The Spaniard's Kiss

by Nina Croft

Overview

Looking for a passionate read? Don't miss Indulgence's latest romance...

One moment
will change their friendship forever...

Widow Isobel Sinclair knows it's time to move on, and she believes the next chapter in her life involves a baby. All she needs is a man to help her with the finer details. Unfortunately, right now the only man in her life is her husband's best friend, Rafael Sanchez. And an incredibly wealthy, super-hot player is not exactly family material.

That's okay since she wants a baby sans the husband part.

Billionaire playboy Rafael has carefully hidden his longing for Isobel over the years. He's wanted her from the moment they met. When desire sparks between them, Rafael faces a choice beyond imagining: give Isobel what she wants...or lose her forever. He has a good reason why a child can't be in his future, but telling Isobel the truth could destroy everything.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781622667017
Publisher:	Entangled Publishing, LLC
Publication date:	07/14/2015
Sold by:	Macmillan
Format:	eBook
Pages:	211
Sales rank:	307,246
File size:	1 MB

About the Author

Nina Croft grew up in the north of England. After training as an accountant, she spent four years working as a volunteer in Zambia which left her with a love of the sun and a dislike of 9-5 work. She then spent a number of years mixing travel (whenever possible) with work (whenever necessary) but has now settled down to a life of writing and picking almonds on a remote farm in the mountains of southern Spain.

Nina writes all types of romance often mixed with elements of paranormal and science fiction.

Nina Croft grew up in the north of England. After training as an accountant, she spent four years working as a volunteer in Zambia, which left her with a love of the sun and a dislike of nine-to-five work. She's since then spent a number of years mixing travel (whenever possible) with work (whenever necessary), and has settled down to a life of writing and picking almonds on a remote farm in the mountains of southern Spain.

Nina writes all types of romance, often mixed with elements of the paranormal and science fiction.

Read an Excerpt

The Spaniard's Kiss

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By Nina Croft, Candace Havens

Entangled Publishing, LLC

Copyright © 2015 Nina Croft
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-62266-701-7

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CHAPTER 1

Six months later

A pair of legs and an ass.

That was all Rafe could see, but it was enough to grab his attention, because the legs were long and slender and the ass full and curvaceous and barely covered by a pair of skimpy denim cutoffs. It was also pointed straight up at him where he stood at the first-floor window of his grandfather's villa. Rafe recognized her immediately, despite never having seen her from quite this angle before.

Bella.

The rest of her vanished into a dense green bush swathed in crimson flowers.

What the hell was she doing?

Her legs were golden brown, and her feet covered in thick woolen socks and heavy work boots. He didn't think work boots had ever entered into his sexual fantasies before. Scarlet stilettos were more his thing. An image flashed in his mind — a pair of four-inch heels on the end of those endless legs — and a wave of unwelcome heat washed over him, settling low in his gut. It had been a long time since a woman had affected him in this way. Six months, to be precise. Back then, it had been the very same woman, and the sensation had been just as unwelcome.

He still couldn't believe he'd kissed her. Something he'd sworn never to do. Bella was a friend; that's all she was, that's all she could ever be. He'd made the decision a long time ago, and Gary's death didn't change that.

The kiss had been a mistake of gargantuan proportions. But God help him, she'd been naked! Totally, gloriously naked. He'd spent most of the last six months trying to purge the memory from his mind. And failing.

A light tap at the door brought him back to the present. He shook his head and glanced around. Peter North, his assistant, stood in the doorway.

"How is he?" Rafe asked. His grandfather had been asleep when he'd arrived, and Rafe hadn't wanted to disturb him. He was awake now, but the doctor was with him.

"He's fine. As I told you on the phone — it was a minor attack."

Rafe had been in Hong Kong at the time and had headed straight back despite Peter's assurance that his grandfather was in no immediate danger. Probably his mad rush was due to guilt. He shouldn't have stayed away so long.

He worried about the old man; he was getting frail, and this place was too remote. Situated in the mountains between the Sierra Nevada range and the Mediterranean, the villa was a long way from the nearest hospital. Rafe had tried to get him to move to London where he'd be close to the best medical facilities, but his attempts were futile. His grandfather had lived here all his life and loved these mountains. God knows why — Rafe had never understood the attraction.

"Is the doctor finished?" he asked.

"He'll be done in five minutes."

"Good."

He turned back to the window and stood, hands in his pockets, observing the scene below. Peter came up beside him and whistled softly. "Nice."

Rafe stiffened. It was nice, but for some reason, he didn't like Peter sharing the view. Bella was hardly his property, but he still felt protective of her.

Protective. Yes. That was how he felt — he just had to keep reminding himself of that.

"What's she doing?" he asked.

"Pruning, I would think. She must be the new gardener your grandfather employed."

Rafe frowned. Why the hell would she be working as a gardener? He'd asked his grandfather to keep an eye on her, not to employ her. The old man would have looked out for her anyway. He'd been fond of Gary since he started coming here on holidays with Rafe when they were boys.

They watched in silence as she wriggled backward. It was a slow process, hindered by bits of bush that caught in her clothes and long, dark red ponytail. By the time she'd completely extracted herself, Rafe felt like some sort of voyeur, and Peter shifted uncomfortably beside him.

Scrambling to her feet, she brushed herself off, plucking broken twigs and crimson petals out of her hair. She still faced away from the window, and Rafe silently willed her to turn around. Finally, she turned so she stood in profile, and he ran his eyes hungrily over her. The skimpy shorts were topped by an equally skimpy khaki tank top that clung to the full curves of her breasts, leaving zero to the imagination and making it obvious that she wore nothing underneath.

Not that he needed imagination. He'd seen the real thing. Dios, why couldn't he delete that image from his head?

Protective.

His eyes shifted to her face. Her hair had grown since their last meeting, long enough to touch her ass, and she'd lost weight, but otherwise she looked the same — gorgeous.

"Her name's Isabel Sinclair," Peter offered from beside him.

"I know who she is — what's she doing working here?" Pete did security checks on all the new employees. He'd know the details.

"She's English — a widow with a small farm across the valley." Peter sounded nervous now, as though he wasn't sure what was going on. But then he'd only been with the company a year and would be unaware of Rafe's history with Bella. "I gather she's struggling to make ends meet. Your grandfather probably felt sorry for her."

Why was she struggling? He'd presumed Gary must have left her well off, but obviously not. And if she needed money, why the hell hadn't she come to him? That was something he could legitimately do for her, within the bounds of his protective role. Perhaps she hadn't wanted to ask him for help after that kiss. Maybe she thought he would demand something in return.

Not for the first time, guilt prodded him in the gut. Lately the emotion seemed to be a regular companion. Oh, she'd kissed him back — for all of about ten seconds — but probably because he'd taken her by surprise. She'd never shown any sign she saw him as anything other than her husband's friend, her friend. As far as he was aware, she'd never looked at any man other than Gary.

God, he was a bastard for kissing her.

The first time he'd seen her, eight years ago, was like being hit over the head with a blunt object. Hard. He'd wanted her from that moment. She was seventeen. Half tomboy, half siren. Rafe had been twenty-two, and he'd felt like a total pervert. She'd also been about to lose her virginity to the best friend Rafe had ever had. He remembered wishing that Gary hadn't confided in him quite so much.

Spending time with Bella had felt the same ever since — an almost painful blend of desire and guilt. He'd hidden his reactions and made sure he treated her like his kid sister. Lusting after his best friend's girlfriend, then wife, was not on his list of acceptable behavior.

But even if she hadn't been Gary's girl, no way would he get involved with her. Gary had told him all Bella wanted from life was a home and a family, and Rafe could give her neither. He'd grown up knowing those things would never be an option for him, and despite the money he poured into medical research, nothing had changed since then. He'd thought he was reconciled. He'd been wrong. Rolling his shoulders, he tried to ease the tension as an echo of remembered pain ran through him.

It had been easier when Bella was totally off-limits. He'd found the one woman he could imagine making a life with, and he couldn't have her. She belonged to Gary.

Except now, Gary was gone.

He'd done a good job of being Bella's "friend." Until that night at the thermal spring, when like a total moron — or more probably like a horny teenager who couldn't keep his dick in his pants — he'd kissed her. The memory still had the power to make him hot and hard.

The following morning, he'd discovered some urgent business demanding his immediate attention back in London. Okay — he was deluding himself. The truth was, he'd run away. And stayed away. Waiting for the memory of that kiss to fade. It hadn't happened. Then his grandfather fell ill and he'd hurried back.

He could get through this. As long as he didn't mention the kiss, they could return to the relationship they'd always had.

No problem.

* * *

He'd been gone six months. Six months and no word.

Snip. Snip.

She cut the head off a perfectly innocent geranium.

How dare he kiss her and then disappear for six months? Not that the kiss hadn't been nice — okay maybe "nice" was an understatement — but that was beside the point. He was supposed to be her friend. That's not how friends behaved. And he was only back because of his grandfather's heart attack. Who knew when he would have honored them with his presence otherwise? She'd missed him — hadn't realized how much she had come to rely on his sporadic visits.

Bella kept busy through the long morning, but by two o'clock, she'd pruned everything that could possibly be pruned. He wouldn't dare leave without seeing her, would he? She contemplated marching up to the house and demanding a confrontation, or tying herself to his helicopter so he couldn't leave without seeing her.

She wanted her friend back. That meant they had to face up to that kiss, show that it meant nothing, and get back to normal.

In the end, she convinced herself to wait until he approached her. But he'd better come quickly, or he'd be sorry.

Lifting her damp ponytail off her neck, she fanned herself.

She'd always loved the sun, but she didn't think she'd ever get used to the heat of a Spanish summer. Even sprawled under the dappled shade of a huge fig tree, where she could keep an eye on the main house, it was too hot to eat. Besides, her appetite was nonexistent, so she split the crusty bread between Sam and Joe, the two Doberman guard dogs sharing her shady siesta spot.

She'd done a lot of thinking since that night. Obviously, the whole naked thing had prompted the kiss. Rafe was a total player; she'd always known that. It was probably like Pavlov's dogs — the sight of a naked woman just triggered him to a sexual response. It was nothing personal.

And totally irrelevant that it had done all sorts of weird things to her insides. She was probably hormonal, and he'd had a lot of practice. He probably kissed all his women like his life depended on it, like he never wanted to stop.

And when she'd finally done the sensible thing and stopped it, he'd promptly vanished. She'd gotten up the next morning, determined to reassure him it meant absolutely nothing. But he'd already gone.

As the weeks turned into months, she came to suspect something — Rafe was avoiding her. But why?

Maybe he was worried she'd read too much into that kiss. Gary once told her that Rafe would never marry. He hadn't known why exactly, but it had something to do with Rafe's parents splitting when he was a boy. If he'd stuck around she could have put his mind at rest.

The kiss meant nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Yeah, she'd reacted, but he was a man, and she was a woman who hadn't been kissed in over two years. What did he expect?

And she could have used a friend to talk to. She'd thought about phoning him so many times, but something had always stopped her.

Sam raised his head from the ground, his growl quickly turning into a yip of greeting. Bella sat up abruptly.

"Crap," she muttered, as something hot and needy twisted low down in her belly. Had he always been that gorgeous? Or had that damn kiss rewired her brain?

Rafe strolled toward her across the vast expanse of green lawn, moving with the controlled arrogance of someone who owned the place. Which, of course, he did.

He was heading straight for her. At last.

Rafael Sanchez.

She'd first met him when she was seventeen, but she'd known about him for a lot longer. Rafe's and Gary's mothers had been best friends, and they'd grown up together.

Gary was three years younger than Rafe and had hero-worshipped him, talked about him incessantly. He'd been twenty-two and the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, with an air of raw sexuality she'd never encountered before ... or since. All the same, it had never occurred to her to think of him as anything but Gary's friend and later hers. Maybe because he'd always treated her like an irritating kid sister. Besides, she'd known even then that one day she was going to marry Gary. She'd proposed to him when she was twelve and he was fourteen, and she'd never let him forget that he'd said yes.

As always, Rafe appeared cool and elegant in a pale gray suit and white shirt open at the throat. And as usual, Bella had to fight the urge to go over and muss him up, ruffle his hair, maybe leave some muddy fingerprints over his spotless silk shirt.

She scrambled to her feet and glanced down, taking in her bare legs, scratched and marked by mosquito bites, the tank top stuck to her damp skin. She'd also taken off her boots and was barefoot. She couldn't begin to imagine what she must look like, but she was 100 percent convinced "cool and elegant" didn't come close.

Rafe halted a few feet away, leaned one shoulder against the tree beside him, folded his arms over his chest, and regarded her from behind designer shades. "Bella, you look" — a slight smile curved his lips, and his gaze raked her from head to foot — "a mess."

What did he expect? She'd been working, it was hot, and, oh yeah, she hadn't been near a hairdresser in over two years. She didn't need Mr. Perfect, not a hair out of place, tall, dark, and handsome, to tell her that.

He was so unbelievably stunning. Well over six feet, broad at the shoulders but lean everywhere else. Immaculately cut black hair was brushed back from his face, his skin tinted with gold and drawn taut over todie-for cheekbones. He reached up and took off his glasses, revealing the most sinfully erotic blue eyes she had ever seen. His lips were full with a sensual curve, and she had a flashback to the feel of his mouth on hers, his tongue —

"Earth to Bella ... you can remember how to talk, can't you?"

Great. He was back to the old teasing Rafe. Did he honestly think he could pretend he hadn't kissed her?

Not in this lifetime.

They were getting this out in the open. Otherwise it would fester and ruin their relationship. She wanted her friend back. Unless he'd forgotten all about the kiss. Maybe he kissed so many women, and she was just one more.

She took a step closer, put her hands on her hips, and narrowed her eyes. "You kissed me."

Shock flashed across his features. No doubt he'd expected her to go along with him and not mention that night.

He pursed his lips. "It was a momentary aberration."

Her shoulders stiffened, her hands fisting at her sides.

How dare he call kissing her an aberration?

When she remained silent, he gave a casual shrug. "You were naked, I was distracted. It won't happen again."

That's right — put the blame on me.

She ground her teeth together. She'd see about that. "You kissed me, and then you ran away."

"I did not run away. I had to return to London."

"And you didn't come back."

"I've been busy."

"I can't believe you kissed me and ran away. Now you're trying to act like it never happened."

He took a step closer, picked up her left hand, and rubbed the gold wedding band she still wore. "It never should have happened."

"Gary is dead," she said. She could actually speak of her husband now without pain. That had taken a long time.

"I know. And I once promised him that if anything ever happened to him, I would look after you, make sure you're okay."

She frowned. "I'm quite capable of taking care of myself." But that wasn't the point. "How exactly would kissing me again make me not okay?" She didn't know why she was pushing this. Isn't that what she wanted? To get past the stupid kiss and move on?

"Right now, we're friends, Bella. Do you want to lose that?"

"Friends don't run away and hide for six months. And anyway, why would I?"

He ran a hand through his hair. "My relationships last about three months. I like variety. I'm never in one place for long, and I value my personal space. I'm not going to change."

"Jeez. Did I ask you to change? As it happens, I don't want a relationship."

She turned away for a moment to get her thoughts together, work out how to make this right. He was obviously putting way more importance on that kiss than she was. When she glanced back, she caught the first real expression on his face.

Hunger.

She clamped her lips closed before he noticed her shock.

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from The Spaniard's Kiss by Nina Croft, Candace Havens. Copyright © 2015 Nina Croft. Excerpted by permission of Entangled Publishing, LLC.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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