The Spanish Duke's Virgin Bride by Chantelle Shaw

disappeared for days in search of his next fix.
    His jaw hardened as he recalled Grace’s taunt that his wealth shielded him from the real world. Little did she know, he brooded grimly. He’d been in the kind of places she couldn’t even imagine. Situations where the toughest ruled with their fists, and the simple task of getting through each day had called on all his cunning.
    During the first ten years of his life he’d known poverty and hunger, a sense of fear and loneliness that, even after twenty-five years, still tainted his dreams. His only blessing was to have been born with a tenacious instinct to survive, plus a determination to answer to nobody. It was those qualities that had shaped the man he was today, and he didn’t need a spoilt, high-maintenance English miss from a privileged background trying to make him feel bad.
    On the other hand, she had been sitting in his secretary’s office for two hours, and that was after he’d bundled her out of the castle and allowed her only a few brief minutes to collect her belongings from her hotel in Granada before whisking her aboard his private jet. Patience was not one of his more obvious virtues, he acknowledged honestly. Grace probably didn’t know if she was on her head or her heels, and with another oath he crossed to his desk and spoke into the intercom.
    â€˜Isabel, tell Miss Beresford to come in, por favor .’
    Javier remained seated behind his desk when Grace entered his office, and he spared her a cursory glance when she walked hesitantly towards him.
    â€˜What’s the matter? I told you I had to attend an important meeting and then file a report afterwards,’ he snapped. ‘Are you always so impatient?’
    For a few seconds Grace felt totally intimidated. He was so arrogant and powerful, and so God-damned sexy, she admitted silently as her heart lurched in her chest. This man held her father’s well-being in his hands, but all she could do was stare at him like a teenager in the throes of her first crush, her annoyance at being abandoned like a parcel in the outer office momentarily forgotten.
    As soon as they’d arrived at the bank’s head office he had gone straight to his private quarters, where he must have showered and changed before his meeting. It was the sight of him in a suit that had thrown her, she reassured herself feverishly. The expert cut of the grey cloth emphasised the width of his shoulders, while his blue silk shirt and tie that was a shade darker complemented his olive-gold skin. His formal attire lent him an air of urbane sophistication, but she sensed that Javier Herrera possessed a wild streak and beneath his civilised veneer was a man who had scant regard for rules.
    â€˜Me impatient?’ she muttered indignantly. ‘You’re the one who insisted on dragging me to Madrid without giving me a chance to pack properly or anything. I don’t even know why I’m here—unless it’s simply to sit around your office looking decorative.’
    Anger briefly surged through Javier, followed almost instantly by a flash of amusement that he struggled to hide. Grace might look like a meek little mouse, but she had a sharp wit and wasn’t afraid to stand up for herself, and he felt a grudging admiration for her nerve.
    â€˜Actually, my reason for bringing you here is very simple,’ he told her. ‘Tonight we’re attending a prestigious banquet held in honour of Madrid’s top businessmen and social elite.’ His eyes briefly skimmed over her and settled on her flushed face. ‘But first we need to go shopping.’

    Several hours later there was no trace of amusement in Javier’s voice when he spoke to Grace. ‘Hurry up and get out of the car. And stop sulking.’
    Grace turned her head and gave him a poisonous glare. ‘I’m not sulking,’ she snapped indignantly. ‘I was merely…collecting my thoughts.’