Filthy Rich Revenge: A Filthy Rich Billionaires Book - Lynn Raye Harris Page 0,39
in her life.
He watched as shock and hurt chased each other across her face. Now why did the hurt pierce his conscience?
“You had me watched?”
He shrugged. “I am very thorough when taking over a company.”
It was several moments before she spoke. “Oh God, I can’t believe…” She clasped her arms around her waist, her chest rising and falling faster than before. “You… spied… on me. You—”
She bent double, air whistling in and out of her body as she took deep breaths.
Alarm snaked across his nerve endings, prickled the hair on his arms and neck. Of all the things he’d expected her to say or do, this hadn’t crossed his mind as a possibility. “Querida, what is wrong?”
She didn’t answer, just kept breathing hard. She was on the verge of hyperventilating and they were stuck in the Puerta del Sol.
Dios, he felt so helpless, like the night Anya—
No. He had to do something. Now.
“Rebecca, hold on,” he said, reaching for the door. “Just hold on.” He had to get help, had to get one of the policiá to radio for an ambulance. He could call, but the police would be faster.
“I have to get out of here,” she wheezed. “Have to… go.”
Before he could stop her, she reached for the opposite door and slipped out into the churning crowd.
16
Already, she could breathe again. Rebecca hugged herself tighter and forged through the crowd. She’d forgotten her wrap, but she wasn’t going back. He’d had her watched. Investigated. Her privacy invaded. What else did he know? That she hadn’t had sex in a year and a half? That she’d kept on taking birth control pills in the pitiful belief she might someday find a man she could love the way she’d once loved Alejandro?
It was pathetic. She was pathetic. She swiped at her cheeks, ignored the catcalls and whistles of the men she passed. She was vaguely familiar with the Puerta del Sol, but not enough to understand where it was in relation to anything. She knew there was a department store on one side, El Corta Inglés, but that was in the direction of the protestors, who congregated around the statue of a Spanish king on a horse. To one end of the square was the red neon Tio Pepe sign. Ahead, there was nothing but a steady trail of people who seemed uninvolved in the protest. That was the direction she’d first headed and the one she kept going in.
She didn’t know where she was going or what she would do when she got there, but she couldn’t sit in that car with him and know he’d spied on her. Like she was a monkey in a cage! An image of Parker Gaines—his smooth lies, the voice recorders he’d used to capture their conversations, the humiliating meeting with her father when it all came to light—flashed into her mind. She thrust it out again with a growl.
The cobblestone walk sloped upward, toward an archway in the medieval buildings. She kept walking, hoping it was similar to the place Alejandro had taken her years ago. If so, there were cafes, restaurants, places she could disappear and sit for a while until she felt like returning to Alejandro’s villa.
And she would have to return, wouldn’t she? All her things were there. Even her purse with her driver’s license and credit cards. Oh for the love of God. She ground to a stop while the foot traffic flowed around her. She had no money. She didn’t even have her phone. She couldn’t text her friend Charlotte to complain about Alejandro. She couldn’t even call for an Uber. How would she get back to Alejandro’s villa?
A hand settled on her shoulder and she whirled around, a little scream bursting from her as she stumbled backwards.
Alejandro caught her to his big warm body and kept her from falling on her ass on the cobbles. It was shocking to be pressed against him when she was so angry with him, and yet it was exhilarating too. Damn him, why did he have to affect her so much?
He seemed oblivious as he squeezed her arms before setting her carefully away. He loomed over her, so handsome and imposing in his tuxedo. His scent stole to her—warm, masculine, spicy. She looked up at him, meeting his gaze. Was that concern on his face, or was she imagining it? A moment later, his face was a hard mask. There was no concern in that expression. Only anger.