Her Latin Lover (Contemporary Romance) (6 page)

But nothing, not even her cheerful behaviour, could have prepared him for what she said to him over lunch. He was just finishing a large bowl of beans that had been stewed with thick, local sausages, when she stated that the hotel was unpleasant and it would probably be more comfortable if she moved to his house until it was time for her to fly back to London.

Don Paulo didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t believe what he had heard. He took a sip of red wine and looked at the bottle. They had only had a glass each, so she wasn’t drunk. He’d been thinking of inviting her up to see his house, but he hadn’t dared to suggest that she move in.

“Are you sure?” It was all he could think of to say, though he dreaded hearing her answer in case she said no.

“Yes of course. $160 a night is an awful lot to pay and especially for two whole weeks.”

So that was it: money. She thought that he didn’t have enough money to look after her. Maybe she had heard about his financial problems. Corazon was a small town and everyone knew everyone else’s business. He didn’t need her pity. “Money is absolutely no problem,” he lied. “Please, do not mention it again.” And he called to the waiter for the bill.

“But I don’t want to stay at the hotel,” she persisted. “It’s not very nice. You yourself said that the food’s awful and I hear that you have a lovely house.”

He did have a beautiful house, built over one hundred years ago by his family. It was quite possible that someone had told her about his hacienda as it was the finest house in the area. In his opinion, it was the most beautiful house in the country.

“If you are sure, I would love to have you as my guest.”

“Great! That’s settled then. We’ll go back to the hotel and I’ll get my stuff.”

“Excellent.
Vamos
, let’s go.”

Don Paulo found it very difficult to stay focused on the road as he drove back to Corazon in his jeep. His mind kept on racing over what he was going to do about having Mary living in his house. Part of him was thrilled at the prospect of having her so near to him, but part of him was scared. He found it was hard enough to resist her when they were out in public; how was he going to manage when they were alone in his home? If he did succumb to his feelings and she reciprocated, which he hoped that she might, there was always the question of her boyfriend. He didn’t believe in taking another man’s woman, even if the man was a complete idiot. Perhaps Mary would realise what kind of person her boyfriend was, after all that he had done to her, and finish with him. However, even if she did, she would still be leaving for London in two weeks time and Don Paulo couldn’t follow her and leave his estate.

By the time he parked outside the hotel, he had decided that he would just take things one day at a time and see what happened. After all, he had hardly expected this when he first saw her in the bar two nights ago and anything could happen in the next couple of weeks.

Mary ran upstairs to collect her things while he sorted out the final bill with Señor Marcos and made a few calls to his house to make sure that things were made ready for his guest by the time they arrived. He had only just put his phone away when Mary came trotting down the stairs again, carrying a small case with her. He rushed up to take it from her and there was a short struggle on the stairs while she insisted that she could manage and he insisted that he should help her. Eventually, she conceded and Señor Marcos, who had been watching it all with much amusement, called out in his high, squeaky voice and started laughing to himself.

“What did he just say?” Mary asked, looking with distaste at his friend behind the wooden counter.

“He said that you were like a little wild horse, but that I would tame you.” Don Paulo left out some of the cruder expressions that Señor Marcos had used, but that was the gist of what he said.

“And what do you think?”

He looked at her. It was hard to read her expression. He wasn’t sure if she was offended or amused by the remark. However, he did know that if he said the wrong thing now, it was quite likely that she would take her suitcase and go marching back up to her hotel room.

“I think that you are spirited and since that is what I like about you, why would I try to change it?”

She seemed pleased with the answer, gave him a big smile and walked past, leaving him to carry the suitcase that she had so recently insisted on carrying herself.

Don Paulo said goodbye to Señor Marcos, who gave him a big wink in return and wished him many lust-filled nights. Don Paulo followed Mary out of the hotel, glad that she didn’t understand Spanish.

Once they were in the car and on their way out of Corazon, Mary rolled down her window and put her arm out.

“I am so happy to get out of that horrible hotel and away from that creepy hotel manager. He sounds as though he’s been castrated!” she exclaimed.

“He has.”

Don Paulo kept his eyes on the road, but he could see that his response had startled Mary. She was now sitting bolt upright in her seat.

“You mean they cut off his . . .?” her voice trailed off.

“Yes. A long time ago.”

“But why?”

“They wanted his father’s hotel. He refused. They didn’t manage to get hold of him, so they grabbed his son instead and took away his manhood. They said it was to teach the family a lesson.”

He remembered the night clearly, even though it had been many years ago. The hotel had been much livelier in those days and Señor Marcos’s father, Ramon, had been in the bar, laughing and joking with his customers when a couple of men came in, demanding that he sign over his hotel to them. It hadn’t been the first time they had asked, but this time they were more threatening and said that they had run out of patience. Ramon ran out the back of the building and drove off in his car. Rather than go to the trouble of pursuing him, the thugs grabbed Ramon’s son, Marcos, a mere boy at the time who was playing in the kitchen with his mother. When the men started to drag the child away, Don Paulo tried to stop them, along with some of the other customers who were there, but the thugs were ready and hit back with large sticks that they had brought with them. Don Paulo was knocked unconscious and only came round after several hours by which time it was too late. The young Señor Marcos was found two days later, out in a field, covered in blood and barely alive. His father never returned.

“Teach them what lesson?” Mary asked.

Don Paulo continued to keep his eyes firmly on the road as he replied, “They wanted to teach the family who was boss. They learnt their lesson. Señor Marcos now pays half of what he earns to them. That is why his rates are so high.” It was also one reason why Don Paulo was happy to have Mary out of the hotel. He didn’t mind paying Marcos, as he needed the money, but he was not happy about the fifty percent of the bill that went into other people’s pockets.

“But who would do such a thing?” Mary sounded so innocent that Don Paulo almost laughed. Almost.

“You have met him, though briefly. The man who did it was El Leon.”

He heard Mary gasp. Maybe now she would realise what he had saved her from.

“Did they arrest him? A man like that should be in prison.”

“He should be in prison, I agree, but they did not arrest him. He did not carry out the attack personally, but hired gangsters from across the border. They fled back as quickly as they had come. And what can the local police do? They do nothing. They are scared that El Leon’s men will come in the night and hurt them and their sons as they did Señor Marcos, while raping their daughters and their wives. It has happened to others.” Don Paulo decided not to go into the details of all the atrocities that El Leon and his men had committed over the years.

“But that’s terrible. Something should be done! What about the Government?”

“Ah yes, the Government.” Paulo gave a little snort of derision. “One of El Leon’s friends has a cousin who is a leading government minister. There are even rumours that El Leon himself might run for President one day.”

Mary was silent for a while and then she said, “Does El Leon ever try to intimidate you?”

“El Leon and I have an understanding,” and he changed the conversation to the scenery around them, as they were now in the coffee growing district. He told her about the plants, how they were cultivated and the different types of beans. He also explained how variations in soil and climate produced delicate changes in the taste and aroma of the coffee.

“Who owns all these coffee fields?” she asked. From the jeep, all you could see were hills covered in coffee plants, as far as the eye could see.

“I do. This is my estate.”

“Wow!”

He smiled to himself, pleased that she was impressed. He did not tell her that he often wished his estate was a lot smaller, as running it was an immense task. Worrying about it kept him awake night after night into the early hours of the morning.

“And where is your house?”

“Don’t worry, we are almost there,” he reassured her. They had been driving for almost an hour and were now high up in the hills.

“Do you live alone?”

“Alone?” He laughed. He couldn’t imagine running his huge house on his own. “No, there’s Javier and Carlos who work in the stables and help with the general upkeep of the estate. They have worked here for years and are excellent at managing the horses. I don’t know what I would do without them. Then there’s Esmeralda, who helps with some of the heavy housework. She doesn’t live in the house like the others, but comes in part-time during the week to help Isabella.” He paused to think about what he should say about Isabella. In an affectionate voice he tried to describe her. “Isabella is wonderful. She is the most amazing woman. I am sure that you will love her.”

He took his eyes off the road for a mere second to look at Mary. She did not look well. Maybe she was going to be sick. They had been zigzagging up through the hills and he had taken several very sharp turns.

“Are you okay? Shall I stop the jeep?”

“No I’m fine, honest. I can’t wait to see Isabella. I’m sure she’s great.” However, Don Paulo thought she didn’t sound keen on the idea at all. Maybe she was just tired.

Five minutes later they finally pulled into the drive of his beautiful house. As soon as they came within sight of it, Javier and Carlos came running down the drive calling out frantically and waving their arms. Carlos was holding a gun. As the car approached the house Paulo began to make out what they were saying. One of the horses had been injured on the other side of the estate, half an hour before while they were out exercising them. Javier thought that it had broken one, or possibly two of its legs. Carlos thought that they might have to shoot it. Don Paulo stopped the car and explained to Mary what had happened.

“I am so sorry, but I have to go and see the horse,” he said. “Don’t worry, Isabella is here and expecting you. I’m afraid she doesn’t speak any English, but I’m sure she will take very good care of you.” He let Mary out of the jeep, took out her suitcase, and then drove off.

Mary stood in front of the huge, honey-coloured hacienda and wondered if she had done the right thing. The house was stunning, but it was in the middle of nowhere. The town of Corazon had been remote, but this was truly isolated. She could not see another house anywhere within view, just trees and coffee fields up the sloping hillsides around her. Also, the sight of Paulo’s men running around with guns when they arrived did not do much to make her feel at ease. Paulo had tried to explain the situation to her and she could see that he had no choice but to go with his men to attend to the injured horse, but she didn’t like being left outside the house on her own. He hadn’t even taken the time to ring the door bell and introduce her to Isabella, not that she was in any rush to meet the woman. In fact, it was the mention of Isabella that disconcerted her the most, more than the isolation, more than Paulo running off and more than his men running about with loaded firearms.

The “wonderful Isabella” as he had called her, was obviously his wife. She hadn’t previously considered the fact that he might be married, but the more she thought about it, the more she realised that a powerful, handsome man like him was bound to be hitched. She was upset by the idea and by her own foolishness in secretly hoping that once she was in his house, she might get to know him a bit more intimately. However, she was here now and there was nothing else for her to do than to knock on the heavy wooden door in front of her and meet Paulo’s wife.

It took a few minutes before the door was answered, but when it was, Mary was confronted by a short, stocky woman in her late fifties, dressed in a plain, navy blue dress.

“Hi! I’m Mary Delaney, a friend of Paulo’s.” Mary tried to give the woman a friendly smile, but the big old woman just stared at her with large grey eyes. “Soy Mary. Amigo Don Paulo.” Mary tried again in broken Spanish.

“Dios mio!” the woman exclaimed and crossed herself.

The two women stood and stared at each other in silence for several minutes. Mary wondered where Paulo’s wife was, as this could not possibly be her. Maybe she was the wife of one of the gun-wielding men, or the person who helped in the house. Paulo had mentioned that he had someone who came in to help with the heavy housework, maybe this was her. This suspicion was strengthened when the woman reached down for Mary’s suitcase and gestured for Mary to follow her into the house. Mary tried to take her suitcase herself, but the older woman would not let her and insisted on carrying it as they stepped into the hacienda.

The house was refreshingly cool and dark after the bright midday sun outside and as Mary’s eyes adjusted to the dimness she saw that she was in a huge entrance hallway with a marble floor and heavy, dark furniture. Vast, high-ceiled rooms led off to the left and right, and in front of her was a sweeping double staircase leading to the second story. However, what struck Mary most was a life-sized portrait that hung on the wall directly opposite her under the curves of the great staircase. It was of a woman in a gorgeous off-the-shoulder, full-length, scarlet dress. She had long dark hair which fell in ringlets around her shoulders and through them shone large diamond earrings, but what struck Mary most was the woman’s face. With the large, golden brown eyes, and high, sharp check bones, it was an exact replica of her own. Mary could have been looking at a portrait of herself; the only differences were the hair and the clothes. Mary turned from the portrait to the woman who stood next to her. The older woman dropped the suitcase and smoothed back a heavy strand of black hair that had fallen loose from the bun at the back of her head.