the ground on which it stands, as demarcated on the attached map, and the book of recipes we developed together.”
He’d moved on to the next bequest by the time it sank in.
No money at all?
Her heart plummeted.
A scraping sound drew her attention and everyone turned as Naldo rose to his feet. “What?” His deep voice trembled with barely controlled rage.
“Mr. De Leon, may I speak with you outside for a moment?” An older, grizzled member of the team of lawyers rose and indicated the door. Naldo strode to the door, fury pouring from him in a hot wave that rolled over the crowd and left excited whispering in its wake.
People turned and glanced surreptitiously at Anna. The daughter, she heard someone mutter. She swallowed and tried to hold her head high as a flush crept up her neck.
Why would Robert De Leon leave her mother a different legacy than he’d bequeathed to all the other staff members?
“You cannot be serious.” Naldo paced in the hall, anger simmering just below boiling point. “My father would never have approved this.”
“It was his expressed wish. I tried to talk him out of it myself. I tried to explain that the integrity of the estate-”
“The integrity of the estate? This bequest makes a mockery of the estate. The De Leon plantation has had no changes in its borders other than opportunistic expansion since my ancestors arrived here from Hispaniola in 1583. And now you mean to tell me that my father instructed you to carve a one-acre hole right in the middle of it? Why not give her one of my kidneys as well? It defies belief.” He underscored his disbelief with a loud smack of his hand on the doorframe. The bespectacled functionary in front of him flinched.
“I’m sorry, sir, but I’m afraid it was your father’s expressed intention. I’m sure you understand the exigencies of client confidentiality, but perhaps you are aware of the circumstances-”
“I’m aware of the circumstances.”
My father’s affair with Letty Marcus. A ten-year-long fly in the ointment of his existence and an ongoing affront to the memory of his mother.
He raked a hand through his hair. “Can nothing be done? Surely our ancestors never intended for something like this to happen.”
“I imagine they are rotating in the family crypt as we speak, sir.” The lawyer’s smirk only stirred his irritation. “I would suggest that you talk to the daughter. I suspect that if you offer her the right amount of money-”
“She’ll sell.”
As the lawyers packed up their papers and the gathered audience rose to their feet, Naldo took in the chiseled elegance of Anna’s profile, set off by the high chignon that held her pale gold hair. Skillfully applied makeup enhanced the symmetrical beauty of her fine features, and darkened that deliciously prim mouth. The tough little girl with the wild red hair and freckled nose had morphed into a stunning woman.
A woman he wouldn’t mind spending some time with.
“Would you join me for dinner?”
Shock flickered through her beautiful eyes. “What?”
“The cook has some fine red snapper she’s promised to grill to the exact point where it cooks in its juices but retains its tender plumpness.” He couldn’t ignore the tender plumpness of her pretty lower lip as she bit it.
“You have a new cook already?”
“Yes. She’s not in your mother’s league, of course-” Perhaps mentioning the cook was a mistake. “But one must make do.”
“I can quite imagine.” Was that a flare of annoyance he read in her expression?
He picked up her hand. Pale and soft, the nails short and bare but carefully contoured. With her long, slender fingers encased in his, again he experienced the shimmer of sensation that had preceded recognition at the cottage.
He lifted her hand to his mouth, and pressed his lips against the smooth skin. The absence of the expensive scent he’d expected to encounter only stirred his arousal. “Dine with me, Anna. With my father gone, I-” He held her gaze.
He needed her to say yes, and not just because the prospect of dinner without his father made his soul ache. He had a problem to solve, and suddenly he envisioned a few very delicious ways to solve it.
Two
“Okay.” Anna regretted the word as soon as it left her lips, but she couldn’t help it. She saw the fresh pain that glittered in Naldo’s dark eyes. She knew how much he loved his father.
“Excellent.” Was that a look of triumph that flashed across his face? Fear crept up her spine.
He gestured to a young man in black pants and a white shirt. “Mojitos on the veranda please, Tom.”
With his hand still on hers-which was growing uncomfortably hot-he leaned into her and murmured, “I’ll get rid of these last stragglers and join you outside.”
Out on the veranda, with a drink she hadn’t asked for sweating in her hand, Anna paced back and forth over the smooth painted wood.
Now she’d have to keep up her successful businesswoman charade for the length of a fancy meal. She couldn’t let Naldo know what had happened. He’d no doubt pity her and laugh at her foolish pretensions to a lifestyle he took for granted.
She sipped her drink and the sharp lime and fresh mint stung her tongue-painful and delicious, their heady taste echoed the sharp mix of emotions still roiling inside her.
She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed this place. She marveled at the endless rows of lush trees burgeoning under the clear bright blue sky, as the scent of ripe oranges thickened the air. The estate was known as Paradiso, and the name fit. A little piece of heaven.
Or a big piece of it, depending on your perspective.
And now a very, very tiny piece of it was hers.
“Anna!” She jumped as Naldo strode through the French doors. “I thought I’d never be rid of them.”
He’d removed his tie and unbuttoned the neck of his white shirt, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of bronzed skin at his throat. He picked up his tall mojito glass from the table. For one second she was agonizingly aware of the long, powerful fingers that had held hers with such tender yet irresistible force. He lifted the glass, threw his head back and drank.
“God, what a day.” He slammed the half-empty glass down on the table. He shrugged his expensive jacket off and threw it casually over a wicker chair. “Let me look at you.”
She stood fixed to the spot as he-without any shame-let his eyes rove over her from head to toe, appearing to drink her in like a tall, cool mojito.
The warm approval in his gaze sparked a rush of sensation that stung her fingertips and nipples. She covered her confusion in a sip of her drink.
“Don’t be shy. I’m just in shock, that’s all. I can’t believe that you’re the tough cookie with the cropped hair who used to challenge me to arm-wrestling matches.” Amusement twinkled in his eyes.
A rush of memories flooded her veins with that strange mix of pain and pleasure. “You used to let me win.”
“I never let you win. You used to kick my ass regularly, until I grew bigger.”
Until your mother died, and you didn’t come home anymore.
She’d looked forward to his boarding school vacations with every cell in her body. He’d come home bursting with energy, thrilled to be back and up for anything. But after his mother’s death he always had somewhere else to go-skiing in Aspen, polo in Argentina, a tour of Italy. She hadn’t really seen him again after that. She was gone by the time he graduated from college and moved back here.
She shook off the thought of how suddenly he’d disappeared from her life. “I did always beat you at tennis,
