What was irrefutable was that the Delgados were one of the richest families on earth. The Delgado Group, founded in 1960 by Damián’s grandfather, was reputed to be one of the wealthiest private institutions in the world. It was indisputably the most secretive.
As for Damián himself... The only concrete facts she’d found were that he was thirty-six, two years younger than his brother Emiliano, and that he ran Banco Delgado, a division of the Delgado Group and believed to be the second largest private bank in Argentina. She’d found a handful of photos of him through the years with a handful of different women but there was nothing to suggest he’d been in any long-term relationship or had any children. It was rumoured he’d been in overall charge of the Delgado Group too since his father’s death nearly six months ago. Eduardo Delgado’s funeral had been attended by world leaders. Presidents. Monarchs.
Every word she’d read only added to her fear. Not even the down-payment of half the two hundred thousand pounds hitting her bank account shifted it. If anything, it heightened her fears. There was no backing out now. She had to approach the next few weeks as just another job with her performance being watched by only a select few. She was the actress. Damián was the director. The choreographer. The puppeteer.
But what the heck was she being dragged into? And why? And why her when there were literally thousands of actresses to choose from? Those were only a few of the million questions racing through her head as she walked to the front door. The Delgado family had more power than most of the world leaders who’d paid homage at their patriarch’s funeral. Damián had the power to squash her like a bug and crush her family too.
Her belly full of weighted dread, she opened the front door.
Damián stood dressed in a black velvet suit and black shirt, holding the most enormous bunch of roses she’d ever seen in her life.
Their eyes clashed. A tempest of emotions shot through her. Her heart thumped violently, blood pumping hot and rabid. She held onto the door to stop herself from launching at him like a cat with its claws out, a reaction that frightened her as much as everything else that had happened that surreal, nightmarish day. She’d never had such a primitive, ferocious reaction before, had never wanted to hurl herself at someone and scream and pound and scratch at them.
Dark, dark eyes held hers. ‘For you, mi vida,’ he murmured before brushing his lips against her cheek. ‘You look stunning.’
Her senses were immediately assailed by his exotic spicy cologne. Smelling it again hit her as vividly as it had the first time.
‘Thank you.’ She snatched the roses from him and took a sharp step back. The skin on her cheek tingled manically where his lips had caressed it. ‘Let me find a home for these.’ A home that didn’t involve slapping them around his face first.
She was three paces up the hallway when she realised he’d stayed on the doorstep. ‘Aren’t you coming in?’
He flashed a smile that could have powered her flat on its own. From their earlier meeting she’d assumed he didn’t know how to smile. ‘You haven’t invited me.’
‘I didn’t think it was necessary,’ she retorted. ‘But please, come in. Make yourself at home.’
‘Sarcasm?’
‘Bravo.’
He raised a black brow. ‘Not an auspicious start when we’re about to embark on the date in which we fall in love.’
That explained the full-wattage smile. Damián had clearly decided to go the method acting route.
‘You told me I have to play devoted lover in public,’ she said coldly, desperate to hide the heat flowing through her veins his presence had ignited. ‘We’re not in public.’
Did he think she was going to be polite and nice to him when he was blackmailing her with the one thing she couldn’t bear people to know? He might be the sexiest man she’d ever encountered but he was also the cruellest and the most arrogant. If she had only herself to think of she would tell him to get stuffed but she had her sister and mother to think of. The thought of going through the dark days that had come so close to destroying them again was too terrifying to contemplate. She would gladly throw in the acting towel and work in a coffee shop for ever if it meant protecting her family.
Be careful what you wish for, she thought grimly as she filled pint glasses with water for the roses and tried not to think of Damián turning his haughty nose up at her meagre possessions.
Damián took his surroundings in. He’d never been in a home of such tiny proportions. The entire flat, he estimated, would fit in the reception room of his Buenos Aires home. But it was clean and smelled nice, a scent that made him think of fresh laundry. He took a seat at the tiny table in the living room and admired the furnishings, most of which were threadbare and none of which matched yet somehow fused together to create a tasteful and homely vibe. It was a home put together on a minuscule budget by someone with a keen eye and flair. He admired it.
Mia walked into the living room carrying two glasses filled with roses. ‘You don’t own a vase?’ he asked.
She shook her head and placed one of the glasses above the fake fireplace. The other she placed on the table then disappeared again, only to reappear moments later carrying another pint glass and a huge mug full of roses too.
‘Are you done? Our table’s booked for eight and traffic’s heavy.’
‘Give me one minute.’ She disappeared again before he could say another word.
When she returned, she’d slipped her feet into a pair of gold heels and sprayed perfume on, for his lungs filled with the most delicious fruity scent that immediately made his mouth water.
He cast a critical eye over her. She wore a white dress with strappy sleeves; it plunged in a V to her midriff without actually displaying any breast, a thin gold belt separating the top half from the skirt, which flared slightly and fell to her calves. With her hair knotted in a loose chignon and lots of tendrils framing her face, artfully applied make-up and simple hooped gold earrings, she looked classy and understated.
‘Well?’ she snapped, colour high on her cheeks. ‘Satisfied with what your money paid for?’
He stared at her meditatively, biting back the burn of anger her belligerence provoked. No one spoke to him in that tone and it was time Mia Caldwell learned that. He’d made it very clear she didn’t have to accept his offer: that she could walk away and her criminal record would stay secret. She’d chosen to take the money and career boost of her own free will. To behave as if she’d been put into this position under duress was inexcusable.
‘I’m very satisfied, thank you. Looking at you makes me wonder if I’m not underpaying you. Still, I’m sure there will be men at Celeste’s party who will happily pay a great deal more for a more intimate arrangement. Name your price with them—you can earn yourself a fortune.’ Before the dark stain of angry colour on her face could translate on her tongue, he got to his feet. ‘Provoke me, Miss Caldwell, and you will learn I always bite back. Now wipe that ugly look from your face and let us see if you’re as good an actress as I think you are.’