The Gold Collection: Bedded By A Billionaire: Santiago's Command / The Thorn in His Side / Stranded, Seduced...Pregnant

A stone too heavy, according to the man from Hollywood who, at the height of her notoriety, had dangled the female lead in a new film with the proviso she lose that stone. It had clearly not even crossed his mind, or for that matter her jubilant agent’s, that Lucy would say thanks but no thanks to the chance of being the love interest to one of the industry’s most bankable stars.

‘Sorry, but I can’t act,’ she had said to soften her refusal.

This, it had turned out, was not an obstacle and her ability to look good in very little apparently more than compensated for this minor deficiency. The scandal attached to her name had apparently been deemed box-office gold.

‘But I’m not about to starve myself so men like you can feel macho hauling me around.’

‘Dios mio!’ He stopped dead and angled an astonished stare at her indignant face.

As their eyes connected the amused exasperation in his expression vanished, as did any temptation to defend himself against the accusation.

In his arms Lucy could feel his chest lifting as though standing there were putting more stress on his heart than jogging along had; her own heart was fluttering like a trapped bird in her chest cavity.

She told herself it was her weakened state that made her tremble, unable to admit even to herself it was being the focus of his febrile gaze that had sent her nervous system into shocked overload. As for the impression that the air around them was literally shimmering with a heat haze—that was obviously a result of dehydration or fever.

‘You have a perfect body and we both know it.’

Turning his attention abruptly back to the trail ahead, he picked up pace—not a cold shower but the next best thing—and wondered about the shock in her face. Such a reaction seemed bizarre considering she was a woman who traded on her looks and sensuality.

Silenced by the abrupt assessment, Lucy was almost glad when the nausea and stomach cramps took her mind off the molten stream of desire that had turned her into a breathless bundle of craving and reduced her brain function to zero.

When a short while later, or it might have been a long time, Lucy had lost track, he asked, ‘Are you sulking?’ Lucy thought it wise to warn him.

‘No, I don’t feel very well …’ Her eyes were closed as she spoke but she could feel his dark gaze on her face.

Presumably she looked terrible because he started jogging faster. There was no way, she thought dully, that he could keep up this pace for much longer even if he was incredibly fit.

‘Nearly there,’ he murmured close to her ear. ‘Hold on.’

‘God, don’t be nice to me,’ she begged, wondering what alternative universe she had slipped into where Santiago made her feel safe and cared for. ‘Or I’ll cry.’

Tears would have left him unmoved but the plea touched him. He could not think of another woman he knew who would prefer to be yelled at than give in to tears. ‘Shut up or I’ll drop you.’

Lucy sketched a weak smile and forgot to hate him. ‘Thank you. I suppose I am being very ungrateful.’

‘Yes.’

‘I’ll try not to throw up on you … it’s a beautiful suit,’ she heard herself say, and wondered if, despite the fact she felt freezing cold, she had a fever. ‘God, I’m never sick!’ she groaned, vowing to show more sympathy in future to people who were physically more fragile than she was.

She was now and the sight of her poor pale face made him complete the last leg of the journey in record time.

By the time they reached the stableyard there was no question of it being illicit lust that made Lucy cling to him; she wasn’t even aware that she was groaning softly into his shoulder.

He looked around the deserted yard, which normally at this time of the day was a hive of activity, and felt his frustration grow.

He cut between the buildings built around a quadrangle and across the lawn, ignoring the burning of his shoulder muscles, spurred on by the soft moans of the woman he carried.

He walked straight through the massive double doors of the front entrance and into the vaulted hallway. It was empty. He opened his mouth to yell when Josef appeared. Normally insouciant Josef’s eyes widened when he saw his boss with a semi-conscious woman in his arms.

‘Where is my brother?’

‘With the doctor. He’s rather unwell.’

‘Ramon is ill, too?’ Santiago closed his eyes. Two invalids on his hands, one literally, and an errant daughter to collect from the station. When they spoke of it never raining but pouring, his was presumably the day they were referring to.

‘Can I help with the young lady, sir?’

‘No, you can get Martha and the new girl … Sabina, and ask them to come to the west-wing suite … inform the doctor he is required there and have the helicopter ready to take off in thirty minutes. Gabby is coming home early.’

Josef waited as he reeled off the instructions and then, with a nod, vanished. A man of few words, Josef; Santiago liked that about him.

‘You’re so pretty.’

Lucy blinked and pushed her way free of the last layers of sleep. The figure standing by the window came into focus. To her relief, it was not a hallucination—unless hallucinations spoke and wore braces.

She blinked at the small elfin features of Gabby.

‘Thank you,’ Lucy replied, easing herself carefully up on one elbow and turning her curious gaze around the room. She had not been that interested in her surroundings the previous night when Santiago had brought her in here and relinquished her to the care of the doctor and the two women who had stayed with her during the night.

One of them had spoken perfect English, the other was the sweet girl who had cut her hand, both had been incredibly kind.

‘I thought you were in school.’

‘I ran away.’

Lucy was weak enough to feel a fleeting moment of sympathy for Santiago.

‘What time is it?’

The furniture in the room that was massive enough to lose the enormous four-poster she was lying in was dark and heavy and looked like museum pieces. The stone walls were covered with tapestries and portraits of severe-looking historical persons. The personal touch of an arrangement of garden flowers in the gleaming copper bowl set in the empty cavernous fireplace filled the room with their scent and lightened the general museum-style gloom.

‘It’s two o’clock.’

Lucy was startled. She had fallen asleep in the early hours. ‘Why didn’t someone wake me?’ She brushed her hair from her face and struggled to tear her eyes from the portrait of a hatchet-faced woman in a jewelled turban. The eyes looked spookily familiar, an ancestor presumably of the present incumbent. Clearly hauteur was not a new Silva characteristic, any more than the masterful nose.

‘They said to let you and Sara sleep.’

Lucy yawned and dragged her attention back to the girl. ‘Sara?’ Her brow crinkled. Was she meant to know the name? At that moment she was struggling with her own.

‘She’s one of the maids. She ate some of the bad salmon that was for the cook’s mother’s cat, too.’

Struggling to follow this information overload, Lucy moistened her lips with her tongue—they felt dry and cracked—and recalled the smoked salmon and cream cheese bagel that Ramon had produced when she had said she couldn’t possibly go riding until she had had her breakfast.

‘I haven’t eaten either but not to worry, I have it covered,’ he had said, producing the breakfast treat wrapped in a linen napkin.

When she had laughed and conceded he had thought of everything she hadn’t known that had included food poisoning! Could he have escaped unscathed?

‘Ramon?’