“Mr Aguilar …” she began.

He raised an eyebrow. “Marco,” he corrected gently.

Her incandescent summer-blue gaze slid away for a moment. He saw her take a deeper breath, as if to centre herself.

“I was wondering if you’d made a decision about whether you might be able to help the children or not?”

Marco took a few moments to marshal his thoughts. He hadn’t embellished the truth when he’d told her at their first meeting that there were many charities he supported. Yet none of them was directly helping orphaned children. The subject was apt to bring back memories of a childhood he had striven hard not just to forget but to hide from the world at large.

“In truth, Grace, I would like a bit more time to give the matter some proper reflection before I decide. Is that all right with you?”

“Of course … It’s just that …”

She leaned forward and he saw conflict in her eyes—maybe trying to press him for a decision was warring with her innate impulse to be polite. Even so, he wasn’t above using whatever weapon he could from his personal armoury to get what he wanted. His success in business hadn’t come about without a propensity to be single-mindedly ruthless from time to time. Pretty little Grace wanted something from him, and likewise he wanted something from her, he realised. He didn’t doubt there was a way of gratifying both needs.

About the Author

The day MAGGIE COX saw the film version of Wuthering Heights, with a beautiful Merle Oberon and a very handsome Laurence Olivier, was the day she became hooked on romance. From that day onwards she spent a lot of time dreaming up her own romances, secretly hoping that one day she might become published and get paid for doing what she loved most! Now that her dream is being realised, she wakes up every morning and counts her blessings. She is married to a gorgeous man, and is the mother of two wonderful sons. Her two other great passions in life—besides her family and reading/writing—are music and films.

Recent titles by the same author:

THE LOST WIFE

THE BROODING STRANGER

ONE DESERT NIGHT

Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

A Devilishly

Dark Deal

Maggie Cox

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Sheila, my romantic sister.

You had the best laugh and the most beautiful voice

and not a day goes by when my heart doesn’t ache

because I miss them both so much.

CHAPTER ONE

TIPPING up the brim of her wide straw hat, Grace Faulkner settled back in her deckchair, glanced through her over-large sunglasses at the glinting aquamarine ocean and sighed. She should be making the most of the tranquil scene and just relaxing, but it wasn’t easy when her insides were deluged with querulous butterflies.

She was so besieged because very shortly she planned to confront one of this elite area’s most revered and wealthy entrepreneurs and petition him to become a patron of the children’s charity in Africa that was dearest to her heart. And not just to become a patron—but also to make a much needed generous donation so that essential building could commence on a new orphanage. The present one was all but being held up by hope and prayer alone.

What had fuelled her aim was hearing the owner of the café she’d been sitting in the day she’d heard the buzz that Marco Aguilar was visiting the area telling an American tourist that he’d known him as a young boy—that he’d grown up in a local orphanage and hadn’t he done incredibly well for himself when you considered his start in life?

That overheard snippet had seemed more and more like divine providence to Grace as she’d mulled it over, and she didn’t intend to let it go to waste. She knew she would probably only get the smallest window of opportunity to catch the businessman’s eye before she’d be hauled off the premises by one of his security guards, and she should be prepared for that. But when it might mean the difference between helping to improve the lives of the children who had moved her so unbearably and returning to Africa with the news that she’d failed to secure them the funds they were so desperately in need of, a security guard trying to eject her seemed a small price to pay. Having recently seen for herself the squalor in which those orphans lived daily—a squalor that only the chance of a good education and caring patrons could help them out of—Grace had vowed to her charity worker friends before she left that she would do everything she could to help make that chance a reality. But first they had to rebuild the children’s home.

The drowning noise of a helicopter coming in to land alerted her. It had to be him. Because she’d been so troubled and exhausted after her return from Africa, her parents had persuaded her to stay at their holiday home in the Algarve to take a much-needed break. For once she hadn’t resisted their steering of her movements, and she was glad she had not—because on only her second day there she had heard the local buzz that Marco Aguilar was due to make a visit to one of his myriad exclusive hotels for a meeting. That particular hotel was situated in the resort complex right across the road from where she was staying, and if the rumours were at all to be relied upon today was the day. The arrival of the helicopter—the first she’d heard in three days at the resort—surely confirmed it?

With her heart pounding, she got up from the canvas chair positioned on the baking hot patio and quickly returned inside to the villa’s pleasantly cool interior. Flying into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water from the refrigerator, she dropped it into her straw bag, repositioned her sunglasses on her nose, then pulled off her hat and threw it onto a nearby chair. Checking that she had her keys, she hurriedly left the building …

The helicopter had landed on a discreet pad somewhere amid the lush pine trees, and now there was a bank of sleek cars—mostly black—parked in front of the hotel. The impressive modern façade was edged by a pristine emerald lawn, and already there was a bevy of reporters and photographers running across it—a few that were ahead were moving swiftly through the revolving glass doors into the lobby. By the time the mêlée had disappeared into the hotel, and just as Grace was stealing a few apprehensive moments to decide what to do next, a gleaming black jaguar drew up at the front of the lawn. A burly cropped-haired bodyguard exited the car first then smartly stood holding the door wide as the man who was clearly his boss climbed out of the vehicle.

Due to his phenomenal success in business, and the purported enigmatic nature that was so indisputably appealing to admirers everywhere, photographs of Marco Aguilar were a regular feature in newspapers and magazines round the world, including the UK. There was no doubt that it was him.

Grace’s first impression of the businessman that had made his fortune in the field of sports and leisure—in particular exclusive golfing resorts like this one—was that his physical presence was as commanding as his much-admired reputation. The impeccably stylish linen suit he wore was a perfect foil for his hard-muscled physique, and the moneyed air that radiated from the top of his shining black hair down to the tan-coloured Italian loafers he wore on his feet definitely suggested that the man had an unerring eye for the very best of everything. As he leaned over to speak to his bodyguard she saw even his eyes had the luxurious sheen of the finest dark chocolate. The sweltering Mediterranean sun was all but baking everything in sight, but in contrast he appeared ice-cool.

Narrowing her gaze to view him more clearly, she saw with trepidation that his hard jaw was undeniably clenched and the set of his well-cut lips formidably serious … perhaps even angry? Panicking slightly because if he was already ticked off about something then it was highly unlikely that he would even acknowledge her, she thought dismayed. Worse still, if he thought she was making a nuisance of herself he might call the police to arrest her.

Swallowing down her nerves, she tucked the leather strap of her straw bag neatly down by her side, then endeavoured to stroll casually towards the hotel entrance just as if she was a guest there—for surely this must be the window of opportunity she’d prayed for? It occurred to Grace that the reporters had made the mistake of assuming the VIP they so eagerly sought was already inside the hotel—perhaps smuggled in through a side entrance somewhere? Wishing that her heart wasn’t beating so fast that she could scarcely hear herself think above the throbbing sound of it in her ears, she endeavoured to slow and deepen her breath to calm herself. She had to do this. The businessman’s reputation and aura might be intimidating, but she couldn’t let that stop her. Come what may, there was no backing out now.

‘Mr Aguilar!’ When she was about five feet away from him on the baking walkway she called out his name. The bodyguard immediately moved his intimidating bulk Grace’s way, to prevent her from getting any nearer. ‘Mr Aguilar … please can I have just a moment of your time before you go inside to your meeting? I promise I won’t keep you very long.’

‘Mr Aguilar does not talk to anyone from the press unless it is prearranged.’

The bodyguard’s heavily accented voice was a growl as he reached out to physically waylay her. She flinched as the man’s huge hands encircled her bare arms in her sleeveless cotton dress, and at the same time saw a bead of sweat roll down his ample cheek.

His manhandling of her lit a furious spark of indignation inside her. ‘Let me go! How dare you grab me like that? For your information, I’m not a reporter.’

‘You have no business trying to talk to Mr Aguilar.’

‘For goodness’ sake—do I look like I pose any kind of threat to your boss?’ Grace couldn’t bite back her frustration. To get so close to the man she desperately needed to talk to and then be denied access to speak to him at the very last moment was beyond frustrating.

‘Let her go, José.’

The man behind them snapped out a clear-voiced command and her heart hammered even harder beneath her ribs. The bodyguard immediately released his hold and she stepped to the side of him, at last coming face to face with her hard-jawed quarry.

‘If you do not belong to that mercenary rabble from the press, who are primed to try and get me to answer questions about my private life and then embellish them for their undiscerning readership, what exactly do you want from me, Miss …?’

Indisputably his accent was Portuguese, but his English was close to perfect. The intensity of Marco Aguilar’s examining gaze threw her for a second. The rich caramel eyes with their fathomless depths seemed to bewitch her. ‘Faulkner …’ she answered, her voice not quite as steady as she would have liked. ‘Grace Faulkner. And, just to reassure you, I’m not remotely interested in your private life, Mr Aguilar.’

‘How refreshing’ His remark was like a sardonic whiplash. He folded his arms.

Grace made herself press on regardless. ‘I’m here because I’d like to tell you about an orphanage in Africa that badly needs help … specifically financial help … to rebuild the falling-down shack that houses it and to provide a school and a teacher. I’ve recently come back from there, and it’s quite unbelievable how these poor children are living—not even living … just existing. There’s an open sewer right outside where they’re sleeping, and several of them have already died from drinking contaminated water. This is the twenty-first century for goodness’ sake! We’re so rich in the west … Why are we allowing this to go on without doing something more about it—without every one of us feeling outraged on a daily basis?’

‘I admire the passion and dedication you exhibit in the name of your cause, Miss Faulkner, but I already give financial aid to several charities worldwide. Do you think it fair to corner me like this when I’m about to go into what is to me a very important meeting?’

Grace blinked. The rumour ran that he was there to oversee the takeover bid of a less prosperous resort. It was what he was known for excelling at … buying ailing resorts and making them thrive, thereby reaping the benefits. If the newspapers and magazines were to be believed, the benefits aided his playboy lifestyle. But how much more money and power did the man need before he decided enough was enough?

Her indignation and temper got the better of her. Pushing her fingers through the fall of blonde hair that glanced against her perspiring brow, she levelled her gaze with the billionaire’s and didn’t flinch even once. ‘Fair?’ she echoed angrily. ‘Do you think it’s fair that these children are dying for want of even the most basic sanitation—and more importantly for want of love and care from the rest of humanity? Surely your “very important meeting” can’t possibly be more important than that?’

In less than a heartbeat Marco Aguilar had positioned himself in front of her. The brief contraction in the side of his smooth cheekbone warned her that she’d struck a nerve. At the same time the sweltering heat that beat down on them from the dazzling sun up above seemed to magnify the hypnotic effect of his spicy cologne. Feeling a little bit more than slightly giddy beneath the twin onslaught of burning sun and aggrieved male, Grace wondered where she’d found the audacity—some might say stupidity—to imagine for even a moment that this was the way to get someone as wealthy and influential as him on her side. Clearly it wasn’t.

‘Let me give you a word of advice, Miss Faulkner … Please don’t ever seek a career in a field that requires great diplomacy. I fear you would not get past the first round of interviews. You are very fortunate that I do not get my bodyguard to physically eject you from the complex. Forgive me …’ the dark eyes swept mockingly down over her figure and up again to her face ‘… my guess is that you are not a guest here, are you? In which case you are already on dangerous ground, accosting me like this. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting to go to. My fellow attendees may not be as needy as your orphans, but I assure you they will be baying for my blood if I do not put in an appearance soon.’

‘Look, I’m very sorry if I was rude to you, Mr Aguilar … Honestly, I meant no offence.’ Grace clamped even white teeth down on her lip for a second, in a bid to keep her passionate emotions under control, but it still didn’t stop her from bursting out, ‘All the same, you shouldn’t sneer at my clothes and make me feel small in order to make yourself feel superior, should you? Besides, I’m not here to try to impress you. I’m here for one reason and one reason only: the orphaned children that I told you about. Yes, I am passionate about this cause, but I defy anyone not to be if they’d experienced what I experienced over the past few weeks. I really hoped you might help us … especially when I heard that you’d been raised in an orphanage yourself.’

The businessman stood stock-still and the bronze pigment in his skin seemed to bleed out and turn pale. ‘Where did you hear that?’ he asked, low voiced.

Her mouth dried. ‘I heard it … just the other day.’ Feeling almost faint with unease, and not wanting to incriminate the café-owner, she made herself lift her chin and not flinch from the steely-eyed glare in front of her, ‘Is it true? Are you an orphan, Mr Aguilar?’

He exhaled a long sigh, as though to steady himself, then bemusedly shook his head. ‘You say you are not a reporter, Miss Faulkner, but you attack your prey just like one. You must want what you want very badly to be so impertinent.’

‘I do,’ she admitted turning red. ‘But only for the children … not for any gain for myself, I swear. And I didn’t mean to be impertinent.’

Just when Grace thought she’d absolutely blown any chance of getting his help, and had started to regret being so bold, astoundingly, the businessman appeared to reconsider.

‘Now is clearly not a convenient time for me to discuss this matter further, Miss Faulkner, but you have sufficiently got my attention to make me consider a meeting with you at a later date.’ Reaching into his inside jacket pocket, which she glimpsed was lined with light coffee-coloured silk, he withdrew a small black and gold card, extricated a pen as well, and scribbled something down on the blank space on the back of it. ‘Give me a ring tomorrow at around midday and we will talk some more. But I warn you … If you tell anyone that we even had this conversation—and I mean anyone—then you can forget that you ever saw me, let alone hope to receive my assistance for your cause. By the way, what is the name of this charity that you so passionately support?’

Grace told him.

‘Well … I will speak to you again soon, Miss Faulkner. Like I said, I will expect your call around midday tomorrow.’

Marco Aguilar turned and walked away, his faithful bodyguard hurrying after him and mopping his brow with his handkerchief as he endeavoured to keep up with his boss’s long-legged stride. Gripping the card he’d given her as if it was the key to unlocking the secrets of the universe, Grace let her captive gaze ensure she followed the pair until they went through the hotel’s entrance and disappeared inside …

Grateful for the almost too efficient air-conditioning in the luxuriously appointed boardroom, after the unforgiving midday heat outside, Marco restlessly flipped his gold pen several times between his fingers as he tried to focus on his company’s earnest director, seated at the far end of the long mahogany table.

The loyal Joseph Simonson was being as meticulous and articulate as usual with his information about the takeover bid—the man’s presentation couldn’t be faulted—yet Marco found it difficult to pay proper attention to his opening speech because he couldn’t get the memory of a pair of flashing brilliant blue eyes and a face that was as close to his imagined depiction of the mythical Aphrodite out of his mind.

Grace Faulkner.

But it wasn’t just her beauty that had disturbed him. Marco wondered how she had learned that he had grown up in an orphanage when it wasn’t something that he had ever willingly broadcast. A further conversation with her was imperative if he was to impress upon her the folly of repeating that information to the media—even though he knew there were local people who had always known it to be true. Perhaps he had been uncharacteristically foolish in hoping for their loyalty and believing they wouldn’t talk about his past with outsiders? He’d already been through a torrid time with the press … The last thing he needed was some new revelation to hit the headlines. And this one would perhaps be the most difficult for him to face out of all of them.

His thoughts returned to the image of Grace Faulkner that seemed to be imprinted on his mind. She’d declared that she wasn’t trying to impress him, but inexplicably she had. He’d already telephoned his secretary Martine and asked her to undertake some research on the woman and the charity she supported before he took her phone call tomorrow. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be the first time that a female had behaved dishonourably to win herself the chance of getting close to him … accepted a fee from a newspaper for passing on some invented salacious anecdote about his life for them to print.

Marco found himself wishing that the girl was unquestionably who she said she was, and that the only reason she had waylaid him was because she wanted his aid for the cause that was apparently so close to her heart. When he’d stood in front of her, so close that gazing into her eyes had been like being dazzled by a sunlit blue lake, she hadn’t flinched or glanced guiltily away. No, she’d stared right back at him as if she had absolutely nothing to hide … as if she was telling him nothing but the truth. What would she think if she knew how seductive and appealing that was? He had dated and bedded some very beautiful women over the years, but their mostly self-seeking natures had not been beautiful.

Take his ex-girlfriend Jasmine, for example. The fashion model had made the mistake of trying to sue him for breach of his alleged promise to support her when the famous fashion house she’d modelled for hadn’t renewed her contract because she’d preferred to party and get high rather than turn up for work. Marco had made no such promise to her … in fact he had already told her that he was ending their relationship before her illustrious employers had dropped her. The woman had been a liability, but thanks to his lawyers the case had been more or less thrown out of court for a laughable lack of evidence. Shortly after that sorry episode she had sold her lurid little tale to a tabloid for some ludicrous sum, inventing stories of ‘ill treatment’ and making him look like some despicable misogynist.

That whole sorry debacle had happened over six months ago now, and ever since then Marco had become even more wary and cynical of women’s motives for seeing him. Despite his understandable caution, the fact that Grace Faulkner seemed far more interested in helping others instead of herself definitely made him want to find out more about the angelic-faced beauty, with a soft heart for needy children and the daring to just walk right up to him and present her case as if she had every right in the world to do just that …

‘Marco?’

Joseph was looking decidedly ill at ease, because his boss hadn’t replied to a question he’d asked, and Marco had the vague notion that he’d already addressed him twice. The rest of the board members shifted their gazes uncomfortably. Clearly they weren’t accustomed to their illustrious leader being so distracted.

Folding his arms across the hand-tailored jacket of his cream linen suit, he allowed an apologetic smile to hijack his usually austere lips. ‘Could you go over that again for me, Joseph? I think I must be a little jet-lagged after flying in from Sydney late last night and I didn’t quite take it all in.’ He shrugged.

‘Of course.’ At this amenable explanation, the British director’s shoulders visibly relaxed. ‘I’m sure that all of us here will endeavour to keep the meeting as short as possible in light of the fact that you must be understandably tired after your travels.’

With a little dip of his head Marco indicated his thanks, making sure to include every one of the well-dressed ensemble in his amicable gaze.

‘By the way,’ the other man added, his smile a little awkward, as if he were much happier dealing with matters appertaining to the business rather than making polite conversation with his boss, ‘how does it feel to be back home? It must be at least a couple of years since you were here for any length of time?’

‘That’s right … it is.’ His usual guard slammed down into place and Marco deliberately ignored the first part of the question. Home was a concept that even his immense wealth had never been able to make a reality for him. When a man had grown up an orphan, as he had, ‘home’ was just a tantalising dream that was always mockingly out of reach … a fantasy that just wasn’t on the agenda, no matter how much his heart might ache for it to be possible …

A palatial house or mansion didn’t equal a home in the true sense of the word, although he had several of those round the globe. Lately he’d been working particularly hard, and his plan had been to stay in the Algarve for a few weeks at least, to kick back and take a long overdue rest, but the instant he had recalled his humble beginnings growing up Portugal, the idea suddenly lost most of its appeal. The prospect of spending time alone didn’t sit well with him either. Marco had plenty of acquaintances, but no real friends he could truly be himself around … Even as a child he had never made friends easily. One of the carers at the orphanage had once told him he was a ‘complicated’ little boy. With his child’s logic, he had judged that to mean that he was difficult to love …

Once more he flipped his pen, hating the sudden prickling of anxiety at the back of his neck and inside his chest—a sign that he was feeling hemmed in, almost trapped. Because for him there was neither solace nor reassurance in revisiting scenes from his past.

‘Let’s continue, shall we? I’m sure we are all very busy people with much to accomplish before the day is out, and time is not standing still,’ he announced abruptly.

Grimacing in embarrassment at his boss’s terse-voiced remarks, Joseph Simonson shuffled the sheaf of papers in front of him and cleared his throat before proceeding …

Grace’s insides were churning. It was a minute or two away from midday, and three times now she had snatched her shaking hand away from the telephone. Right then the fact that she might be just a conversation away from getting the financial assistance the charity needed to rebuild the children’s home, set up a school and employ a teacher, didn’t seem to help overcome her nerves. Yesterday she’d been fired up … brave … as if neither man nor mountain could stop her from fulfilling her aim of getting what she wanted. Today, after a more or less sleepless night when memories of Marco Aguilar’s piercing dark eyes had frequently disturbed her, she didn’t feel capable of much … let alone feel brave.

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake!’

Exasperated, she grabbed the receiver from its rest on the kitchen wall and punched out the number she had determinedly memorized, in case by some cruel twist of fate she lost the card.

On arriving back at the villa yesterday afternoon, Grace had been seriously taken aback when she’d realised the number Marco had given her belonged to his personal mobile. It wasn’t the same as any of the numbers printed in gold on the front of his business card. Now, briefly shutting her eyes, she recalled the shining hopeful faces of the children she had left behind in that feebly constructed orphanage back in Africa and felt a resurgence of passion for helping make things right for them. Marco Aguilar was only a man. He was made of flesh and blood and bone, just as she was, she told herself. It didn’t matter that he wore hand-tailored suits that probably cost the earth, or that he might regularly make it onto the world’s rich lists. That didn’t make him any better than Grace. In this instance they were just two humane people, discussing what needed to be done to help those less fortunate than they were, and she would hold onto that thought when they spoke.

The softly purring ringtone in her ear ceased, indicating someone had picked up at the other end.

‘Olá?’

‘Olá.’

‘Mr Aguilar?’

‘Ah … is that you, Grace?’

She hadn’t expected him to address her by her first name, and the sound of it spoken in his highly arresting, accented voice made her insides execute a disorientating cartwheel. Staring out of the opened windows at the sun-baked patio, and the usually inviting deckchair that she’d had to vacate when the heat grew too intense to bear comfortably, Grace nervously smoothed her palm down over the hip of her white linen trousers.

‘Yes, it’s me. I presume I’m talking to Marco Aguilar?’

‘Just Marco is fine.’

‘I wouldn’t presume to—’

‘I am inviting you to address me by my first name, Grace, so you are not being presumptuous. How are you today? I trust you are enjoying this glorious weather?’

‘I’m … I’m fine, and, yes I am enjoying the weather.’ Threading her fingers through her wheat-coloured hair, Grace grimaced, taken aback that he should address her so amicably and not quite sure about how to proceed. ‘How are you?’ she asked cautiously.

‘I wasn’t planning on making this conversation that long,’ he commented wryly.

Colouring hotly, she was glad that he couldn’t see her face right then … just in case he imagined that she was one of those starstruck women who didn’t have the wits to separate fantasy from reality …

‘Well, I know you must be a very busy man, so you needn’t worry that I’ll talk your ears off.’ She made a face, thinking that she sounded like some immature schoolgirl with that infantile remark. ‘I promise,’ she added quickly, as if to emphasise the point.

‘Talk my ears off?’ Marco echoed, chuckling, ‘I hope you won’t, Grace, because they are extremely useful at times … especially when I’m listening to Mozart or Beethoven.’

‘I shouldn’t have said that. It was a stupid comment.’

‘Why? Because you think I might lack a sense of humour? I hope I may have the chance to prove you wrong about that.’

Taken aback once more by such a surprising remark, Grace hardly knew what to say.

‘It may surprise you,’ the man on the other end of the line continued, ‘but I have unexpectedly found myself with an entirely free afternoon today. Instead of us talking on the phone, I could send my driver round to where you are staying and get him to bring you back to my house. That would be a much more agreeable way of conducting our conversation don’t you think?’

She must be dreaming. Confronting him outside the exclusive resort was one thing, and talking to him on the phone was another … but never in her wildest dreams had she envisaged a man like Marco Aguilar inviting her to his house to discuss the charity she was so determined to help—just like that. If she didn’t know better she’d think she was suffering from heatstroke!

‘If you—if you really do have the time then, yes … I’m sure that would be a much better way to discuss the charity.’

‘So you agree to allow my driver to pick you up and bring you back here?’

‘I do. Thank you, Mr Aguilar.’

‘Didn’t I already tell you to call me Marco?’ he answered, with a smile in his voice.

All Grace knew right then was that her parents would have a fit if they knew she was even considering going to a strange man’s house in a foreign country in the middle of the day—even if that stranger was an internationally known entrepreneur. But then they were always so over-protective. She’d literally had to steal her freedom to leave home. Even when she’d made the decision to go to Africa to visit the children’s charity she worked for in London she’d had to stand her ground with them …

‘You can’t keep me wrapped up in cotton-wool for ever, you know,’ she’d argued. ‘I’m twenty-five years old and I want to see some of the world for myself. I want to take risks and learn by my mistakes.’

‘Grace?’

Frowning, and with her heart beating a rapid tattoo inside her chest, she realised that Marco Aguilar was waiting for her reply. ‘I’m still here … I suppose I ought to give you my address if you’re sending a car for me?’

‘That would definitely be a good start,’ he agreed.

CHAPTER TWO

THEY called them casas antigas in Portugal … manor-houses and stately homes. Grace’s eyes widened more and more the further Marco’s chauffeur Miguel drove them up the long sweeping drive that had met them the moment he’d pressed the remote device in the car to open the ornate electronic gates at the entrance. As they drove past the colonnade of tall trees lining the way she caught sight of the palatial colonial-style house they were heading towards, with its marble pillars glistening in the afternoon sunshine. She stared in near disbelief, murmuring, ‘My God …’ beneath her breath.

Inevitably she thought of the ramshackle building that housed the orphanage back in Africa, and was struck dumb by the heartbreaking comparison to the dazzling vision of nineteenth-century architecture she was gazing at now. Did Marco Aguilar live here all by himself? she wondered. Just the thought seemed preposterous.

The smiling chauffeur in his smartly pressed black trousers and pristine white shirt opened the Jaguar door at her side to let her out, and as Grace stepped down onto the gravel drive the scent of heady bougainvillaea mingled with the heat of the day to saturate her senses. Lifting her sunglasses up onto her head, she glanced back at the house and with a jolt of surprise saw Marco, standing on one of the wide curving upper steps, waiting. ‘Olá!’ He raised a hand, acknowledging her with a brief wave.

He wore khaki-coloured chinos and a white T-shirt that highlighted his athletic, muscular torso, and his stance was much more at ease than when she’d seen him yesterday. Her trepidation at speaking with him again eased slightly … but only slightly.

When she reached the level just below where he stood, he held out his hand to warmly enfold her palm in his. He smiled. ‘We meet again.’

His touch submerged Grace in a shockwave of heated sensation that rendered her unable to reply immediately.

This is terrible, she thought, panicking. How am I supposed to sound at all competent and professional and say what I want to say if I’m completely thrown off-balance by a simple handshake?

‘Thanks for sending the car for me,’ she managed. ‘This is such a beautiful house.’ Quickly retrieving her hand, she tried hard to make her smile relaxed to disguise her unexpectedly strong reaction to his touch.

‘I agree. It is. Why don’t you come inside and see it properly?’ he invited.

If Grace had felt overwhelmed at the imposing façade of Marco’s house, then she was rendered almost speechless by the opulence and beauty of the interior. A sea of marble floor and high intricate ceilings greeted her over and over again as her host led her through various reception rooms to what appeared to be a much less ostentatious and intimate drawing room. Elegant couches and armchairs encircled a large hand-knotted Persian rug in various exquisite shades of red, ochre and gold, whilst open French doors revealed a wide balcony overlooking landscaped gardens stretching right down to the sea. This time it was the bewitching fragrance of honeysuckle drifting into the room that fell like soft summer rain onto Grace’s already captivated senses. She was utterly enchanted.

‘Do you want to sit outside on the balcony? I trust you are wearing suncream on that delicate pale skin of yours?’

‘I’m well protected—and, yes … I would very much like to sit outside.’

Settling herself beneath a generously sized green and gold parasol in a comfortable rattan chair, Grace glanced out over the lush landscaped gardens in front of her and sighed. ‘What an amazing view … your own private paradise on earth. I hope you regularly get to share it with your friends. It would be a crime not to. I bet you must really love living here?’

As he dropped down into a chair opposite her at the mosaic tiled table a myriad of differing emotions seemed to register on her host’s handsome face and she didn’t see one that reflected pleasure.

‘Unfortunately I probably don’t appreciate it as much as I should, seeing as I am not here very often,’ he said.

‘But you do originally come from here don’t you …? From the Algarve I mean?’ The impetuous question was out before she could check it, and straight away she saw that Marco was irked by it.

‘Now you are sounding like one of those too-inquisitive reporters again. By the way … where did you hear that I’d grown up in an orphanage?’

Swallowing hard, Grace sensed hot colour suffuse her. ‘I didn’t hear it directly … I mean … the person who said it wasn’t talking to me. I just happened to overhear a conversation he was having with someone else in a café I was sitting in.’

‘So it was a local man?’

‘Yes. He sounded very admiring about what you’d achieved … he wasn’t being disrespectful in any way.’

‘And when you heard that I was due to visit the Algarve, and that I was an orphan, you thought you would take the opportunity to petition my help for your orphans in Africa?’

‘Yes … I’m sure you’d have done the same in my position.’

‘Are you?’

Folding his arms, Marco looked to be pondering the assumption—not without a hint of sardonic humour, Grace noted.

‘Perhaps I would and perhaps I wouldn’t. Anyway, I think we should talk a little more in depth about what you came here for … get down to the details, hmm?’

‘Of course.’ Relieved that her admission about hearing a chance remark hadn’t prejudiced him against talking to her some more, she lifted her gaze and forced herself to look straight back into the compelling hooded dark eyes. ‘But I just want you to know that this isn’t the sort of thing I do every day … spontaneously railroading someone like you into giving their help, I mean. When I’m working at the charity’s office in London I have to be completely professional and adhere to strict rules. We either do a blanket mailshot of people likely to make donations, or once in a while I might get the chance to ring somebody who’s known for being charitable and talk to them personally.’

‘If you’re being honest, then that makes a very welcome change.’

Marco considered her so intently for a moment that Grace all but forgot to breathe.

‘Honesty I can deal with. Subterfuge is apt to make me angry.’

‘I’m not a liar, Mr Aguilar, and neither am I trying to fool you in any way.’

‘I believe you, Grace. I believe you are exactly who you say you are, and also the reason why you accosted me yesterday. Did you not think that I would check? So … That aside, tell me some more about this cause that makes you risk being apprehended to get to me—I would very much like to hear how you got involved in the first place. Why don’t you start by telling me about that?’

She shouldn’t have been surprised that he’d checked up on her, but all the same she was.

Immensely relieved that she had nothing to hide, Grace told him about finishing her studies at university and still being unsure about what career she wanted to take up. Then she told him about a conversation she’d had with a friend of her parents whose son had been giving up his post at a children’s charity in London to travel a bit and see the world. That family friend had suggested she apply for the post. As luck had had it, she’d done well at the interview and got the job. Grace had been there for a couple of years when the opportunity had arisen for her to go out to Africa and visit one of the many orphanages the charity was endeavouring to assist. She had visited several times since, but that first visit had changed her life, she told Marco, feeling a renewed rush of the zeal that gripped her to personally try and do something about the heartrending plight of the children she’d witnessed.

As she finished speaking, with hope travelling to the highest peaks one minute as she believed she might elicit Marco’s help, then plummeting down the slopes of anxiety the next in fear that he might refuse her, Grace heard nothing but the sound of her own quickened breath as she waited for his response.

The sun’s burning heat seemed to intensify just then—even beneath the wide umbrella that provided shade for them. A slippery trickle of sweat ran down between her breasts inside the silky white camisole she wore, and unthinkingly she touched her fingertips to the spot to wipe it away. When she glanced up again she saw an expression in Marco’s eyes that was so akin to naked desire that she froze, her heartbeat slowing to a deep, heavy thud inside her chest and a carnal longing so acute invading her that the power of it made her feel quite faint …

Her soft voice had died away to silence, but more than a little transfixed Marco found himself helplessly staring at the sight of Grace’s slender fingers moving to the neckline of her camisole. Diverted from her explanation about how she’d become involved with the charity, he’d already tracked the little bead of sweat that had slithered down from the base of her throat, and when he saw her dip her fingers inside the plain white silk underneath the small embroidered buttons to deal with it he was gripped by an all-consuming lust so blazing that it turned him instantly hard. His desire was fuelled even further by his conviction that her action had been totally innocent and unconscious.

Grace Faulkner was already making his heart race faster than it had done with any other woman whose company he’d shared in a long, long time, and he realised that he wasn’t in a hurry for her to leave him any time soon.

‘Would you like something to drink?’ he asked, getting abruptly to his feet. At his guest’s hesitant nod, he started to move back towards the open French doors. ‘What will it be? A glass of wine? Lemonade or some fruit juice, perhaps?’

‘A glass of lemonade would be perfect … thank you.’

‘I will go and find my housekeeper.’

When he returned from the kitchen, where he’d arranged for their drinks to be brought out to them by Inês—a local woman he had hired as housekeeper and cook—Marco returned to the balcony, feeling a little more in control of the fierce attraction his pretty guest had unwittingly provoked. Yet his pulse still raced at the sight of her sitting quietly beneath the parasol. With her pale blonde hair lying softly against her shoulders, even her profile was angelic. He privately confessed he would do almost anything to get her to stay with him for the rest of the afternoon.

Her smile was shy and a little reticent as he sat down again. He had the sense that when she wasn’t championing a cause she was the quiet, reflective sort. He liked that. It would be a refreshing change from the women he usually dated … all spiky demands and too-high expectations of where a relationship with him might lead.

‘Our drinks will be along shortly,’ he told her.

‘Mr Aguilar …’ she began.

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Marco,’ he corrected gently.

Her incandescent summer-blue gaze slid away for a moment. He saw her take down a deeper breath, as if to centre herself.

‘I was wondering if you’d made a decision about whether you might be able to help the children or not?’

He took a few moments to marshal his thoughts. He hadn’t embellished the truth when he’d told Grace at their first meeting that there were many charities he supported, and there were quite a few children’s charities amongst them. Yet none of them was directly helping orphaned children. The subject was apt to bring back memories of a childhood that he had striven hard not just to forget but to hide from the world at large. Perhaps he had subconsciously aimed to dissociate himself from that quarter entirely in case it brought forth more intrusive and uncomfortable questions from the media about his past?

‘I have no doubt that your children’s cause is one that a wealthy man like me ought to readily support, Grace, and while I am definitely not averse to making a donation, having listened and talked to you, I would like a bit more time to reflect on what level of help I can give. If you leave the details with me I will look over them at my leisure and get back to you. Is that all right with you?’

‘Of course … and it’s fantastic that you’ve decided to help us. It’s just that …’

She leaned forward and he saw conflict in her eyes—maybe at trying to press him to take action sooner rather than later, which warred with her innate impulse to be polite. Even so, he wasn’t above using whatever weapon he could from his personal armoury to get what he wanted. His success in business hadn’t come about without a propensity to be single-mindedly ruthless from time to time. Pretty little Grace wanted something from him, and likewise he wanted something from her, he realised. He didn’t doubt there had to be a way of gratifying both needs.

‘It’s just that I don’t want to take up any more of your time than necessary,’ she said in a rush. ‘I know you must be an extremely busy man.’

‘Are you in a hurry to leave?’

‘Not at all, but …’

‘Yes?’

‘I really don’t want to offend you, or perhaps bring back hurtful memories of your past, but I just want to paint a picture for you if I may? Can you imagine what it must be like not only to have to contend with being be an orphan, with no mother or father to love you and take care of you, but also to live in a dirty shack without even the most basic amenities that most of us take for granted? I don’t mean to be pushy, I really don’t, but the sooner we can alleviate their dreadful living conditions and put up a new more sanitary building, the better. For that we desperately need financial help. So when you say you’ll look over the details at your leisure … do you have any idea how long that might take?’

Inside his chest, Marco’s heart was thundering. No, he didn’t have to imagine what it was like to grow up without a mother or father to take care of him … not when he’d personally experienced it, growing up in a children’s home where there had been about five or six children to every carer. The sense of emotional deprivation it had left him with would be with him for ever, and no amount of money, career success or comfortable living would alleviate his underlying feelings of being isolated from the rest of the world and certainly not as deserving of love as other people.

But at least the building he had lived in had been safe and hygienic. He abhorred the idea of innocent children having to contend with the dreadful conditions Grace had emphatically outlined to him, so he would be writing her a cheque so that they could have their new building. But he wouldn’t be hurried.

‘Whilst I am a compassionate man, Grace, I am first and foremost a businessman, who is meticulous about looking over the details of every transaction I make. I’m afraid you are going to have to be a little more patient if you want my help.’

‘It’s hard to be patient when you personally know the children who are suffering,’ she murmured, her cheeks turning a delicate rose. ‘You’ve checked out that I am who I say I am, and that the charity I represent is absolutely legitimate, so why delay? I can assure you every penny of the money you give us will be accounted for, and you’ll get a receipt for everything.’

‘I am pleased to hear it, but if you knew how many worthy charities petition me for financial aid you would perhaps understand why I must take the appropriate time to discern who receives it and when.’ He paused to bestow upon her a more concentrated glance. ‘You’re studying me as if you cannot understand my caution in writing you a cheque straight away? Maybe you think that because I clearly have the money I shouldn’t hesitate to give it to your charity? Perhaps you believe that I should feel guilty about having so much? If that is so, then you should know that I worked hard from a very young age to have the success I have now. One thing is for sure … I did not grow up with a silver spoon in my mouth, and neither was good fortune handed to me on a plate.’

The woman sitting opposite him at the table bit down heavily on her plump lower lip and her glance suddenly became fixated on the mosaic-tiled tabletop. When she next looked up her lovely blue eyes were glistening, Marco saw.

‘I’m so sorry. I had no right to rant at you about the situation. I get too passionate, that’s the trouble. You’ve been nothing but hospitable and gracious, giving up your time to talk to me like this, offering your help, and now I’ve been unforgivably rude and presumptuous.’

‘I don’t believe for one moment that you meant to be discourteous. However, I am beginning to realise that underneath that angelic exterior I see before me there is a veritable wildcat.’

‘Only when I see injustice and pain.’

‘Ah … God knows there is enough of that in the world to keep you busy for the rest of your life, no? But, tell me, was that the only reason you came to the Algarve, Grace? To see if you could petition my help for your charity?’

Tucking a strand of drifting fair hair behind her ear, she released a long, slow breath. ‘No, it wasn’t. I truly only thought of asking your help when I overheard that conversation in the café. I’m here because I’m having a bit of a break from work, since you ask. I’m afraid I returned from Africa feeling rather exhausted and a little low after my last visit there. The sights I’ve seen haunt me. Anyway, my parents have a holiday home here and they suggested I come out for a rest.’

‘So you are, in effect, on holiday?’

Her big blue eyes visibly widened, as if she was taken aback by the mere idea. ‘I suppose I am. Although the truth is I’m not very good at relaxing. After being in Africa and seeing the children at the orphanage I can’t stop thinking about them and constantly wondering what else I can do to help.’

‘So when you learned that I would be in the area for a meeting you were determined to try and talk to me?’

‘Yes … I was.’

Helplessly, perhaps inevitably, Marco found himself warming to his refreshingly candid guest even more. ‘Clearly your desire to assist those less fortunate than yourself drove you to risk something you perhaps would not ordinarily do. You must be possessed of an exceptionally kind heart, Grace.’

‘You make it sound like it’s something unusual. There are some wonderful people who work for the charity who are equally committed and devoted.’

Inês appeared through the elegant French doors with a tray of drinks. The plump Portuguese woman’s smile was positively beatific when Grace warmly thanked her for the tall glass of lemonade, and right then Marco thought it would take a stone-hearted soul indeed not to respond similarly to this young woman’s generous warm nature.

When the housekeeper had left them alone again, he took a long cool sip of his drink then leant back in his chair. ‘I told you that I unexpectedly find myself with a free afternoon today? I think I would very much like you to spend the rest of it with me. We will start by going out to lunch.’

Grace was sure that most women finding themselves in her position right now with the arresting Marco Aguilar sitting opposite and declaring they would go out to lunch, would silently jump for joy at having such good fortune. But Grace didn’t jump for joy. The situation was just too unreal to be believable, and she didn’t feel anywhere near equipped to go out to lunch with such a man. Especially when she’d probably just offended him with her passionate outburst and more or less telling him he should help the charity.

He was a successful and wealthy man, yes. But she’d learned that he knew personally what it was like to be deprived and go without—emotionally at least—having been brought up an orphan himself. Why he wanted to be with her for even a minute longer bewildered her. And if she did agree to go to lunch with him, what could she talk about? Save helping the orphans and maybe complimenting him again on his beautiful house?

Before leaving home she’d led a more or less uneventful life. In fact, Grace hadn’t felt as if she’d really experienced life at all until she’d stolen her freedom and permanently left home after returning from university. God knew she loved her parents … was grateful for all that they’d done for her … but in truth there were times when their protectiveness all but suffocated her. They were always so afraid she’d make the wrong choices, always wanting to protect her from the possibility of making mistakes.

That was why she’d never felt able to tell them that she’d once briefly dated a man who had hit her in a drunken rage and tried to rape her. He’d never got the chance to hurt her a second time, but the psychological wounds he’d left her with had not easily nor quickly abated. Though she would never regret her decision to break free, that experience had made her wary of getting involved with anyone again. Even a so-called simple date seemed fraught with danger now.

‘It’s very kind of you to offer to take me to lunch, but … don’t you have someone else you’d rather go with?’

Looking honestly bewildered, her companion shook his head—as if not quite believing what he’d just heard. ‘In answer to that strange question I will only say that I would rather go to lunch with you, Grace. I wouldn’t have suggested it otherwise.’

‘But you hardly know me—and I hardly know you.’ Tearing her glance free from Marco’s disturbingly frank examination, she stared out at the sublime vista of shimmering verdant green that stretched out like an infinite plateau in front of them. It might as well have been a vast ocean and she a small rudderless boat lost in the middle of it, she thought. That was how vulnerable and afraid she suddenly felt.

‘And how will we get to know each other if we don’t spend some time together?’

As if to prompt her into making a decision, pangs of genuine hunger registered inside Grace. She’d been so keyed up about meeting with Marco again that she hadn’t been able even to contemplate eating breakfast. What harm could it do simply to have lunch with him? In fact it would seem ill-mannered not to in light of him agreeing to help the charity.

She proffered an uncertain smile. ‘All right, then. I accept your offer … thank you.’

Already extracting his mobile phone from a back pocket, her host flashed a disarming grin. A grin that could melt a girl’s insides at fifty paces … ‘I know the perfect restaurant,’ he said.

Another worrying thought seized her—one that she was nervous of drawing attention to. ‘Is it the kind of place where you have to dress up?’ she asked.

Marco’s glance made a leisurely reconnaissance of her face, neck and shoulders. Her blood started to heat the second she drew his gaze. ‘You don’t have to worry about that when you’re with me, meu querida. Besides … your beauty would grace any establishment. It matters not what you are wearing.’ His smile became even more seductive. ‘However … what you have on is extremely becoming.’

‘Even if I’m not up to the standard of your usual guests?’ she quipped daringly.

‘I am sorry I said what I said to you yesterday about your clothes. It was not the behaviour of a gentleman.’

‘But now that you’ve apologised I promise I won’t hold it against you.’

Even as he frowned thoughtfully at this response, Grace’s lips were forming an unrepentantly teasing grin …

Marco’s chauffeur drove them to a three-storeyed restaurant that overlooked the ocean. As they walked up the winding path to the entrance a small group of staff were waiting to greet them—just as if the handsome businessman was someone whose presence lit up their day. They apologised profusely that the manager was away attending his daughter’s wedding and couldn’t be there to welcome Marco and his guest personally.

Her companion had a friendly word with all of them, Grace noticed, acting as if he had all the time in the world to spare. As she watched him effortlessly interact, she reflected on how different he seemed from the way the press depicted him. She hadn’t read a great deal about him, but what she’d read definitely painted him as some kind of playboy, intent on enjoying the fruits his wealth and status had brought him to the maximum. But now, with the palm of his hand pressed lightly against her back, a more immediate realisation troubled her. The thin top she wore ensured that her spine was sizzling beneath his touch, just as though his fingertips had stroked over her naked skin.

A strange sense of How on earth is this happening to me assailed her as two of the attentive young waiters led them up the stairs onto the roof terrace.

The ambience was surprisingly intimate for what was quite a large space. As they were escorted to what was clearly the best table in the house, with a prime view of the matchless sunlit ocean, an equal fuss was made of both of them. Already in her mind Grace was calling it the Marco effect. Even if he hadn’t been as well-known as he was, she didn’t doubt he would draw attention—just like a sudden flash of dazzlingly bright light in a darkened room.

Having ordered their drinks, they were now on their own again—apart from the inquisitive glances of nearby diners, sneaking a look at her impossibly handsome companion every now and then that was …

Lowering the leather-bound menu he’d been given, Marco frowned. ‘The emphasis is on seafood here. I should have asked if you were okay with that … If not, I am sure the chef can prepare something you would like more.’

Having glanced at the extensive menu herself, Grace realised again how ravenous she was. ‘I love fish … in fact, I prefer it to meat. This restaurant was a good choice,’ she reassured him.

‘I bask in the light of your approval.’

‘I wasn’t being condescending. I’m just grateful that you brought me here. Look at the view—it’s absolutely fantastic!’

‘You don’t need to feel grateful or deserving, Grace. The fact is I wanted your company. I want to get to know you better. Tell me … is there a boyfriend at home?’

She thought he was teasing her, and half expected to see his sculpted lips shape a gently mocking smile, but when she glanced back at him Marco’s expression was quite deadly serious. ‘I’ve been too busy to have a boyfriend,’ she told him. Even though she tried not to let it, inevitably some defensiveness crept into her tone. Her fingers restlessly unfolded the starched linen napkin in front of her on the table, then folded it back again into its perfectly formed square.

‘So there is no man to take you out to dinner or to the movies?’

It wasn’t just this man’s looks that were compelling—his deep, rich voice had its fair share of magic in it too. So much so that Grace was all but mesmerised by the sound of it. ‘I have some good friends. If I want to go out to dinner or to a movie I go with them.’

She heard his quiet intake of breath and was transfixed by the indisputably intimate tenor of his beautiful dark eyes. ‘And what about those other needs that a woman might want a man for?’ he asked softly.

CHAPTER THREE

THOSE needs Marco referred to had been deliberately and carefully suppressed ever since that horrible evening when her then boyfriend, Chris, had flown into a dangerous rage because Grace had refused to give in to his demands to have sex. After accusing her of flirting with another man at the party they’d attended, he’d pushed her up against a wall and slapped her hard across the face. Just as she’d been reeling with the shocking ending to what had been a pleasant evening at a mutual friend’s birthday party, he’d pinioned her to the floor, as if he would force her to give him what he wanted.

She had been beyond terrified. It was only when she’d made herself not give in to her fear and spoken in a quiet, reasonable tone, urging him to think about what he was doing and telling him he would bitterly regret it in the morning, when he was sober again, that he had seemed to come to his senses and let her go. She’d left him sleeping and never returned.

‘The kind of needs you’re referring to aren’t that important to me,’ she said now with a feeling that was a mixture of despair and dread settling in the pit of her stomach. ‘They’re certainly not as important as other things in my life.’

Leaning towards her across the table, Marco drove every single thought out of her head when he gently caught hold of a blonde tendril of her hair and slowly entwined it round his finger.

‘You mean like saving the orphans?’ he suggested huskily.

Even as her blood heated, and the resultant intoxicating warmth drove away all traces of despair, out of the corner of her eye Grace registered the brief flash of a digital camera going off.

Her companion had registered it too. Unravelling her hair from round his finger, he rose smoothly from his seat and strode across the polished wooden floor to the smartly dressed male perpetrator, sitting across from them with his female companion. Without saying a word he removed the camera from the surprised man’s hands, pressed what Grace was certain was the ‘delete’ button on the back, then calmly returned it.

Having obviously identified the couple as British, he declared, ‘If you ever try and do that again I will sue you,’ and only a fool would ignore the underlying fury in his tone. ‘I see that your meal hasn’t arrived yet. Take my advice: make your apologies to the maître d’ and go and dine somewhere else.’

His point made, and frighteningly succinct, he returned to sit down again opposite Grace, not sparing the man he had warned so much as a single glance to see if he and his companion had taken his advice. Only seconds after he sat down again the couple had collected their things and swiftly exited the terrace.

‘Does that sort of thing happen often?’ Grace frowned.

The broad shoulders that his white T-shirt fitted so mouthwateringly snugly and that accentuated his strong toned musculature, lifted in a shrug. ‘Often enough to be tedious,’ he replied, a thread of weariness in his tone, ‘but it will not spoil our lunch together because I will not let it.’

Even so, the intimacy that had hovered so tantalisingly between them before the man had foolishly snapped the picture had definitely disappeared. Grace told herself she should be pleased, but strangely … she wasn’t. Now Marco’s dark gaze was clouded with unease, and his shoulders looked tense despite his assertion that he wouldn’t let the incident spoil their lunch. Suddenly she had a glimpse of how the downside of fame and celebrity must so heavily encroach upon the recipient’s understandable desire for privacy. It made her partially regret her impulsive ‘accosting’ of him yesterday …

‘Marco?’ The distinct wariness in his returning glance upset her. ‘If you would rather leave we can perhaps meet up again tomorrow instead? I know I pressed you about making the donation, and as far as the children are concerned it’s definitely urgent, but I’m here for at least another week and a half.’

For the first time in longer than he could remember Marco had laid aside the demands and concerns of running a hugely successful enterprise for a while in order to give his full attention to something purely enjoyable for himself. This afternoon he had willingly surrendered his corporate persona to fully embrace the experience of being young and less careworn in Grace’s refreshingly innocent company. But that thoughtless diner had tainted his pleasure, making him only too aware that he wasn’t as carefree as he wanted to be. He’d had plans to enjoy a long, lazy lunch that could possibly extend into the evening. Now Grace had asked him if he would like to forego that and meet up tomorrow, or at a later date instead.

It wasn’t an option he wanted to entertain even brief ly. The truth was he really liked the way this woman made him feel, and he craved more … much more of the feeling.

‘I don’t wish to leave, and nor do I want to postpone our lunch for another day.’ As to if to highlight his intention, he snapped his fingers to attract the waiter hovering nearby, who had clearly been assigned to their table, ‘I believe we are ready to order,’ he announced, deliberately catching Grace’s eye and smiling. ‘Do you mind if I order for us both? If you like fish then I know the perfect dish. You will love it, I am sure.’

‘Be my guest,’ she replied quietly, her blue eyes flickering in surprise that he wished to stay after all. ‘Go ahead and order.’

To accompany their meal he ordered a bottle of the very good light red wine the region was known for. Perhaps a glass or two would relax his pretty companion, he mused, thankfully sensing his previously less tense mood return. ‘I am sorry if you were disturbed by that thoughtless idiot trying to take our picture,’ he remarked. ‘These people never seem to consider that I might need a private life as much as they do.’

‘Having transgressed your privacy myself yesterday—albeit for the charity—I must admit I don’t envy you, having to put up with that. It makes me realise that it’s a great gift to be anonymous—to come and go wherever and whenever you please and to know that the public at large don’t have a clue who you are and nor do they care.’

‘You are fortunate indeed if you never crave the recognition of others to make you feel valued.’

The pale smooth brow in front of him creased concernedly. ‘Do you?’ she asked him bluntly.

Though no one would ever know it, Marco privately owned that sometimes he did. But he wasn’t about to admit that to a woman he’d only just met. In fact, he wasn’t going to admit it to anyone. It was a painful aspect of his ego that frustrated and irked him. But also perhaps inevitable that a man whose father had abandoned him to an orphanage as a baby because he couldn’t take care of him on his own after Marco’s mother died was fated to crave the recognition of others in a bid to help him feel worthwhile …

‘Do I strike you as a man who courts the approval of others?’ he answered, his tone a little more clipped than he’d meant it to be.

‘I don’t know. I’ve only just met you.’

Once again, Grace’s luminous sky-blue gaze unsettled him, suggesting as it did that she intuited far more than was comfortable for him.

‘But I imagine it’s not easy to be in business in this world … especially if you have a high profile. It must be a lot like being an actor—you’re always playing a role, and you can’t really be yourself, can you? Especially when people believe that it’s your success and reputation that defines you as a person. It must make it difficult to foster good relationships at work, and even in your private life.’

‘So what have you personally heard about my reputation? I’m interested to know.’

The smooth space between her slim elegant brows crumpled a little, almost as though it grieved her that he should ask such a question. ‘I don’t read the newspapers very often, and when do I’m apt not to believe what they write about the lives of people in the public eye.’

‘But nevertheless you have heard things about me somewhere along the line yes?’

‘I’ve heard it said that nobody can be as successful as you are unless they’re a little ruthless … But then they say that about a lot of successful businessmen, don’t they?’

‘Do you believe it? That I am ruthless I mean?’

‘I trust that I’m intelligent enough to make up my own mind about a person. I certainly don’t go blindly along with what the papers or the media says. And as far as thinking that you might be ruthless sometimes goes, I hardly know you well enough to form an opinion. But I do believe that the press has its own agenda, and I don’t think it’s got a lot to do with telling the truth. See what I mean? Everyone is playing a role … even journalists. Why isn’t it enough to simply just be who you naturally are in this world? People are too afraid to let down their guard, that’s the trouble. If they did, then they would be communicating authentically … but it’s not something that’s promoted in our culture.’

The waiter brought their wine and offered Marco a taste first. He took an experimental sip, pronounced it ‘perfect’ and waited for the man to pour some for Grace then leave again before commenting on her statement—a statement that had both shocked and surprised him with its insight.

‘In business, to let down one’s guard in front of the competition would be deemed corporate suicide,’ he declared, at the same time wondering what she would have to say about that.

Lifting her hair briefly off the back of her neck, unwittingly drawing his attention to the graceful and seductive shape of her long, slim arms, she gifted him with a smile so charming that it made his stomach flip.

‘Not if someone has faith in their own ability to make things work, no matter what the competition is doing. It seems to me that if you’re not towed round by the nose by what your competitors think of you, then you’re onto a winner … you’re free to do whatever you like.’

The burst of laughter that left Marco’s throat was genuinely joyous—so much so that the other diners on the terrace couldn’t stop themselves from smiling at the sound.

‘I don’t think I meant that remark to be funny.’

His lunch guest’s pretty lips pursed a little, and she looked so adorable just then that Marco wanted to kiss her … wanted to obliterate every bit of her softly shaded pink lipstick and explore her mouth until time stood still. And even then he guessed that wouldn’t be enough to satisfy his craving.

‘I’m not mocking you, namorado … the exact opposite, to tell you the truth. You have no idea how refreshing it is to have someone genuinely tell you what they think. Sometimes it is hard to know who to trust because of the lack of that kind of honesty in my working life … even amongst my closest colleagues. Perhaps you ought to go into business yourself, Grace? You could spearhead a new trend for fostering good relationships and authenticity in the corporate world.’

‘Now you are mocking me.’ But even as she uttered the words the corners of her mouth were wrestling with a smile. ‘I’m afraid I’m the last person in the world who should go into business. I’m neither clever nor ambitious. All I’ve ever wanted to do was to help people.’

‘I don’t believe you are not clever. You went to university and presumably got a degree, didn’t you?’

‘What if I did? Anyone can learn a bunch of facts and explain them in the way the system wants you to. That might be regarded as “clever” by some, but it doesn’t mean that you’re intelligent … at least not in the way that I understand the word.’

The waiters arrived with their meal right then, and Marco reflected that their arrival was most opportune—because the break in his and Grace’s conversation allowed him some time to assess his feelings. The fact was, the more time he spent in this unusual and refreshing woman’s company, the more her unsophisticated beauty and intelligence enthralled him, and his desire to take her to bed, to get to know her even better, intensified.

As the waiters once more left them alone, he raised his glass in a toast. ‘Saúde.’ He smiled. ‘Which means, to your health.’

‘Cheers,’ she answered shyly, touching her wine glass carefully to his …

He’d left her in the drawing room to go and talk to Inês about preparing dinner for them later on that evening. The feeling that she’d somehow stumbled into somebody else’s dream continued to dog Grace. She’d eaten the most sublime lunch, been wined and dined at a beautiful restaurant overlooking the sea by a man whose photograph had probably appeared in every newspaper and style magazine worldwide, and even if she pinched herself she’d hardly believe it. Marco Aguilar was so charismatic and good-looking that she guessed a lot of women would even pay for the privilege to sit and admire him, just listen to him talk, simply because he was so mesmerising.

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