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«Ruthless Tycoon, Inexperienced Mistress» - Кэтти Уильямс

RUTHLESS TYCOON, INEXPERIENCED MISTRESS

‘Are you telling me that you want to get married? To me?’ Jude laughed incredulously. ‘That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard in my life.’

Cesar stiffened. ‘No child of mine will be born out of wedlock.’

‘Born out of wedlock? Cesar, this is the twenty- first century! In case you hadn’t noticed, pregnancy and marriage no longer necessarily go together! Why would you ask me to marry you?’

‘Isn’t it obvious?’ He frowned. He was doing the honourable thing—the only thing.

‘It isn’t just about the child,’ he told her roughly. ‘I…I still want you…’

‘But I may not want you…’

He curled his fingers into her hair and pulled her towards him.

‘Shall we put that to the test…?’

Cathy Williams is originally from Trinidad, but has lived in England for a number of years. She currently has a house in Warwickshire, which she shares with her husband Richard, her three daughters, Charlotte, Olivia and Emma, and their pet cat, Salem. She adores writing romantic fiction and would love one of her girls to become a writer—although at the moment she is happy enough if they do their homework and agree not to bicker with one another!

Recent titles by the same author:

RAFAEL’S SUITABLE BRIDE

BEDDED AT THE BILLIONAIRE’S CONVENIENCE

THE ITALIAN BILLIONAIRE’S SECRET LOVE-CHILD

KEPT BY THE SPANISH BILLIONAIRE

THE ITALIAN BOSS’S SECRETARY MISTRESS

RUTHLESS TYCOON, INEXPERIENCED MISTRESS

BY

CATHY WILLIAMS

www.millsandboon.co.uk

RUTHLESS TYCOON, INEXPERIENCED MISTRESS

CHAPTER ONE

CESAR was not in the best of moods as he swung his Bentley down the small street into which his sat nav had guided him. It was a little after nine in the evening and the weather, which had looked promising in London for taking his car out for a run, had become increasingly poor the farther east he had travelled. Flurries of snow had kept his wipers busy for the past forty-five minutes.

When he had arranged a meeting with his brother, this venue was not what he had had in mind. In fact, his club in London had been his preferred choice, but Fernando had insisted on meeting in his God-forsaken stamping ground of Kent, a place which held no interest for Cesar and therefore one which he had never seen the need to visit.

He now cursed under his breath as he pulled up in front of a building that had all the charm of a disused warehouse. For a few seconds after he had killed the engine, he stared at what looked suspiciously like graffiti on the walls and wondered whether his faith in computer technology had been misplaced. Had that disembodied female voice which had guided him away from the city centre got the directions all wrong?

With a sharp, impatient click of his tongue, Cesar swung himself out of his car in search of a door of sorts.

He would personally donate his car to the nearest vagrant if his brother lived in this dump. Fernando was not the sort of guy who did dumps. In fact, Fernando was the sort of guy who specialised in avoiding them at all costs.

Cesar did his best to swallow his anger at having to deal with this massive personal inconvenience. He was here for a specific purpose and, to that end, there was no point in dwelling on the fact that his Friday night had been ruined. Nor was there any point in getting annoyed with his brother. By the end of the night Fernando would have enough to deal with, never mind his lack of foresight in arranging this meeting, in the dead of winter, miles away from civilisation.

The door was cunningly concealed amidst the graffiti and, for a few seconds after he had pushed it open, Cesar took time to adjust to his surroundings.

This wasn’t what he had expected. Disused from the outside the place might well appear to be, but once inside, the picture was vastly different. A few dozen people were milling about what seemed to be a club of sorts. To one side of the semi-darkened room, a cluster of leather chairs and sofas were scattered around low tables. Elsewhere people stood drinking by a long, sleek bar which curved in a U shape to encompass most of the back of the room. To the left there appeared to be a raised podium and yet more chairs.

It didn’t take long to spot his brother, talking in a small group, animated as he usually was and the centre of attention.

Having specifically told Fernando that he wanted to have a one-on-one meeting to discuss the small matter of his trust fund, Cesar was enraged to now discover that he had been conned into attending what looked like a private party. The subdued lighting didn’t give him much of a clue as to the nature of the guests involved, but he didn’t have to exert his brain too much to work out that they would all be his brother’s usual cronies. Blonde bimbos, gambling partners and general wastrels who shared the same ambitions as Fernando to spend the family money as flamboyantly as possible whilst simultaneously dodging anything that smelled remotely like hard work.

Cesar grimly thought that his brother was on the wrong track if he thought he could avoid discussing his financial future by conniving to have a bunch of chaperons around him.

By the time he descended on Freddy, all of the group bar one had departed and Cesar treated his brother to a smile of pure displeasure. He didn’t bother to look at the crop-haired youth standing next to him.

‘Fernando,’ he said through gritted teeth. He held out one hand, his cursory nod to courtesy. ‘This is not what I expected.’ It had been several months since he had laid eyes on his brother. In fact, the last time had been at a family gathering in Madrid, where yet again Cesar’s attempts to interest his brother in the fortunes of the company had met with a resounding lack of interest.

Of course, Fernando had responded by staying as far away from the company head office as he physically could.

‘I thought…Friday night…’ Freddy’s smile was pure charm. ‘Live a little, big brother! We can talk tomorrow. Actually, I wanted to show you…’ He spread his hands in a gesture to encompass the room and Cesar looked at him in cool silence. ‘But I am being rude.’ He turned to the woman he’d been talking to who had been displaced by Cesar striding in front of her. ‘This is Judith—Jude—meet my brother, Cesar… What can I get you, Cesar?’ He edged away. ‘Whisky? As usual?’

‘And I’ll have another glass of wine, Freddy.’ Jude had to take a few sideways steps until she was standing directly in front of the most intimidating man she had ever set eyes on in her life.

So this was the famous Cesar. No wonder Freddy had been quaking in his proverbial boots at the prospect of having a meeting with him. He was a good four inches taller than his brother and where Freddy was good-looking in an approachable, flirtatious kind of way, this man was stunning. His face was dark and lean and, with its perfect bone structure, somehow forbidding. This was a face that could chill to the bone.

She did her best to smile. This elaborate set-up had been meticulous in the planning. Freddy had been so desperate to introduce his brother to the place he had bought. It was a converted warehouse which was halfway to becoming the sexy jazz club of his dreams, waiting only for the injection of cash from the trust fund which, he had told her worriedly, was in danger of being wrenched away before he could get his hands on a single penny of it. He had invested heavily in the place but it would get no further without Cesar’s approval.

How better to get his brother’s backing than to entice him into it, show him what it could be, prove to him that he was no longer the layabout playboy kid brother he had always been. He had invited all the right people to help him create the perfect setting, including her. Bankers were there, lawyers, a couple of accountants, everybody who had had any input in his burgeoning venture.

‘Freddy’s told me a lot about you.’ She was wearing her flats and had to crane her neck to look up at him.

‘Well, I have no idea who you are, nor do I know why Fernando has arranged to meet me here.’ He frowned at the girl standing in front of him. He had barely noticed her and he knew why. With her short dark hair, she hardly oozed femininity.

Inherently Spanish, Cesar had a very clear image of what a woman should look like and this wasn’t it.

‘Do you?’ he asked coolly.

‘I think he wanted you to meet…some of his friends…’

‘I’ve met Freddy’s friends in the past. Believe me when I tell you that I have no desire to meet any more.’ That said, he hadn’t met this particular one before and she certainly wasn’t the sort his brother usually went for. In fact, just the opposite. So what was she doing here? He looked at her narrowly, his shrewd brain coming up with possibilities and playing with them. ‘Who are you, anyway? And how do you know Fernando? He’s never mentioned your name to me in the past.’ His brother had a lavish lifestyle and was cavalier with his money. Cesar knew because he had access to all Fernando’s bills. He also knew that his brother was fond of spending money on his women. From the age of eighteen, the boy had been a magnet for gold-diggers. This one didn’t have the outward appearance of a gold-digger, but Cesar was suddenly keenly interested in finding out what her connection was to his brother. He looked across the room to where the clutch of sofas was being studiously ignored by people who seemed to prefer standing. In a minute Fernando would return with drinks and Cesar was pretty sure a round of boring and pointless introductions would then commence. With his suspicions suddenly roused, he nodded curtly to the sofas.

‘I’ve had a hell of a long trip here. Let’s sit and you can tell me…all about your relationship with my brother.’

Jude wondered how an invitation to converse could sound like a threat.

‘I don’t have a relationship with your brother,’ she said as soon as she was sitting on one of the mega-expensive sofas artfully arranged at an angle to the wall. The mood lighting here was even more subdued and Cesar’s face was all shadows and angles. She laughed nervously and drained the remainder of her glass. ‘I feel as though I’m being interviewed.’

‘Do you? I have no idea why. I’m just interested in finding out how you know Fernando. Where did you meet?’

‘I’m helping him work…on a project…’ Jude’s brief had been simply to promote Freddy’s new-found gravitas and work with him in convincing his brother that he could make a success of his venture.

‘What project?’ Cesar frowned. As far as he knew, his brother hadn’t been near any projects, at least not since his school days, when they had involved felt-tip pens and maps.

‘He might want to tell you that himself,’ Jude said vaguely, and he sat forward, leaning towards her with his elbows resting lightly on his thighs. Six foot two inches of pure threat.

‘Look, I came here to have a serious talk with Fernando about his future. Instead, I find myself in a bar, surrounded by people I have no desire to meet and now treated to some mysterious nonsense about a project Fernando hasn’t mentioned to me. What work, exactly, are you doing on this so- called project?’

‘I’m not sure I like your tone of voice!’

‘And I’m not sure I like whatever game it is you’re playing. How long have you known Fernando?’

‘Nearly a year.’

‘Nearly a year. And how close have you become in that time?’

‘Where are you going with this?’

‘Let’s just say that I may not see a great deal of my brother, but I know the way he operates and long-standing platonic friendships with the opposite sex have never been high on his agenda. He’s always liked his women willing, able and bedded. He’s also always been predictable in his preferences. Blonde, busty, leggy and lightweight in the brains department. So where do you fit in?’

Jude felt outraged colour seep into her cheeks and she took a few deep breaths to gather herself. In the silence, Cesar continued remorselessly, ‘If he’s spoken to you about me, then you are clearly more than just a business acquaintance…’ He invested that with thinly veiled scepticism. ‘So what exactly, are you, then?’

Saved by the bell. Or rather, saved by Freddy, who appeared with drinks on a tray. Cesar watched her expression of relief. He was taking in everything, from that quick look that passed between them to the way his brother leaned towards her and whispered something in her ear, something to which she shook her head and removed herself just as soon as she feasibly could. He lazily watched her departing back, allowing his eyes to rest briefly on the movement of her rear. She might look like a boy but there was something unconsciously sexy and graceful about the way she walked. He’d get back to her later. Something was going on. He could feel it, and he wasn’t going to let up until he got to the bottom of it. But, for the moment, he would bide his time.

Watch and wait. A very good motto, he had always maintained and he stuck to it as the predictable round of introductions began and he was treated to a suspiciously normal group of people. Where were the bimbos? The pampered young men with their idle, vapid conversation and roving eyes? Disconcertingly, everyone here this evening seemed intent on discussing investments with him.

By the end of the evening he found that he was almost enjoying the mystery.

Outside, the snow was now falling much harder. Amidst the throng of people dashing out to their cars, which were parked in a designated area at the back of the building, unlike his which was skewed at an angle at the front, Cesar spotted Jude wrapping a long scarf around her neck and stuffing her hands into her pockets. The lights had been turned on in the foyer and he could see her properly now. Her short hair was streaked with auburn and her face was not at all boyish. The opposite. Long, dark lashes fringed widely spaced brown eyes and her mouth was full and lush, at odds with the gamine appearance.

Fernando may have always had a soft spot for the obvious but who was to say how a gold-digger could be packaged? The more subtle, in a way, could be all the more deadly.

And there she was again, talking in a fast, low undertone to his brother. Talking about what?

‘I hadn’t planned on staying the night,’ Cesar said to his brother, barging in on their conversation, which came to an abrupt halt. He wasn’t looking at her but he could feel her eyes on him and mentally he flexed his muscles, intrigued at whatever was stirring beneath the surface.

‘Ah.’ Freddy smiled apologetically. ‘There’s an excellent hotel in the city…’

Cesar frowned. ‘Don’t you have a house locally?’

‘Well. Apartment, in actual fact. Pretty small…’

Cesar glanced across at Jude, whose eyes were studiously averted, and his mouth tightened a fraction.

‘It’s snowing pretty heavily,’ Cesar said bluntly, ‘and I have no intention of driving around in circles looking for somewhere to stay. What’s the name of the hotel?’

‘Name of the hotel…’ Freddy glanced quickly at Jude, who sighed in resignation.

‘I have a phone book at my place,’ she said grudgingly. ‘If you drop me home, I can reserve a room for you.’

‘Drop you home? How did you get here?’

‘I came with Freddy.’

‘Did you now…’ Cesar murmured. He smiled and inclined his head to one side. ‘Well, that sounds like an offer I’m in no position to refuse… And tomorrow, Fernando…we need to have a little chat…’

‘Of course, big brother!’ He slapped him warmly on the back and gave him a semblance of a hug, which came naturally to neither of them.

Cesar, accustomed as he was to a stilted relationship with his brother, nevertheless felt a twinge of genuine regret at the lack of real warmth between them. The loss of their parents when he had only just been out of his teens should have brought them closer together. Instead, it had done the opposite. With the mantle of the family’s empire resting heavily on his shoulders, Cesar wondered if he had failed in his main duty as a brother—to love him. He had had to don his responsibilities quickly and he had been impatient with Freddy’s lack of ambition which he had seen as weakness. He shoved aside the irksome thoughts—he’d worked hard to provide a stable and secure life for his brother. He’d done his best.

‘My car’s out at the front.’

‘Why didn’t you use the car park at the rear?’

‘Because, believe it or not, I was inclined to think I had arrived at the wrong address when I got here. I never suspected that the place was functional or that there was a parking area at the back.’

Freddy beamed. ‘Clever, isn’t it? We can discuss all of that tomorrow.’ He was already backing away and Jude eyed Cesar warily. The last thing she wanted was to be cooped up in a car with him, go back to her house with him, but she had no choice. Freddy couldn’t possibly take him back to the apartment—not with Imogen there.

Just thinking of that little secret by omission made her flush guiltily. Imogen should have been at the little party tonight. She was, after all, the key player in the game, but Freddy had insisted that she be kept out of sight. At least for the moment. Having met Cesar, Jude could understand why, because Cesar was a man in whom suspicion was deeply embedded. She could sense it in his conversation, which had been a thin cover- up for a cross examination. One look at Imogen, her long blonde hair, her big blue eyes and her legs that went on for ever, and Freddy’s trust fund would have been written off for good. The fact that she was nearly seven months pregnant with Freddy’s baby would have brought on cardiac arrest.

‘We could just drive into the city,’ Jude said once inside the car, which was as comfortable as any of those wildly overpriced sofas Freddy had insisted on buying for the club. She glanced worriedly at the snow, which was falling thickly white. ‘I don’t live a million miles from here but my place is down some narrow country lanes and this car might not make it.’

‘This car,’ Cesar informed her, reversing and swinging the car in the right direction, ‘is equipped to cope with anything.’

‘Anything except snow in Kent in the middle of January. For that, you really need something a bit more robust. These sorts of fashion cars might be all right for London but they’re rubbish out in the country.’

Cesar gave her a look of pure incredulity but she was frowning out of the window, busily trying to work out how fast he could reasonably travel without ending up in a ditch.

She directed him out to the main street which, at a little past one in the morning with the snow pelting down, was deserted. It took a ridiculously long time to clear the city, then came a series of winding country lanes, each one more treacherous than the last.

‘How the hell do you make out in these sorts of conditions?’ Cesar muttered under his breath, every ounce of concentration focused on getting them to her house in one piece.

‘I have a four-wheel drive,’ Jude admitted. ‘It’s old but it’s pretty reliable and it can get through just about anything.’

‘As opposed to this fashion statement I drive.’ He glanced over at her, then back at the road.

‘I could never afford a car like this in a million years. Not that I’d ever want one. I don’t see the point of them.’

‘It’s called comfort.’ Cesar realised that he didn’t know the first thing about her. What job did she have? Aside from helping his brother on some so-called project, which could be anything from doing his accounts to colour coordinating his wardrobe. He would need to find out more about her to ascertain what her motives were. For the moment, however, he was too preoccupied with controlling his car in these conditions for too much detailed questioning and, as he rounded a corner at a snail’s pace, he began to wonder how he was going to find his way back into the civilised roads of the city and the comfort of a hotel room.

‘I would choose practicality over comfort any day of the week.’

‘I gathered as much from your choice of clothing tonight.’

‘Meaning what?’

‘Meaning—is your house going to be coming into view any time soon because, if I go any slower, we might just as well get out of the car and walk the remainder of the way.’

‘It’s just up ahead.’ She pointed to a dim light, barely visible through the downfall, but she was mentally chewing over what he had said about her clothing. Yes, she had worn her jeans because they were comfortable and it hadn’t been a fussy affair. She hadn’t been the only one there wearing jeans. So maybe most of the women had worn something slightly more formal, but she had looked presentable enough!

She glanced down at her thick black duffel coat and her black boots, which were perfect winter garb although they did seem a little incongruous against the cream luxury leather of his car. Then she slid her eyes across to where he was frowning in concentration at what was trying to pass for a road.

He might be the rudest man she had ever met, but there was no denying that he was frighteningly good-looking. In a scary

way, she amended. Not her type at all. He made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

As the car tackled the last lap of the trip, she heard the squeal of tyres and then…nothing.

Cesar swore under his breath and glared at her.

‘It’s not my fault!’ she protested immediately.

‘How the hell would you have made your way back here? On foot?’

‘I would have…’ she stopped in the nick of time from telling him that she would have stayed at Freddy’s apartment, which would have involved no narrow snow-ridden country lanes, as it was in the city centre—if he couldn’t accommodate his own brother, then how could he have possibly accommodated her? ‘…stayed at Sophie’s place,’ she said quickly, thinking on her feet.

‘Damn car!’ He scowled and flung open his car door to a sheet of white. ‘We’ll have to walk the rest of the way.’

‘You can’t just leave your car here!’

‘And you suggest…?’

‘I suppose we could try pushing it.’

‘Are you completely mad?’ He began walking in the direction of the light and Jude half ran to keep up with him. ‘I’ll have to return for it as soon as the weather shows some sign of clearing.’

‘But that might not be for hours yet!’ It was occurring to her what that meant and she didn’t like it. ‘You’ve got to get to a hotel!’

‘Well, why don’t you wave a magic wand and maybe the weather will oblige us both by stopping…this!’ In retrospect, he should have insisted on Fernando travelling to London to see him. In retrospect, he should have stopped at the first sign of snow because he could not afford the luxury of being snowbound anywhere. Even on a Saturday, he had vital conference calls to make and meetings to arrange via e-mail with people on the other side of the world. Fernando might be able to lie in when the weather looked a little challenging, but not so for Cesar! He ground his teeth in frustration and raked his fingers through his hair which, in the brief amount of time it had taken them to reach her front door, was already dripping from the snow.

At least the house was warm. Or rather cottage because, from what he could discern in the inky blackness, it was small, white and with a picture-postcard picket fence. Inside was as quaintly pretty, with old wooden floors and a feeling of age and comfort. In short, it was a million miles away from his marvel of pale marble, pale leather and abstract paintings—investments which had cost an arm and a leg.

‘Phone book…phone book…’ Jude was muttering to herself as she looked under tables and behind chairs. ‘Ah. Here we go. Right. Hotel. Any in particular?’

‘Forget it.’

‘What do you mean, forget it?’

‘Look outside.’ He nodded in the direction of the window and Jude followed his gaze with a sinking heart. This was turning into a blizzard. He would need a snowplough to clear the roads for his car and a tractor to transport him to the city centre. Other than that, it was madness to even think about leaving the house.

‘But you can’t stay here!’

‘Why not?’ Cesar looked at her narrowly, weighing up whether to pursue his line of thought or leave it until the following morning considering the lateness of the hour. ‘Would Fernando object?’

‘Freddy? Object? Why on earth would he object?’ They were both in the small hallway and she felt as though her breath was being sucked out of her. He was so tall! He was also removing his coat and she gave a little squeal of horror. Chatting pleasantly to the man for half an hour and singing Freddy’s praises was all well and good but enforced overnight companionship was a completely different matter. ‘You can borrow my car to get into town!’ Pure genius. ‘The comfort level’s a bit low but you’ll make it there in one piece, at any rate, and a hotel would be a lot more comfortable than the floor here…’

‘Floor?’

‘I know. Appalling.’ He was now hanging his coat on the banister and she wanted to fling it back at him, demand that he put it on and send him firmly on his way. ‘Small house.’ She pointedly kept her duffel coat on so that he would get the message.

‘Forget about trying to shove me outside, Jude. I’ll leave in the morning and if I have to sleep on the floor, then so be it. I’m certainly not going to risk my life in your clapped-out car in this weather.’

‘Oh, very well,’ she snapped, edging back a few inches as he stepped towards her.

‘So why don’t you take your coat off and show me which particular part of the floor you want to designate to me?’

‘There’s a guest bedroom,’ Jude admitted grudgingly, ‘but it’s very small and very cluttered. You’d find it a very challenging space to sleep in.’

Cesar strolled past her towards the general area of the kitchen, inspecting the surroundings as he went. No signs of his brother in the house, at any rate. At least no photos, no bits of male paraphernalia which, in his brother’s case, would probably have been hugely expensive, garishly coloured jumpers or any one of those ridiculous hats which he collected. In fact, no signs of any male occupancy at all.

‘Would you like a guided tour?’ Jude asked acidly, arms folded. ‘Or are you happy just nosing around on your own?’

Cesar turned to her and gave her a long, leisurely appraisal. Not only was she not his brother’s usual trademark busty blonde, she was also not the usual trademark giggly airhead. He really would have to work on finding out just what her job was and how it involved his brother. Maybe the weather could work to his advantage, he thought. Trapped in the confines of her own house, she could hardly disappear if the questions got tough. He smiled slowly, relishing the prospect of asserting his authority and letting her know, in no uncertain terms, that he was not a man to be messed with.

‘No,’ he said lazily, eyes back on her mutinous, flushed face. ‘The guided tour won’t be necessary. At least not at this hour of the morning.’

‘Fine. Then, if you follow me, I’ll show you where you can spend the night.’ Up the stairs, which creaked protestingly under his weight, and to the left, pausing only so that Jude could yank a sheet and a blanket from the airing cupboard. ‘I’m sure you know how to make a bed,’ she told him, handing over the linen. She was pretty sure he didn’t. Like Fernando, he would have been spared the necessity of doing any menial tasks thanks to a background that had seen him raised with all the help that money could buy. It was only after he had met Imogen that he had discovered that fast food wasn’t just a pre- theatre dinner. She was reliably informed by her friend that he could complete most household tasks now but with record slowness and only dubious success.

She would have liked to have witnessed his botched attempts at bed-making, but she let him get on with it while she swept aside all her stuff and, by the time she looked around, the bed was perfectly made and he was looking at her with an amused smile.

‘Up to your standards?’ he asked, raising his eyebrows, and she had the grace to blush.

‘The bathroom’s next door and we share it, so if I’m in it then you’ll just have to wait your turn.’ She was suddenly flustered as he reached for the top button of his shirt. ‘I’ll make sure that there’s a towel for you.’ She backed towards the door as a sliver of hard, muscled, bronzed torso was revealed.

‘What’s with all the drawings?’

Her mouth went dry as he reached the final button and began to undo his cuffs.

‘Are you an artist?’ He walked across to the pile of sketches which she had dumped on the ancient pine table, which had begun life as a dressing table but was now used as a surface on which any and everything found its way.

Jude snatched her drawing from his hand and returned it to its place. ‘I’m a designer, actually.’ Thank God she kept all her work in her architect’s chest downstairs or he would be rifling through those as well. ‘I just do a bit of sketching now and again as a hobby.’

‘Well, well, well. A designer. Interesting.’

‘Yes, it is,’ she responded tightly.

‘Actually, I meant that it’s interesting to discover that you have a proper job. Most of the women who have cluttered up my brother’s life have only paid lip service to the work ethic. In fact, the last one to grace my presence was a flightly little thing with a sideline in glamour modelling.’

Jude tried hard not to think of Imogen. What, she wondered with an inward shudder, would he have thought of a stripper? She and Imogen went back all the way to pigtails and hopscotch. A couple of poor choices on the boyfriend front had found her working in a nightclub, saving hard so that she could continue her studies and get the qualifications she needed to become a primary school teacher, but Jude doubted whether the man looking at her now would find an ounce of compassion for that sob story.

He appeared to have read her mind because he continued, musingly, ‘Naturally I had to ensure that that particular relationship was stillborn.’

‘Why?’ Jude asked uncomfortably. Images of her pregnant friend rose in her head. ‘There’s nothing wrong with glamour modelling…’

‘A glamour model and my brother equate to a gold-digger out to fleece a golden goose.’

‘That’s a very cynical way of thinking…’

‘It’s called the realities of life. Another reality of life is that I would do anything within my power to ensure that my brother is not taken advantage of. Flings with women are all well and good, just so long as they leave the picture. Any unsuitable ones who try to stick around…would have me to contend with…’ Always a good idea to lay down one or two ground rules, Cesar thought. She might blush like a teenager and appear to have a face as transparent as glass, but he was savvy enough to know that neither of those two things necessarily added up to a personality as pure as the driven snow.

‘Well, thank you for that,’ Jude told him coolly. ‘It’s always illuminating to hear what other people think, even if you don’t agree with what they say. Although I’d guess that you don’t really give a damn whether people agree with what you have to say or not.’

‘Bull’s eye!’ With a quick, easy movement he stripped off his shirt and tossed it on the ground. ‘I’ll have to dry these in the morning.’ Intriguingly, she looked as though she had never seen a man half naked before.

‘You’re going to sleep…in the… What are you going to wear to bed?’

‘What I usually wear.’ He looked at her in genuine surprise. ‘My birthday suit. It’s very comfortable. You should approve.’

Jude thought of him sleeping naked, with only a small bathroom separating their rooms, and felt faint. Of course, this was because she had taken an instant dislike to him and, in fact, disapproved of pretty much everything he had had to say, but the image of that muscular, lithe body flung over her sheets and blankets lodged in her head like a burr.

‘I’ll get you something!’

‘You have men’s clothes stashed away in your house?’ Cesar’s ears pricked up but she didn’t say anything. She had backed right out of the door and he waited, thinking, until she reappeared two minutes later and tossed him a T-shirt. It was big all right. It was also bright pink.

He could hear the laughter in her voice as she said, ‘That should fit. Have a good night’s sleep!’

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