Nina Milne - Claimed By The Wealthy Magnate

The smile vanished and her eyes shaded with a hint of anxiety as she glanced round to where the concierge still watched them.

‘OK. One drink.’

He held out a hand. ‘I’m Daniel.’

The woman hesitated a moment before reaching her hand out to his. ‘Lynette.’

* * *

Half an hour later, seated across from Daniel in the cool anonymity of the elegant yet highly functional hotel bar, Kaitlin sipped the last of her pomegranate cooler. The non-alcoholic blend of sweet and sour was exactly what she’d needed to revive her.

Come on, Kaitlin.

It wasn’t the beverage, nor the comfort of the cream-cushioned round-backed seats, nor even the vivid splash of bright yellow flower arrangements—it was the man.

Daniel lacked her brother’s classic handsomeness—the slight crook to his nose indicated that it might well have been broken once, and his features were craggy rather than aquiline—but in sheer presence he could rival Gabriel, even if the latter was the Earl of Wycliffe.

He projected a raw energy—a force that showed in the intense blue of his eyes, the jut of his jaw, the sheer focus he bestowed on her. It was a focus underlain with a pull of attraction that caused a warning bell to toll in the dim recesses of her brain that knew the sheer scale of the stupidity of all this.

Attraction was a tug she couldn’t afford to feel—an emotion that in truth she had never felt. The blight, she assumed, was a result of her childhood trauma.

Stop, Kaitlin. Don’t go there.

The kidnap was an experience she had done her best to suppress, and she had every intention of keeping it buried in the deepest, darkest depths of her psyche, never to surface. After all she had created her safe, controlled Lady Kaitlin persona to achieve that exact obliteration of her memory banks.

‘Another drink?’ he asked, and his deep voice caressed her skin like velvet and decadent chocolate. ‘Or how about dinner?’

‘Thank you.’

But no—they were the words she knew she should say. Each minute she spent with Daniel increased the risk of recognition, the possibility that she would slip up and reveal her true identity. That would be a disaster—her parents would be incoherent with anger if Lady Kaitlin Derwent was revealed to have been picked up by a stranger in a Barcelona bar. Because—and she might as well face it—if she agreed to dinner this would no longer be a ‘medical’ interlude. It would move into different territory altogether. An unfamiliar minefield of a terrain. So...

‘But I don’t want to disrupt your plans. I’m fine now. Thank you for coming to my rescue.’

‘I have no plans.’ There was a bleak note in his voice under the casual disclaimer.

‘You must have had some plans,’ she countered. ‘You were on your way somewhere when you ran into me.’

‘Nowhere specific. Wherever the night took me.’

His shoulders lifted and her gaze snagged on their breadth. Once again awareness struck—an undercurrent that swirled between them across the square glass-topped table.

‘So what do you say?’

‘I...I shouldn’t.’

‘Why not?’ Ice-blue eyes met hers. ‘Is anyone else expecting you?’

‘No.’

‘So you’re here alone?’

Kaitlin hesitated...couldn’t face the complications involved in a full explanation. And, anyway, to all intents and purposes she was alone. ‘Yes.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then how about dinner? No strings. We’re two people alone in a vibrant city and I could do with some company.’

The words held a ring of truth, and for a moment she wondered what demons he wanted to hold at bay.

Temptation warred with the final grains of common sense, which pointed out that after all she had to eat.

His shoulders lifted in a shrug. ‘I had a reservation at one of Barcelona’s best restaurants—I could try and resurrect it.’

Kaitlin frowned. ‘So you did have plans?’

‘Let’s say my plans didn’t materialise.’

An underlying harshness coated the words and pain flashed across those blue eyes.

Kaitlin hesitated, sensing that the man opposite her was hurting. Clearly he’d been stood up. Doubt unfurled—somehow that didn’t seem a possibility. It wasn’t a scenario that played true.

Ridiculous. Yes, he was good-looking and magnetic and...and... But she hardly knew him or his relationship background.

Yet more reasons to make her exit now.

But she didn’t want to. Never again would she have a chance like this. To be free, to shed the ‘Lady Kaitlin’ persona. Because soon there would be the meeting with Prince Frederick of Lycander—a meeting at which she needed to demonstrate her suitability to be a Lycander bride and then...

Enough. She wouldn’t—couldn’t think of that now.

‘Dinner sounds wonderful. A night of freedom before I step into a gilded cage.’

Oh, hell. She’d said the words out loud. and now this stranger looked at her with a sharpness, an intensity she couldn’t fathom. Almost as if it were someone else he saw, not her.

‘Never voluntarily step into a cage you don’t have a key to unlock.’

The words had an edge—a meaning she needed to deflect. Tonight she didn’t want to think about the marriage that awaited her—a marriage that she had believed she wanted. An alliance...a safe future and a role she would excel in.

‘I’ll bear it in mind.’ She turned her lips up into her Lady Kaitlin smile—friendly yet deflecting. ‘Now, I’d prefer to think about dinner. But there’s no need for Barcelona’s best restaurant.’ That was Lady Kaitlin’s milieu. ‘Let’s just walk and see where the night takes us.’

Innate caution pointed out that this man was a stranger—instinct told her she could trust him, but she knew all too well the follies of trust and a tendril of panic unfurled.

Think.

‘In the meantime, before we go, I’m going to call a friend and tell her I’ll be checking in every hour.’

No need to tell Lynette that she was having dinner with a stranger; instead she’d say she was walking alone and would feel better if she could check in.

‘Works for me.’

‘I’ll be back in a minute.’

To Kaitlin’s relief Lynette didn’t make a big deal of the situation—she seemed to accept that Kaitlin never travelled alone and that the aristocracy were ultra-security-conscious.

And so ten minutes later she and Daniel stepped out of the hotel’s revolving doors into the hustle and bustle of the Barcelona street.

Instinctively Kaitlin halted, almost overwhelmed by the sheer buzz that emanated from the throngs of chattering people. Her gaze darted to the street performers who plied their expertise for the amusement of passers-by. The scents of garlic and chilli and spices wafted from the numerous tapas bars that dotted the early medieval streets and overflowed with evening revellers.

‘You OK?’

Kaitlin pushed her shoulders back and nodded. Panic would not ruin this evening. The old dormant fear that coloured her every move, that made her live her life bound by rules and regulations and routine, would be suspended tonight. No one knew her identity; no one had any interest in snatching her now.

‘I’m fine. It’s just so vibrant it stopped me in my tracks.’

Yet instinct had her walking close to his reassuring warmth—logical or not, she sensed that Daniel would keep her safe. Perhaps it was the confident, swagger-free, don’t-mess-with-me aura he projected, or the sheer lithe muscular strength in each step. Whatever it was, it worked, and as they walked Kaitlin relaxed, absorbed the sights, the awe-inspiring grand patchwork of architectural styles that graced the skyline, where dark Gothic façades neighboured the harlequin buildings of the Modernistas.