Page 18 of The Spaniard's Wedding Revenge

‘You can be unsafe anywhere,’ he said dryly. ‘In my experience you can never be too careful.’

‘And what is your experience?’

He almost answered her. Almost. Sneaky kitten.

Cristiano smiled. ‘It’s supposed to be your job interview,gatita, not mine. I already have a job.’

‘And so do I. You gave it to me, remember?’

‘I do. Which means I can take it back whenever I like.’

She sniffed, glancing over to the fire once more. ‘I might be more inclined to answer your questions if you answered some of mine.’

Well, this was an interesting tactic...

‘That’s not how a job interview works,’ he said, amused by how she kept on pushing. ‘Also, if you’ll remember, I gave you my name last night.’

An irritated expression flitted across her face. She shifted in her seat and he didn’t miss how her hand had fallen away from the pocket where her knife was kept.

So. Progress.

‘I don’t know why you keep asking.’ Her sweet, husky voice had an edge to it. ‘Not when you could just threaten me and be done with it.’

‘Threats are effective, it’s true. But ultimately they’re not very exciting.’ He watched her face. ‘Not when it’s much more fun to convince you to give it to me willingly.’

She flushed. ‘You’re very sure of yourself.’

‘Of course I’m sure of myself. I’m a duke.’

‘Duke of what?’

Good question. And because he was enjoying himself, and because it had been a long time since any woman had provided him with this much amusement, he answered it.

‘Weren’t you listening last night? I’m the Fifteenth Duke of San Lorenzo. It’s a small duchy in Andalusia.’

She gave him a measuring look. ‘What are you doing in Paris?’

‘Business.’ He smiled. ‘Catching vandals spray-painting rude words on my limo.’

She gave another little sniff at that, but the colour in her cheeks deepened—which was a good thing considering how pale she’d been.

‘You didn’t sleep well,gatita,’ he observed quietly. ‘But I did tell Camille to let you sleep in a little this morning.’

She blinked and looked away, shifting around in her seat. ‘The bed was...uncomfortable. And I’d had a long shower—too long.’

Well, he knew for a fact that the bed wasn’t uncomfortable, since he had the same one in his room here. And as for the shower...that may have been the case. But he suspected she hadn’t slept well because she wasn’t used to having a bed at all.

‘What do you care anyway?’ she added irritably.

‘I care because I like my employees to do a good job. And they can’t if they’re not well rested.’

‘Or well fed,’ she muttered.

He thought she probably hadn’t meant him to hear that, but unfortunately for her he had excellent hearing. So she was hungry, was she? Again, understandable. If she lived on the streets, decent food must be hard to come by.

How lucky, then, that he’d organised a very good dinner.

Right on cue, there was a knock at the door.

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