‘Everything I thought about you is true, isn’t it? You wormed your way into the confidence of an old man and—’
‘Stop it, Conor! You don’t know what you’re saying. I’m trying to tell you, I never—’
‘You won’t get El Corazon, not while I’m here to stop you.’
Arden’s eyes flashed. ‘For the last time,’ she said, ‘listen to me before you make a complete fool of yourself. I never asked Felix for anything. And I won’t accept—’ There was a rap at the door. She uttered a sharp oath, swung around and threw it open. ‘What is it?’ she snapped.
A boy stood in the dimly lit corridor, a large envelope clutched in his outstretched hand.
‘I am sorry to disturb you, señorita, but Senor Lithgow said to deliver this to you at once.’
Arden snatched the envelope from him and tore it open. Her hand stilled. These were the documents she’d waited so long for. Minutes ago, they’d meant everything. Now, they were nothing but an intrusion.
She closed the door, leaned her forehead against it, and took a deep breath. Well, Lithgow had finally come through. Tomorrow morning, she’d put a few thousand miles between herself and Conor Martinez, and it wouldn’t be a moment too soon. As for the news he’d just brought her—Arden closed her eyes. She didn’t want El Corazon. God, no!
Of course, Conor would never believe her, no matter how many times she tried to tell him. Well, there had to be a way to legally renounce an inheritance. That was the first thing she’d do when she got home, find herself a lawyer an
d have him draw up the papers to—
‘Lord, what a cold-hearted bitch you are!’
Arden’s hands balled into fists. Be calm, she told herself, don’t answer him back, no matter what awful things he says. Just tell him to leave, and after he does—
‘I’ve known a lot of women in my time, but never one as ruthless or as greedy as you!’
She swung around, determined to say nothing, to defend nothing, simply to point to the door and order him out...
Conor was holding an envelope out to her. ‘You dropped this,’ he snarled.
She stared at the envelope as he shoved it into her hand. The blood drained from her face. It had Edgar Lithgow’s name on it—and it was stuffed with American banknotes.
‘Conor.’ Her eyes flashed to his. ‘I can imagine what you’re thinking. But you’re wrong.’
‘No.’ He laughed, and Arden thought she’d never heard a sound like it before. ‘No, sweetheart, I was never wrong, not about you.’ He caught hold of her wrist and drew her forward, until they stood only inches apart. ‘I just wish to hell I hadn’t been so gentle with you the last time we met.’ His lip curled. ‘But then, women like you never get what they deserve.’
Arden felt herself go cold as stone. She stared at him in silence while she fought for control, and then she forced a smile to her lips.
‘You’re wrong,’ she said. ‘Women like me get exactly what they deserve. That’s why I’m going to take everything your uncle gave me.’
She wrenched her arm from his grasp and turned her back to him, furiously blinking back the tears of frustration and despair that threatened to spill from her eyes. Quickly, she slammed her suitcase shut and dragged it from the chair.
‘Where are you going?’ Conor demanded as she reached for the doorknob.
‘To the finca.’ Her voice trembled this time, and she counted silently to ten before she continued. ‘El Corazon is mine now.’
‘You’re ahead of yourself, lady. Felix’s will hasn’t gone through probate yet.’
‘What would you suggest, then? Shall we find a judge and ask him if he thinks Felix Romero would really want his heir to rot in a dingy hotel room while the nephew he despised takes up residence in the house he left to her?’ She looked back at him, her smile glittering like ice. ‘I’ll bet the press would jump on the story with both feet.’
Conor’s face whitened. ‘El Corazon is mine,’ he said harshly. ‘If you think I’m going to let you spend so much as ten minutes there without me to watch you—’
‘It’s a big house,’ Arden said. ‘And I’m a generous woman. You can stay in your old room, Conor—just so long as you keep out of my way.’
She marched from the room with Conor hard on her heels.
The suitcase was heavy but blind anger kept her from feeling its weight until she was halfway down the narrow staircase that led to the lobby. But by the time she reached the front desk, she felt as if she were carrying a load of bricks. Her fingers hurt, her wrist burned, and her arm felt as if it were being dragged from its socket.
And Conor knew it. She could hear his footsteps behind her, hear him whistling tunelessly as she dragged the bag across the floor, but he hadn’t made any offer of assistance.