‘You’re Spanish?’
‘So it would seem. Now, open the gate. I’ve spent hours travelling. It’s been a hellish trip. I’m hot and tired and I’m not prepared to spend the next half an hour sweltering out here while I answer pointless questions that don’t need to be asked.’
Sofia could scarcely believe what she was hearing. For one very wicked moment, she almost wished that James and his stuck-up wife were here so that they could experience a cocky, arrogant hired hand who wasn’t afraid to speak his mind.
But they weren’t, because they were busy having fun on the slopes. No, she was here, working, as always, beyond her brief. She buzzed open the iron gates and waited until she heard the sharp ring of the doorbell, immediately followed by the thundering of the lion-head brass knocker, as though the man outside couldn’t wait the seconds it might take her to answer the door.
She sprinted and yanked open the front door, letting in the fragrant smell of grass and trees and the soothing orchestra of twilight insects, and then stopped dead in her tracks.
Just for a few seconds. Just as she registered the guy towering in front of her, his hand raised as though about to bang the knocker again.
Drop-dead gorgeous. The breath left her in a whoosh, as though she’d been punched in the stomach. Her eyes widened and she instantly went into self-defence mode, taking one step back, arms folded, although this time, unlike when her boss turned lascivious eyes on her, it was for an entirely different reason.
This time it was because the sudden bloom of sexual awareness shocked her.
She wanted to stare and just keep on staring. His black hair was slightly too long and swept back from a face that was chiselled to the sort of perfection no camera could ever fully capture. Midnight-dark eyes were fringed with lush dark lashes, his nose was aquiline and his mouth wide and crazily sensual. Every single thing about the man emanated the sort of fierce, aggressive sex appeal that made her heart beat a little faster and sent liquid heat pooling between her thighs, dampening her underwear.
It was an immediate reaction that infuriated her because Sofia knew that she should know better.
From the age of thirteen she had known what it felt like to be the unwilling object of attention from the opposite sex. She had fought off unwanted, uninvited advances and then, when she’d been fifteen, one advance in particular from a married friend of her mother’s had made her realise that her looks weren’t a blessing in disguise. They were a curse.
Since then, she had been at pains to guard herself against men, holding out for ‘the one’ but not caring all that much if ‘the one’ never came her way—just knowing that she would never, ever sell herself short or settle for anything less than what she thought she deserved.
And she would certainly never allow looks to define her the way they had her mother.
‘You’d better come in,’ she said, a little more sharply than she’d intended. She stood back and the guy brushed past her. And there it went again...that tingle of sexual awareness that seemed to bypass all her natural defence systems.
She inched back when, having surveyed the impressive hall, he spun round to look at her.
‘Where are they?’
‘Who?’
‘The Walters. Where are they? Shouldn’t they be here to meet and greet?’
Sofia was torn between marvelling at the sheer audacity of the man and bristling at his arrogance.
He was looking at her, his dark eyes veiled and lazily assessing.
‘I don’t think they were planning on deferring their skiing holiday to give the temporary gardener the red-carpet treatment.’
‘Nice house.’
‘Is that all you’ve brought with you by way of luggage?’ She eyed the battered hold-all.
Rafael shrugged. ‘I like to travel light.’
‘Can I get something for you to drink? Eat?’
‘Is that your job here? Housekeeper?’
Rafael knew exactly what the woman did. In fact, he knew a great deal more about her than she ever could have imagined, because he had done some extensive background checks himself. His godfather might have had romantic notions of destiny throwing a daughter his way. Rafael was a little less trusting on that front.
The one thing he hadn’t known was just quite how stunning she would be in the flesh. Long, dark, curling hair was carelessly tied back. Her skin was the colour of pale coffee and as smooth as silk and her eyes were vivid green, densely lashed and almond-shaped.
Not exactly the meek and mild goody-two-shoes his godfather was doubtless hoping for. Wasn’t life full of surprises?
‘I’m the nanny.’ Sofia stuck out her chin at a defiant angle. She was a nanny, and she wasn’t ashamed of that, but in her heart she could have been so much more. However, a chequered background that involved far too much moving around had wreaked havoc with her education.
Hopes for a rewarding career had died a slow death over the years, because doors never opened for someone with a patchy academic record. Yes, she was making up for lost time now, but it wasn’t going to happen overnight, and meanwhile...
‘Does the nanny have a name?’
‘Sofia. Sofia Suarez. You never said—do you want anything to eat or drink? Naturally, I cannot raid the liquor cabinet to offer you anything alcoholic, but tea? Coffee? I could make you a sandwich.’
‘Nothing alcoholic? In that case, I’ll forgo the tea and coffee for some water, and a sandwich would be good.’ He strolled through the kitchen. Big kitchen. Big house. Expensive people leading an expensive lifestyle.
‘Please don’t touch anything,’ she said anxiously from behind him as he began opening drawers. Rafael slowly turned to look at her.
‘If they’ve left you in charge here, they must expect you to open drawers and cupboards.’
‘Of course, but...’ Slow, hot colour crept into her cheeks.
‘But you’re the nanny and, when it comes to pecking order, the nanny ranks higher than the gardener?’
‘You don’t look like a gardener,’ Sofia said, changing the subject and turning her back to him as she expertly began making him a ham and cheese sandwich, which was exactly what she had had for her lunch. She hadn’t yet had dinner but somehow breaking bread with this dark, arrogant man sent a trickle of cold apprehension racing up and down her spine.
Rafael grunted, watching and appreciating the length of her limbs, the willowy suppleness of her body, the innate grace with which she carried herself.
‘You need to check her out,’ his godfather had said urgently. ‘I know I’m harbouring romantic notions of this young lady, but I’m no fool. I don’t know what she’s like, what sort of character she has. My dear boy, it would mean so much to me if you could check her out, but incognito. She must have no idea of the vast fortune that could be hers, as I wouldn’t want that to influence her responses.
‘To be blunt, I wouldn’t want her to edit her personality to appeal. I would hope for someone kind, considerate, smart...and if she’s not, well, a bridge to be crossed but not yet. Check her out—that’s number one. And then...here’s the sweetener to the deal if you take this on, my dear boy...my company. All my shares. You can move in and troubleshoot my stepson back into place. With my own flesh and blood in place, rightfully there, and you by her side at the helm, all my worries would end. You have said yourself that your own empire virtually runs itself. It’s time you found a new