Emerald Mistress Read online

  ‘I was engaged until quite recently, and I’m still getting over that.’

  ‘I’ll get you over it,’ Rafael promised in a low, earthy tone.

  ‘I’m also incredibly busy right now,’ Harriet muttered uncomfortably, backing away another couple of steps, intimidated by the effect of that full-on charge of raw charisma.

  Rafael watched her retreat with concealed disbelief. He could not understand what her game was. Of course it was a game: in his experience all women played games. But she was playing to weird rules he did not recognise.

  ‘Nice talking to you,’ Harriet mumbled, and bolted, wincing at her own awkwardness.

  There he was: literally the man of her dreams. But he was not the sort of guy she would dare to begin seeing or risk feeling anything for. Goodness, he had just dumped a woman who was so gorgeous people stopped dead to marvel at her! Off with the old, on with the new. Although she was certain that he had to be looking on her as more of a snack than a full banquet. After all, she couldn’t hold a candle to his ex-girlfriend. She couldn’t quite accept that he truly had asked her out to dinner. Her—Harriet Carmichael—dressed in muddy jeans and wellies, with no make-up, and probably a few pounds heavier than she’d used to be when she was with Luke.

  Luke…The wash of humiliating memory sobered her feverish reflections. Perhaps she took life too seriously. Perhaps she needed to learn how to be more casual when it came to the opposite sex. Apart from a couple of boyfriends in her teen years, she had only had Luke in her life. Now she was back being single, and, though she might be twenty-eight years old, she felt no more confident or knowledgeable about men than she had done at twenty.

  Hadn’t she just made the ridiculous error of trying to mentally measure up Rafael Flynn as a potential life partner? Were her nesting instincts sending her to the outer edge of craziness? He was fling material—wild fling material. He was racy, shameless and…exciting. If she was honest, he was more exciting than Luke had ever been. She should have had the courage to say yes to dinner and seduction. It might have made her feel a little less inadequate when she thought about Alice and Luke as a couple.

  ‘Harriet…’ Una approached her, her expressive face full of concern. ‘I think you should steer clear of Rafael Flynn.’

  Although her own knee jerk reaction had been to run a mile from him, Harriet was already experiencing a certain amount of regret, self-doubt and confusion about that response. ‘Why?’

  ‘You’re too nice for him—you’re gentle and trusting. He’ll think that’s so dumb and he’ll break your heart.’

  ‘I haven’t got one to break right now. Someone got there before Mr Flynn,’ Harriet confided ruefully. ‘But thanks for caring.’

  ‘I’d hate to see you hurt—’

  ‘Is he really that bad?’ Harriet’s plea for further explanation was unconsciously wistful in tone.

  Una flushed. ‘It’s not that he’s bad,’ the teenager disclaimed hurriedly. ‘Just from a different world. You’d be oil and water and he’d walk all over you.’

  ‘No…he wouldn’t do that,’ Harriet countered with quiet but firm conviction.

  Una did not look convinced. ‘If an international supermodel can’t hold him for five minutes, who can?’

  A woman with the strength to be tough and subject him to a locked room and chains, Harriet thought abstractedly. Implanting a few basic standards in the midst of the smash and grab ethics that drove him might not go amiss either.

  That evening, two prospective clients took a tour of the yard. Harriet had mapped out a business plan and drawn up a basic livery contract before she’d even arrived in Ballyflynn. Now she sat up late working out how many boarders she’d require to break even. She was also thinking of opening a tack shop that sold feed and basic supplies, as there was nowhere local meeting that demand. She didn’t need to make a fortune, only a living, she reminded herself resolutely. She had downshifted to make a dream come true and enjoy a more simple life. And leading a successful simple life, she told herself censoriously, did not include any dealings whatsoever with the type of male who had affairs with fabulous fashion models.

  On Monday morning Harriet received a call from the solicitor, Eugene McNally, and was surprised to be told that he was anxious to see her on a matter of some urgency.

  The older man greeted Harriet at his office with perceptible discomfiture. ‘I’m afraid that I’ve been notified of a substantial claim against Kathleen Gallagher’s estate.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  HARRIET regarded the solicitor in surprise. ‘Surely it’s very late in the day for anything like that to surface?’

  ‘It is. But it’s only now I’ve been informed that three years ago Kathleen took out a large loan which now requires settlement in one way…’ he hesitated ‘…or another.’

  ‘Who’s the loan with?’ Harriet was struggling to remain calm and think clearly. She had funds in the bank, and there was no reason why she should not apply for a mortgage…although a mortgage would certainly raise her overheads, she thought anxiously.

  ‘Flynn Enterprises.’

  While Harriet digested that most disturbing news in astonishment, the silence stretched. ‘How much did Kathleen borrow?’

  ‘One hundred and fifty thousand euros…over a hundred thousand pounds in sterling,’ the solicitor advanced heavily. ‘Believe me, I had no idea whatsoever.’

  Harriet was shocked at the sheer size of the amount, but anger was already beginning to stir. ‘Really?’ she prompted, with a doubt she could not conceal. ‘But you were my cousin’s legal adviser and her executor.’

  ‘Kathleen did not consult me when she signed the agreement with Flynn Enterprises, nor did I receive any papers relating to that transaction,’ the older man revealed unhappily. ‘Evidently your cousin was determined to keep the matter private. I would have cautioned her against borrowing at her age. It was most unwise.’

  ‘But a very wise move from Rafael Flynn’s point of view. My goodness, a hundred thousand pounds…’ Her mouth had run dry. ‘On what terms was the money advanced?’

  ‘No repayments were required for three years. At the end of that period either the loan was to be repaid on demand—’

  ‘On demand?’ Harriet gasped in appalled interruption.

  ‘Or Flynn Enterprises would be entitled to assume a full half-share in the property and the livery yard and to become Kathleen’s legal partner. The company would also be entitled to first refusal in the event of a sale. The contract was drawn up by a clever lawyer and it would appear to be watertight.’

  Harriet’s lips parted in shock. ‘Are you saying that I could end up with Rafael Flynn as a partner in a business that is pretty much non-existent at this moment in time?’

  ‘Miss Carmichael…’ Eugene McNally breathed tautly, passing a thick legal document across the desk for her perusal. ‘Mr Flynn could move into your guestroom and you couldn’t object.’

  ‘So I’ll pay off the loan…I’ll get the money by taking out a mortgage!’ Harriet exclaimed.

  ‘While another party has an interest in half of the property that would be a challenge. You cannot define any one part of your inheritance as wholly yours. In those circumstances you will find it virtually impossible to persuade a financial institution to offer you a loan secured on the property. This contract leaves you with precious few options.’

  Harriet was steadily turning paler. ‘But why did my cousin borrow such a huge amount?’

  ‘Trade took a downturn at the livery yard, and she had debts. I assume the bank refused to finance the improvements she wanted to make. She also thought she was on to a winner working with Fergal Gibson—though I know for a fact that two years back the pair of them took a heavy loss on a racehorse they bought together. But Kathleen was an eternal optimist.’ The older man loosed a weary sigh. ‘I’m betting she looked at the three-year holiday on the loan repayments and hoped for the best.’

  ‘But surely she saw the risk of having Rafael
Flynn foisted on her as a partner?’

  ‘She might not even have read the small print. She was a horse fancier, not a businesswoman. At the time Mr Flynn did not own the Flynn Court estate. But he is a man of considerable stature and experience in the bloodstock world, and Kathleen may well have…somewhat naively…thought that such a partner would be most advantageous to her.’

  One hundred thousand pounds, Harriet reflected in growing horror. It was an enormous sum. Even if she took all the profit she had made on selling her London apartment she couldn’t pay off a loan that size and still hope to rebuild the business. Settling the debt would destroy her prospects of making the livery yard pay. And if she couldn’t settle the debt even if she did make money from the yard, he would be entitled to half of the proceeds! This was the guy who had dared to ask her to have dinner with him? No wonder he had suggested that she might find the livery business challenging!

  ‘Why wasn’t this contract mentioned sooner?’ Harriet asked tightly. ‘I think it’s inexcusable that I am only learning about it now.’

  ‘Mr Flynn was apparently willing to overlook the contract’s existence if you sold the property to him.’

  ‘He offers a very generous tip for a man whose stately home appears to be falling down round him!’

  ‘Mr Flynn only gained access to Flynn Court after his father, Valente Cavaliere, died some weeks ago. I believe that an extensive renovation project is being planned,’ the solicitor explained, unaware of the bombshell that he was dropping.

  Harriet stared at the solicitor with steadily rounding blue eyes of disbelief. ‘Cavaliere? He’s…Are you telling me that Rafael Flynn is actually Rafael Cavaliere?’ she pressed, in a voice that was fading and breathless with shock. ‘The first time I met him I thought there was something familiar about him, but I would never have made that connection in a hundred years!’

  ‘My advice—and it’s off the record—would be to sell to him and buy elsewhere in the area,’ the older man suggested uncomfortably. ‘He’s a hard man if you cross him, but he has been extremely generous to this community and he has considerable local support. He’s offering you a very fair price. You can’t fight that amount of money and power—’

  ‘Watch me, Mr McNally,’ Harriet advised with fighting fervour. The craven suggestion that she simply accept defeat filled her with raging resentment and a fierce determination to do exactly the opposite. ‘Just watch me!’

  She swept back out to her car in high dudgeon. Rafael rotten Cavaliere! What was an Italian tycoon doing in a tiny Irish village? And calling himself Flynn, of all things! It was like finding a barracuda in a goldfish bowl. She could not believe it was true. She could not credit that once again Rafael Cavaliere had contrived to cast the long dark shadow of misfortune across her path. She stopped her car in the lay-by next to the church because she was shaking with reaction. But the momentum of anger soon impelled her on to swing left through the crumbling stone entrance of Flynn Court. The long stately drive was full of potholes, but bounded on both sides by magnificent cypress trees, which gave occasional glimpses of the stunning view down to the bay and the sea. She brought her car to a halt right outside the imposing front door.

  Tolly appeared in answer to the ancient bell she had pulled. ‘Miss Carmichael…how may I assist you?’ he enquired gravely.

  In any other mood Harriet would have been tickled pink by the solemn manner which Joseph evidently assumed to carry out his official duties as butler. ‘I’m here to see your boss.’

  ‘I’ll see if Mr Flynn is available. Please take a seat.’

  Harriet preferred to stand. The hall was a vast semi-circular space, with walls ornamented with fantastic elaborate plasterwork. Even dirty and in need of decoration, it was a spectacular space.

  ‘Miss Carmichael…bad news travels fast,’ a lazy masculine drawl commented from behind her.

  Her heart-shaped face tightening as though she was sucking on a lemon, Harriet spun round. Her tormentor was sheathed in a sleek black designer business suit. Staggeringly tall and vibrantly handsome, he also looked horribly intimidating. Every nerve in her tense body seemed to jump and her tummy flipped in concert. ‘Allow me to tell you that you do business like a gangster.’

  His lean, bronzed features remained impassive. ‘My late father would be proud of me.’

  ‘I’m not selling to you…I don’t care what you do. I have a great dislike of being forced to do anything, Mr Cavaliere. But most of all I have a great dislike, not to mention complete contempt, for your methods. Why do you call yourself Flynn? To mislead people?’ Harriet condemned with a heated sense of injustice. ‘I mean, who the heck would expect to find an Italian billionaire slumming somewhere like this?’

  ‘Let me answer you point by point,’ Rafael murmured levelly. ‘On my birth certificate it says Rafael Cavaliere Flynn, and I was born here. My mother named me. I am not concerned by the name that the press have allotted to me. Nor do I consider myself to be “slumming” in the house where many generations of Flynns have lived and died. I am proud of my ancestry.’

  His immense self-assurance infuriated Harriet beyond bearing. All worked up as she was, she was already conscious that her face was hot with temper. Being rebuked for her bad manners was the last straw. She could have screamed for, ironically, she had never before dared to be that rude to anyone. ‘Are you aware that you have blighted my life like the plague since I was fifteen?’ she suddenly launched at him, half an octave higher.

  Rafael quirked a mobile black brow.

  ‘No, I haven’t gone crazy. In the nineties you took over Benson Pharmaceuticals where my stepfather worked in the research lab and he lost his job. He was just one employee among four thousand. You shut the company down and sold off everything. The whole town died—’

  ‘A business has to be in profit to be sustainable.’

  ‘My stepfather had a nervous breakdown. He couldn’t get another job, and he had to sell our house and just about everything we owned by the end of the year. Men like you destroy lives,’ Harriet framed shakily.

  ‘Benson Pharmaceuticals lost a major contract to an Asian company and crashed. I was in no way responsible for its demise.’ Rafael watched her brow furrow in surprise.

  He was standing below the cupola. The fall of light through the glass dome in the roof played over his superb bone structure and glinted in the dense black of his hair.

  Registering that she was inadvertently staring, she tore her attention from him again, her cheeks burning. ‘That may be so, but you make nothing. You simply tear things apart to make the most money you can.’

  ‘You’re wrong. In the case of Bensons, I refused a highly profitable offer to buy the site and redevelop it as a shopping outlet. I knew that the town would regenerate faster if the buildings became a base for an industrial estate where other businesses could be set up.’

  Harriet had stiffened with discomfiture. ‘I wasn’t aware of those facts, and if I’ve misjudged you—’

  ‘You have.’

  ‘Then I’m sorry,’ she framed between visibly clenched teeth. ‘But I imagine that you usually put profit first.’

  ‘Money is power. It can also be a great force for good as well as evil. I don’t apologise for what I am. Did you think I would?’

  ‘Two months ago you presided over the fall of Zenco. I was an account manager in charge of the Zenco marketing budget for my firm. The knock on effect of the Zenco crash was that the agency I worked for folded. Once again, you acted as a malign influence on my life. Please excuse me for not being one of your fans,’ Harriet completed curtly.

  ‘That is indeed quite a trail of curious coincidence. I’m not a superstitious man…’ All his attention nailed to her, Rafael was conceding that he had never seen such flawless skin as hers and wondering if she was that pale creamy colour all over. ‘But I do think you should take immediate action to avoid colliding with my influence a third time.’

  ‘Is that really all you have to say?’ H
arriet shot at him wrathfully.

  Rafael spread wide the door to one side of him. ‘Let me show you something…’

  Harriet stayed where she was, and folded her arms for good measure. He just left her standing there. The seconds ticked past until a sense of foolishness and the secret fear that she might be behaving childishly made her follow him into the room he had entered.

  ‘This is the drawing room. Look out of the windows,’ Rafael urged.

  Arms still tightly folded, Harriet trod forward on stiff legs. His poise seemed to mock her awkwardness. Her gaze widened when she saw the ugly line of tumbledown buildings at the foot of the hill that destroyed what should have been a lovely view. The dilapidated sheds were the ones she had been planning to renovate as additional stables. He moved an eloquent lean brown hand, spreading his long fingers, and she saw his Italian genes in his fluid ability to express himself without speech. It struck her as an incredibly attractive trait that was fascinatingly at odds with the cool front he wore to the world. When he began speaking, she had to fight to regain her concentration.

  ‘The house that you’re living in was built as a cottage orne in the eighteenth century.’

  Harriet could not hide her surprise. ‘It’s that old?’

  ‘It was built as a folly, not as a house to be lived in. My great-great-great grandfather, Randal Flynn, planted the arboretum around it. You are, in effect, living in what used to be part of the garden belonging to the Court.’

  Harriet lifted her chin. ‘I didn’t appreciate that.’

  ‘The folly and the land surrounding it were sold out of financial necessity more than half a century ago, and were bought by your cousin’s parents. But the folly is an historic building and, as such, should be conserved and reunited with the estate.’

  ‘You can’t have it,’ Harriet told him succinctly, her fierce tension expressing the strength of her feelings on that subject.

  Brilliant dark eyes shimmered in tawny challenge. ‘I never lose.’

  ‘You can’t always have what you want. Yes, you can wheel and deal, and make things very difficult for me, but you can’t force me to sell.’ Harriet dealt him a truculent appraisal. ‘My word, were you planning to break the news of this outrageous loan over dinner?’