He’ll give her five million reasons...

To marry him!

Infuriatingly, the only way Rafael Mendoza-Casillas can become CEO of the Casillas Group is if he marries. Yet this notorious Spanish playboy isn’t the commitment kind. Until penniless single mother Juliet Lacey confides she’s about to lose everything. Rafael offers to save her financially if she marries him. But as the intensity of their attraction deepens, can he keep their marriage purely for appearances...?

Walk down the aisle with the Spaniard’s bought bride...

CHANTELLE SHAW lives on the Kent coast and thinks up her stories while walking on the beach. She has been married for over thirty years and has six children. Her love affair with reading and writing Mills & Boon stories began as a teenager, and her first book was published in 2006. She likes strong-willed, slightly unusual characters. Chantelle also loves gardening, walking and wine!

Also by Chantelle Shaw

Acquired by Her Greek Boss

Hired for Romano’s Pleasure

Wed for His Secret Heir

The Virgin’s Sicilian Protector

Reunited by a Shock Pregnancy

The Howard Sisters miniseries

Sheikh’s Forbidden Conquest

A Bride Worth Millions

Bought by the Brazilian miniseries

Mistress of His Revenge

Master of Her Innocence

The Saunderson Legacy miniseries

The Secret He Must Claim

The Throne He Must Take

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Wed for the Spaniard’s Redemption

Chantelle Shaw

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08794-0

WED FOR THE SPANIARD’S REDEMPTION

© 2019 Chantelle Shaw

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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For Adrian.

being a writer’s husband is no easy job!

love you.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

Spanish Stud’s Sex Romp withCabinet Minister’s Wife!

RAFAEL MENDOZA-CASILLAS SCOWLED as he sifted through the pile of newspapers on his desk. All the tabloids bore similar headlines, and even the broadsheets had deemed that it was in the public interest to report his affair with Michelle Urquhart.

The story wasn’t only in the UK. All across Europe people were eating their breakfast while studying a front-page photograph of the heir to Spain’s biggest retail company entering a top London hotel late at night accompanied by the voluptuous Mrs Urquhart. A second photo showed him and Michelle leaving the hotel by a back door the next morning.

One can only speculate on how Europe’s most prolific playboy and the Minister’s wife spent the intervening hours!

That was one journalist, writing in a particularly tacky tabloid.

‘It is one scandal too many, Rafael.’

Hector Casillas’s strident voice shook with anger and Rafael held his phone away from his ear.

‘On the very day that the company’s top-selling Rozita fashion line launches a new bridal collection your affair with a married woman is headline news. You have made the Casillas Group a laughing stock.’

‘I was not aware that Michelle is married,’ Rafael said laconically when his grandfather paused to draw a breath.

Not that her marital status interested him particularly. He was not responsible for other people’s morals—especially as his own morality was questionable. But if he’d known that Michelle’s husband was a public figure he would not have slept with her. Even though she had made it clear that she was available within minutes of him meeting her in a nightclub. Rafael never had a problem finding women to occupy his bed and, frankly, Michelle had not been worth this fallout.

He leaned back in his chair and watched the rain lash the windows of his office at the Casillas Group’s UK headquarters in London’s Canary Wharf. The Casillas Group was one of the world’s largest clothing retailers, and as well as Rozita the company owned several other top fashion brands.

Rafael visualised his grandfather sitting behind his desk in the study of the opulent Casillas family mansion in Valencia. There had been many occasions in the past when he had been summoned to that study so that Hector could lecture him on his failings and remind him—as if Rafael needed to be reminded—that he was part gitano. The English word for gitano was gypsy, and in other areas of Europe the term was Roma. But the meaning was the same—Rafael was an outsider.

‘Yet again you have brought shame on the family and, even worse, on the company,’ Hector said coldly. ‘Your mother warned me that you had inherited many of your father’s faults. When I rescued you from the slums and brought you into the family I intended that you would succeed me as head of the Casillas Group. You are my grandson, after all. But sadly there is too much of your father’s blood in you, and tacking Casillas on to your name does not change who you are.’

Rafael’s jaw clenched and he told himself he should have expected this dig. His grandfather never missed an opportunity to remind him that he did not have the blue blood of Spanish nobility running through his veins. His father had been a low-life drug dealer, and his mother’s relationship with him, a rebellion against the Casillas family’s centuries-old aristocratic heritage, had ended when she’d fled from Ivan Mendoza, leaving behind Rafael and his baby sister in a notorious slum on the outskirts of Madrid.

‘The situation cannot continue. I have decided that you must marry—and quickly.’

For a moment Rafael assumed that he had misheard Hector. ‘Abuelo...’ he said in a placating tone.

‘The board want me to name Francisco as my successor.’

A lead weight dropped into the pit of Rafael’s stomach. ‘You would put a boy in charge? The Casillas Group is a global company with a multi-billion-dollar annual turnover. Frankie would be out of his depth.’

‘Your half-brother is twenty and in a year he will finish studying at university. More importantly he keeps his pants on.’

Bile burned a bitter path down Rafael’s throat. ‘Has my mother put you up to this? She has never made it a secret that she thinks her second son is a true Casillas and should be the heir to the company.’

‘No one has put me up to anything. I make my own decisions,’ Hector snapped. ‘But I share the concerns of the board members and the shareholders that your notoriety and frequent appearances in the gutter press do not reflect well on the company. Our CEO should be a man of high principles and an advocate of family values. I am prepared to give you one more chance, Rafael. Bring your wife to my eightieth birthday celebrations at the beginning of May and I will retire from my position as Chairman and CEO and appoint you as my successor.’

‘I have no desire to marry,’ Rafael gritted, barely able to control his anger.

‘In that case I will appoint your half-brother as my heir on my eightieth birthday.’

‘Dios! Your birthday is six weeks from now. It will be impossible for me to find a bride and marry her in such a short time.’

‘Nothing is impossible,’ Hector said smoothly. ‘Over the last eighteen months you have been introduced to several high-born Spanish women and any one of them would be a suitable wife for you. If you want to be my heir badly enough you will present your bride to me and we will have a double celebration to mark my landmark birthday and your marriage.’

Hector ended the call and Rafael swore as he threw his phone down on the desk. The old man was crazy. It was tempting to think his grandfather had lost his marbles, but Rafael knew that Hector Casillas was a shrewd businessman. The CEO-ship had been passed down to the next generation’s firstborn male since Rafael’s great-great-great-grandfather had established the company, one hundred and fifty years ago.

Hector Casillas’s only offspring had been a daughter so Rafael, the oldest grandson, was next in line. But he knew that many on the board of directors and many of his relatives were not in favour of an outsider—which was how they regarded him—being handed the reins of power.

Hector’s words taunted him. ‘If you want to be my heir badly enough...’ Rafael bared his teeth in a mirthless smile. Becoming CEO of the company was the only thing he wanted. Being named as his grandfather’s successor had been his dream, his obsession, since he was a skinny twelve-year-old kid who had been taken from poverty into the unimaginably wealthy lifestyle of his aristocratic family.

He was determined to prove that he was worthy of the role to his detractors, of whom there were many—including his mother and her second husband. Alberto Casillas was his mother Delfina’s second cousin, which meant that their son Francisco was a Casillas to his core. Like that of many aristocratic families, the Casillas gene pool was very exclusive, and the majority of Rafael’s relatives wanted it to stay that way.

But the retail industry was going through big changes, with increasing focus on internet sales, and Rafael understood better than most of the board members that the Casillas Group must use innovation and new technology so that it could continue to be a market leader. His grandfather had been a great CEO but now new blood was needed.

But not a gitano’s blood, taunted a voice inside him. Once he had begged for food like a stray dog on the filthy streets of a slum. And, like a dog, he had learned to run fast to avoid his father’s fists.

Rafael shut off the dark memories of his childhood and turned his thoughts to the potential brides his grandfather had mentioned. He’d guessed there must be an ulterior motive when his mother had invited the daughters of various elite Spanish families to dinner parties and insisted that Rafael should attend. But he hadn’t taken the bait which had been dangled in front of him and he had no intention of doing so—despite Hector’s ultimatum.

He would have to marry, but he would choose his own bride. And it would not be a love match, he thought cynically.

A psychologist would probably suggest that Rafael’s trust issues and avoidance of commitment stemmed from his being abandoned by his mother when he was seven. The truth was that he could forgive her for deserting him, but not for leaving his sister, who had been a baby of not even two years old. Sofia’s distress had been harder for him to bear than his father’s indifference, or the sting of Ivan Mendoza’s belt across the back of Rafael’s legs.

His determination to gain acceptance by the Casillas family was as much for his sister as for himsef. He would be CEO and he was prepared to offer a financial incentive to any woman who would agree to be his temporary wife.

Once he had achieved his goal there would be no reason to continue with his unwanted marriage, Rafael brooded as he grabbed his briefcase and car keys and strode out of his office.

His PA looked up when he stopped by her desk. ‘I’m going to my ten o’clock meeting and I should be back around lunchtime,’ he told her. ‘If my grandfather calls again tell him that I am unavailable for the rest of the day.’ He paused on his way out of the door. ‘Oh, and, Philippa—get rid of those damned newspapers from my office.’

* * *

The day couldn’t get any worse, surely?

Juliet chucked her phone onto the passenger seat of the van and slid the key into the ignition. She wouldn’t cry, she told herself. After she had lost her parents in the car accident which had also ended her dancing career she’d decided that nothing could ever be so terrible that it would warrant her tears.

But today had started disastrously, when she’d read a letter from an Australian law firm informing her that Bryan intended to seek custody of Poppy. A knot of fear tightened in her stomach. She couldn’t lose her daughter. Poppy was her reason for living, and even though her life as a single mum was a struggle she would fight with the last breath in her body to keep her little girl rather than hand her over to her father, who had never shown any interest in her until now.

A phone conversation with her business partner Mel a few minutes ago had been the final straw on this day from hell. Her life was falling apart!

Juliet watched the rain streaming down the windscreen and blinked back her tears. There was no point sitting here in the car park behind the Casillas Group’s plush offices in Canary Wharf. She still had sandwich deliveries to make to other offices in the area. Her business, Lunch To Go, might be facing ruin, but her customers had paid for their sandwiches and wraps and they were expecting her to turn up.

She sniffed as she started the engine and pulled her seat belt across her lap before putting the van into gear and pressing her foot down on the accelerator pedal. But instead of moving forward the van lurched backwards, and there was a loud bang followed by the tinkling sound of broken glass.

For a split second Juliet couldn’t think what had happened. But when she looked in her rear-view mirror it was obvious that she had reversed into the car which had swung into the parking bay behind her.

And not just any car, she realised with mounting horror. The sleek gunmetal-grey Lamborghini was one of the most expensive cars in production—so Danny, the parking attendant who allowed her to park her van in this car park, which was reserved exclusively for Casillas Group executives, had told her.

The day had just got a whole lot worse.

She watched the owner of the Lamborghini climb out of his car and stoop down to inspect the front bumper. Rafael Mendoza-Casillas: managing director of the Casillas Group UK, international playboy and sex god—if the stories about his love-life which regularly appeared in a certain type of newspaper were to be believed.

Juliet’s heart collided with her ribs when he straightened up and strode towards her van. The thunderous expression on his handsome face galvanised her into action and she released her seat belt and opened the driver’s door. God, she hoped the damage to his car wasn’t too bad or too expensive to repair. A claim on her vehicle insurance would bump up her premium next year.

‘Idiota! Why did you try to reverse out of your parking space? If you’d had the sense to use your mirror you would have seen that I had parked behind you.’

His gravelly voice with its distinct Mediterranean accent was clipped with anger. But it was the sexiest voice Juliet had ever heard and her skin prickled with awareness of the man who towered over her.

She was five feet four—the minimum height for dancers in the corps de ballet—and she had to tilt her head so that she could look at him. His eyes were an unusual olive-green, glinting furiously in his tanned face. And what a face. Juliet had caught sight of him occasionally at the Casillas Group offices, when she’d been delivering sandwiches, but he hadn’t so much as glanced at her whenever she’d walked past him in a corridor. One time she’d entered the lift as he had stepped out of it and the sleeve of his jacket had brushed against her arm. The spicy scent of his aftershave had stayed with her for the rest of the day, and now her stomach muscles contracted when she inhaled his exotic fragrance.

‘I’m not an idiot,’ she muttered, stung by his superior tone and dismayed by her unbidden reaction to his potent masculinity.

The torrential rain was flattening his thick black hair to his skull, but nothing could detract from his film star looks. With chiselled features, razor-edged cheekbones and a square jaw shaded with dark stubble, he was utterly gorgeous. Beneath her apron, which was part of her uniform, Juliet felt her nipples tighten.

Heavy black brows winged upwards, as if he was surprised that she had answered him back. ‘The evidence suggests otherwise,’ he drawled. ‘I hope your vehicle insurance will cover you for an accident on private land. This car park has a notice which clearly states that it is for the Casillas Group’s senior staff’s use only. You are trespassing, and if your insurance is not valid you can look forward to receiving a hefty repair bill for the damage you have caused to my car.’

Of course she would be covered by her insurance—wouldn’t she? Doubt crept into Juliet’s mind and her shoulders sagged. ‘I’m sorry. It was an accident, as you said. I didn’t mean to reverse into your car.’ Panic swept through her. ‘I don’t have the money to pay for your repairs.’

The rain had soaked through her shirt and was dripping off her peaked cap. She remembered how excited she and Mel had been when they had ordered the red caps and aprons with their company logo on. They’d had such high hopes for their sandwich business when they’d started up a year ago, but the two bombshells Juliet had received today made it likely that now Lunch To Go would fold.

To make matters even worse, the most handsome man she’d ever set eyes on was now glaring at her as if she was something unpleasant that he’d scraped off the bottom of his shoe.

Misery welled up inside her and the tears that she’d managed to hold back until now ran down her cheeks, mingling with the rain. ‘The truth is that I don’t even have enough money to buy my daughter a new pair of shoes,’ she said in a choked voice.

She’d felt so guilty when Poppy had said yesterday that her shoes made her toes hurt. And now there was a pain in Juliet’s chest as if the oxygen was being squeezed out of her lungs. She couldn’t breathe. She felt as if a dam inside her had burst, releasing the emotions she had held back for so long.

‘I certainly can’t afford to pay for work on your fancy car. What will happen if my insurance company refuses to pay for the damage? I can’t take out a bank loan because I already have debts...’

Her logical thought processes had given way to near hysteria. Ever since her parents had been killed in that horrific accident she had subconsciously been waiting for another disaster.

‘Could I be sent to prison? Who would look after my daughter? If I’m deemed to be a bad mother Bryan will be allowed to take Poppy to Australia and I’ll hardly ever see her.’

It was Juliet’s worst fear and she covered her face with her hands and wept.

‘Calm yourself,’ Rafael Mendoza-Casillas commanded. ‘Of course you won’t go to prison,’ he said impatiently as her shoulders shook with the force of her sobs. ‘I am sure your insurance will cover the cost of the repairs to my car, and if it doesn’t I will not demand money from you.’

Juliet’s relief at his assurance was temporary. Her other problems still seemed insurmountable and she couldn’t stop crying.

Rafael swore. ‘We need to get out of this rain before we drown,’ he muttered as he took hold of her arm and led her towards his car. He opened the passenger door. ‘Get in and take a few minutes to bring yourself under control.’ Moments later he slid into the driver’s seat and raked a hand through his wet hair. He opened the glove box and thrust some tissues into her lap. ‘Here. Dry your tears.’

‘Thank you.’ She mopped her eyes and took a deep breath. In the confines of the car she was conscious of his closeness. She smelled rain, and the cologne he wore. Another indefinable scent which was uniquely male teased her senses.

‘I’m making your car wet,’ she mumbled when she was able to speak. She was conscious that her rain-soaked clothes were dripping onto the car’s cream leather upholstery. ‘I really am sorry about damaging your car, Mr Mendoza-Casillas.’

‘You can call me Rafael. My surname is a mouthful, don’t you think?’ There was an oddly bitter note in his voice. ‘What is your name?’

‘Juliet Lacey.’ She supposed he needed to know her name and other details for the insurance claim.

Her eyes were drawn to his hard-boned profile and a sizzle of heat ran through her, counteracting the cold that was seeping into her skin from her wet clothes. He glanced at her and she quickly looked away from him. She could not bear to think what she must look like, wet and bedraggled, with her face blotchy and her eyes red-rimmed from crying.

‘I apologise for losing my temper. I did not mean to frighten or upset you,’ he said curtly. ‘You said that you have a child?’

‘Yes, a three-year-old daughter.’

‘Dios, you can only be—what?—nineteen?—and you have a three-year-old?’ He sounded faintly appalled. ‘I assume that as you are not wearing a wedding ring you’re not married.’

‘I’m twenty-four,’ she corrected him stiffly, ‘and, no, I’m not married. Poppy’s father didn’t want anything to do with either of us when she was born.’

‘Who is this Bryan you mentioned?’

‘He’s Poppy’s father. He has now decided that he wants custody of her. Under Australian law both parents are responsible for their child, even if they have never married or been a couple. Bryan can afford the best lawyers and if he wins the court case he intends to take Poppy to live in Australia with him.’

More tears filled Juliet’s eyes and she scrubbed them away with a tissue.

‘It’s so unfair,’ she blurted out. ‘Bryan saw Poppy once when she was a baby. He told me he might have been more interested if she’d been a boy. But it’s my word against his that he rejected his daughter. His lawyers are twisting everything to make it seem as though I refused to allow him to see his child. But I only brought Poppy back to England because Bryan insisted he wanted nothing to do with her.’

Juliet had no idea why she was confiding in Rafael when she didn’t know him, and she was sure he wouldn’t be interested in her problems. But there was something strangely reassuring about his size and obvious strength, the air of power that surrounded him. Words had tumbled from her lips before she could stop them.

‘I’ve heard through my cousin, who lives in Sydney, that Bryan is dating the daughter of a billionaire and he wants to marry her. Apparently his girlfriend can’t have children of her own because of a medical condition, but she desperately wants a child. My guess is that Bryan hopes to persuade his heiress to marry him if he can present her with a cute little daughter.’

Juliet bit her lip. ‘Eighteen months ago Poppy spent a few weeks in temporary foster care when I had to go into hospital. She was very happy staying with the lovely family who looked after her. But somehow Bryan has found out that Poppy was fostered and he’s using it as proof that I can’t give her a secure upbringing and she’ll be better off living with him.’

‘Couldn’t someone in your family have looked after your daughter while you were in hospital?’

The anger had gone from Rafael’s voice and the sexy huskiness of his accent sent a little tremor through Juliet.

‘My parents are dead and my only other relatives live in Australia. My aunt and uncle were kind to me when I stayed with them after my parents died, but they have busy lives and I try to manage on my own.’

‘Why are you short of money?’ Rafael turned his head towards her and Juliet felt his gaze sweep over her cap and apron. ‘I take it that you have a job? What do the initials LTG stand for?’

‘Lunch To Go is my sandwich business, which I co-own with my business partner. We’ve only been running for a year and our profit margins have been low while we have been getting established.’ She gave another sniff and crumpled the soggy tissue in her hand. ‘Things are finally looking up. But today I was called in by your HR manager and told that the contract we have to supply sandwiches to the Casillas Group’s staff will finish at the end of the week because a new staff canteen is to open.’

Rafael nodded. ‘When I established the London headquarters of the company it was always my plan to open a restaurant and a gym in the basement of the building for staff to use in their lunch break. The construction work took longer than anticipated and I asked HR to make a temporary alternative arrangement for staff to be able to buy their lunch from an outside source but still be subsidised by the company.’

‘I didn’t know about the staff restaurant,’ Juliet said dully.

She’d never been down to the basement level—although she had overheard a couple of secretaries talking about the new staff gym. Her contract with the Casillas Group only required her to be given a week’s notice.

‘Will losing the contract have an impact on your business?’

‘It will halve our profits,’ she admitted heavily. ‘I thought we could advertise for new customers at other offices—although a number of other food delivery companies have started up in this area, and the competition is high. And then I spoke to my business partner after my meeting and Mel told me she’s going to sell the bakery shop where we’re based. Her decision is for personal reasons—she and her husband want to move out of London. Mel owns the shop, and I can’t afford to buy it or rent a new premises.’

‘If your business closes what will you do?’

She shrugged. ‘I’ll have to look for another job, but I don’t have any qualifications, or training in a career, and it will be almost impossible to earn enough to cover childcare for Poppy.’

Juliet thought of the home study business degree she had started but had had to abandon because she hadn’t been able to afford the fees for the second year. That degree would have enabled her to find a better-paid job, or at least given her knowledge of the business strategies which would have been useful to develop Lunch To Go. But without Mel she simply could not manage, either financially or practically, to run the sandwich business.

Rafael was drumming his fingers on the steering wheel and seemed to be deep in thought. He had beautiful hands. Juliet imagined his tanned hands sliding over her naked body, those long fingers curving around her breasts and caressing the sensitive peaks of her nipples. Heat swept through her and she was startled by her wayward thoughts.

Bryan had broken her heart when he’d dumped her the morning after she’d given her virginity to him. A month later, when she’d tearfully told him that she was pregnant with his baby, his cruel rejection of her and her unborn child had forced her to grow up fast. She had felt a fool for falling for his easy charm and had vowed never to be so trusting again.

Being a single mother had left her little time to meet men, and it was a shock to discover that she could still feel sexual awareness and desire. Perhaps she was attracted to Rafael because he was so far out of her league that there was no chance that anything would come of it—a bit like a teenager with a crush on a pop star they were never likely to meet in real life, Juliet thought ruefully.

‘I may be able to help you,’ Rafael said, jolting her out of her reverie.

Her heart leapt. If he agreed to allow her to continue selling sandwiches to his office staff her business might just survive.

‘Help me how?’

‘I have an idea that would resolve your financial worries and also be advantageous to me.’

Juliet stiffened. ‘What do you mean by “advantageous”?’

Was he suggesting what she thought he was? She knew that some of the women on the housing estate where she lived worked as prostitutes. Most of them were single mothers like her, struggling to feed their children on minimum wages. She didn’t judge them, but it wasn’t something she could ever imagine doing herself.

She put her hand on the door handle, ready to jump out of the car. ‘I won’t have sex with you for money,’ she said bluntly.

For a few seconds he looked stunned—and then he laughed. The rich sound filled the car and made Juliet think of golden sunshine. She felt as if it had been raining in her heart since her parents had died and she’d been left alone. How wonderful it would be to have someone to laugh with, be happy with.

With a jolt she realised that Rafael was speaking.

‘I don’t want to have sex with you.’

His slight emphasis on the word you made Juliet squirm with embarrassment, which intensified when he skimmed his gaze over her. His dismissive expression said quite clearly that he found her unattractive.

‘I have never had to pay for sex with any woman,’ he drawled. ‘What I am suggesting is a business proposition—albeit an unusual one.’

‘I make sandwiches for a living,’ she said flatly, wishing the ground would open up and swallow her. ‘I can’t think what kind of business we could do together.’

‘I want you to be my wife. If you agree to marry me I will pay you five million pounds.’

CHAPTER TWO

‘VERY FUNNY,’ JULIET muttered, disappointment thickening her voice. ‘I’m not in the mood for jokes, Mr Mendoza-Casillas.’

‘Rafael,’ he corrected her. ‘And it’s not a joke. I need a wife. A temporary wife—in name only,’ he added, evidently reading the crucial question that had leapt into her mind. He stared at her broodingly. ‘You have admitted that being a single parent is a financial burden. What if, instead of struggling, you could live a comfortable life with your daughter without having to work?’

‘Some hope,’ she said ruefully. ‘I’d have to win the lottery to be able to do that.’

‘Consider me your winning ticket, chiquita.’

His sudden smile softened his chiselled features and stole Juliet’s breath. When he smiled he went from handsome to impossibly gorgeous. He reminded her of the male models on those TV adverts for expensive aftershaves—only Rafael was much more rugged and masculine.

She tore her eyes from him, conscious that her heart was beating at twice its normal rate. ‘You’re crazy,’ she told him flatly.

And so was she, to be still sitting in his car. Five million pounds! He couldn’t be serious. Or if he was serious there must be a catch. She felt hot, remembering his amused reaction to her suggestion that he was offering to pay her for sex. God, what had made her say that? Many of today’s newspapers had a photo on the front page of Rafael and a beautiful blonde woman with an eye-catching cleavage. Juliet glanced down at her shapeless figure. She looked like a stick insect compared to Rafael’s latest love interest.

‘If you need a wife why don’t you marry your girlfriend, whose picture is all over the front pages of the papers?’

‘For one thing, Michelle is already married—but even if she were free to marry me she would not be suitable. All of my lovers, past and current, would expect me to fall in love with them,’ he said drily.

He was so arrogant! She wanted to come back with a clever comment but she was mesmerised by the perfect symmetry of his angular features, which were softened a little by his blatantly sensual mouth.

‘But you’re not worried that I might fall in love with you?’ She’d intended to sound sarcastic, but instead her voice was annoyingly breathless.

‘I don’t recommend that you do,’ he said in a hard voice. ‘I do not believe in love,—or marriage, for that matter. I’m not crazy,’ he insisted. ‘I have a genuine reason for needing to be married.’

He swore when his phone rang, and then took his mobile out of his jacket pocket and cut the call.

‘We can’t talk now. I’ll meet you this evening and we can discuss my proposition.’

She shook her head. ‘I’m not interested.’

‘Not interested in earning yourself five million pounds for being my wife for a couple of months?’ He reached across her and put his hand over hers to prevent her from opening the car door. ‘At least give me a chance to explain, and then you can make up your mind whether I’m crazy or not. Although, frankly, you would be foolish to miss out on the chance to earn a life-changing amount of money. Think what you could do with five million pounds. You would never have to worry about the cost of buying your little girl a pair of shoes ever again.’

‘All right.’ Juliet released a shaky breath. He was relentlessly persuasive. She couldn’t think properly when his face was so close to hers that as he leaned across her body she was able to count his thick black eyelashes. ‘I’ll meet you to discuss your proposition, but I’m not saying that I’ll agree to it.’

She pressed herself into the leather seat, hoping he would not notice the pulse at the base of her throat that she could feel thudding erratically. It would add to her humiliation if he guessed that she was attracted to him—especially as he quite obviously did not feel the same way about her.

‘It will have to be after nine,’ she told him. ‘I work the evening shift as a cleaner at a shopping centre close to where I live.’

Juliet felt a mixture of relief and disappointment when Rafael straightened up and moved away from her.

He handed her a business card. ‘Here is my phone number. Text me your address and I’ll collect you from your home at nine-fifteen.’ He frowned. ‘What about your daughter? Does someone look after her while you are at work in the evenings?’

‘Of course I have childcare for Poppy. I certainly wouldn’t leave her on her own,’ she said indignantly, stung by his implication that she might be an irresponsible mother.

It was the accusation that Bryan’s lawyer had levelled against her, and remembering the custody battle she was facing over her daughter evoked a heavy sense of dread in the pit of her stomach.

Five million pounds would enable her to hire her own top lawyer to fight Bryan’s claim on Poppy, Juliet thought as she climbed out of Rafael’s car and ran through the rain back to her van. But she would be nuts even to consider the idea.

* * *

Rafael parked his Lamborghini outside a grim-looking tower block and his conviction that it had been a mistake to suggest to a woman he had never met before today that she should marry him grew stronger. He visualised Juliet Lacey, who had resembled a drowned rat when he’d shoved her into his car out of the rain. Her voluminous apron had covered her figure, but from what he’d been able to see she was skinny rather than curvaceous. Her face had been mostly hidden behind by the peak of a baseball cap that was surely the most unfeminine and unflattering headwear.

In Rafael’s opinion women should be elegant, decorative and sexy, but the waif-like sandwich-seller failed on all counts. His fury that she had damaged his beloved Lamborghini had turned to impatience when she’d burst into tears. He was well aware of how easily women could turn on the waterworks when it suited them. But as he’d watched Juliet literally fall apart in front of him he’d felt a flicker of sympathy.

He had heard a woman sob brokenly only once before, in the slum where he had spent the first twelve years of his life. Maria Gonzales had been a neighbour, a kind woman who had often given food to him and his sister. But Maria’s teenage son had been drawn into one of the many drug gangs who’d operated in the slum and Pedro had been stabbed in a fight. Rafael had never forgotten the sound of Maria’s raw grief as she’d wept over the body of her boy.

When Juliet had told him of her financial problems and her fear that she might lose custody of her young daughter the idea had formed in his mind that she would make him an ideal wife. The money he was prepared to pay her would change her life, and more importantly she would have no expectations that their marriage would be anything other than a business deal.

Maybe he was crazy, Rafael thought as he climbed out of his car and glanced around the notoriously rough housing estate—a concrete jungle where the walls were covered in graffiti. A gang of surly-looking youths were staring at his car, and they watched him suspiciously when he walked past them on his way into the tower block. He guessed that the older male in the group, who was wearing a thick gold chain around his neck, was a drug dealer.

Rafael had grown up in a shanty town on the outskirts of Madrid, where dire poverty was a breeding ground for crime and lawless gangs ruled the street. His father had been involved in the criminal underworld, and as a boy Rafael had seen things that no child should see.

His jaw tightened as he took the lift up to the eleventh floor and strode along a poorly lit walkway strewn with litter. The tower block was not a slum but a sense of poverty and deprivation pervaded the air, as well as a pungent smell of urine. It was not a good place to bring up a child.

Juliet and her young daughter were not his responsibility, he reminded himself. But it was hard to see how she would turn down five million pounds and the chance to move away from this dump.

He knocked on the door of her flat and it opened almost immediately. Rafael guessed from the unbecoming nylon overall Juliet was wearing that she must have returned from her cleaning job only minutes before he’d arrived. Without the baseball cap hiding her face he saw that she had delicate features, and might even have been reasonably pretty if she hadn’t been so pale and drawn. Her hair was a nondescript brownish colour, scraped back from her face and tied in a long braid. Only her light blue eyes, the colour of the sky on an English spring day, were at all remarkable. But the dark shadows beneath them emphasised her waif-like appearance.

A suspicion slid into Rafael’s mind, and when Juliet took off her overall to reveal a baggy grey T-shirt that looked fit for the rag bag he studied her arms. There were none of the tell-tale track marks associated with drug addiction.

He flicked his gaze over cheap, badly fitting jeans tucked into scuffed black boots and thought of glamorous Camila Martinez, the daughter of the Duque de Feria and his grandfather’s favoured contender to be Rafael’s bride.

The difference between aristocratic Camila, who could trace her family’s noble lineage back centuries, and Juliet, who looked as if she had stepped from the pages of Oliver Twist, was painfully obvious. It would show his grandfather that he was not a puppet willing to dance to the old man’s tune if he turned up at Hector’s birthday party and announced that he had married this drab sparrow instead of a golden peacock, Rafael mused, feeling a flicker of amusement as the scene played out in his imagination.

‘I told you to call me when you arrived and I would meet you outside the flats,’ Juliet greeted him. ‘If you’ve left your car on the estate there’s a good chance it will be vandalised. There’s a big problem with gangs around here.’

Rafael shuddered inwardly at the thought of his Lamborghini being damaged. ‘This area is not a safe place for you to be out alone at night,’ he said gruffly, thinking that she must have to walk through the estate in the dark every evening when she’d finished her cleaning shift.

He looked along the narrow hallway as a door opened and a small child darted out.

‘Mummy, where are you going?’

The little girl had the same slight build and pale complexion as her mother. She stared at Rafael warily and he was struck by how vulnerable she was—how vulnerable they both were.

Juliet lifted her daughter into her arms. ‘Poppy, I’ve told you I’m going out for a little while with a...a friend and Agata is going to look after you.’

An elderly woman emerged from the small sitting room and gave Rafael a curious look. ‘Come back to bed, kotek. I will read to you and it will help you to fall back to sleep.’ She took the child from Juliet. ‘The baby will be happy with me. Go and have the nice dinner with your friend.’

‘Who is looking after your daughter?’ Rafael asked when Juliet followed him out of the flat and shut the front door behind her. She had pulled on a black fake leather jacket that looked as cheaply made as the rest of her outfit.

For a moment he wondered what the hell he was doing. Could he really marry this insipid girl who looked much younger than mid-twenties?

But her air of innocence had to be an illusion, he reminded himself, thinking of her illegitimate child. And besides, he did not care what she looked like. All he was interested in was putting a wedding ring on her finger. Once he had fulfilled his grandfather’s outrageous marriage ultimatum he would be CEO of the Casillas Group. He did not anticipate that he would spend much time with his wife and would seek to end the marriage as soon as possible.

‘Agata is a neighbour,’ Juliet said. ‘She’s Polish and very kind. I couldn’t do my cleaning job if she hadn’t agreed to babysit every evening. Poppy doesn’t have any grandparents but she loves Agata.’

‘What happened to your parents?’

‘They were killed in a car accident six years ago.’

Her tone was matter-of-fact, but Rafael sensed that she kept a tight hold on her emotions and her breakdown earlier in the day had been unusual.

‘I believe you said that you have no other family apart from some relatives in Australia?’

She nodded. ‘Aunt Vivian is my mum’s sister. I stayed with her and my uncle and three cousins, but they only have a small house and it was a squeeze—especially after I had Poppy.’

So Juliet did not have any family in England who might question her sudden marriage, Rafael mused as they stepped into the lift. Once again he imagined his ultra-conservative grandfather’s reaction if he introduced an unmarried mother who sold sandwiches for a living as his bride. It would teach Hector not to try to interfere in his life, Rafael thought grimly.

The lift doors opened on the ground floor and he took hold of Juliet’s arm as they passed the gang of youths, who were now loitering in the entrance hall and passing a joint between them.

‘Why do you live in this hellhole?’ he demanded as he hurried her outside to his car. ‘It can’t be a good place to bring up a child.’

‘I don’t live here out of choice,’ she said wryly. ‘When Poppy was a baby we lived in a lovely little house with a garden. Kate was my mum’s best friend, and the reason why I left Australia and came back to England was because she invited me and Poppy to move in with her. She was a widow, and I think she enjoyed the company. But Kate died after a short illness and her son sold the house. I only had a few weeks to find somewhere else to live. I had already started my sandwich business and needed to live in London, but I couldn’t afford to rent privately. I was lucky that the local authority offered me social housing. Living on this estate isn’t ideal, but it’s better than being homeless.’

She ran her hand over the bonnet of the Lamborghini. ‘You are a multi-millionaire—you can have no idea about the real world outside of your ivory tower.’

You think?

Inexplicably Rafael was tempted to tell her that he understood exactly what it was like to live in poverty—wondering where the next meal was coming from and struggling to survive in an often hostile environment. But there was no reason why he should explain to Juliet about his background. He dismissed the odd sense of connection he felt with her because they both knew what hardship felt like. His childhood had given him a single-minded determination to get what he wanted, and Juliet was merely a pawn in the game of wills with his grandfather.

He opened the car door and waited for her to climb inside before he walked round to the driver’s side and slid behind the wheel.

‘I know that five million pounds could transform your situation and allow you to provide your little girl with a safe home and a very comfortable lifestyle free from financial worries.’ He gunned the Lamborghini away from the grim estate and glanced across at her. ‘I’m offering you an incredible opportunity and for your daughter’s sake you should give it serious consideration.’

* * *

It occurred to Juliet as she sank into the soft leather seat of the sports car that this might all be a dream and in a minute she would wake up. Things like this did not happen in real life. A stunningly handsome man offering her five million pounds to be his wife was the stuff of fantasy and fairy tales.

She darted a glance at Rafael’s chiselled profile and felt a restless longing stir deep inside her. It was a long time since she had been kissed by a man, and she’d never felt such an intense awareness of one before.

Bryan had been her first and only sexual experience. She’d spent her teenage years at a boarding ballet school, and although she’d known boys, and danced with them, she had been entirely focused on her goal of becoming a prima ballerina and hadn’t had time for boyfriends.

The scholarship she had been awarded had paid the school’s fees, but there had been numerous other costs and her parents had scrimped and saved so that she could follow her dream. She’d always felt that she owed it to her mum and dad to succeed in her chosen career.

But the car accident which had taken her parents’ lives had left Juliet with serious injuries—including a shattered thigh bone. The months she’d spent in hospital had intensified her sense of isolation and loneliness.

She had been painfully naïve when she’d met Bryan Westfield, soon after she’d moved out to Australia to stay with her aunt Vivian and uncle Carlos. She’d been looking for someone to fill the hole in her heart left by her parents’ deaths, and blonde good-looking Bryan had seemed like ‘the one’—until she’d realised he had only wanted sex.

‘You’re not the first young woman to have your heart broken and be left with a baby and you won’t be the last,’ Aunt Vivian had said briskly when Juliet had admitted that she was pregnant.

Her aunt had meant well but Juliet had felt stupid, as well as bitterly hurt by Bryan’s rejection, and she’d vowed never to lay herself open to that level of pain again. It made her reaction to Rafael’s undeniable sexual magnetism all the more confusing.

The look of distaste that had flickered over his face when she’d opened the door to him wearing her cleaning overalls had made her shrivel inside. She knew from photographs of him in gossip magazines—invariably with a blonde glamour model or actress hanging on to him—that she was as far from his ideal woman as the earth was from Mars. But his lack of interest in her made it easier to consider his proposition.

‘You said I would be your wife in name only? Does that mean the marriage would not be...’ she hesitated ‘...consummated?’

She was thankful that her scarlet cheeks were hidden in the dark interior of the car. If he laughed she would die of mortification.

‘Physical intimacy between us will not be necessary,’ he said coolly.

He did not actually state that he wouldn’t touch her with a barge pole but the message was clear. Juliet swallowed, feeling ashamed that the gorgeous man beside her found her repellent. They were both wearing jeans, but his were undoubtedly a designer brand, and she’d noted when he had walked around to his side of the car how the denim clung to his lean hips. His tan leather jacket looked as if it had cost the earth, while her clothes came from a discount store and her boots had seen three winters.

With a sigh, she turned her head and stared out of the window.

‘We’re here.’

Rafael’s voice pulled Juliet from her thoughts and she discovered that he had turned the car onto the driveway in front of a large and very beautiful house.

‘Where is “here”?’ she asked when he switched off the engine.

‘My home in England—Ferndown House. It’s too dark to see now, but the house backs on to Hampstead Heath.’

Juliet looked down at the rip in her jeans. ‘I suppose you don’t want to be seen with me in public when I look like this,’ she said flatly.

He turned his head towards her but she could not bring herself to look at him and see his disdainful expression.

After a moment he sighed. ‘I brought you to my home because we will be assured of privacy while we talk, which we would not be in a bar or restaurant. There is no shame in being poor. It is obvious that you work hard to provide for your daughter, but I can help you. We can help each other. Now, come inside and meet my housekeeper. Alice has prepared dinner for us.’

If Juliet could have designed her dream home Ferndown House would have been perfect in every way. From the outside it was a gothic-style Victorian property, but inside it had been cleverly remodelled and refurbished into a sophisticated modern house which still managed to retain many original period features.

She caught her breath when Rafael showed her one huge room, with a stunning parquet floor and floor-to-ceiling mirrors on one wall.

‘The previous owners enjoyed hosting parties in here, but I don’t entertain very often and the room is not used much,’ he told her.

The room would be an ideal dance studio, Juliet thought. It was her dream to one day own a ballet school, and she visualised ballet barres along the walls and a box of the powdered chalk called rosin on the floor, for dancers to rub onto their pointe shoes to help stop them slipping.

She followed Rafael along the hall and looked into another reception room, a study, and a library that overlooked the garden. Outside lighting revealed a large, pretty space with wide lawns, where Poppy would love to play. Juliet gave a faint sigh, thinking of the couple of rusty swings in the playground on the housing estate where she sometimes took her daughter.

Upstairs on the second floor they walked past what she guessed was the master bedroom, with a four-poster bed. Juliet carefully avoided Rafael’s gaze as she wondered how many women had spent the night with him in that enormous bed.

‘There is a nursery along here,’ he said, leading the way along the corridor. He opened a door into a large room with painted murals of fairies on the walls and laughed at her startled expression. ‘I’m not planning to fill the nursery with my own children, but my sister has four-year-old twin girls who sometimes come to stay here.’

They went back downstairs to the dining room, where a cheery fire burned in the hearth and velvet curtains were drawn across the windows.

‘You have a beautiful home,’ Juliet murmured when Rafael drew out a chair at the table and waited for her to sit down before he took his place opposite her.

He was silent while Alice served a first course of gooey baked brie with warm pears. Then the housekeeper left the main course on a heated trolley for them to serve themselves and Rafael poured wine.

‘If you agree to my proposition Ferndown House will be yours and your daughter’s home for the duration of our marriage. When, after a few months, the marriage is dissolved, five million pounds will be transferred into your bank account and you will be able to buy a property of your own. Have you any ideas about where you would like to live?’

‘Somewhere on the coast,’ she said instantly. ‘When I was a child my parents took me on holiday to Cornwall a few times. We stayed in a caravan next to the beach.’ Memories of a happy childhood full of love and laughter tugged on her heart. ‘I’ve always thought how wonderful it would be for Poppy to grow up by the sea.’

‘Agree to my deal and you can make your dreams reality,’ Rafael said in a softly persuasive tone.

Excitement fizzed inside Juliet, overriding the voice of caution in her head. With the money that Rafael was offering she could buy a little cottage with a garden and a sea view. She didn’t want a mansion—just a place that she and Poppy could call home. But what Rafael was asking was wrong, her conscience whispered. Marriage should be a life-long commitment. Her parents had enjoyed a happy marriage and, although Juliet had learned a harsh lesson with Bryan, she still hoped that one day she would fall in love with someone special who would love her in return.

She took a small sip of her wine, determined to keep her wits about her. ‘I’m curious to know why you need a wife so badly that you’re prepared to fork out five million pounds for one.’

‘My grandfather has demanded that I marry before he steps down as head of the Casillas Group and appoints me as CEO of the company and Chairman of the board of directors,’ Rafael said curtly. ‘The dual roles have been passed down to the eldest son for generations. My mother does not have any siblings, which means that I am the next firstborn male and I should be Hector’s successor. Dios, it is my birthright.’

He slapped his hand down on the table and Juliet flinched.

‘Why does your grandfather want you to marry?’

‘He disapproves of my lifestyle.’

She nodded. ‘You do have a reputation as a playboy, and your affair with the wife of a prominent politician was reported in most of today’s newspapers.’

‘I spent one night with Michelle two months ago. The paparazzi must have seen us leave the nightclub together and go to a hotel, but those pictures did not appear in the papers the next day.’ Rafael’s jaw hardened. ‘My guess is that someone paid the photographer to delay offering the pictures to the tabloids until the day the Casillas Group’s biggest-selling retail line Rozita launched a new bridal collection.’

Juliet stared at him. ‘Why would anyone do that?’

‘It could have been a competitor, hoping to damage the company’s reputation, or more likely someone who wanted to blacken my name and convince my grandfather that I would not be a responsible CEO.’

‘Do you have any idea who?’

‘In all probability it was someone on the Casillas Group’s board who does not support my claim to be Hector’s successor, or one of my relatives for the same reason.’

‘How awful that someone in your own family might have betrayed you,’ Juliet murmured. ‘Families are supposed to support one another.’

Rafael stared at her broodingly. ‘The pursuit of power is a ruthless game, with no place for weakness or emotions,’ he said harshly.

While he served their main course of chicken cooked in a creamy sauce Juliet played his words over in her mind and felt a little shiver run through her. She had no doubt that Rafael was ruthless, and he must be utterly determined to become CEO if he was prepared to pay such an incredible amount of money for a wife.

Could she do it? His proposition had seemed crazy at first, but now she understood that his grandfather was forcing Rafael to marry. What he was suggesting was a business deal, she told herself.

The chicken was delicious, and a welcome change from the cheap, microwavable ready meals she tended to live on because fresh, good-quality produce was so expensive. She concentrated on eating her dinner, glad of the distraction.

Rafael got up to throw another log on the fire. The flames crackled and an evocative scent of applewood filled the room. The wine, the food and the general ambience of the room was helping Juliet to relax, and she gave a soft sigh.

‘Can you honestly tell me that you’re not tempted?’

Rafael’s seductive voice curled around her. She took another sip of her wine.

‘Of course I’m tempted. To be honest I can’t even imagine having five million pounds. It’s an unbelievable sum of money and it would certainly transform my life. But I have to consider what is best for Poppy. I’m worried that she might become attached to you while we’re married and be upset when we divorce and you’re no longer around.’

Rafael frowned. ‘I think that scenario is extremely unlikely. Immediately after our marriage you and Poppy will accompany me to Spain to attend my grandfather’s eightieth birthday party. I will present you as my new wife to Hector and he will announce me as his successor. The transition of power will take a little while—maybe a month or two—and we will need to attend a few social engagements together to show the Casillas board members and shareholders that I have reformed my playboy lifestyle since my marriage,’ he said sardonically. ‘After a suitable period of time you and your daughter will be able to return here to Ferndown House—we’ll make the excuse that you prefer her to attend a nursery school in England. It will be necessary for me to spend much of my time at the Casillas Group’s headquarters in Valencia, and the truth is that I won’t come to England very often.’

‘How romantic.’

Juliet told herself it was stupid to feel disappointed that Rafael had made it clear he would avoid her as much as possible.

‘I am not offering you romance,’ he said in a hard voice. ‘I want you to be my wife for no other reason than to fulfil my grandfather’s command that I must marry before he will make me CEO.’

He stood up and walked over to the sideboard, returning to lay some papers on the table.

‘We are required to give twenty-eight days’ notice of our intention to marry at the register office. My lawyers have prepared a contract stating that five million pounds will be transferred into your bank account when I succeed my grandfather as head of the Casillas Group. All you have to do is sign your name. I will take care of all the arrangements for our wedding, and for you and your daughter to move from your current home into Ferndown House.’

Juliet stared at the document in front of her and imagined Poppy running around the garden and playing with the dolls’ house in the nursery.

She swallowed. ‘It seems too easy.’

‘It is easy. Everything will be as I have explained to you. There are no catches.’

Rafael’s voice was like warm honey sliding over her. Tempting her. She wished her dad was around so that she could ask his advice—although she knew in her heart that he would advise her against marrying for money.

But five million pounds! Her heart was thudding so hard she was surprised it wasn’t audible in the silent room. If she accepted Rafael’s proposition her money worries would be over, but would she be selling her soul to the devil?

‘I need time to think about it,’ she whispered.

‘I don’t have the luxury of time. I have to be married by my grandfather’s eightieth birthday, which is six weeks from now, or he will appoint my half-brother as his successor.’ Rafael picked up a pen from the table and held it out to her. ‘I am offering you a chance to give your daughter a better life. If you walk away now you will have thrown away that chance. I won’t make the offer again and I will find another bride.’

The clock on the wall ticked loudly.

Do it. Do it.

Juliet snatched the pen from Rafael and signed her name where he showed her. It was for Poppy, she tried to reassure herself. A better future for her daughter.

‘Bueno!’ Rafael did not try to disguise the satisfaction in his voice. He picked up their wine glasses and handed Juliet hers. ‘Let us drink a toast, chiquita, to the shortest marriage on record.’

CHAPTER THREE

A MONTH HAD never passed so quickly—or so it seemed to Juliet.

For the first couple of weeks after she had agreed to Rafael’s marriage proposition she had been busy winding down her sandwich business. Mel had found a buyer for the bakery shop and it had been an emotional moment as they’d closed the door for the last time.

‘I’m intrigued to know more about your new business opportunity in Spain,’ Mel had said. ‘Why are you being so secretive?’

‘I’ll tell you more if it happens.’

Juliet hadn’t revealed to her friend the true reason why she would be going to Spain. She was sure Mel would think she was mad if she explained that she had agreed to marry a man she did not know for money.

As the date of the wedding had drawn closer her doubts had multiplied. But Rafael had promised that there was no catch to their business deal.

Deciding what to tell Agata had been more difficult. Juliet was fond of the Polish woman who had helped her and Poppy so much, and after some soul-searching she’d told Agata the white lie that she was marrying Rafael after a whirlwind courtship.

Today, packing her’s and Poppy’s belongings hadn’t taken long, and a member of Rafael’s staff had come and taken the few cardboard boxes down to an SUV.

Juliet strapped Poppy into the child seat and as the car drove away from the estate on its way to Ferndown House she felt a mixture of relief, apprehension and excitement that refused to be quashed at the prospect of seeing Rafael again.

She had spoken to him once on the phone, when he’d called her to check some details he needed in order to complete the paperwork for their wedding. His gravelly voice with its sexy accent had made her feel hot all over, and she’d closed her eyes and pictured his devastatingly handsome face.

Remembering his disdainful expression when he’d seen her wearing her cleaning overalls, she had taken a bit of time over her appearance today. The pink jumper that Agata had given her at Christmas lent some colour to her washed-out complexion, and the old tube of mascara she’d found at the back of the bathroom cabinet had still had enough in it to darken her pale eyelashes.

But when they arrived at Ferndown House Alice the housekeeper greeted Juliet and explained that Rafael had left the previous day for a business trip to America.

‘He is not sure when he will be back but he asked me to give you his PA’s phone number. Miss Foxton will answer any queries you might have.’ Alice smiled at Poppy. ‘I’ve made some cookies. Would you like one?’

Juliet tried to shrug off her disappointment at Rafael’s absence. There was no reason for them to spend any time together. Their marriage would be a formality which would allow Rafael to become CEO of his family’s company and he was paying her an astounding amount of money to be his temporary wife, she reminded herself.

And sitting alone in the elegant dining room at Ferndown House, enjoying one of the delicious meals that the housekeeper had prepared, was a lot nicer than sitting in her flat with a microwaveable meal after Poppy had gone to bed—although she felt just as lonely.

Rafael finally phoned her the evening before they were due to marry the following day. ‘My plane has just touched down in London and I’m going straight to the office,’ he told her.

His gravelly voice had its usual effect of bringing Juliet’s skin out in goosebumps.

‘I don’t know what time I’ll get back to the house. Make sure you’re ready to leave for the register office at ten-thirty tomorrow morning.’

On her way up to bed she wondered if he really was going to the office so late, or if he planned to spend the night with a mistress. Perhaps he wanted to enjoy his last night as a bachelor before he was forced into a marriage that he patently didn’t want.

It was none of her business what he did, Juliet reminded herself.

There was no logical explanation for her dismal mood. In a few months’ time she would have five million pounds in the bank—more than enough to buy a cottage by the sea and for her to establish her own dance school.

It was after midnight when she heard a car pull up outside the house, and when she hopped out of bed and ran across to the window her heart skipped a beat as she saw Rafael’s tall frame unfold from his Lamborghini. The moonlight danced across his face, highlighting his chiselled jaw and sharp cheekbones.

Tomorrow he would be her husband.

Butterflies leapt in her stomach—nerves, she supposed. But around dawn she woke feeling horribly sick. Frequent trips to the bathroom followed, and the severe bouts of vomiting left her feeling drained.

She certainly did not look like a blushing bride, Juliet thought as she stared at her ashen face and lank hair in the mirror. It was ten o’clock and she needed to hurry up and get ready.

Choosing what to wear did not take her long. She lived in jeans or a denim skirt, and the only vaguely smart item of clothing she owned was a mustard-coloured dress she’d bought in a sale years ago when she had first moved to Australia and needed something to wear to job interviews. The colour hadn’t looked so bad in the Australian sunshine, but on a grey spring day in England it made her pale skin look sallow.

She would have liked to buy something pretty to wear on her wedding day, but since her sandwich business had closed down and she’d given up her cleaning job she hadn’t had an income. Living at Ferndown House meant that she hadn’t had to pay for food, but she’d spent the last of her money on new shoes for Poppy.

Juliet had no time to worry about her appearance when another bout of sickness sent her rushing into the bathroom, and she emerged feeling shivery and hot at the same time. Then she spent ten minutes searching for Poppy’s favourite teddy, knowing that her daughter would not sleep at night without Mr Bear. Finally they were ready.

Was she doing the right thing?

It was too late for second thoughts now, she told herself. She had already given up her flat and her job. If she did not marry Rafael she would be homeless.

As Juliet walked down the stairs a wave of dizziness swept over her. She clung to the banister rail with one hand and held on to Poppy with the other.

Rafael strolled into the hall and an expression of horror flickered across his face as he studied her appearance, before he quickly schooled his features and gave her a cool smile. He looked utterly gorgeous in a grey three-piece suit that emphasised his broad shoulders and athletic build. His black hair was swept back from his brow and the designer stubble on his jaw gave him an edgy sex appeal that was irresistible.

‘I couldn’t afford to buy a new outfit for the wedding,’ Juliet told him stiffly.

She wished the ground would open up beneath her feet when she caught sight of herself in the hall mirror. She hadn’t had the energy to do anything fancy with her hair and it hung in a heavy braid down her back.

‘You look fine,’ Rafael assured her smoothly.

It was a blatant lie, she thought.

She wished she wasn’t so agonisingly aware of him. Her breath snagged in her throat when he lifted his hand and lightly touched her face.

‘Although I’m guessing from the dark circles beneath your eyes that you did not sleep well last night, he murmured. ‘You will do very well,’ he added, in a satisfied tone that puzzled her.

But then he hurried her out to the car and she was too busy strapping Poppy into the child seat to think about Rafael’s odd statement.

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