIENCED MISTRESS

CHAPTER ONE

CESAR was not in the best of moods as he swung his Bentley down the small street into which his sat nav had guided him. It was a little after nine in the evening and the weather, which had looked promising in London for taking his car out for a run, had become increasingly poor the farther east he had travelled. Flurries of snow had kept his wipers busy for the past forty-five minutes.

When he had arranged a meeting with his brother, this venue was not what he had had in mind. In fact, his club in London had been his preferred choice, but Fernando had insisted on meeting in his God-forsaken stamping ground of Kent, a place which held no interest for Cesar and therefore one which he had never seen the need to visit.

He now cursed under his breath as he pulled up in front of a building that had all the charm of a disused warehouse. For a few seconds after he had killed the engine, he stared at what looked suspiciously like graffiti on the walls and wondered whether his faith in computer technology had been misplaced. Had that disembodied female voice which had guided him away from the city centre got the directions all wrong?

With a sharp, impatient click of his tongue, Cesar swung himself out of his car in search of a door of sorts.

He would personally donate his car to the nearest vagrant if his brother lived in this dump. Fernando was not the sort of guy who did dumps. In fact, Fernando was the sort of guy who specialised in avoiding them at all costs.

Cesar did his best to swallow his anger at having to deal with this massive personal inconvenience. He was here for a specific purpose and, to that end, there was no point in dwelling on the fact that his Friday night had been ruined. Nor was there any point in getting annoyed with his brother. By the end of the night Fernando would have enough to deal with, never mind his lack of foresight in arranging this meeting, in the dead of winter, miles away from civilisation.

The door was cunningly concealed amidst the graffiti and, for a few seconds after he had pushed it open, Cesar took time to adjust to his surroundings.

This wasn’t what he had expected. Disused from the outside the place might well appear to be, but once inside, the picture was vastly different. A few dozen people were milling about what seemed to be a club of sorts. To one side of the semi-darkened room, a cluster of leather chairs and sofas were scattered around low tables. Elsewhere people stood drinking by a long, sleek bar which curved in a U shape to encompass most of the back of the room. To the left there appeared to be a raised podium and yet more chairs.

It didn’t take long to spot his brother, talking in a small group, animated as he usually was and the centre of attention.

Having specifically told Fernando that he wanted to have a one-on-one meeting to discuss the small matter of his trust fund, Cesar was enraged to now discover that he had been conned into attending what looked like a private party. The subdued lighting didn’t give him much of a clue as to the nature of the guests involved, but he didn’t have to exert his brain too much to work out that they would all be his brother’s usual cronies. Blonde bimbos, gambling partners and general wastrels who shared the same ambitions as Fernando to spend the family money as flamboyantly as possible whilst simultaneously dodging anything that smelled remotely like hard work.

Cesar grimly thought that his brother was on the wrong track if he thought he could avoid discussing his financial future by conniving to have a bunch of chaperons around him.

By the time he descended on Freddy, all of the group bar one had departed and Cesar treated his brother to a smile of pure displeasure. He didn’t bother to look at the crop-haired youth standing next to him.

‘Fernando,’ he said through gritted teeth. He held out one hand, his cursory nod to courtesy. ‘This is not what I expected.’ It had been several months since he had laid eyes on his brother. In fact, the last time had been at a family gathering in Madrid, where yet again Cesar’s attempts to interest his brother in the fortunes of the company had met with a resounding lack of interest. It was then that he had told Fernando in no uncertain terms that he would be putting his trust fund under the microscope. It was within his power to defer it until such time as he considered it wise to release it and he wouldn’t hesitate to use his power of attorney. ‘Get your act together,’ he had warned, ‘or kiss sweet goodbye to that lifestyle of yours.’

Of course, Fernando had responded by staying as far away from the company head office as he physically could.

‘I thought…Friday night…’ Freddy’s smile was pure charm. ‘Live a little, big brother! We can talk tomorrow. Actually, I wanted to show you…’ He spread his hands in a gesture to encompass the room and Cesar looked at him in cool silence. ‘But I am being rude.’ He turned to the woman he’d been talking to who had been displaced by Cesar striding in front of her. ‘This is Judith—Jude—meet my brother, Cesar… What can I get you, Cesar?’ He edged away. ‘Whisky? As usual?’

‘And I’ll have another glass of wine, Freddy.’ Jude had to take a few sideways steps until she was standing directly in front of the most intimidating man she had ever set eyes on in her life.

So this was the famous Cesar. No wonder Freddy had been quaking in his proverbial boots at the prospect of having a meeting with him. He was a good four inches taller than his brother and where Freddy was good-looking in an approachable, flirtatious kind of way, this man was stunning. His face was dark and lean and, with its perfect bone structure, somehow forbidding. This was a face that could chill to the bone.

She did her best to smile. This elaborate set-up had been meticulous in the planning. Freddy had been so desperate to introduce his brother to the place he had bought. It was a converted warehouse which was halfway to becoming the sexy jazz club of his dreams, waiting only for the injection of cash from the trust fund which, he had told her worriedly, was in danger of being wrenched away before he could get his hands on a single penny of it. He had invested heavily in the place but it would get no further without Cesar’s approval.

How better to get his brother’s backing than to entice him into it, show him what it could be, prove to him that he was no longer the layabout playboy kid brother he had always been. He had invited all the right people to help him create the perfect setting, including her. Bankers were there, lawyers, a couple of accountants, everybody who had had any input in his burgeoning venture.

‘Freddy’s told me a lot about you.’ She was wearing her flats and had to crane her neck to look up at him.

‘Well, I have no idea who you are, nor do I know why Fernando has arranged to meet me here.’ He frowned at the girl standing in front of him. He had barely noticed her and he knew why. With her short dark hair, she hardly oozed femininity.

Inherently Spanish, Cesar had a very clear image of what a woman should look like and this wasn’t it.

‘Do you?’ he asked coolly.

‘I think he wanted you to meet…some of his friends…’

‘I’ve met Freddy’s friends in the past. Believe me when I tell you that I have no desire to meet any more.’ That said, he hadn’t met this particular one before and she certainly wasn’t the sort his brother usually went for. In fact, just the opposite. So what was she doing here? He looked at her narrowly, his shrewd brain coming up with possibilities and playing with them. ‘Who are you, anyway? And how do you know Fernando? He’s never mentioned your name to me in the past.’ His brother had a lavish lifestyle and was cavalier with his money. Cesar knew because he had access to all Fernando’s bills. He also knew that his brother was fond of spending money on his women. From the age of eighteen, the boy had been a magnet for gold-diggers. This one didn’t have the outward appearance of a gold-digger, but Cesar was suddenly keenly interested in finding out what her connection was to his brother. He looked across the room to where the clutch of sofas was being studiously ignored by people who seemed to prefer standing. In a minute Fernando would return with drinks and Cesar was pretty sure a round of boring and pointless introductions would then commence. With his suspicions suddenly roused, he nodded curtly to the sofas.

‘I’ve had a hell of a long trip here. Let’s sit and you can tell me…all about your relationship with my brother.’

Jude wondered how an invitation to converse could sound like a threat. Having disappeared in the direction of the bar, Freddy had obviously been waylaid. This was one of Freddy’s bad habits. He was capable of striking up a conversation and getting lost in it until he was forcibly dragged away.

‘I don’t have a relationship with your brother,’ she said as soon as she was sitting on one of the mega-expensive sofas artfully arranged at an angle to the wall. The mood lighting here was even more subdued and Cesar’s face was all shadows and angles. She laughed nervously and drained the remainder of her glass. ‘I feel as though I’m being interviewed.’

‘Do you? I have no idea why. I’m just interested in finding out how you know Fernando. Where did you meet?’

‘I’m helping him work…on a project…’ Jude’s brief had been simply to promote Freddy’s new-found gravitas and work with him in convincing his brother that he could make a success of his venture.

‘What project?’ Cesar frowned. As far as he knew, his brother hadn’t been near any projects, at least not since his school days, when they had involved felt-tip pens and maps.

‘He might want to tell you that himself,’ Jude said vaguely, and he sat forward, leaning towards her with his elbows resting lightly on his thighs. Six foot two inches of pure threat.

‘Look, I came here to have a serious talk with Fernando about his future. Instead, I find myself in a bar, surrounded by people I have no desire to meet and now treated to some mysterious nonsense about a project Fernando hasn’t mentioned to me. What work, exactly, are you doing on this so- called project?’

‘I’m not sure I like your tone of voice!’

‘And I’m not sure I like whatever game it is you’re playing. How long have you known Fernando?’

‘Nearly a year.’

‘Nearly a year. And how close have you become in that time?’

‘Where are you going with this?’

‘Let’s just say that I may not see a great deal of my brother, but I know the way he operates and long-standing platonic friendships with the opposite sex have never been high on his agenda. He’s always liked his women willing, able and bedded. He’s also always been predictable in his preferences. Blonde, busty, leggy and lightweight in the brains department. So where do you fit in?’

Jude felt outraged colour seep into her cheeks and she took a few deep breaths to gather herself. In the silence, Cesar continued remorselessly, ‘If he’s spoken to you about me, then you are clearly more than just a business acquaintance…’ He invested that with thinly veiled scepticism. ‘So what exactly, are you, then?’

Saved by the bell. Or rather, saved by Freddy, who appeared with drinks on a tray. Cesar watched her expression of relief. He was taking in everything, from that quick look that passed between them to the way his brother leaned towards her and whispered something in her ear, something to which she shook her head and removed herself just as soon as she feasibly could. He lazily watched her departing back, allowing his eyes to rest briefly on the movement of her rear. She might look like a boy but there was something unconsciously sexy and graceful about the way she walked. He’d get back to her later. Something was going on. He could feel it, and he wasn’t going to let up until he got to the bottom of it. But, for the moment, he would bide his time.

Watch and wait. A very good motto, he had always maintained and he stuck to it as the predictable round of introductions began and he was treated to a suspiciously normal group of people. Where were the bimbos? The pampered young men with their idle, vapid conversation and roving eyes? Disconcertingly, everyone here this evening seemed intent on discussing investments with him.

By the end of the evening he found that he was almost enjoying the mystery.

Outside, the snow was now falling much harder. Amidst the throng of people dashing out to their cars, which were parked in a designated area at the back of the building, unlike his which was skewed at an angle at the front, Cesar spotted Jude wrapping a long scarf around her neck and stuffing her hands into her pockets. The lights had been turned on in the foyer and he could see her properly now. Her short hair was streaked with auburn and her face was not at all boyish. The opposite. Long, dark lashes fringed widely spaced brown eyes and her mouth was full and lush, at odds with the gamine appearance.

Fernando may have always had a soft spot for the obvious but who was to say how a gold-digger could be packaged? The more subtle, in a way, could be all the more deadly.

And there she was again, talking in a fast, low undertone to his brother. Talking about what?

‘I hadn’t planned on staying the night,’ Cesar said to his brother, barging in on their conversation, which came to an abrupt halt. He wasn’t looking at her but he could feel her eyes on him and mentally he flexed his muscles, intrigued at whatever was stirring beneath the surface.

‘Ah.’ Freddy smiled apologetically. ‘There’s an excellent hotel in the city…’

Cesar frowned. ‘Don’t you have a house locally?’

‘Well. Apartment, in actual fact. Pretty small…’

Cesar glanced across at Jude, whose eyes were studiously averted, and his mouth tightened a fraction.

‘It’s snowing pretty heavily,’ Cesar said bluntly, ‘and I have no intention of driving around in circles looking for somewhere to stay. What’s the name of the hotel?’

‘Name of the hotel…’ Freddy glanced quickly at Jude, who sighed in resignation.

‘I have a phone book at my place,’ she said grudgingly. ‘If you drop me home, I can reserve a room for you.’

‘Drop you home? How did you get here?’

‘I came with Freddy.’

‘Did you now…’ Cesar murmured. He smiled and inclined his head to one side. ‘Well, that sounds like an offer I’m in no position to refuse… And tomorrow, Fernando…we need to have a little chat…’

‘Of course, big brother!’ He slapped him warmly on the back and gave him a semblance of a hug, which came naturally to neither of them.

Cesar, accustomed as he was to a stilted relationship with his brother, nevertheless felt a twinge of genuine regret at the lack of real warmth between them. The loss of their parents when he had only just been out of his teens should have brought them closer together. Instead, it had done the opposite. With the mantle of the family’s empire resting heavily on his shoulders, Cesar wondered if he had failed in his main duty as a brother—to love him. He had had to don his responsibilities quickly and he had been impatient with Freddy’s lack of ambition which he had seen as weakness. He shoved aside the irksome thoughts—he’d worked hard to provide a stable and secure life for his brother. He’d done his best.

‘My car’s out at the front.’

‘Why didn’t you use the car park at the rear?’

‘Because, believe it or not, I was inclined to think I had arrived at the wrong address when I got here. I never suspected that the place was functional or that there was a parking area at the back.’

Freddy beamed. ‘Clever, isn’t it? We can discuss all of that tomorrow.’ He was already backing away and Jude eyed Cesar warily. The last thing she wanted was to be cooped up in a car with him, go back to her house with him, but she had no choice. Freddy couldn’t possibly take him back to the apartment—not with Imogen there.

Just thinking of that little secret by omission made her flush guiltily. Imogen should have been at the little party tonight. She was, after all, the key player in the game, but Freddy had insisted that she be kept out of sight. At least for the moment. Having met Cesar, Jude could understand why, because Cesar was a man in whom suspicion was deeply embedded. She could sense it in his conversation, which had been a thin cover- up for a cross examination. One look at Imogen, her long blonde hair, her big blue eyes and her legs that went on for ever, and Freddy’s trust fund would have been written off for good. The fact that she was nearly seven months pregnant with Freddy’s baby would have brought on cardiac arrest.

‘We could just drive into the city,’ Jude said once inside the car, which was as comfortable as any of those wildly overpriced sofas Freddy had insisted on buying for the club. She glanced worriedly at the snow, which was falling thickly white. ‘I don’t live a million miles from here but my place is down some narrow country lanes and this car might not make it.’

‘This car,’ Cesar informed her, reversing and swinging the car in the right direction, ‘is equipped to cope with anything.’

‘Anything except snow in Kent in the middle of January. For that, you really need something a bit more robust. These sorts of fashion cars might be all right for London but they’re rubbish out in the country.’

Cesar gave her a look of pure incredulity but she was frowning out of the window, busily trying to work out how fast he could reasonably travel without ending up in a ditch.

She directed him out to the main street which, at a little past one in the morning with the snow pelting down, was deserted. It took a ridiculously long time to clear the city, then came a series of winding country lanes, each one more treacherous than the last.

‘How the hell do you make out in these sorts of conditions?’ Cesar muttered under his breath, every ounce of concentration focused on getting them to her house in one piece.

‘I have a four-wheel drive,’ Jude admitted. ‘It’s old but it’s pretty reliable and it can get through just about anything.’

‘As opposed to this fashion statement I drive.’ He glanced over at her, then back at the road.

‘I could never afford a car like this in a million years. Not that I’d ever want one. I don’t see the point of them.’

‘It’s called comfort.’ Cesar realised that he didn’t know the first thing about her. What job did she have? Aside from helping his brother on some so-called project, which could be anything from doing his accounts to colour coordinating his wardrobe. He would need to find out more about her to ascertain what her motives were. For the moment, however, he was too preoccupied with controlling his car in these conditions for too much detailed questioning and, as he rounded a corner at a snail’s pace, he began to wonder how he was going to find his way back into the civilised roads of the city and the comfort of a hotel room.

‘I would choose practicality over comfort any day of the week.’

‘I gathered as much from your choice of clothing tonight.’

‘Meaning what?’

‘Meaning—is your house going to be coming into view any time soon because, if I go any slower, we might just as well get out of the car and walk the remainder of the way.’

‘It’s just up ahead.’ She pointed to a dim light, barely visible through the downfall, but she was mentally chewing over what he had said about her clothing. Yes, she had worn her jeans because they were comfortable and it hadn’t been a fussy affair. She hadn’t been the only one there wearing jeans. So maybe most of the women had worn something slightly more formal, but she had looked presentable enough!

She glanced down at her thick black duffel coat and her black boots, which were perfect winter garb although they did seem a little incongruous against the cream luxury leather of his car. Then she slid her eyes across to where he was frowning in concentration at what was trying to pass for a road.

He might be the rudest man she had ever met, but there was no denying that he was frighteningly good-looking. In a scary

way, she amended. Not her type at all. He made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

As the car tackled the last lap of the trip, she heard the squeal of tyres and then…nothing.

Cesar swore under his breath and glared at her.

‘It’s not my fault!’ she protested immediately.

‘How the hell would you have made your way back here? On foot?’

‘I would have…’ she stopped in the nick of time from telling him that she would have stayed at Freddy’s apartment, which would have involved no narrow snow-ridden country lanes, as it was in the city centre—if he couldn’t accommodate his own brother, then how could he have possibly accommodated her? ‘…stayed at Sophie’s place,’ she said quickly, thinking on her feet.

‘Damn car!’ He scowled and flung open his car door to a sheet of white. ‘We’ll have to walk the rest of the way.’

‘You can’t just leave your car here!’

‘And you suggest…?’

‘I suppose we could try pushing it.’

‘Are you completely mad?’ He began walking in the direction of the light and Jude half ran to keep up with him. ‘I’ll have to return for it as soon as the weather shows some sign of clearing.’

‘But that might not be for hours yet!’ It was occurring to her what that meant and she didn’t like it. ‘You’ve got to get to a hotel!’

‘Well, why don’t you wave a magic wand and maybe the weather will oblige us both by stopping…this!’ In retrospect, he should have insisted on Fernando travelling to London to see him. In retrospect, he should have stopped at the first sign of snow because he could not afford the luxury of being snowbound anywhere. Even on a Saturday, he had vital conference calls to make and meetings to arrange via e-mail with people on the other side of the world. Fernando might be able to lie in when the weather looked a little challenging, but not so for Cesar! He ground his teeth in frustration and raked his fingers through his hair which, in the brief amount of time it had taken them to reach her front door, was already dripping from the snow.

At least the house was warm. Or rather cottage because, from what he could discern in the inky blackness, it was small, white and with a picture-postcard picket fence. Inside was as quaintly pretty, with old wooden floors and a feeling of age and comfort. In short, it was a million miles away from his marvel of pale marble, pale leather and abstract paintings—investments which had cost an arm and a leg.

‘Phone book…phone book…’ Jude was muttering to herself as she looked under tables and behind chairs. ‘Ah. Here we go. Right. Hotel. Any in particular?’

‘Forget it.’

‘What do you mean, forget it?’

‘Look outside.’ He nodded in the direction of the window and Jude followed his gaze with a sinking heart. This was turning into a blizzard. He would need a snowplough to clear the roads for his car and a tractor to transport him to the city centre. Other than that, it was madness to even think about leaving the house.

‘But you can’t stay here!’

‘Why not?’ Cesar looked at her narrowly, weighing up whether to pursue his line of thought or leave it until the following morning considering the lateness of the hour. ‘Would Fernando object?’

‘Freddy? Object? Why on earth would he object?’ They were both in the small hallway and she felt as though her breath was being sucked out of her. He was so tall! He was also removing his coat and she gave a little squeal of horror. Chatting pleasantly to the man for half an hour and singing Freddy’s praises was all well and good but enforced overnight companionship was a completely different matter. ‘You can borrow my car to get into town!’ Pure genius. ‘The comfort level’s a bit low but you’ll make it there in one piece, at any rate, and a hotel would be a lot more comfortable than the floor here…’

‘Floor?’

‘I know. Appalling.’ He was now hanging his coat on the banister and she wanted to fling it back at him, demand that he put it on and send him firmly on his way. ‘Small house.’ She pointedly kept her duffel coat on so that he would get the message.

‘Forget about trying to shove me outside, Jude. I’ll leave in the morning and if I have to sleep on the floor, then so be it. I’m certainly not going to risk my life in your clapped-out car in this weather.’

‘Oh, very well,’ she snapped, edging back a few inches as he stepped towards her.

‘So why don’t you take your coat off and show me which particular part of the floor you want to designate to me?’

‘There’s a guest bedroom,’ Jude admitted grudgingly, ‘but it’s very small and very cluttered. You’d find it a very challenging space to sleep in.’

Cesar strolled past her towards the general area of the kitchen, inspecting the surroundings as he went. No signs of his brother in the house, at any rate. At least no photos, no bits of male paraphernalia which, in his brother’s case, would probably have been hugely expensive, garishly coloured jumpers or any one of those ridiculous hats which he collected. In fact, no signs of any male occupancy at all.

‘Would you like a guided tour?’ Jude asked acidly, arms folded. ‘Or are you happy just nosing around on your own?’

Cesar turned to her and gave her a long, leisurely appraisal. Not only was she not his brother’s usual trademark busty blonde, she was also not the usual trademark giggly airhead. He really would have to work on finding out just what her job was and how it involved his brother. Maybe the weather could work to his advantage, he thought. Trapped in the confines of her own house, she could hardly disappear if the questions got tough. He smiled slowly, relishing the prospect of asserting his authority and letting her know, in no uncertain terms, that he was not a man to be messed with.

‘No,’ he said lazily, eyes back on her mutinous, flushed face. ‘The guided tour won’t be necessary. At least not at this hour of the morning.’

‘Fine. Then, if you follow me, I’ll show you where you can spend the night.’ Up the stairs, which creaked protestingly under his weight, and to the left, pausing only so that Jude could yank a sheet and a blanket from the airing cupboard. ‘I’m sure you know how to make a bed,’ she told him, handing over the linen. She was pretty sure he didn’t. Like Fernando, he would have been spared the necessity of doing any menial tasks thanks to a background that had seen him raised with all the help that money could buy. It was only after he had met Imogen that he had discovered that fast food wasn’t just a pre- theatre dinner. She was reliably informed by her friend that he could complete most household tasks now but with record slowness and only dubious success.

She would have liked to have witnessed his botched attempts at bed-making, but she let him get on with it while she swept aside all her stuff and, by the time she looked around, the bed was perfectly made and he was looking at her with an amused smile.

‘Up to your standards?’ he asked, raising his eyebrows, and she had the grace to blush.

‘The bathroom’s next door and we share it, so if I’m in it then you’ll just have to wait your turn.’ She was suddenly flustered as he reached for the top button of his shirt. ‘I’ll make sure that there’s a towel for you.’ She backed towards the door as a sliver of hard, muscled, bronzed torso was revealed.

‘What’s with all the drawings?’

Her mouth went dry as he reached the final button and began to undo his cuffs.

‘Are you an artist?’ He walked across to the pile of sketches which she had dumped on the ancient pine table, which had begun life as a dressing table but was now used as a surface on which any and everything found its way.

Jude snatched her drawing from his hand and returned it to its place. ‘I’m a designer, actually.’ Thank God she kept all her work in her architect’s chest downstairs or he would be rifling through those as well. ‘I just do a bit of sketching now and again as a hobby.’

‘Well, well, well. A designer. Interesting.’

‘Yes, it is,’ she responded tightly.

‘Actually, I meant that it’s interesting to discover that you have a proper job. Most of the women who have cluttered up my brother’s life have only paid lip service to the work ethic. In fact, the last one to grace my presence was a flightly little thing with a sideline in glamour modelling.’

Jude tried hard not to think of Imogen. What, she wondered with an inward shudder, would he have thought of a stripper? She and Imogen went back all the way to pigtails and hopscotch. A couple of poor choices on the boyfriend front had found her working in a nightclub, saving hard so that she could continue her studies and get the qualifications she needed to become a primary school teacher, but Jude doubted whether the man looking at her now would find an ounce of compassion for that sob story.

He appeared to have read her mind because he continued, musingly, ‘Naturally I had to ensure that that particular relationship was stillborn.’

‘Why?’ Jude asked uncomfortably. Images of her pregnant friend rose in her head. ‘There’s nothing wrong with glamour modelling…’

‘A glamour model and my brother equate to a gold-digger out to fleece a golden goose.’

‘That’s a very cynical way of thinking…’

‘It’s called the realities of life. Another reality of life is that I would do anything within my power to ensure that my brother is not taken advantage of. Flings with women are all well and good, just so long as they leave the picture. Any unsuitable ones who try to stick around…would have me to contend with…’ Always a good idea to lay down one or two ground rules, Cesar thought. She might blush like a teenager and appear to have a face as transparent as glass, but he was savvy enough to know that neither of those two things necessarily added up to a personality as pure as the driven snow.

‘Well, thank you for that,’ Jude told him coolly. ‘It’s always illuminating to hear what other people think, even if you don’t agree with what they say. Although I’d guess that you don’t really give a damn whether people agree with what you have to say or not.’

‘Bull’s eye!’ With a quick, easy movement he stripped off his shirt and tossed it on the ground. ‘I’ll have to dry these in the morning.’ Intriguingly, she looked as though she had never seen a man half naked before.

‘You’re going to sleep…in the… What are you going to wear to bed?’

‘What I usually wear.’ He looked at her in genuine surprise. ‘My birthday suit. It’s very comfortable. You should approve.’

Jude thought of him sleeping naked, with only a small bathroom separating their rooms, and felt faint. Of course, this was because she had taken an instant dislike to him and, in fact, disapproved of pretty much everything he had had to say, but the image of that muscular, lithe body flung over her sheets and blankets lodged in her head like a burr.

‘I’ll get you something!’

‘You have men’s clothes stashed away in your house?’ Cesar’s ears pricked up but she didn’t say anything. She had backed right out of the door and he waited, thinking, until she reappeared two minutes later and tossed him a T-shirt. It was big all right. It was also bright pink.

He could hear the laughter in her voice as she said, ‘That should fit. Have a good night’s sleep!’

CHAPTER TWO

AT SIX-THIRTY the following morning, the snow had stopped but outside was a landscape of pure wintry white. Very attractive for a postcard, Jude thought sourly, but not so handy when it came with her house guest, the thought of whom had kept her tossing and turning throughout the night. He should never have mentioned that he slept naked. The minute he had told her that, the image of him without his clothes had lodged in her head and all her mechanisms for a peaceful night—counting sheep, planning her day, thinking about the projects she had on the go—had been ruined.

Her highly efficient heating system had kicked in over an hour previously and the house was already beautifully warm. It was also beautifully silent.

She crept stealthily out of her bedroom, wondering whether to use the bathroom and then deciding against it just in case her visitor woke up. She had decided overnight that the less contact she had with him, the better. He was disturbing and, much as she loved Freddy and Imogen both, she didn’t see why she should have her life disturbed by a virtual stranger. Of course he would surface at some point but before then she could at least snatch a cup of coffee in relative peace.

She crept down the stairs, which didn’t creak because she weighed so much less than he did, and expelled one long relieved breath when she was in the safety of her kitchen.

Like everything else in the cottage, it was small but beautifully proportioned, with two beams across the ceiling, an old but serviceable Aga and a much worn kitchen table, which she had bought second hand from a shop which purported to sell antique pine. Freddy’s apartment in the city centre was shiny and new and kitted out in a style that could only have been achieved by an interior designer with a limitless budget. She caught herself wondering what his brother’s place looked like and immediately stamped on her curiosity.

She was happily pouring hot water into her mug, back to the kitchen door, when an all too familiar voice said from behind, ‘Great. I’ll have one, too.’

Jude started violently, with the kettle in her hand, and she gave a cry of shock and pain as hot water splashed over her wrist.

Cesar was next to her before she could turn around and give him the full benefit of her annoyance at finding her privacy invaded.

‘What have you done?’

‘What are you doing down here?’ The man looked bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, as though he had been up for hours, and he was back in his trousers and shirt, although he had appropriated one of the baggy old zip-up sweats which she kept on a hook by the front door for those rare moments when her conscience got the better of her and she decided to go to the gym. It drowned her but on him was pulled tight, leaving her in no doubt as to the build of his olive-skinned muscular body.

‘Give me your hand.’

‘I know what to do.’ She turned away, her heart racing at the sight of him, and switched on the cold water, but he was there before her, holding her hand under the tap and then gently patting it dry with one of the tea towels on the Aga.

Jude watched, mesmerised, those long brown fingers against her pale skin, barely able to breathe properly. His clean masculine scent filled her nostrils and made her feel giddy.

‘Clumsy, clumsy,’ he tutted under his breath and she glared at him.

‘You gave me the fright of my life,’ she accused. ‘I didn’t expect you to be sneaking around at this hour in the morning! You’re a guest! Guests stay in bed until they think it’s appropriate to emerge!’

‘I’m a morning person. Up with the lark, so to speak.’ He guided her towards a chair and sat her down. ‘Do you have any antiseptic cream? Bandage?’

‘I’ll be fine as soon as you give me back my hand.’

‘Nonsense. As you said, this is my fault.’

Jude couldn’t disagree with that. She told him where to find her first aid kit and watched in silence as he efficiently bandaged her hand, treating her with a great deal more concern than the scalding warranted. Much to her discomfort because halfway through the procedure, and having recovered from the shock at having him sneak up on her from behind, she became acutely aware of what she was wearing. A baggy T-shirt, along the lines of the one she had tossed at him earlier on. It reached mid-thigh but thereafter she was fully exposed and all too aware of the unprepossessing image she presented to a man who obviously didn’t do casual, judging from his remark about her jeans outfit the night before.

She hunched forward in an attempt to conceal the jutting peaks of her breasts and then realised that she was thereby exposing them to an overhead view so she sat up and glared at his dark head as he put the finishing touch to the bandage.

‘Now stay right there and I’ll finish what you started.’

‘What have you been getting up to down here? How long have you been up?’

‘Oh, I only managed to grab a couple of hours’ sleep,’ Cesar said, his back to her as he made them both a mug of coffee. ‘Perhaps it was the novel experience of sleeping in a pink T-shirt.’

Jude took some comfort in imagining him looking ridiculous. Had he been wearing it right now, she figured she might have coped with him being in her space without her body feeling as though it were on fire.

‘Then—’ he placed her mug of coffee next to her on the table and sat down ‘—I tried to get the Internet working but it refused to oblige.’

‘Phone lines might be down,’ Jude said glumly. ‘A heavy fall of snow can sometimes do that. It can also be a bit quirky at times.’

A bit like its owner, Cesar thought. He had had time to think things over and had come to the conclusion that nothing would be gained from browbeating her. She was clearly as stubborn as a mule and, from what he could see, given to baring her claws. Far better to put away his armoury and use weapons of a different nature to find out what exactly her role was in his brother’s life.

‘I then decided to use my time profitably so I went to check on the car.’

‘And you got it started?’

‘Started but nowhere to go with it. Snow’s pretty deep.’

‘Couldn’t you have scraped the snow away? You’re a strong man,’ she added boldly. ‘Men do stuff like that.’

‘Sure, if I’d wanted to spend the next eight hours outside in the freezing cold—and here’s some more bad news. The sky looks grim and the weather reports are talking about more snow in the next twenty-four hours.’

‘They can’t be!’ Jude all but wailed.

‘Hazard of living in this part of the world. I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times I’ve seen snow in London.’

‘How can you be so…so calm about all of this?’

‘Why get hot and bothered about something over which I have no control?’ Sure, he had uttered a few ungentlemanly curses when he had discovered the lack of Internet connection but he had now resigned himself to the fact that the business world would have to spend at least part of the weekend without him. For Cesar, this was no small thing. Work was his driving force. It took precedence over everything and everyone.

‘Because you live for your work! You practically have a bed in your office!’

‘And how do you know that?’

‘Freddy told me.’ It had slipped out before she had time to catch it and Jude shot him a sheepish look. He might rub her up the wrong way but she knew that she would have hated the thought of being discussed behind her back. ‘He just mentioned it in passing,’ she amended.

‘You two seem to share quite a close relationship…considering it’s purely professional…’

‘I never said that it was purely professional…’

‘But you told me that you were working on a project with him.’

‘I am. Was. Am.’

‘Past tense? Present tense? Which is it to be? And you never said precisely what this so-called project is.’

‘I told you, that’s something I know Freddy would want to tell you about himself.’ She belatedly remembered that she was supposed to support him whenever and wherever possible. ‘And it’s very exciting.’

‘Well, I can’t wait to find out what it’s all about. I’m literally on the edge of my seat. If my little brother is involved, then it’s sure to be a non-starter. His business sense has always been fairly non-existent.’ He finished his coffee and pulled out a stool so that he could prop both feet up—something, she noted, he seemed quite at ease doing considering he was in someone else’s house. ‘So he told you that I’m his workaholic brother, did he? In between discussing his mystery project?’

‘You make it sound as though it’s a crime to be friends with Freddy.’

Cesar decided not to inform her that it would only be a crime should she want to adjust her position from friend to spouse.

‘I’m just curious. Project to friend? Friend to project? What was the order of events? How did you meet?’

Jude looked at him warily. That earnest expression on his face didn’t fool her a bit. He was taking small steps around her, looking for clues.

‘I’m a designer,’ she mumbled, trying to sort out how she could avoid divulging details about their meeting, which had happened courtesy of Imogen. ‘And he needed some stuff doing…’

‘Oh, yes. The stuff he wants to talk to me about. And, at that point, did you know how much Fernando was worth?’

‘I knew that’s where all your questions were leading!’

‘I’m that obvious?’ Cesar asked indifferently.

‘Yes, you’re that obvious, not that you care! I have to go and get changed.’ She stood up and gave him a withering look, which had zero effect. He still carried on calmly looking at her, as though he had all the time in the world to wait until she decided to deliver the answer he wanted to hear.

‘Please don’t bother on my account,’ Cesar drawled, taking in the shapely legs which had been disguised the night before in their jeans. For someone with dark hair and dark eyes, she was delicately pale and her skin was like satin. He had become used to a diet of women who slapped on make-up. Jude, he absent-mindedly noticed, was wearing none and her face was fresh and smooth. She had a sprinkling of freckles across her nose and he imagined that she might have been a tomboy, climbing trees and doing everything the boys did.

Jade ignored him. ‘I haven’t been eyeing up your brother as marriage material so that I can get my hands on his fortune,’ she said tightly. ‘And it’s totally out of order for you to repay my hospitality by insulting me!’

‘Come again?’

‘I could have…left you to find your way round Canterbury in the snow so that you could source a hotel!’ Theoretically. He wasn’t to know that the pleading look Freddy had given her had warned her that he needed help just in case Cesar found himself programming his sat nav for his brother’s apartment—a very strong possibility considering his lack of familiarity with the city and the deteriorating weather. Okay, so maybe hospitality implied more than had actually been delivered, because hospitality implied a smiling welcome, but she was sticking to her guns. ‘You could have ended up lost and trapped in that silly car of yours.’

‘Silly car?’

Jude made an inarticulate, defiant sound under her breath and glared at him. ‘I’m not a gold-digger. I’m not even materialistic! I don’t believe that money can buy happiness. The opposite, in fact! I’ve worked with loads of really rich people who have been miserable as anything. In fact,’ she tacked on meaningfully, ‘are you happy because you work all the hours God made so that you can accumulate more money than anyone could possibly spend in a lifetime? Freddy says that you bury yourself in your work because you’ve never really recovered from…’ She went bright red and covered her treacherous mouth with her hand.

‘From what…?’ Cesar asked softly.

‘Nothing.’

‘What did my brother say?’

‘I really need to go and change now!’ She fled. She didn’t understand how she could have been so thoughtless, just lashing out at him because he had accused her of being a gold-digger. What he’d said meant nothing to her. She should have been able to hear him out and shrug it all off because whatever he thought was never going to be her problem. Instead…

She locked the bathroom door and leaned against it for a few seconds with her eyes closed, before turning on the shower and taking her time under the cascading water.

She felt better once she had showered and even better when she had jettisoned her silly nightie in favour of her favorite fitted jeans and a tight long-sleeved T-shirt. For some indefinable reason she defiantly wanted to show Cesar that she at least had a figure of sorts!

The smell of bacon sizzling greeted her halfway down the stairs and her stomach churned in immediate response. If this was Cesar at the stove, then he was clearly more domesticated than she’d thought he’d be, imagining this brooding billionaire to be the type who had never knowingly sought out any culinary device. She walked into the kitchen and watched for a few silent seconds as Cesar popped some bread in the toaster and then began to beat eggs in a bowl.

‘You ran away before you could tell me what other little gems Fernando has shared with you,’ Cesar said without turning around.

‘I’m sorry.’ Jude took a deep breath and went to sit at the table. She stared at the bandage, then looked at Cesar’s aristocratic profile. His face was a lesson in beauty, his features sharply, powerfully defined. A portrait artist would have given their right arm to paint him. He had rolled his shirtsleeves to the elbows. His hands were sinewy and strong and she looked away quickly. ‘I told you that you were out of order to insult me in my own home and I was out of order to bring up something which is none of my business. Can we call it quits? Maybe start arguing about something else?’

‘I take it he told you about Marisol,’ Cesar said flatly. He had never found himself in the position of talking about his private life before, even though his late wife was not exactly a subject that was out of bounds. Hell, check his profile on the Internet and up the information would come.

‘I’m very sorry.’

‘For what? For not, as he insinuated, recovering from her death?’ He leaned against the counter and met her gaze coolly, steadily.

‘Like I said, it’s none of my business.’

‘You’re right. It’s not, but if you want to make it your business, then feel free to look it up when your Internet connection’s been restored.’ Had he never recovered? Was that the general consensus whispered behind his back? No one had ever dared say anything like that to his face, not even his uncle in Madrid, to whom he was close. The thought of other people having opinions on his state of mind made his mouth tighten in anger but there was no point in venting any of that anger on the woman sitting opposite him. He never allowed other people’s opinions to have an effect on him and he wasn’t going to start now.

Briefly, though, he thought about his late wife, Marisol. She had been dainty and, peculiarly for a Spanish girl, fair. Cesar, just eighteen at the time, had taken one look at her and had known, in that instant, that he had to have her. It had been a union blessed by both sets of parents and Marisol, for that brief window when she had been alive, had lived up to every expectation. She had been the sweetest woman he’d ever met. She had cooked amazing meals, had not once complained at the hours he kept. She had been a woman born to be protected, looked after, sheltered and he had been more than happy to oblige. What man wouldn’t, for a soothing domestic life?

And since Marisol, although he had never contemplated a replacement, he had always been attracted to the same kind of woman. Unbearably pretty and willing to be at his beck and call. As luck would have it, things usually deteriorated with them when his boredom levels were breached, but that never bothered him. He wasn’t in it for the long haul. Did that mean that he had never recovered? That he couldn’t live life fully after a tragedy that had happened more than ten years ago?

He frowned at the wide brown eyes staring back at him and thought, irritably, that he would have been hard pressed to find a less soothing woman than her. Didn’t she know that men weren’t attracted to women who approached life like a bull in a china shop? He was fast coming to the conclusion that if his brother was involved in any way with the woman, aside from platonically, he was a candidate for the loony-bin.

‘And you can stop oozing sympathy,’ he grated.

‘I’m not oozing sympathy. I was just wondering how come you never settled down with someone else.’

‘Why haven’t you?’ He returned to his task of making them something to eat. It was unusual to find him behind a stove and his repertoire of dishes was limited, but he had never taken advantage of the family fortune in the same way that his brother had and consequently was more than capable of fending for himself.

‘I believe in kissing a few frogs so that I can recognise the prince when he comes along.’

‘And how many frogs have you kissed?’

‘I lose count.’

Several kissed frogs but only one who had become close enough for her to be seduced into thinking that he might be the one. It had been three years ago and it had ended amicably enough when he had sat her down and gently broken it to her that she wasn’t the woman for him, that he hoped they could remain friends. Remaining friends, she had later concluded, was just the coward’s way of exiting a relationship with the minimum amount of fuss. If a guy didn’t want some woman crying all over him then he did that gentle smiley thing and carried on about remaining friends, but a let-down was still a let-down and in retrospect Jude could have kicked herself for not at least asking him why. Instead, she had stuck out her chin and saved her tears for after he’d gone.

She had no intention of telling any of that to Cesar, however, and she was thankful that he wasn’t looking at her because, when he did, he always gave her the impression that he had some kind of weird insight into what was going on in her head.

‘That many…’

‘Yes, that many.’

‘And why did none of these frogs turn out to be the prince in disguise?’ He put a plate in front of her, brimming with bacon and eggs, far more than she could have eaten in a month of Sundays.

‘How is it that you can cook a meal and make a bed and your brother is so hopeless?’

‘Is that your not so subtle way of changing the subject?’ Cesar sat down, fork in hand, and began tucking into his breakfast, which was roughly double the amount he had set in front of her. ‘I find that it pays to be able to do everything for myself, even if I might choose not to, and that includes cooking and cleaning.’

‘Fine. In that case you can make yourself useful around here if you can’t drive back for a couple of hours…’ Jude glanced outside at the unpromising sight of snow flurries, which seemed to be reminding her that the weather forecasters might have had their fingers on the button when they’d predicted more snowfall. ‘I’m pretty useless at both.’ Their eyes met for an instant and Jude flushed. ‘Or at least uninterested.’

Cesar grunted. It was a grunt, Jude decided, that was laced with criticism. She could just feel it. The man didn’t have to actually say anything to make his opinions clear. Poor Freddy, written off by his big brother because he didn’t like wearing a suit and going into an office every day to stare at charts and profit and loss columns, having his ideas greeted with those grunts of disapproval.

‘I guess you’re one of those ultra-traditional men who think that all women should either be chained to a stove or else whistling a merry tune as they push a vacuum cleaner up and down the stairs,’ she said tetchily.

‘I admit that when it comes to the opposite sex I have pretty traditional views—am I letting myself in for a feminist lecture now? Because you seem to be very sensitive on the subject.’

‘Of course I’m not sensitive on the subject,’ Jude scoffed, stabbing a piece of bacon with her fork. She thought of James, the disappearing ex-boyfriend who had left smiling and apologising and wittering on about remaining friends. Eight months ago she had heard through a mutual acquaintance that he had since married a sweet blonde thing who had instantly become pregnant and they were both busily doing up a house somewhere in Wiltshire in preparation for the new arrival.

‘Most men are…’ he said provocatively. ‘Fernando included.’

‘Is that your way of warning me off him, should I have ideas above my station lurking at the back of my mind?’ She stood up, plate in hand, and went across to the sink, from which she had a spectacular view of increasing snow.

When she looked around, it was to find him clearing the rest of the table. In an ideal world he would have remained sitting, she supposed, having enjoyed a lavish breakfast prepared by his woman, who would tidy the kitchen without asking for help and then make him comfortable in the sitting room with a newspaper and a roaring fire. Curiosity reared its unwelcome head again and she caught herself wondering what these women of his looked like. Freddy had told her that he apparently had killer appeal when it came to the opposite sex.

‘Maybe—’ she smirked ‘—Freddy isn’t quite as traditional as you think.’

Cesar looked at her sharply and Jude shot him a mysterious smile. In actual fact, traditional-hearted Freddy had found his perfect match in Imogen because, never mind her past occupation, she was as conventional and feminine as they came and always had been. Barbie dolls had been her favourite toys at the age of seven, pink her favourite colour at the age of fourteen and she was a dream in the kitchen. While Jude had been playing football with the boys, her best friend had been experimenting with make-up and, for every botched meal Jude had scraped into the rubbish bin in Home Economics class, Imogen had produced its faultless equivalent. And enjoyed it!

‘Meaning what?’

‘Meaning you don’t give your brother enough credit.’ Well, that was certainly true enough. She had worked with Freddy from every angle when it came to the jazz club, had heard him explain his ideas lucidly and persuasively to accountants, had seen his fledgling plans slowly come to fruition without hitches…

‘I know Fernando better than you think.’ Did he, though? Would Fernando be attracted to a fiery, opinionated, mutinous, downright exasperating woman like this one? A woman who said whatever was on her mind and hang the consequences? Fernando, Cesar thought, would never be able to handle a woman like her! She had said that there was no romantic involvement between them. Was there? It annoyed him that his usual unerring accuracy at reading women seemed to be letting him down now.

‘Even though you never see him?’ Jude asked sweetly. She began washing the dishes.

‘I don’t see my brother because I literally don’t get the time.’ Cesar walked towards the kitchen door, thought better of leaving and turned back to look at her with a disgruntled, exasperated expression. ‘Yes, I work damn long hours. When I took over the company, it was in the throes of internal warfare. I stabilised it and hauled it into the twenty-first century, selling off what I had to and sinking money into speculative investments that paid off. None of that gets done sipping cocktails on a beach in the Caribbean or hitting the slopes in Aspen!’ He raked his fingers through his hair and glowered at her as she continued to pile the dishes haphazardly on the dish rack. ‘I’ve never known my brother to rise to the challenge of anything,’ Cesar heard himself saying. ‘And that includes his choice of women.’

‘And you do?’ Jude turned to look at him. He was leaning against the door frame and the strength of his personality seemed to fill the kitchen, unseen but powerful and suffocating.

His lack of an immediate answer supplied the information she wanted.

‘My choice of women is not the issue here.’

‘You should give Freddy a chance. He feels…’

‘Feels what…? I’m all ears.’

‘Inadequate compared to you. He feels that you’ll shoot him down in flames because he hasn’t followed in your footsteps. At the snap of your fingers, his trust fund will go up in smoke and I don’t suppose that’s the nicest feeling in the world.’

‘He’s told you all this, has he? Or are these loose interpretations based on a one-year relationship?’

‘He’s told me.’

‘Have you had sex with him?’

‘What?’

‘You heard me. You are clearly sleeping with Fernando, because your conversations seem pretty meaningful.’

‘Our conversations are normal.’ Jude was bright red, her hands clenched at her sides. ‘Normal people discuss how they feel about things, what their hopes and dreams are…’ And these had been with Imogen present, just random, casual conversations over spaghetti bolognese at his flat, with some music playing in the background and the three of them all having one too many glasses of wine and putting the world to rights. Cesar might invest something meaningful into her last statement but Jude wasn’t going to supply him with a blow-by-blow description of who said what and where and how and when.

‘You’ve vaguely answered part two of my question but what about part one?’

‘No, I haven’t slept with your brother, not that it’s any of your business.’

Cesar looked at her carefully. ‘Tell me something… If you’re so close to Fernando and you spend hours spilling your hearts out to each other and bonding, why is he so desperate to get his hands on his trust fund at this precise moment in time? He’s been more than happy to lead a carefree lifestyle on the allowance he gets for doing no work whatsoever, yet the last time I spoke to him he sounded desperate… Bit of a puzzle, that…’

‘His project,’ Jude stammered uneasily. And the fact that, while he did indeed get an allowance, he had always funded his lifestyle by sending his bills to Cesar to be paid. Cesar had, through devious means, known pretty much where his money went and could practically track the progress of his relationships by the gifts he had bought for whatever girlfriend he’d happened to be seeing at the time. In short, he had always been accountable. Silk dresses and diamonds, weekend breaks in exotic countries, hotel bills for two—his personal life vetted to a large extent by Cesar, who would step in if he deemed it necessary. Cesar, he had confided in Jude, was very hot on protecting the family fortune from unsuitable women but that had never bothered Freddy because he had never had any intention of getting too wrapped up with anyone. If bills for nursery equipment and baby gear began appearing on the statements, then Cesar would descend with frightening speed and it didn’t take a genius to figure out what his reaction would be when he saw Imogen. The trust fund would give him independence.

‘If I approve whatever scheme he has in mind, then I would be more than happy to invest in it and set aside the headache of putting Fernando in charge of staggering wealth when he has yet to prove that he would know what to do with it. So did he mention why the hurry?’

Jude tried to look as though she might be searching her memory bank for any helpful information on that front, then she shook her head and shrugged. ‘I guess he just wants to take control of his life. I mean, he is nearly twenty-five…’

‘Ancient.’

‘You were younger than that when you took charge of your empire, or whatever you want to call it.’

‘I was responsible.’

‘Of course. Silly me. Crazy to think that you might have had a trace of recklessness in your body.’

‘If by reckless you mean a healthy, active sex life with an interesting variety of women, then, I assure you, you couldn’t be further from the truth. If, on the other hand, you mean an ability to squander money on passing pleasures without any thought to the future, then you’re spot on. I’ll willingly confess to being ridiculously cautious…’

Jude blinked as her active mind hived off on the same unwelcome tangent that had kept her tossing and turning the night before.

Her breasts felt heavy and tender and the brush of her lacy bra over her nipples was almost painful.

‘I think…we should think about what we’re going to do with the day,’ she said hastily, folding her arms squarely in front of her. ‘I agree it would be silly for you to try and dig that car of yours out of the snow when there’s more falling, but there’s no point getting under each other’s feet.’

‘You should give lessons on how to be the perfect hostess.’

‘I’ve got some work I can be getting on with. In my office. Well, I have a little room off the sitting room that I use as an office, anyway. You can…’

‘Make myself scarce?’ He pushed himself away from the door frame, his sharp mind tallying their conversation and replaying it. She had been sincere in her denial that there was anything sexual between herself and Fernando but, that being the case, why her unease the minute his questions became too probing? Why did she behave like a cat on a hot tin roof in his presence?

He looked narrowly at her and the heightened colour in her cheeks, then his eyes drifted to those arms tightly folded over her chest. A very protective gesture, he thought. He knew that he could be intimidating. He liked that. It often helped to keep people at a distance, especially for a man like him, someone at the very pinnacle of his field, which was a situation that encouraged on the one hand sycophants, on the other predatory sharks who wouldn’t hesitate to cosy up to him while clutching knives behind their backs. It also helped as a silent reminder to any woman that, however physically close they got, he was not up for grabs.

Maybe that was it. Maybe she got jittery in his presence and, face it, he was an intruder in her house, snowbound and with zero means of transport out. Or maybe those whispered conversations he had noticed between his brother and her pointed to something going on under the surface, something that made her nervous around him.

Or maybe—and he mulled this last option over with a little kick of satisfaction—just maybe he made her nervous for a perfectly understandable reason. He was a red-blooded man and she, if he wasn’t mistaken, was a woman who was all fire where it mattered if only she knew it. Couldn’t pretty much everything in life go right back to the elemental?

CHAPTER THREE

IT WAS lunch time before Jude emerged from her office, where she had spent her time redoing her sketches for a loft conversion which, according to the couple who had employed her, had to make them feel as though they were somewhere by the sea. It was a tall order for a Victorian house on the outskirts of a city.

The first thing that greeted her was the sight of Cesar, bare-backed, with a stack of freshly cut logs next to the open fire, which was in full swing.

‘Just in case the power goes,’ he explained. ‘If it can snow like this out here, then anything’s possible.’

Jude nodded. The sight of his bare skin flickering in the glow from the open fire seemed flagrantly intimate, although he looked at her innocently enough before walking across to the bay window and nodding at the leaden yellow-grey skies outside, barely visible through the now heavy snowfall. ‘The Internet connection’s still AWOL so I figured I might as well make myself useful. Manage to get much work done?’

‘Work?’

‘You’ve been cooped up in there for four hours!’

She thought of the discarded drawings tossed into the waste-paper bin because her thoughts wouldn’t leave her alone. ‘Yes. It was very useful.’ She made a big effort to stop gaping and actually walked into the sitting room, which was wonderfully warm.

‘I’ve switched off the central heating in the room,’ he told her. ‘Hope you don’t mind.’ Cesar had been stared at before. Many times. But never like this, never by a woman who so obviously didn’t want to look at him and yet couldn’t help herself. It was fiercely erotic. He had, and he hadn’t mentioned this, also hand-washed his socks, his boxers and his shirt. At the moment his nakedness against the zipper of his trousers was threatening to need adjustment.

‘How did you know where to find the wood?’

‘Little shed at the back of the house. Not that tricky, really.’ He prodded the fire with the poker, making sure that his back was towards her so that he could give his body time to cool down. Eventually, when he had himself under control, he strolled towards the chair and wiped his face on one of her T-shirts—the very one she had thrown at him the night before.

‘Well, thank you. There was no need. The central heating’s very efficient in this house. I make sure of that. Shall I get you something to put on? One of my T-shirts?’

‘I’m not sure they would fit,’ Cesar drawled, ‘unless it’s one of those baggy ones you seem to like sleeping in.’

Jude refused to be goaded by his remark. Instead, she hurried upstairs and snatched the biggest of her T-shirts out of the chest of drawers because the sooner he covered himself up the better. He obviously hadn’t stripped on purpose. He had stripped because chopping logs and starting a fire was a sweat-inducing job, especially once the fire really got going. He wasn’t to know that his semi-nudity was just fuelling all sorts of unwanted thoughts in her head. She could swear that her eyesight had gone bionic because she had even been able to make out a trickle of perspiration along his ribcage.

‘Well, at least it’s not pink,’ he said, reaching out and casually brushing her outstretched hand in the process. ‘I don’t think my male pride could have stood it.’

‘Stood what?’

Keep your eyes focused on his face, my girl, and you’ll be all right. Definitely don’t give in to the temptation to stare at the way his muscles ripple whenever he moves his arms. Or the fact that he has flat brown nipples and a tangle of dark underarm hair.

‘Being on public display wearing a girlie colour.’

This was a different Cesar to the grim-faced one who laid down laws and issued threats. This one was smiling at her. A crooked, amused smile that made her toes curl.

‘Real men aren’t afraid to wear pink,’ she said automatically, and Cesar kept her eyes locked to his.

‘Trust me. I’m all man.’

‘I should go and get us both something to eat. You must be famished after a morning chopping wood. I have some…er…pasta…’ she gabbled, taking a step back towards the kitchen. ‘I can rustle something up. I’m not great, I have to warn you…but I do a good carbonara…spaghetti…nothing fancy…’ The pale blue T-shirt sported a cartoon character but somehow he didn’t look silly in it. If anything, it made him more frighteningly masculine, accentuating his biceps and the lean hardness of his stomach.

‘Carbonara…spaghetti…nothing fancy…will do just fine, and yes, I’m famished, but I didn’t want to start rummaging in your kitchen for food. I know how territorial women can be about men rummaging through their cupboards…I’m surprised you managed to work with your hand bandaged…’

‘It doesn’t hurt.’ She stumbled over her words, instinctively flexing her fingers to prove her point. ‘You made a big deal over nothing.’

‘Maybe I enjoyed it,’ he came back, quick as a flash. ‘Don’t you know that there’s nothing a man finds more appealing than a damsel in distress…?’