Excerpt About the Author Title Page CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN CHAPTER TWELVE Copyright

“I know you for what you are.”

Arden moved quickly, but not quickly enough. Conor caught hold of her wrist before she could strike him.

“Don’t,” he said, very softly. “Not unless you’re prepared to face the consequences.” She stood facing him, her face white, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. Her voice trembled when she spoke. “I hate you!” she said.

He laughed. “What has that to do with anything?”

Her brain worked desperately for words that would tell him how despicable he was, but before she could think of anything, he cupped the back of her head, drew her toward him and kissed her hard on the mouth.

“I won’t buy you,” he whispered, stroking his thumb over her bottom lip. “I’m a patient man. I’ll wait until you find your way to my bed on your own.”

SANDRA MARTON is the author of more than thirty romance novels. Readers around the world love her strong, passionate heroes and determined, spirited heroines. When she’s not writing, Sandra likes to hike, read, explore out-of-the-way restaurants and travel to faraway places. The mother of two grown sons, Sandra lives with her husband in a sun-filled house in a quiet corner of Connecticut where she alternates between extravagant bouts of gourmet cooking and take-out pizza. Sandra loves to hear from her readers. You can write to her (SASE) at P.O. Box 295, Storrs, Connecticut 06268.

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Sandra Marton

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CHAPTER ONE

THE night the world came tumbling down around Arden Miller’s ears began just like any other, or, at least, like any other during the five months since she’d transferred from McCann, Flint, Emerson’s New York office to the firm’s newest branch in Costa Rica.

She put in her usual eight hours as executive secretary to Edgar Lithgow, bid him a polite good evening, then drove her Ford Escort—a perk of her new job—the few miles to the hotel in which the company housed its small roster of North American employees.

The clerk at the reception desk greeted her pleasantly.

‘Buenas noches, señorita. The cook says to tell you the langosta is especially good tonight.’

Arden smiled. ‘I’m sure it is, but I think I’ll settle for a chicken sandwich in my room. Would you ask Alejandro to bring it up in an hour or so?’

The clerk smiled. ‘With iced coffee, yes?’

‘Please.’

‘Of course, Senorita Miller. It will be my pleasure.’

No, Arden thought, no, all of this is my pleasure. I have never been so fussed over, or made to feel so much at home as I have these last months.

But she didn’t say that, of course. Such an admission would have been far too personal and out of keeping with her carefully honed professional image. Instead she gave him another smile, scooped up the few messages and letters that had been left for her, and made her way to the lift. She stabbed the button, then turned her attention to the envelopes in her hand.

There was an advertisement from Macy’s, urging her to take advantage of a sale on shoes, and a form letter from a candidate for local office, pleading for her vote in an election that had taken place a month before. Arden smiled. It was amazing, the mail the post office re-routed so it followed you all these thousands of miles.

The third letter was from her mother, and Arden opened it eagerly. Evelyn wrote that she was feeling fine and still happy in her new job as live-in housekeeper to the Carsons, up on the Hill in Greenfield. Did Arden remember them? Arden’s mouth turned down. Yes, she certainly did. They’d had a couple of sons who’d thought it was their absolute right to sexually initiate girls from the Valley in the back seats of their cars, and if there were any complaints they’d had the money and the clout to hush them up.

Her gaze dropped to the next paragraph. There was good news about Emma Simms, her mother said. She’d just finished a course in beauty school and she was head over heels in love with that nice Evans boy, the one who was working over at Destry’s Plumbing. They planned to get married in February and honeymoon in Disneyworld. And Nan Richards was pregnant with her third baby and working weekends for a caterer so she and her husband could buy a house.

Arden shook her head. Some things never changed, nor did the expectations of some people. She loved her mother dearly, but how Evelyn could be content working as a servant for the rich was beyond her to understand. As for the news about the girls she’d grown up with—well, if Emma and Nan were happy, that was wonderful, but for Arden happiness had always meant establishing herself in a career. You had to have goals in life, and the higher, the better.

As for falling head over heels in love and getting married—well, that sort of nonsense made for catchy song titles, but it had little place in——

‘Señorita.’

Arden’s head lifted sharply. The lift had arrived, the door had slid open, and she saw that a man was lounging in the far corner, watching her. His arms were folded across his chest, his feet were crossed at the ankle, and he had a lazy smile on his beard-stubbled face.

His eyes—surprisingly green in his sun-darkened face—met hers, and she took an unexpected step back. For barely an instant she’d felt—she’d felt as if the ground had suddenly tilted under her feet...

She gave herself a mental shake. That was what came of skipping lunch. But Mr Lithgow had asked her if she’d mind working through, so she could finish up the reports he’d needed for an afternoon meeting—

‘Espera usted a alguine?’

She looked at the man again. Are you waiting for someone? he’d asked, his husky voice and little smile adding a twist to the simple words so that she knew he was asking more than the reason she hadn’t yet stepped into the lift. The knowledge made her hazel eyes turn cool.

Did he really think she could possibly be interested in someone like him? Yes, she thought, her mouth tightening with distaste, he probably did. He had to know there were women—lots of women—who’d look at such a man and like what they saw. He was tall, wide in the shoulders and narrow in the hips, with a classically handsome Spanish face that was made even more attractive by a nose that seemed to have been broken some time in the past. A canvas backpack leaned against his leg, its age and condition matched by his dusty leather boots. He wore jeans and a denim work shirt with the sleeves rolled back to show tanned, muscular forearms.

But any woman with half a brain would see beyond the blatantly macho good looks. Arden had seen others like him several times since she’d arrived in San José, the sort of man who’d come to Central America from any of a dozen other places with nothing but a passport and a handful of colones in his pocket. Some people called them adventurers, but what was the sense in using romantic euphemisms to cover the truth? He was a tramp and a drifter, a man who never planned beyond tomorrow and earned what money he needed by signing on for a day’s manual labour here and there in his travels. Heaven only knew how he’d scraped together enough to rent a room here for the night.

‘Que pasa, señorita?’

‘No me interesa,’ she said, her voice cutting sharply across his.

His smile tilted. ‘Ah,’ he said in unaccented English, ‘you are North American, not a Tica.’

‘That’s right, I’m not Costa Rican.’ Why did it irk her that her accent had given her away, despite her excellent command of the language? ‘And I’m not—’

‘Interested. Yes, so you said.’ His gaze moved over her in frank appraisal and he smiled lazily. ‘But you misunderstood me, señorita. It’s not that I mind waiting. You’re worth it. A pretty woman always is. It’s just that a lift’s whole purpose is to go up, and this one hasn’t moved for the past five minutes.’

It took her a moment before she understood that he’d somehow turned the tables on her. Of course he’d been coming on to her; you didn’t have to be interested in such ridiculous games in order to know when you’d been invited to play. But she’d made him feel foolish by putting him down and now he was repaying her in kind.

Arden’s eyes narrowed. She wanted to tell him that as far as she was concerned, he could have the damned lift all to himself for the rest of the evening, if he wanted it, but she knew it was more important to show no reaction.

‘Sorry,’ she said with a cool smile.

She stepped into the car and turned her back to him. The door slid shut and the lift jerked to a start. It rose slowly, as it always did, although this evening it seemed to be taking forever to make the journey to the third floor. She could feel the man’s eyes on her, burning a hole in her back. After a moment, he cleared his throat.

‘Are you new to Costa Rica?’ he said pleasantly.

Arden rolled her eyes to the ceiling. He was going to try again! Well, she wasn’t going to be drawn in this time. Her chin lifted; she stared at the door as if she expected to see a message flash on the dark wood.

‘Because, if you are,’ he said, ‘I’d be more than happy to—’

Lord, he was persistent! ‘Thank you,’ she said in a voice that would have turned warm water to ice, ‘but I’m busy.’

‘—buy you a drink and tell you a bit about—’

She swung towards him, and her voice grew even more frigid. ‘I said I’m busy.’

‘There’s a cocktail party this evening, beside the pool. Just give me half an hour to shower and change,’ he said, as if she hadn’t spoken. His hand lifted, went to his face, and he rubbed his knuckles lightly over the dark stubble that covered his chin. ‘And to shave, of course,’ he said with a smile. ‘I’ve been in the back country for days, and—’

How would the faint roughness of his beard feel against her skin? The question sprang into her mind with no warning at all. A flush rose in her cheeks and she swung away and jabbed her finger at the floor button, trying futilely to speed the lift’s sloth-like progress.

‘You’re wasting your time,’ she said, her anger at herself and at him making her voice hard-edged and brittle. ‘I’m sure this town’s full of women who’ll be delighted by your story, but I’m not one of them.’

He chuckled softly, as if she’d said something amusing instead of insulting. ‘Tales of the jungle don’t turn you on?’

‘If you mean,’ she said, giving him a look of absolute distaste, ‘do I think there’s charm to being a bum, the answer is no, I do not.’

Her sharp words had the desired effect this time. His eyes narrowed, and the smiling, handsome face took on a look of coldness.

‘Your honesty does you credit, señorita.’

‘Yes,’ Arden said, just as coldly, ‘I’ve been told that before.’

The lift jogged to a stop. Finally! she thought, and she stepped briskly into the hall. After a second or two, the man’s footsteps followed after her. Arden gritted her teeth. He wasn’t just persistent, he was impossible! She took a deep breath and spun around to face him. ‘Listen here,’ she said fiercely, ‘if you think—’

Her words sputtered to silence. The stranger wasn’t following her, he was unlocking the door to what was obviously his room. He looked up, and his eyes, as green and cold as those of a jungle cat, met hers.

‘Adios, señorita. Don’t think it’s been charming, because it hasn’t.’

Arden’s mouth dropped open. She wanted to make a sharp, clever rejoinder, but her mind was a blank. Instead, she tossed her head, turned on her heel, and strode down the corridor to her room. She stabbed her key into the lock, shoved the door open, then slammed it after her.

Before you knew it, this hotel would be renting rooms to just about anybody!

She marched stiffly through her small sitting-room to the bedroom and tossed her key on the table. After a moment, she sighed and sank into a chair. There was no reason to let such a silly encounter upset her. She’d had a long, hard day, she’d been looking forward to a relaxing evening, and she certainly wasn’t going to let a run-in with an arrogant fool snatch that away from her!

She kicked off her beige pumps, stretched out her legs, and began leafing through the remaining messages still clutched in her hand.

There was one from Julie Squires, the newest New York transfer. Would Arden like to take the train ride to Limon on Saturday? Arden sighed again. Sure, she would, even though she’d already made the near obligatory trip to the coastal town. Julie was feeling displaced, something Arden understood all too well. Costa Rica was beautiful and the people were warm and friendly, but it was hard not to feel at a loose end your first few weeks.

The second message was from the hotel, a gaily coloured flyer reminding guests of tonight’s poolside party. Arden rose to her feet, stripped off her suit jacket, and tossed it across a chair. The Lift Lothario would certainly be in attendance, but she would not.

Not that she’d ever had any intention of attending, she thought as she unzipped her skirt and stepped out of it. She’d never liked parties, always felt shelf-conscious at them, half waiting for another guest to point a finger at her and ask people who had invited her?

Arden smiled a bit grimly as she peeled off her blouse and underwear and dropped them on the chair. And it didn’t take a psychologist to figure out that little scenario, she thought as she padded into the bathroom and turned on the shower. When you spent your teenage years passing hors-d’oeuvres and drinks to people you saw every day, you could easily end up with a very different attitude about partygoing.

‘It’s an easy way to make a little extra money,’ her mother had always said when she pressed Arden into serving at weekends at the Potts mansion where she’d worked as a maid, and Arden would never have hurt her by arguing, but the truth was that it was a terrible way to earn money, wearing a black uniform with a tiny white apron and trying not to react when kids from your English or mathematics classes looked straight through you as if they’d never seen you before.

Actually, she thought as she pinned her dark auburn hair into a top knot and stepped under the shower, she had gone to one of the hotel’s parties a couple of months ago, after her boss had urged her to do so for weeks.

‘It’s simply an act of sociability, Miss Miller,’ Mr Lithgow had said crisply. ‘I have no interest in such nonsense either, but the New York office has made a special point of asking us all to do our part in being friendly to the Costa Ricans.’

Arden had thought that being friendly to a bunch of hotel guests hardly qualified, but she’d kept her opinion to herself. Edgar Lithgow had selected her for this job personally, choosing her instead of two other equally qualified applicants because, he’d said sternly, he knew he could count on her to put the interests of the firm before her own, and she wasn’t about to give him reason to think otherwise.

And so, with great reluctance, she’d agreed to go to the party. But she’d felt even more out of place than usual, in the midst of vacationers partying at an almost frantic pace while she’d stood there in a grey business suit, trying to look at ease, and not even Mr Lithgow’s attempts at sociability had helped. In fact, Arden thought, wincing at the memory, she’d been so stiff and uncomfortable that she’d almost made a damned fool of herself when her boss had come striding towards her with two tall, frosted glasses in his hands.

‘No, thank you, sir,’ she’d said, when he’d held one of the glasses out to her.

‘Don’t be silly, Miss Miller,’ he’d said with a frown. ‘It’s only punch.’

And so she’d taken the glass, then a sip from it, just to be polite. It hadn’t tasted bad at all, sort of fruity and cool and sweet, but there must have been enough rum in it to have gone straight to her head because moments later, she’d imagined Mr Lithgow looking at her in a way he never had before, with a sharp brightness glinting in the pale blue eyes behind their tri-focal lenses, and then she’d thought he’d moved closer to her than he had to, so that his arm kept brushing against her breast each time he lifted his glass.

But the final moment of foolishness had come when she felt his hand settle on her hip, the fingers lightly cupping her buttocks. Arden still shuddered when she thought of it.

‘Mr Lithgow,’ she’d said, loudly and sharply enough to have made a couple of heads turn in their direction, but before she could make a complete ass of herself, thank God, her boss had frowned and nodded towards the pool and said that it was a good thing he’d grabbed her in time or the jostling crowd would have tumbled her straight in. Arden had blushed with embarrassment at what she’d been thinking, claimed a headache, and fled to her rooms where she’d reminded herself that one of the reasons she’d accepted this transfer was not just because it could well lead to a promotion but because Edgar Lithgow, while rich, was as harmless as a dodo. He had a wife, five children, a paunch and a shiny scalp, and he was on the board of half a dozen religious and charitable organisations.

Arden turned off the shower and stepped from the tub. In five months here, she thought as she wrapped herself in a floor-length towelling robe, working side by side all day, bumping into each other with regularity in the hotel dining-room or reading lounge in the evening, he had never given her the slightest reason to find fault with him. In fact, she doubted he’d ever really noticed if she were male or female. She shuddered as she unpinned her hair, then combed it out until it lay in darkly curling abundance on her shoulders.

‘Thank your lucky stars you didn’t make a fool of yourself that night, Arden,’ she whispered to her reflection in the misted mirror. The last thing she wanted was to lose this job and the chance it offered of a better future.

There was a knock at the door to her suite. Had an hour gone by already? Not that it mattered; she’d eat just as she was, in her robe at the little table by the window in the sitting-room, and then she’d curl up in bed with the book she’d started last evening.

The knock came again, just as she reached the door and unlocked it.

‘Buenas noches, Alejandro,’ she said—and stared in surprise.

It was not the bellman with her dinner tray who stood in the hallway.

It was her boss, Edgar Lithgow.

CHAPTER TWO

ARDEN tried not to cringe as Lithgow’s gaze swept over her, all the way from her damp, tousled hair to her bare toes peeking out from under her robe. He frowned and she moaned inwardly. She looked about as unprofessional as it was possible to look—but then, she certainly hadn’t expected a visitor! With difficulty, she managed what she hoped might pass for a polite smile.

‘Mr Lithgow, sir. What a surprise.’

‘Good evening, Miss Miller. I apologise for the intrusion, but something’s come up, and I wondered if I might bother you to take a short memo.’

‘Now?’ she said stupidly.

He frowned again. ‘I know it’s irregular and I apologise. But it will only take a moment, I promise.’

Arden stared at him. It was, indeed, irregular. Until this instant, she’d never even seen him on her floor.

‘Miss Miller?’

Her hesitation had turned Lithgow’s frown into a scowl. She gave him one more quick glance, as if to reassure herself that he were the same man she worked with each day, tall and angular in a dark blue suit, his few strands of pale hair combed neatly across his skull, his rimless eye glasses perched high on his narrow nose, and then she smiled.

‘Of course,’ she said, opening the door wide. ‘Come in.’

Lithgow stepped past her into the room, and her nose wrinkled. He’d brought a scent with him—what was it? Cologne? Shaving lotion? She’d never noticed him wearing either.

Gin, Arden thought in surprise. Was that what she smelled? Gin?

‘Your notepad, Miss Miller. Where is it?’

She hesitated. ‘It’s—it‘s—’

‘This is quite an urgent memo, Miss Miller. I’d prefer not to waste time standing around this way.’ He turned and slammed the door shut. ‘And I’ve no wish to have anyone hear me dictate something of such importance.’

Arden glanced at the closed door, then at her boss’s face. He looked as he always did, coldly forbidding and somewhat unapproachable.

‘Miss Miller?’ His voice was sharp. ‘Is there a problem?’

‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘No, sir, of course not.’

Not unless you called her own silly imagination a problem, Arden thought. The run-in with the stranger had obviously made her edgy, and foolishly so. If Edgar Lithgow wanted to have a drink on his own time, that was his business. If he needed to dictate an urgent memo, that was hers, and never mind that she wasn’t really comfortable having him turn up in her rooms after working hours.

‘I have some stationery in the dresser in the bedroom,’ she said as she started from the room. ‘I’ll just get it and—’

‘You weren’t at the party, Miss Miller.’

Arden turned in surprise. Lithgow had followed her; he was almost on her heels and now that he was so close to her, the smell of gin was strong enough to make her wrinkle her nose.

‘Uh, no, no, I wasn’t.’ She glanced down at herself and flushed, which was silly, considering that she was covered from throat to toe. Still, if she was going to take dictation, she suddenly wanted to change from her robe to something more substantial. ‘I—uh—I was just taking a shower,’ she said with a quick smile. ‘Why don’t you go back into the sitting-room and give me a minute to put on—?’

‘Don’t be silly, Miss Miller.’ He smiled. ‘Stay just as you are, my dear. You look quite comfortable.’

My dear? Arden cleared her throat. She wanted to take a step back, but the bed was just behind her, pressing lightly against the backs of her legs. ‘Well, then,’ she said briskly, ‘let me just get that paper and we’ll get started.’

‘By all means.’

‘You’ll—you’ll have to move, sir.’ His brows rose questioningly. ‘The paper’s over there,’ she said, gesturing towards the dresser on the far wall. ‘I need to get past you.’

Lithgow smiled and shifted slightly to the side. ‘You’re a slender girl, Arden. Surely you don’t need more room than this?’

All at once, everything in the room seemed slightly askew, like a scene viewed through a pair of unfocused binoculars. Be calm, she told herself, just take things nice and easy.

‘You know, Mr Lithgow,’ she said with a careful smile, ‘it really is very late. Alejandro will be bringing my supper in a moment, and—’

Lithgow chuckled slyly. ‘No, he won’t.’

Arden stared at him. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I met Alejandro in the hall and told him you and I would prefer a little supper served later, not now.’

‘You had no right to do that,’ Arden said sharply. She pushed past Lithgow, trying not to notice the press of his body against hers. ‘I think you’d better leave right now, sir. If you do—’

Lithgow caught hold of her wrist. ‘I haven’t dictated the memo yet, Arden.’

‘You can dictate it tomorrow, at the office.’

He looked at her steadily, while she tried not to let her growing fear show in her face, and then he sighed and let go of her hand.

‘You’re right, I should never have bothered you with such nonsense this evening.’

The breath whooshed from her lungs. ‘That’s all right, sir,’ she said. ‘We’ll-we’ll just forget all about—’

‘Do you think I might have a cold drink, before I go?’

No, Arden thought, no, you can’t. Just get out of here and let me pretend this never happened.

‘Miss Miller?’ She looked at him. ‘I would be most grateful for just a little sip of something cold.’

She sighed. ‘Very well, sir. I’ll get you a glass of water.’

He shuddered. ‘That bottled stuff? No, I don’t care for the taste.’ He nodded towards the little fridge the hotel provided. ‘What do you have in there?’

‘Coke and some orange juice,’ she said reluctantly, ‘but—’

‘And ice?’

All right, she told herself, all right, if that was what it took to get rid of him ...

‘Yes,’ she said with a sigh, ‘of course.’ She bent and opened the fridge. ‘Which would you like, sir? Coke? Or—’

‘Just the ice, Arden,’ he said, and it was the tone of his voice as much as the way he’d gone back to using her first name that made her look up. That sly grin was on his face again and, as she watched, he pulled a bottle of gin from his pocket. ‘Ta da!’ he said. ‘If Arden won’t come to the party, the party will come to her!’

Arden straightened up slowly. ‘You’ll have to leave now, Mr Lithgow.’

“I agree with you, my dear. Business can wait until morning.’ He smiled again. ‘Why don’t you get us some glasses, hmm?’

‘Mr Lithgow—’

‘Edgar.’

‘Mr Lithgow,’ she said firmly, ‘you’re going to regret this tomorrow. Now, why don’t you—?’

‘What I regret,’ he said, moving towards her, ‘is all the time I’ve wasted, watching you slip around the office, waggling your hips in my face, showing off those breasts, and not doing what a man ought to do when faced with what was offered.’

Arden’s hazel eyes widened. ‘That’s a lie! I never—’

‘Temptation was put in my path,’ he said solemnly, putting the gin bottle on the night stand as he walked slowly towards her, ‘and for months I thought it was a test of my virtue.’ He laughed softly. ‘And then I realised that I’d misunderstood. You weren’t here to tempt me, you were a gift.’

‘Now, wait just a damned minute,’ Arden said, moving backwards.

‘A gift from my maker, Arden.’ He was standing almost on top of her now; his breath was a cloud of gin, rising like an evil miasma to her nostrils. ‘His way of thanking me for my years of dedication to charitable works.’

He’s crazy, Arden thought frantically. Either that, or he’s suddenly developed a sick sense of humour. But the hot weight of his hand at her breast was no joke. Arden skidded away.

‘Get out of my room,’ she said, hoping he could not hear the fear in her voice.

His face took on a look of cold calculation. ‘You forget yourself. I have a perfect right to be here. I pay the bills for this suite, remember?’

‘The company pays the bills.’

‘A matter of semantics.’

‘This is sexual harassment,’ Arden said quickly. ‘You must know there are laws against this sort of—’

‘Laws!’ Lithgow laughed. ‘Stuff and nonsense, pushed through American courts by damned fool feminists. But we’re not in America now, we’re in a place that looks like Paradise.’

It was no time to argue that the laws still applied, Arden thought desperately. He was either crazy or crazy drunk, and all that mattered was getting away from him while she still could. She looked past him to the door, measuring the distance, wondering if she could reach it before he did, but before there was time to make a move Lithgow lunged for her and grabbed her. Arden cried out and struggled to free herself, but he was a man with a strength fuelled by equal parts desire and alcohol.

‘You son of a bitch,’ she panted, and somehow she wrenched free, but Lithgow was still holding on to her sash so that the robe swung open, revealing her.

He moaned as if he’d just seen the Grail.

‘Lovely,’ he said, and the huskiness of that one word told her this would be her last chance at escape.

Arden gave a sob, spun around and raced not for the door but for the night table. The gin bottle crashed to the floor as she reached for the phone, but her fingers closed around thin air. Lithgow grunted, tackled her from behind, and they fell to bed together in a whirl of legs and arms while the stink of gin filled the air in the bedroom.

‘Little wildcat,’ he said, grinning into her face.

She fought as be tried to pin her beneath him. ‘Let go of me, you bastard,’ she panted. Her leg came up; she wanted to knee him in the groin but he moved suddenly, feinting to the side. Arden opened her mouth to scream and Lithgow’s lips clamped on to hers. The vile taste of him made her gag. She beat against his shoulders, the breath whistling through her nostrils, and suddenly she heard the door slam against the wall and a male voice said, ‘Just what in hell is going on here?’

Lithgow went still as a corpse above her. ‘Get off me,’ Arden said in a voice that shook, as much with rage as with fear. The pupils in his eyes contracted, his mouth narrowed, and suddenly he was Edgar Lithgow again, cool and removed and as proper as a Sunday afternoon in the country.

He rose to his feet and Arden scrambled off the bed in one swift motion, turning to her saviour with a tremulous smile of relief.

‘Thank you,’ she murmured. ‘You got here just in—’

The words caught in her throat. The man standing in the bedroom doorway was the man she’d met in the lift, and he was looking at her as if she’d just climbed out from under a rock.

‘It would seem you were telling the truth when you said you had a prior engagement this evening,’ he said with a cool smile.

Arden felt a crimson flush rise beneath her skin. ‘I’d hardly call this a prior engagement,’ she said stiffly.

His gaze was slow and insolent as it skimmed her tangled hair and flushed face, then dropped lower. Her flush deepened as she realised her robe was still hanging open, and she grasped the lapels quickly and drew them tightly together. He looked away from her, his glance moving around the room, and Arden’s eyes followed his, taking in, as he was, the tangled bedclothes, her clothing lying carelessly across the chair. When his nostrils flared, hers did, too, and filled with the heavy aroma of gin.

‘What would you call it, señorita?’ he asked, his face expressionless.

Arden grabbed her sash and knotted it tightly at her waist. ‘My God,’ she said, ‘anyone with half a brain can see what—’

‘An excellent question, sir.’ Arden and the stranger both turned and looked at Edgar Lithgow. He was standing beside the bed, his thin mouth narrowed with disgust, his hair smoothed down across his head, his shirt tucked neatly into his trousers, looking as out of place as a robed jurist in a prison cell. ‘Perhaps she’ll explain this little scene to us both.’

Arden stared at him. ‘What are you talking about?’ she said angrily.

Lithgow’s eyes never left the other man’s face. ‘This young woman—Miss Miller—has been my secretary for months now, and in all that time I’ve chosen to ignore the hints she’s given me as to her baser nature.’

‘What?’ Arden slammed her hands on to her hips. ‘What are you saying, you—you—?’

‘I’m a family man, sir, a devoted husband and father, a leader in my church and community.’ Lithgow shook his head. ‘Perhaps that’s why I gave Miss Miller the benefit of the doubt, why I pretended not to notice the way she brushed against me whenever she could. But tonight, when she invited me to her room—’

‘It’s a lie! I never—’

‘We had a drink together,’ Lithgow said. He sighed. ‘More than one, to be honest. And I weakened, heaven forgive me, and she—she—’

‘You bastard!’ Arden started towards him, but the stranger stopped her, reaching out and catching her by the arm. ‘He’s lying,’ she said furiously. ‘I never asked him here, and I certainly never offered him a drink.’ She swung towards Lithgow, her eyes flashing. ‘You—you forced yourself on me, you pig!’

The stranger let go of her, laughed softly, and leaned back against the door, his hands shoved lazily into his pockets. He had shaved, Arden noticed in some still-logical part of her mind, and changed from his worn denims to a pair of white duck trousers and a pale blue shirt.

‘A modern-day version of Rashomon,’ he said. ‘The Japanese play—do you know it? A woman claims rape, a man claims seduction, and it’s up to the audience to determine the truth.’

Colour leaped into Arden’s cheeks again. ‘I was not raped.’

‘Indeed she was not,’ Lithgow said.

The man nodded. ‘At least you agree on that. As for me, I don’t know what happened here tonight, but—’

‘No,’ Arden snapped, ‘you certainly do not, but I can tell you one thing for certain. This man—’

‘This man,’ he said with a little smile, ‘is the reason you were too busy to join me this evening, señorita.’ His gaze went to Lithgow, sliding over the pale face, the fine English wool suit, the gold Rolex winking from beneath a hand-tailored cuff. ‘And I can easily see why he would be more to your liking.’

Arden flushed darkly. ‘I’ve no idea what that’s supposed to mean.’

‘Haven’t you?’

Arden took a deep breath. ‘All right,’ she said, ‘all right, this is enough. I am not going to stand here, in my own bedroom, and—and defend myself against a pack of lies!’

Lithgow sank down on the edge of the bed, his shoulders slumped, the very portrait of despair. ‘I’m so upset,’ he whispered. ‘Nothing like this has ever happened to me before. I should have known. She asked me to stop by and accompany her to the party—’

‘I never did,’ Arden said furiously. She spun towards the stranger. ‘Dammit, do I look as if I’m going to a party?’

The green eyes narrowed and swept over her again, and even though her robe was tightly closed Aden felt as if that gaze were stripping her naked. After a moment, his eyes met hers and a muscle knotted in his cheek.

‘That depends on what kind of party you mean.’

Arden sprang forward, her hand upraised, but he caught it easily, his fingers curling around her wrist, pressing down against the nerves that lay in the soft underside so that she gasped with pain.

‘You have already miscalculated in your dealings with one man tonight, señorita. I urge you not to make the same mistake with another.’

‘You,’ she hissed, ‘you—’

The bed creaked as Lithgow rose to his feet. He walked forward slowly, then he cleared his throat.

‘Señor,’ he said, ‘have you a family? If you do, you will understand my concern for those nearest and dearest to me.’

The stranger gave a little laugh. ‘Without question, señor.’

Arden blew out her breath. ‘I don’t believe this,’ she said. ‘Has the world gone crazy? Isn’t anyone concerned about me? I’m the one who needs protecting; I’m the one who was—’

‘I should never have let this—this Jezebel lure me to her room to—to try and destroy me.’

‘He’s lying,’ Arden said angrily. “Don’t you hear it in his voice? Can’t you see it in his face?’

The stranger didn’t even look at her. ‘If you’re asking me to be discreet—’

‘Yes. Exactly. As one man to another—’

‘You have my word on it, señor.’ He turned slowly towards Arden. ‘Unless, of course, the señorita is correct, and you are lying.’ Lithgow began a sputtering protest, but the stranger silenced him with a look. He turned to Arden, who gave him a hesitant smile.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I kept hoping he couldn’t take you in, but I wasn’t—’

“There would be no point in my pledging my silence, if that is the case,’ he said softly, his eyes locked with hers, ‘since the lady will wish to call the police and press charges. Isn’t that right, señorita?’

Arden ran her tongue over her lips. ‘The police?’

‘Of course. If what you say of tonight’s events is true, you will call them and I will tell them what I saw when I first entered the room, you and this gentleman lying in each other’s arms, on that bed.’

‘We weren’t in each other’s arms,’ she said, her face white. ‘I mean, we were, but only because—because he was trying to force me to—to—’

‘Yes, so you’ve said.’ He smiled, and Arden thought it was the coldest excuse for a smile she had ever seen. ‘The question is, do you wish to make that same statement to the authorities?’

‘Yes. Of course. I—I—’

She fell silent. She would not only be making it to the authorities, she thought frantically, she would be making it to her employers also, and who would they believe, her—or one of their own?

‘Well?’

Arden looked up. The man was watching her, all attempts at pleasantry gone from his face. ‘What will it be, Senorita Miller? Shall I accept your version of Rashomon, or his?’

Her gaze flew to Lithgow; she saw the faint gleam of perspiration on his brow and told herself to remember that one sign of weakness, for she suspected it would be her only victory in this ugly encounter, and then her shoulders slumped.

‘Get out of my room,’ she whispered. ‘Both of you. Get out, do you hear me? Get out!’

Lithgow breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Thank you, sir, thank you.’ He stuck out his hand ‘If I can ever be of assistance...?’

The stranger looked at the outstretched hand as if it were diseased. ‘I have no more use for men who ignore the rules of morality than I have for women who invite them to do so.’ He nodded to Arden. ‘Buenas noches, señorita. It is my fond wish that our paths do not cross again.’

Tears of rage blinded her as he turned and strode from the room. ‘You can count on it,’ she called out as she hurried after him. ‘You can absolutely—’ he threw open the door, stepped into the hall, and vanished. ‘Count on it,’ she whispered, her voice breaking. She fell back against the wall and put her hand to her mouth just as Edgar Lithgow came marching past.

‘You needn’t show up at the office tomorrow, Miss Miller,’ he said coldly. ‘I’ll have one of the other girls pack your things for you.’

‘You won’t get away with this,’ Arden said in a trembling voice.

Lithgow smiled. ‘I already have,’ he said as he swept out the door.

Arden closed her eyes as the door slammed shut after him.

The worst of it was, he was right.

CHAPTER THREE

A NIGHT’S fitful sleep and the bright dawning of the Costa Rican sun combined to change Arden’s perspective. Last evening’s despair gave way to indignation and then to fury. She had been treated shabbily—although there had to be a better word than that to describe what Edgar Lithgow had pulled on her.

And he’d never have been able to get away with it without the help and support of that damnable drifter. It was amazing how quickly the two men had joined forces against her. Arden’s mouth turned down as she zipped up the skirt of her blue gabardine suit. Apparently, you didn’t have to travel in the same social circle to come to the aid and assistance of a brother rat!

But Lithgow would be on his own this morning. He wouldn’t have the stranger to back him up. God, how she despised that man! She grimaced as she brushed her hair back from her face. Lithgow was bad enough, but the other man—how dared he take Lithgow’s side, all but calling her a slut and a liar?

Rashomon, indeed, she thought as she slammed the door to her room and set off down the hall. Not all the clever literary references in the world could disguise the simple truth. The man was an arrogant bastard, a male chauvinist of the worst sort. He’d shown what he thought of women during their first encounter, when he’d tried to pick her up. What had come later—his incredibly easy switch from rescuer to accuser—had only proved it to be true.

And he’d probably got an extra kick out of coming to Lithgow’s assistance. After all, she’d spurned his advances, hadn’t she, and probably wounded that delicate male ego of his—

Arden caught her breath. The door to the stranger’s room swung open just as she reached it—but it wasn’t he who stepped into the hall, it was the chambermaid, dragging her cleaning cart after her.

‘Good morning,’ Arden said with a little smile of relief.

The girl nodded. ‘Buenos dias, señorita.’

Arden glanced into the room as she walked past it. It was empty, the bed made and ready for the next guest. He was gone then, she thought, and thank God for small favours.

She had no wish to ever lay eyes on his face again. If she did, she might well finish what she’d started last night and punch him right in the jaw.

There was a lilt to her step as she marched towards the lift. More to the point, his absence was her ace in the hole.

It meant that, today, Edgar Lithgow was strictly on his own.

Arden’s counter-attack was carefully planned. She’d spent the hour before dawn plotting it from start to finish. She would get to work a little late, just late enough for Lithgow to be lulled into thinking she’d accepted his growled command that she not show up at the office again. The nerve of him! She had done nothing to be ashamed of, and the very first thing she intended to do was make that point—forcefully—to her former boss, for that was exactly what he’d be, as of this morning, after she’d made her short but pointed speech.

‘You’re right,’ she’d say, after she’d marched into his office and shut the door, ‘I won’t press charges—assuming you arrange immediately for my transfer back to the New York office and for my immediate promotion to administrative assistant.’

If he gave her one moment’s argument—if he did, she’d—she’d...

She’d what? She’d collapse like a deflated balloon, that was what, because the only thing worse than the prospect of letting Lithgow get away with this was the thought of having to stand up in a courtroom and describe the humiliation of what had happened. Even worse would be having to explain things to Lithgow’s bosses. They were all the same, his kind of people; she could almost see the knowing little smiles of disbelief they’d give each other.

But things would never get that far. Lithgow wouldn’t call her bluff; he wouldn’t dare. Late last night, after she’d calmed down enough to think, she’d realised that her boss had as much reason to want to keep this quiet as she. Hell, he might even have more! He’d ticked off his sterling qualities for the stranger’s benefit, his community and church affiliations, his status in the company—none of them would change him from the lowlife he was into the decent man everyone believed him to be, but that was all the more reason he wouldn’t want a charge of sexual harassment hanging around his neck.

‘Buenos dias, señorita.’

Arden looked up from the menu. ‘Good morning,’ she said, and then she hesitated. Was the waiter looking at her strangely? Come to think of it, had the chambermaid given her this same off-centre smile, as if she knew something Arden didn’t?

She gave a little laugh as she set the menu aside. That was just what she needed now, a touch of paranoia to top things off.

‘I’ll have the melon,’ she said briskly in Spanish, ‘and toast. And a pot of coffee, please.’

She wasn’t hungry, despite having never had supper last night, but there was still time to kill and besides, she’d need all the strength she could garner for the confrontation that lay ahead. Methodically, she ate everything that had been served her, washed it all down with three cups of strong black coffee, then pushed back her chair and rose from the table.

The waiter materialised from out of nowhere and held out a small silver tray bearing the bill for her meal. Arden sank back into her seat and sighed. He wanted her to sign her name and room number, which was fine. It was just that the ritual was never the same. Sometimes you were asked to sign, and other times whatever bill you’d run up was automatically charged to the company’s account.

‘I’ll need a pen,’ she said. The waiter shrugged. ‘Una pluma, por favor, so I can sign for my breakfast.’

He gave her an embarrassed smile. ‘I am sorry, señorita, but I cannot accommodate.’

Arden sighed. ‘No problem,’ she said, opening her bag and digging into it. ‘I have a pen in here somewhere, if I can just—’

‘I meant that I cannot permit you to charge the meal to your room.’ She looked up, startled. ‘It is not my decision,’ he said quickly. ‘It is the decision of Senor Arondo.’

There it was again, that peculiar little smile. A chill of premonition danced along Arden’s spine, but she told herself she was over-reacting. Arondo was the hotel manager, but he’d only been here a couple of weeks. A screw-up was more than likely.

She dug some notes from her purse and tossed them on the tray. ‘Never mind,’ she said with a quick smile. ‘I’ll stop by later and sort things out.’

She made her way to the parking area and headed for the place where she always parked her car. But the green Ford wasn’t there. The slot was empty.

Arden swung around in a circle. Had she forgotten where she’d parked it? It didn’t seem likely, but anything was possible on a morning like this. The lot wasn’t very big; she would be able to see the car in an instant and—

It wasn’t anywhere to be seen. The chill came again, this time sending a shudder through her bones. Don’t bother showing up at work, Lithgow had said, and this morning she’d had to pay for her breakfast—a breakfast that should have gone on the company tab—and now her company-supplied car was missing. It took no great stretch of the imagination to realise what had happened.

Lithgow had already eliminated her as an employee. He’d taken back all the perks of her job.

Arden’s eyes narrowed. Was he really so sure of himself? Well, he was in for a big surprise.

‘Get ready, Mr Lithgow,’ she muttered under her breath, ‘because you’re not going to get away with this!’

Without a car, what should have been a few minutes’ trip to work became a half-hour walk. It was a hot morning and Arden felt sweaty and dishevelled by the time she reached her office. She longed to stop in the ladies’ room to splash cool water on her face, touch up her make-up and fix her hair, but the line between giving Edgar Lithgow enough time to build up a sense of false security and losing the edge she wanted was a narrow one.

It was better to confront him right away, she thought, pushing open the door to his outer office...

She stopped dead in her tracks. Julie Squires was sitting at Arden’s desk. The s.o.b. had certainly moved fast, she thought grimly, and made her way quickly across the room.

‘I want to see Mr Lithgow,’ she said.

Julie shifted in her chair. ‘I’m afraid he’s not here.’

Arden’s brows lifted. ‘Really,’ she said coldly.

‘It’s the truth, honest!’

Arden folded her arms. ‘No problem,’ she said. ‘I’ll wait.’

‘But he won’t be back for a couple of days,’ Julie said, looking as if she’d rather be anywhere than here.

‘Listen,’ Arden said tautly, ‘I’ve sat in that seat, remember?’

‘I don’t know what you—’

‘I’ve smiled just as politely as you and lied through my teeth so I could turn away unwanted visitors for that man!’

The other girl shook her head. ‘I’m telling you the truth! Mr Lithgow was called out of town on urgent business.’

‘What urgent business?’

‘I don’t know. He didn’t—’

‘When will he be back?’

Julie shrugged. ‘I don’t—’

‘I have to see him, Julie,’ Arden said urgently. ‘You’ve got to tell me where he is!’

‘I swear, I don’t know.’ The girl looked around, then leaned forward over her desk. ‘What happened?’ she whispered. ‘I was shocked—we all were—when Lithgow announced he’d had to fire you.’

‘Is that what he said?’

‘Uh huh. He left something for you. I was supposed to send it over to the hotel, along with your things, but since you’re here...’ Julie took an envelope from her desk. ‘There’s a cheque in it,’ she said. Her eyes seemed to narrow just a bit and that same damned smile, the one Arden had seen on the faces of the chambermaid and the waiter, bloomed on her lips. ‘It’s for a lot of money. And he drew it on his own account, not the company’s.’

Arden felt a flush rise in her cheeks. ‘You certainly know a lot about it.’

The girl shrugged. ‘He wrote the cheque while I was standing at his desk. I couldn’t help but see it, could I?’

Arden ripped the envelope open without ceremony, pulled out the cheque, and stared at it. It looked as if Edgar Lithgow had decided not to count on intimidation alone to keep her silent. The cheque was for twenty-five thousand dollars.

Julie cleared her throat. ‘See what I mean?’

The women’s eyes met. ‘Yes,’ Arden said carefully, ‘I do.’ With slow, deliberate movements, she tore the cheque in half and went on tearing it until it had been reduced to white confetti, then let it fall like snowflakes over the desk. ‘Tell Mr Lithgow he can stuff that wherever he likes,’ she said, trying to keep her voice from trembling, and she turned sharply and strode from the room.

By the time she’d gone a block, she was calling herself all kinds of fool.

What had it got her, that stupid bit of drama? She had destroyed Lithgow’s cheque, but damn it, to what end? She should have kept it and...

No. She could never have done that. But she could have cashed it and kept at least enough money to get her home. One of the great benefits of this job had been that her room and board were all paid for and so she’d sent most of her pay home. Her mother had been ill last year and Arden had been slowly whittling down the medical bills.

Wait a minute! Her steps slowed. The company owed her severance pay, if nothing else, and a return ticket home. She could go back and demand them...

But what was the point? Lithgow would have to approve such arrangements, and he had conveniently vanished. Well, he couldn’t stay away forever. A few days, Julie had said. Arden’s shoulders straightened. All right, then. She had enough money to keep going that long. The minute he returned, she’d confront him, demand that he issue a cheque for the severance pay due her and meet his other obligations to her, too, including paying her air fare back to the States.

It was the least he owed her.

The days passed, but Lithgow didn’t turn up. His trip had taken him deep into new markets in South America, Julie said when Arden telephoned the office the third time late one afternoon, and he wasn’t expected back for several weeks.

Arden thanked her, hung up the phone, and put her head in her hands.

Now what? She couldn’t take another job, even if she could find one, not without a work permit. There was always the American Embassy, but the thought of telling her story to a bureaucrat who was probably another aristo-bastard like Lithgow was more than she could bear.

And even if he weren’t of Lithgow’s class, he might still give her that same damning look the stranger had. There were even nights she dreamed of the way those green eyes had narrowed with contempt at the sight of her, although why she should was beyond her to understand. She certainly didn’t give one fig for the man or for what he’d thought of her...

There was a knock at the door. Arden stood up slowly and smoothed down her skirt. She’d half expected a visit tonight. Senor Arondo had left her a curt note earlier, reminding her that she had not yet settled her bill for the past week.

She steeled herself, then walked to the door and opened it. But it wasn’t the manager who stood in the corridor, it was Alejandro, the bellboy, and he was carrying a covered tray.

Arden breathed a sigh of relief.

‘Alejandro,’ she said, ‘you’ve made an error. I didn’t order—’

‘Buenos noches, señorita.’ The boy flashed her a quick smile. ‘Your supper.’

If only it were her supper. She wasn’t in the mood to go out to eat tonight, but she’d given up ordering room service—it was too expensive. In fact, she’d given up eating in the hotel. The last couple of days, she’d found it much more economical to take her meals at a little shop around the corner.

‘I’m afraid not,’ Arden said. ‘That’s what I’m trying to tell you, Alejandro. I didn’t—’

The boy winked as he moved past her into the room. ‘I hope the order is right,’ he said loudly.

Arden frowned as she let the door swing shut. ‘Alejandro, what’s this all about?’

‘I had to have an excuse to come to your room, señorita.’ He put down the tray and smiled at her. ‘Otherwise, I would have got myself in trouble.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘I am here on my own behalf. No. That is not correct. I am here on behalf of my cousin, Pablo.’

Arden blinked. ‘Your cousin?’

‘Señorita Miller, please believe me when I say I have no wish to embarrass you, but...’ The boy caught his lip between his teeth. ‘But we hear things,’ he said, rushing the words together. ‘It is said that you—ah—that you had a falling-out with Senor Lithgow and that is why you no longer work for his company.’

She blew out her breath. ‘Well, that’s one way to put it.’

‘It is said, as well, that—that you need money. And—and—’

Her eyes focused on the boy’s reddening face ‘And?’

‘And that is where my cousin enters the picture.’

Arden shook her head. ‘I’m afraid I don’t understand.’

‘Well—well, Pablo knows of this difficulty of yours, señorita. And he would like the chance to offer you a proposition.’

Her expression hardened. ‘Would he?’ she said in a flat voice.

‘Oh, yes, absolutely. Pablo lives an hour’s drive from here, in a very big house. A mansion, you would say.’ The boy’s face lit. ‘It is beautiful there. There is a pool to swim in, and horses to ride—oh, there are all manner of beautiful things to enjoy. And Pablo says you are the perfect woman for him.’

‘Indeed.’

Alejandro was not impervious to the growing frigidity in Arden’s face and voice.

‘I told him that such an offer might embarrass you,’ he said with obvious discomfort, ‘but he was determined I speak on his behalf.’

‘Yes, I can just imagine.’ Arden slapped her hands on her hips. ‘Well, you can just tell Pablo that I’m not interested. The damned nerve of him—and of you, Alejandro! How could you make such a proposal to me?’

The boy’s face fell. ‘Si,’ he whispered miserably. ‘I told him you would say this. “Pablo,” I said, “the señorita is a secretary, she is not a—”’

‘That’s right,’ Arden said with feeling. ‘I’m a secretary, although lately everyone else seems to think I’m—’

‘—she is not a nurse. “But she does not need to be a nurse,” Pablo said. “Old man Romero already has one of those,” he said, and it is true. What the old man needs is a companion, someone who will read to him and talk with him, someone who is a gringa because no tica has ever been able to stand up to his temper—’

‘Wait a minute,’ Arden said quickly. ‘What are you talking about? What old man?’

‘Never mind, señorita. Forgive me for having been so impertinent.’

Arden reached out and caught hold of the boy’s arm as he began to turn away.

‘Alejandro, please, tell me what this is all about. Is this—is your cousin—’

‘Pablo,’ he said helpfully.

She nodded. ‘Yes, Pablo. Is he offering me a job as his companion?’

‘Pablo?’ he said with a giggle. ‘No, certainly not. My cousin is the chauffeur to Señor Romero, señorita.’

‘He’s making the offer for Señor Romero, you mean?’

‘Sí. The old man has many servants but only Linda to keep him company, and—’

‘inda?’ Arden repeated. She was growing more baffled by the minute. Would she ever be able to sort this out?

‘The stepdaughter of Señor Romero.’ Alejandro made. a face. ‘You will not like her, I think. But El Corazon—’

‘El Corazon,’ Arden said numbly, as she sank down on to the edge of a chair.

‘The Romero finca. It is the place I told you of earlier. Pablo says to tell you that you would have your own room and bath.’ His voice fell to a whisper. ‘You could ask to be paid many colones, Pablo says, because no one else will deal with the old man. He is—how do you say—difficult.’

She sat staring at the boy. A job as a paid companion, she thought, and a lump rose into her throat. A job as a servant, that was what it was, a job she’d been destined for all her life, the same as her mother and half the female population in Greenfield...

‘Señorita?’

Arden swallowed hard. Alejandro was watching her with barely concealed eagerness. As far as he was concerned, he’d just offered her the opportunity of a lifetime.

Well, if it wasn’t that, it was, at least, a way to earn enough money to get her home. Did you need a work permit for a job like this? She didn’t know, and she wasn’t going to ask. That was Senor Romero’s problem, not hers.

Still, the thought of it made her flinch. How could she dance attendance on the rich, when the thought of it made her skin crawl?

How can you sit here and wait to be thrown out into the street? a voice inside her asked with cold precision.

‘Señorita? If you are not interested—’

‘But I am.’ Arden took a deep breath. ‘Tell your cousin I’d—I’d be happy if he could get me an interview.’

The boy grinned as he snatched up the tray. ‘I will tell him to make the arrangements.’

She closed the door after him, then sank back against it. Suddenly, she thought again of the man she’d met in the lift, of the things he’d accused her of. What would he say if he knew she was going to take a job as servant to this Señor Romero?

A bitter smile touched her lips. He’d never believe it.

But then again, neither did she.

CHAPTER FOUR

PABLO drove her to her interview with Felix Romero in an ancient, brilliantly polished Cadillac limousine. There would be, he warned, three separate interviews to endure, although only one would take place today.

‘Señorita Linda is away, but when she returns she will insist on questioning you, too,’ he said as they bounced over a dusty dirt road, ‘even though the decision of your employment is not actually hers to make. Whether or not you get the job is up to Senor Romero—and to Señor Conor, of course.’

‘Who?’

‘Señor Conor Martinez.’ Pablo looked into the rearview mirror. ‘He is—how would say?—he is the true master of El Corazon.’

‘But I thought—’

‘Someone had to take charge when Señor Romero’s health began to fail.’

Arden sank back against the seat. ‘Alejandro never mentioned any of this,’ she said glumly. ‘I suppose you’re going to tell me this Senor Martinez is as difficult as Senor Romero.’

‘Some would say he is even more so,’ Pablo admitted after a pause. His eyes met Arden’s in the mirror. ‘Senor Conor is of the old school. He demands obedience and perfection.’

Arden could see him in her mind’s eye, a tall, white-haired Spaniard, his face marked by age and discipline, until suddenly another image swept that one aside, that of a tall, handsome man with green eyes, an unsmiling mouth, and the certain belief that he could never be wrong.

‘You mean,’ she said, her words touched with bitterness, ‘he sets himself up as judge, jury, and executioner.’

The chauffeur chuckled. ‘An interesting description, sefiorita.’

And, without question, an accurate one. Arden closed her eyes. Wonderful. Just wonderful. She was about to sign on for a job that would make her a servant, answerable to not one man but two, a pair of elderly Spanish grandees who had no idea the world was moving swiftly into the twenty-first century.

Why had she let Alejandro talk her into this? Anything would be better than—

‘We are arrived, señorita.’

Arden opened her eyes and sat forward just as a pair of massive iron gates swung open to an electronic signal. The Cadillac slowed and began moving up the long driveway, and a little shudder went through her.

Alejandro had described El Corazon as magnificent; it was a word she’d heard often from her mother while she was growing up.

‘I’m going to be working for the Baileys,’ Evelyn would say, and then she’d sigh dramatically. ‘Their house is just magnificent!’

After a while, Arden had known what ‘magnificent’ meant. It was a synonym for grandiose and overdone, a way of saying that a house was far too big to be a home, had cost more money than anything should, and would surely impress the life out of anyone who saw it.

But none of that described El Corazon.

She leaned forward and stared out the window. El Corazon—The Heart—had seemed a romantic name, but this house was hardly romantic. Seen from a distance, it was large and imposing, larger, probably, than any of Greenfield’s pricey mansions. A flower-banked path bisected a wide lawn that looked as if it were carpeted with dark green velvet; it led to wide white steps and a porch whose graceful colonnades drew the eye upward to the house itself with its black trim and Spanish tile roof.

Arden sank back in her seat. What was she doing here? It was too late to tell Pablo to turn the car around, she would have to go through with the first interview, but at its conclusion she would politely thank Felix Romero for his time, then ask Pablo to drive her back to the city. And then she’d swallow what little was left of her pride, go to the Embassy, and beg for help.

Anything would be better than going to work as a servant in a house like this.

Romero was waiting for her in the library. He was a wizened old man with a full mane of white hair, gnarled hands that were tightly clasped around the ivory head of a walking stick despite the fact that he was seated in a wheelchair, and an expression sour enough to make a lemon seem sweet. After a brief few questions, he fixed Arden with a rheumy stare.

‘I am told that I am not an easy man to work for,’ he said brusquely. ‘I have a short temper, and I do not suffer fools lightly.’

Arden thought of telling him it didn’t matter because she wouldn’t take this job if he offered it to her, but she decided to be polite.

‘So I’ve heard,’ she said pleasantly.

‘If I ask you to work for me, I will expect you to rise early, to keep abreast of world affairs so we may discuss them, and to choose your companions wisely.’

‘If I were to decide to work for you, I would rise early because I have always done so, I would discuss with you whatever topics the both of us agreed were of interest, and I would choose my companions by my own standards, which I assure you are every bit as stringent as yours.’

She waited for him to respond, aware that she would never have answered with such arrogance if she hadn’t already decided she didn’t want this job. Felix Romero’s mouth twitched. It took a moment until Arden realised it was as close to a smile as he would offer.

‘It may be that you will work out,’ he said.

Arden stared at him in surprise. ‘Does that mean you’re offering me a job?’

‘Tell Pablo to go to San José and collect your things. I will give this a try.’

He would give it a try? She lifted her chin.

‘Perhaps you should ask me if I will give it a try,’ she said.

Romero’s mouth twitched again. ‘What if I suggested we both do so, Miss Miller?’

Arden hesitated. Why not? It would be just as easy to quit tomorrow as to walk off today. After a moment, she held out her hand.

‘That’s acceptable, señor.’

Romero looked at her outstretched hand, then took it into his own. His eyes met hers and he nodded.

‘Done,’ he said brusquely.

After a few weeks, Arden was glad she’d agreed to Romero’s proposal. To her surprise, the job was working out much better than she’d dreamed it could. The old man had a sharp, analytical mind and he enjoyed exercising it; sometimes, Arden thought he deliberately played devil’s advocate just to encourage discussion and philosophical argument. He had an extraordinary orchid collection and when Arden expressed an interest in it he was more than eager to teach her the names and idiosyncrasies of the various flowers.

And, perhaps most importantly, he never treated her like a servant. Her room was not in the servants’ wing but in the main part of the house, and he insisted she take her meals at his table. She knew it was childish that these things should matter to her, but they did.

Still, Felix Romero wasn’t an easy man to like. Despite his keen intellect, there was a coldness to Felix Romero as well as a streak of stubborn pride that kept his attitude as rigid as his spine. And he complained long and often about his stepdaughter and Conor Martinez.

‘The two of them will be here soon, and you will see for yourself what sort they are,’ he said stonily one morning, as he and Arden sat in the library.

‘I’m sure they’re very nice,’ Arden said.

The old man thumped his cane on the floor. ‘Do not patronise me,’ he said sharply. ‘I don’t like it!’

Arden sighed. ‘I’m only suggesting that—’

‘You are wrong, I assure you. Linda cares only for herself. She never spends time here, if she can help it.’

‘Perhaps it’s difficult for a young girl to live in such a remote location.’

‘As for Conor,’ Felix said, ignoring her comment, ‘his sole concern is to usurp as much of my power as he can.’

Arden put down the newspaper she’d been reading to him. ‘Why do you say that?’

‘You will say it, too, Miss Miller, after you have observed how he behaves.’ Felix frowned. ‘Of course, he claims he is merely trying to ease the burden of running this finca from my shoulders.’

‘Isn’t that possible?’

Romero laughed. ‘When you reach my age, you know that anything is possible. But my nephew—’

‘Your nephew?’ Arden frowned. ‘I thought—I assumed he was an older man.’

‘He is old enough to wish to wrest El Corazon from me,’ Felix said brusquely. ‘He is not an altruist, Miss Miller. I assure you, once you’ve met him, you will agree.’

Arden pushed back her chair and got to her feet. ‘Well,’ she said pleasantly, ‘I’m looking forward to meeting both Senor Martinez and Linda:

The old man smiled archly. ‘They won’t like you:

She stared at him in surprise. ‘Why not?’

‘Linda will not care for sharing the house with a woman more attractive than she could ever hope to be. As for Conor—Conor will be distrustful of anyone who might come between him and his goal.’ His brows rose. ‘Conor will surely dismiss you.’

Arden’s spirits sagged. Was she going to lose this job after such a short time?

‘And will you let him?’ she asked quickly.

Felix chuckled. ‘I hired you, Miss Miller. On my finca, my word is absolute.’

‘I hope so, señor. Working here means a great deal to me.’

‘Not to worry.’ Felix leaned forward and patted her hand. ‘Now, go and find out what’s happened to the coffee I asked for an hour ago.’

Arden bit her lip as she stepped into the hall and closed the library door after her. That would be the final straw, she thought unhappily, if she were to lose this position because of a selfish stepdaughter and a grasping nephew...

‘Brava,’ a woman’s voice said.

Arden spun around. No, she thought, it wasn’t a woman, not really. It was a girl, perhaps nineteen or twenty years of age, tall and beautiful, with a look of haughty insolence in her dark eyes, and she knew without question that this had to be Felix’s stepdaughter, Linda Vasquez.

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