One Scandalous Christmas Eve
highlight_author
Susan Stephens
highlight_reads
16.9K
highlight_chapters
17
HarlequinCHAPTER ONE
THE SHADOW OF a helicopter briefly dimmed the sunshine of a crisp November day. Jess Slatehome’s breath hitched. The logo on the side, a shield of gold on a ground of black, stated boldly, Acosta España.
The Acostas were back!
It had been a long ten years since Jess had last met up with the Spanish Acosta family—four handsome brothers with an elegant sister at home—when they had come to trial some ponies on her family farm in Yorkshire.
When she had kissed one of them.
Closing her eyes briefly on that embarrassing thought, Jess knew she had to focus on today, and an idea born of desperation. Sell the stock, save the farm had become her mantra. A seal of approval from the Acostas would assure the success of the big family event Jess had arranged to showcase her father’s prize-winning polo ponies, in the hope of selling at least some of them, in an attempt to stave off the bank and bail her father out of financial trouble.
Jess’s father, Jim Slatehome, was a much-loved local character and everyone from the village had pitched in to help. Using every penny of her savings, as well as a small bequest from her mother, with the invaluable assistance of an army of volunteers, Jess had been able to plan big. Sending out dozens of invitations in the hope of attracting the glitterati of the polo circuit, she had made it her goal to return her father to the spotlight he deserved. Before her mother’s death Jim Slatehome had been the go-to trainer and breeder of world-class ponies. Felled by grief, he had retreated from the world and it had taken all Jess’s persuasion to persuade him that five years was long enough to shut himself away, and that today marked his return.
Success hovered tantalisingly within their grasp now. Gazing up as the helicopter prepared to land, she knew that if a member of the Acosta family bought some ponies her father would be back on top. But who would step out of that aircraft?
Jess’s mouth dried as she thought back ten years to when the gleam of wealth and success blazing from the Acosta brothers had almost blinded her when they arrived on the farm to buy horses. Finding herself alone with Dante Acosta in the stable, some fan girl craziness had prompted her to launch herself at him and plant a kiss on his mouth. He’d stepped away with a huff of disbelief. The scorch of humiliation felt as keen today as it had done then. But she’d never forgotten the kiss. Or that for a moment—and she was never quite sure if she imagined this or not—Dante Acosta had responded.
Jess tensed as the aircraft door swung open. This was madness, she told herself firmly. And yet she waited, breath held, to see if the fiery superstar of the polo world would descend the steps. She’d followed his career keenly since that first memorable encounter between a naïve seventeen-year-old country girl with a head full of daydreams and a mouth full of cheek and a youth who already boasted the dazzling glamour for which he had since become famous. Dante Acosta’s intuition where horses were concerned was said to be second to none, like his success with women. With an army of glamorous female admirers, would he even remember the first time they’d met? Jess’s idea of glamour was a night down the pub with her dad, jingling the change in her pocket as she tried to work out if she had enough money to buy him a lemonade.
‘Jess—’
She almost jumped out of her skin as she spun around. ‘Yes?’ It was one of the helpers from the village.
‘Your father needs you in the house. I think he’s nervous about his welcoming speech.’
‘Don’t worry. I’ll come now and go through it with him.’
It was a relief to drag her attention from the helicopter. Ten years was a long time. These days, she was a fully qualified physiotherapist with a blossoming career, specialising in treating athletes, a fact that would soon bring her face to face with Dante Acosta, whether he appeared today or not. Because of her recent successes in restoring injured athletes to full strength, the Acosta family had chosen Jess to treat their brother’s damaged leg, which meant travelling to Spain to Dante’s fabulous estancia. How he’d feel about the identity of the therapist they’d chosen for him remained to be seen.
She couldn’t think about that now. There was today to get though first. Whoever climbed out of the helicopter, it was more likely to be a foreman from one of the Acosta ranches rather than a member of such a wealthy and successful family. Jess’s focus was saving the farm, so her father could recover in his own time without upheaval. There were plenty of helpers around to direct the latest arrival to the hospitality marquee where her father was soon to give what Jess passionately hoped would be the sales pitch of his life.
Dante’s expression darkened as the cane he was forced to use sank into the claggy mire of a churned-up field. With a vicious curse, he accepted the regrettable conditions. This was no state-of-the-art facility but a beat-up farm in the middle of nowhere.
A farm that boasted some of the best horses in the world, he reminded himself as he ploughed on, which was why he was here. He’d be a fool to miss an opportunity like this. He was always on the lookout for exciting new bloodlines to improve his stock. Aside from playing polo, breeding ponies was his passion, and was the only lure that could drag him out of hibernation after his accident on the polo field. That and the fact that his people had told him the farm was in trouble, and that now would be a good time to buy. He was receiving a constant stream of information from his team to keep him up to speed with any likely competition, as well as likely downsides to a potential purchase. As of now, he was only interested in buying stock.
Another colourful curse heralded a pause as he eased the cramp in his damaged leg. Glancing around, he surveyed the motley throng of farmers, local families and the elite of the horse world, jostling happily alongside each other. They all had one thing in common, which was a deep love of the animals they had come to see, and the sport they provided. A local band added to the upbeat atmosphere. Only Dante’s scowl was out of place.
Someone had done a good job of arranging entertainment for the assembled guests, he conceded, taking in the food stalls and all the gaudy trappings of a fairground. This posed a disadvantage for him. He hadn’t expected quite so many people. Briefly, he considered the humiliation of the great El Lobo, or The Wolf as Dante was known in polo circles, showing himself to the world, staggering along with a cane.
He brushed this off with a snarling curse. Everyone was paparazzo these days. He stood as much chance of being photographed on his estancia as he did here.
Dante’s stubble-blackened chin lifted at the sound of a young colt neighing. He studied the ponies running free in a field. Young, hard-muscled and spirited, they were perfect. That was why he was here.
Really?
Shrugging off the attention of a marshal who had raced to his aid with the offer of a lift in a service vehicle, he asked for Jim Slatehome, the owner of the farm.
‘Jim’s still in the farmhouse,’ the man told him with a shrug. ‘Probably running through his speech—’
Dante was already on his way. He hadn’t travelled from Spain to indulge in fairground sport or well meaning but ultimately dull parochial chitchat. Nor had he the slightest intention of being last in line when it came to nailing the best stock. A deal would be arranged within the next hour or so, and then he was out of here.
Was he? Was buying new stock the only reason he was here?
The monotony of life since the accident was wearing him down. He needed a distraction. Any distraction. An unsophisticated young country girl stood a chance of taking his mind off the fact that his brothers and sister had gone over his head to arrange a physiotherapist to treat him back in Spain. Dante had discharged himself from hospital prematurely, so his siblings had decided to bring the hospital to him. They knew he wouldn’t refuse family. The Acostas were tight and stood by each other always.
Dante’s hard mouth tugged with faint amusement as he approached the ramshackle farmhouse with its peeling paint and crooked roof. It was ten years since he’d been here. Was it likely he’d find the little vixen he’d first encountered in the stable? Would she be married now? Engaged? Would he find a significant other by her side? Maybe he should have put his team to work on these details too. The worst he could imagine was that Jim Slatehome’s daughter had mellowed to the point of boring, though with her abundance of fiery auburn hair and those flashing emerald eyes he thought it unlikely. One thing was certain. He and Jess Slatehome had unfinished business between them. With this in mind, he planted his cane and lurched on.
‘I can’t stay long. I have to get back to the marquee to keep people happy until you’re ready to give your speech,’ Jess explained when her father looked at her with anxiety glistening in his eyes.
He shouldn’t be here in the kitchen, nursing a mug of tea, when there were potential buyers for the ponies outside, waiting to meet him. ‘Everyone’s looking forward to your speech,’ she enthused, kneeling by his side at the kitchen table. ‘You can do this,’ she stated firmly as she got up, wishing she felt as confident as she sounded.
Her father had aged since her mother’s death, which was years ago now. It was as if he’d lost hope. He hadn’t even shaved today, and his outfit for such a big occasion comprised a random mix of ancient tweed, a greasy flat cap and worn corduroy trousers.
But that was his charm, Jess reminded herself. Jim Slatehome had used to be the go-to trainer and breeder of the best polo ponies in the world, and she was determined to see him back on top again. Her father was every bit as special and unique as the glossiest billionaire newly arrived in his state-of-the-art helicopter, and she loved him to bits.
Yes. Dante was a billionaire. The Acostas were a massively wealthy family, thanks to land holdings, an international tech company, and their skill on a world stage with horses. But this small farm was equally precious to Jess. It had been in her family for generations and she would defend it to the end.
Leaning down to give her father a hug, she was shocked to see tears in his eyes.
‘Those ponies mean everything to me, Jess. I can’t bear to let them go.’
‘But you have to, if you want to keep the farm,’ she explained gently. ‘Come on—you can do this,’ she coaxed.
He gave her a heartbreaking look. ‘If you say so. I suppose I’d better go and clean up. I won’t let you down, Jess.’
‘I know that,’ she whispered.
Her father was up and down the stairs in double-quick time and nothing about his appearance had changed, as far as Jess could tell. Apart from his determination, she was relieved to see. ‘You’re right. I can do this,’ he stated firmly. ‘I’ll go ahead. You stay here. I don’t want our guests thinking I need you to prop me up because I’ve lost confidence in my ponies.’
‘Good idea,’ Jess agreed.
She was just clearing up their tea things when the kitchen door swung open. She froze on the spot. Breath hitched in her throat. She must have turned ashen, though heat was surging through her veins. Dante Acosta, looking grimmer and tougher than she remembered, was standing in the doorway.
‘Dante!’
‘Jess...’
Those eyes...that voice...that powerful, compelling presence.
His deep, sonorous voice with its seductive Spanish sibilance rolled across her senses like black velvet brushed lightly, yet so effectively across every sensitive zone she had. His eyes were black pools of experience, while his mouth was a straight, hard line. There was nothing soft or yielding about Dante Acosta—there never had been, she remembered.
Everything in the room disappeared except him. Dante Acosta was the essence of masculinity, the living embodiment of sex. New scars—she guessed they must have been gained on the polo field at the same time as the damage to his leg—cut livid stripes from the upswept tip of one ebony brow to the corner of his firm, cruel mouth. Wind had whipped his thick black hair into such disarray that it had caught on his stubble. A gold hoop glittered in his right ear, adding to a barbaric appearance that seemed at odds with his aura of wealth. But this was no effete billionaire. This was a man of fierce passion and resolve. Beneath his rugged jacket, she knew from the popular press that Dante, like the other members of his polo team, bore a tattoo of a snarling wolf over his heart. This was the insignia of his polo team, Lobos. The team name alone was enough to strike terror in the hearts of their opponents. Lobos was the Spanish word for wolves—a pack of merciless wolves. On the back of Dante’s neck, beneath copious glossy whorls of pitch-black hair, he had another tattoo of a skull and crossed mallets, a warning that Team Lobos took no prisoners, and confidently expected to win every match.
A clatter distracted her. The cane he’d discarded by the door had fallen. Jess frowned. He should be cured by now, with no need for a cane. No wonder his siblings were concerned. Fortunately, they’d sent on his medical records, so she knew the extent of his injury. If Dante hadn’t discharged himself from the hospital prematurely, he’d be done with that cane by now.
‘Dante,’ she said politely, reaching out to shake his hand when he shifted position impatiently. ‘How nice to see you again.’
Taking both her hands in a firm grip, he drew her towards him and proceeded to inspect her as if she were a potential purchase like the ponies.
Would you like to examine my teeth? ran through her mind, though she knew that for the sake of any potential purchase she had to mind her manners and remain calm. That wasn’t easy when she was practically drowning in charisma, so she closed her eyes.
‘Let me look at you...’
That voice again. She jerked her hands free. Dante Acosta was a exciting force of nature but he knew it and had no shame when it came to wielding his power. It was up to Jess to resist him. If she could. She hadn’t made too good a job of resisting him ten years ago and, seeing him again, she was inclined to forgive her teenage self.
Her hands had felt so small and safe in his—which was all part of the illusion. This was no time to be seduced by a man with more money than Croesus and the morals of an alley cat. How would that help her father? If there was one thing she’d learned since returning home to take care of her father, it was that vultures were always circling. Everyone was out for a deal. Why should Dante Acosta be any different?
‘Jess?’
‘Apologies. Sorry. I’m forgetting my manners. Welcome—welcome to Bell Farm. Would you like a drink? I expect you’ve had a long journey.’
‘From Spain?’ A casual shrug of his massive shoulders hinted at executive travel in the most luxurious of circumstances. ‘Not so bad.’
Why did everything about Dante Acosta make her feel like this? She was always blasé about men. Because none could compare with Dante Acosta, as she had discovered ten years ago when she kissed him.
‘Tea, surely?’ she said to distract herself from the insistent throb between her legs.
‘Can’t stand the stuff.’
‘Oh.’ That took her by surprise. ‘Something else, perhaps?’
‘What have you got?’
From any other lips those words could be taken as an innocent request for a verbal menu. When they came from Dante Acosta the prompt was laden with deadly charm. ‘Whatever you like,’ she said brightly. ‘The stalls outside sell pretty much everything.’
As one corner of his mouth tugged slightly as if to say Touché, she knew he’d feel like velvet steel beneath her hands.
Had nothing changed in ten years? Was she still as reckless?
Far from it, Jess told herself firmly. She was no longer a reckless teen but a medical professional who had left a successful career at a leading London teaching hospital to come home to help her father.
‘I’m sure you want to see my father, not me,’ she said pleasantly. ‘Would you like me to take you to him?’
‘There’s no need,’ Dante said with a narrow-eyed look. ‘I’ll find my own way.’
As he turned, Jess felt as if she’d been appraised and discarded. That was fine. This wasn’t about her. She’d arranged the event with the specific intention of attracting an Acosta or the like, someone with a deep love of horses and plenty of money to bail her father out of trouble by buying up his stock. If Dante didn’t bite she’d have to find someone who would.
So, Dante mused as he wove his way through the crowd to reach the show ring—if a hastily tidied up paddock with a rickety fence could be described as such a thing—the little vixen he remembered had matured into a beautiful, understated, though rather too serious woman. He missed the mischief in Jess’s eyes, as well as the excessively impulsive nature that had prompted her, at the tender age of seventeen, to stand on tiptoe to plant a kiss on his lips.
His senses surged, remembering. He had reined in those senses then and would do so again. He wasn’t here to waste time on a serious-minded woman. He wasn’t ready to take any woman seriously. Why restrict his diet when the menu was so varied?
Leaning on the hated cane, he paused to greet some fellow polo players. Jess had attracted a motley crowd, from locals to minor royals and celebrities as well as sightseers from far and wide. Towering men in black suits with earpieces and suspicious bulges beneath their jackets followed hot on the heels of a well-known sheikh. Dante had never relied on security personnel for his safety, preferring to rely on his own skills to protect him.
One career had foundered while the other had soared, he mused, moving on when he spotted Jess walking arm in arm with her father. His team had informed him that the farm was in serious financial trouble. They were already working on the ins and outs and would advise him on the questions he’d pose before the day was out.
One thing was certain. Jess had left her job and risked her career to come here to save her father and the farm. She was unusually determined, and he admired that.
He also detested loose ends. If Jess hadn’t been seventeen ten years ago, who knew what might have happened between them?
The marquee was already crowded by the time he entered. He recognised more horse breeders, trainers and players like himself jostling to get to the front under Jim Slatehome’s nose. He wouldn’t have it all his own way today. There would be stiff competition for the better horses.
So he’d go one better.
He could offer double—triple—what anyone else could without feeling a pinch. He could easily afford it. Jim had sold him some good stock in the past, and what he’d seen of the ponies in the field so far suggested Jim had never really gone away, but had made himself invisible so he could nurse his grief.
The urge to help Jim Slatehome overwhelmed him suddenly. To fend off the competition meant putting something else in the pot. After the most recent text from his team an idea was already brewing. How would Jess take his idea, if he went ahead and bought the farm? Not well, he suspected as watched her standing like a protection officer at her father’s side. It had cost her everything to be here, financially, career-wise, every which way. His team had filled him in on the details. She’d qualified top of her class as a physiotherapist specialising in sports injuries. Her first job was at a prestigious teaching hospital in London, but she’d given that up to go freelance, which could be tricky. Rumour said she was successful. If she was as good as her reputation suggested, she could guarantee an endless stream of patients from the battleground of polo alone. The thought of those soft hands tracking right up his legs was—
Out of bounds, Dante told himself sternly. He was here for business and nothing else. He’d seen the vixen and satisfied his curiosity, and that had to be enough.
Thankfully, the Sheikh sidled up to him at that moment and as they got talking about horses Dante grew more determined than ever to win the day. He’d handle Jess’s objections. As her father mounted the podium and began his speech, Dante stared at Jess.
