Maureen Child - One-Click Buy: October Silhouette Desire

“Angelo!’ It was a cry of desperation, of satiation.

Angelo stood at the door of the church he’d been baptised in, waiting for his bride.

Connie, along with her latest husband and Gemma’s parents, sat in the front row. From where he stood he could see Penelope dabbing the tears of happiness from her eyes. Tariq sat beside Connie, looking very grave, his white robes flowing behind him.

At the altar stood Zac and Pandora who’d agreed to be koumbaro and koumbara and crown him and Gemma in the wedding ceremony.

At last Angelo heard the drone of a motor and moved towards the entrance. A white limousine emblazoned with the resort’s crest came down the winding road and slowed as it reached the church. He narrowed his eyes against the light, trying to catch a glimpse of Gemma.

The village priest materialized beside him. “It looks like your bride has arrived, my son.”

Angelo started to move.

The priest’s hand caught his arm. “Wait, let her alight.”

The driver came around and opened the door.

One taut, elegant leg appeared. Then the other. Finally his bride emerged in a dress so white it dazzled him. He stepped forward, and barely noticed the priest’s hand falling away, all his attention focused on the woman ahead.

She smiled at him and offered him her hand. He took it in both of his and raised it to his lips.

“I love you. I honestly do.”

She rewarded him with that radiant smile that he knew would brighten the rest of his life.

“What are you doing here?” A commanding voice and a pair of black eyes pierced the evening gloom from inside the tiny cottage.

It was him.

She’d known she’d see Reynaldo De Leon sooner or later-it was his estate, after all-but she’d wanted to be psyched up and dressed for success, not sweaty, disheveled and emotional from a day of sorting through her beloved mother’s belongings.

Anna Marcus’s fingers tightened around her bag of greasy take-out food.

He stared down at her from his impressive height. A crease appeared between black brows. “Have you come to clean?”

He looked huge in the cramped kitchen, the single dim bulb illuminating his arrogant features, his wide, sensual mouth tilted with disdain. “If you’re getting paid by the hour I’ll reimburse you for tonight, but you must tell your employer to get in touch with me before any property is removed.”

He thinks I’m a cleaner? Did he not recognize her?

Suddenly it was all too much to bear. Her gentle mother dead at only forty-eight, with no warning at all, just a late-night phone call about an accident on a Florida interstate-

“Well?” He crossed his arms over his expensive shirt.

Tears welled in her eyes. Don’t cry now. In the last year she’d survived bankruptcy, divorce and now the loss of the one person in the world she could always count on. She’d made it this far…

The bag in her hand crinkled as she clutched it tighter, biting hard on the inside of her mouth.

“No habla inglés?” He raised a black brow.

“I speak English,” she blurted.

“That bag is leaking.”

“What?” She followed his gaze to the brown paper bag in her hand. “Oh, it’s my dinner.”

His hard expression softened. “Go ahead and eat it.” He gestured to the Formica-topped table. “No sense letting food go to waste.”

Maybe she could play along until he left? Let him think she really was some minimum-wage cleaner. What did it matter? Neither he nor his high-and-mighty father had bothered to come to her mom’s funeral, despite the fact that Letty Marcus lived on the estate and cooked all their meals for more than fifteen years. Working stiffs like her and her mom were nobody to these people.

Yes, she had a college degree, and had briefly owned a successful real estate company, but right now she was flat broke, with no place to call home, so his assessment of her wasn’t all that wide of the mark.

As she grabbed a plate off the counter and sat at the table, she could feel his eyes on her. Eyes that had haunted her teenage dreams and driven her into frenzies of pathetic hope that one day he’d…

Love her?

What a joke. She lifted her big Quarter Pounder with cheese out of the bag and plopped it on the plate.

She sat in the chair and picked up the burger, then realized her stomach had shriveled to the size of a peanut. His imperious gaze made her skin prickle. “Are you going to stand there watching me?”

“Of course. I can’t leave a stranger unattended on family property. Surely you understand.”

A stranger? She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry or scream.

Just one more insignificant person on a large estate. No one special. He probably hadn’t spared a thought for her since the last time they faced each other on the tennis court.

She’d thought about him, though. Far more than she cared to admit.

Dropping the burger on her plate, she rose onto unsteady legs. “I have to go.”

Naldo reached into his back pocket and took a twenty-dollar bill from his money clip. “Here. You can come back tomorrow.”

After I’ve found what I’m looking for.

“I don’t want your money.” She kept her head turned away from him. “And I’m not hungry. You can eat it.”

Naldo fought a smile at the thought of eating the cleaner’s greasy take-out dinner. There was a fresh-boiled lobster waiting for him back at the house.

Not that he had any appetite today.

He looked around for a piece of paper to write his number. If he could put off the cleaner for one more day he’d be fine. He’d find what he was looking for tonight. The cottage was tiny.

The girl hadn’t bothered to respond, so he simply scribbled the number on a heart-shaped notepad next to the phone and held it out to her. A bead of sweat balanced like a tiny pearl above her pursed pink mouth.

As she took the pink paper, her soft fingertips brushed his palm, sparking a strange sensation. Her eyes met his, wide and blue, and recognition swept through him like a clap of thunder.

“Anna.”

Her chin jerked up.

He stared at her for a moment, not quite able to trust his eyes. How could this skinny, nervous woman be the feisty tomboy he’d once known? “It’s been a long time.”

“Apparently so.” Her pale lips pressed together.

“You look so different.” The words flew out before he had time to consider their prudence.

“Time will do that to a person. To some people anyway. You look exactly the same.”

“You’re so thin.”

“It’s the fashion.” Her eyes narrowed.

“Your hair, it used to be red.”

“It still is, until I lighten it.”

“You dye your hair?” It seemed inconceivable that the tough and boyish Anna he remembered would do something so unabashedly feminine.

“Don’t look so shocked. Most women do.”

“You never were like most women.”

“Who says I am now?” Her eyes flashed.

The old fire was still there, just in a very different vessel. And it sparked more than curiosity.

“I hear you’re a big success.” Her mother’s pride had kept him well-versed in Anna’s accomplishments: magna cum laude graduation from a good college, a job with a top developer, a venture in commercial real estate.

A husband.

“It’s all relative. Success, that is. I hear the estate has branched out into retail.” Her voice was cool, controlled. The voice of a businesswoman. Intriguingly at odds with her disheveled appearance.

“Yes, citrus-based marinades, salad dressings, dipping sauces. They’re selling well.”

She held his gaze. “I’m sure the De Leon citrus empire will thrive for another four hundred years.”

Thank God she’d managed to change the subject. Terror streaked along her nerves when he touched on her “success.” Whatever brief success she’d enjoyed lay in dust. Not unlike the dust that clung to her ratty cut-off shorts and faded T-shirt. Why did he have to see her looking her absolute worst? So tired, faded, drawn and scrawny, he didn’t even know her. Her heart squeezed with shame.

“We’re all devastated by your mother’s death.” The compassion in his eyes and the sincerity in his velvet voice almost made her forget that he didn’t even show for her funeral.

She still couldn’t believe her mom was really gone. That she’d never again sink into those soft, loving arms and relax in the warmth of love that was truly unconditional.

“Me, too.” Her voice emerged as a whisper.

“My father died this morning.” Naldo’s deep voice rang with disbelief.

“What?” Robert De Leon was a force of nature, as tall, proud, sturdy and indestructible as the orange trees that grew in such profusion on the vast empire he ruled.

“A massive heart attack. He hung on for three days, but the doctors said there wasn’t anything they could do for him.”

“Oh, Naldo.” Her hand flew to her mouth as fresh emotion burned through her.

His proud bearing belied the pain churning in his fierce black eyes. A sudden, violent urge to hug him almost knocked her off her feet.

Don’t even think about it.

She’d always wanted Naldo De Leon. Craved his touch, his admiration-his love. She knew by now that she’d never have them. She wouldn’t take this painful moment and turn it into an even more devastating one.

“The estate is yours now.” She said it calmly, collecting herself.

“Yes.”

“The four-hundred-year history of the De Leon plantation is an impressive legacy to continue. I know you’ll make your father proud.”

Naldo didn’t reply. With the arrogance of the conquistadors he was descended from, he simply stared at her.

She groped for something else to say. To slice through the thundercloud of emotion thickening in the air. Don’t cry.