The Spanish Millionaire's Runaway Bride Page 5

  “I talked to your dad this morning.”

  She winced. “He’s still angry.”

  “Yes. But he also gave me the idea that some of your guests haven’t left yet.”

  She sighed. “A lot of people decided to use traveling to the wedding as an opportunity to take an early fall vacation, tour the local wineries, that sort of thing.” She caught his gaze. “But what you’re really telling me is that I’m not going to go home to a private resolution. I’ll have an audience.”

  “You might actually arrive to find a bunch of people waiting with popcorn and soda, hoping to see a show.”

  She sighed, combed her fingers through her hair and shook her head. “Here I was wondering if I could get ten minutes to talk to Charles without my dad. Now I have to wonder if I’ll get any privacy at all.”

  “You don’t think your dad will let you talk to Charles alone?”

  “No. That’s part of the reason figuring out what to say is so difficult. If I knew I would talk to them separately, I’d say one set of things to Charles and one set to my dad.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “But figuring out what to say to them together, or even how to convince my dad to leave the room so I can talk to Charles first...it’s almost impossible.”

  “All the more reason to be prepared with good answers when you get home.”

  She gaped at him. “Haven’t I been telling you that all along!”

  Her feistiness made him laugh. “Well, look at you getting all sassy with me. Like you were in Vegas.” He pointed at her. “You need to remember this. How you feel. So that when you get home, you can make demands.”

  “Make demands? To my father?”

  “Okay. Maybe not make demands. But tell him what you need.”

  She laughed. “That sounds good in theory but I doubt it will work. If I can’t make him leave the room so I can have a private conversation with the man I thought I was going to marry, I don’t see how I can make him realize he’s suffocating me. The way I see this playing out, I either have to go back to the way things were, or I have to go out on my own. Which will make him so angry, I’ll probably never see him again.”

  Saddened, Riccardo studied her, finally understanding that was the real reason she was delaying going home. She truly believed she’d either have to go back to being a sheep, or she’d be nothing at all.

  “Surely, there are other choices.”

  “I couldn’t even get my way about my own wedding. My dad still sees me as the twelve-year-old I was when my mom died. He always believes he’s doing the right thing for me. There’s no malice intended. So, of course, he doesn’t understand if I disagree. Which is why I rarely disagreed. Until now. Until something inside me froze and just wouldn’t let me walk down that aisle.”

  The waitress arrived with their food and Riccardo thanked her. He waited until she’d completely walked away before he leaned across the table. He might have decided not to interfere, but it wouldn’t hurt to give her a little guidance so she’d find the answers herself.

  “Maybe walking down the aisle, your subconscious was telling you it was time to grow a pair.”

  Her mouth fell open. “Is that what you want me to go home and tell my dad? Oh, hi, Dad. I left my wedding because my subconscious was telling me to grow a pair?”

  “What’s he going to do? Arrest you?”

  “Disown me.” She picked up a square of toast to butter it, but put it down again. “Look, all this must seem very funny to you. But it’s oddly life-and-death to me. I don’t want to lose my dad. I lost my mom. And I don’t have aunts or uncles, siblings or cousins. I have no one. I don’t want to lose the only other family I have. So, while I appreciate your sentiments, you don’t understand. I can’t just go home a totally different person. I have to figure out how to behave so that things change but he still accepts me.”

  “You can’t just be yourself?”

  She tossed her hands. “I don’t even know who myself is.”

  “I think—”

  “Don’t think. From here on out, just drive. Let me think.”

  Riccardo said, “Fine,” and dug in to his eggs and home fries as if his life depended on it. He’d been working to stay out of her drama, but when he couldn’t help giving her advice, his thanks was to be scolded. So, fine. He was out.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  MORGAN’S CHEST TIGHTENED. She hadn’t meant to insult Riccardo. Especially since she wasn’t angry with him for making suggestions. She was angry with herself because she honestly could not figure out what to say to her dad or how to say it. In her head, she’d rehearsed something snappy and snarky—not quite as crude as Riccardo’s suggestion—but a potent little “Dad, it’s my life, and I’m going to live it the way I want.”

  And she’d pictured her dad frowning. He wouldn’t yell. Even if she yelled, he wouldn’t. No, no. He’d frown in disappointment. Then tell her something like, “You’re choosing to toss away the benefit of all my years of experience.”

  She’d determined there were six comebacks to that. But her dad would have even better comebacks to all six of those.

  Because that’s what he’d done for a living for twelve years: outtalk world leaders, some of the smartest people on the planet.

  How was she going to best that?

  They finished eating, got into the car and stayed silent for two hours. Morgan used the time to have unsuccessful conversations with her dad in her head until the car made a noise that sounded like a bump.

  Riccardo immediately slowed the car.

  Bump.

  Bump.

  Bump.

  “Damn.”

  She gripped the dashboard as Riccardo eased the car off the highway. “What is it?”

  “A flat tire.”

  She glanced at him incredulously. “This is what a flat tire feels like?”

  “Yes. We probably ran over something sharp and it took this long for the air to seep out.”

  “You think we ran over something?”

  He peered across the seat at her. “Unless somebody punched it with something sharp on purpose.”

  She shook her head. “I didn’t do that, Mr. Jailer.”

  “I know.” He chuckled. “I haven’t let you out of my sight long enough for you to find something sharp and jam it sufficiently into the tread that a tire would go flat. If you’d done it while I was sleeping, the tire would have been flat in the morning.”

  He turned off the engine, pushed open the door and got out.

  He’d actually thought that through? Wondered if she’d be idiot enough to ruin a tire?

  She shoved open her car door and scrambled after him. “You still don’t trust me!”

  He sighed as he pushed the key fob to open the trunk. “It’s not my job to trust you. It’s my job to get you home. No talking, no thinking, just driving. Remember?”

  She combed her fingers through her hair. She’d hated making him angry at breakfast. She wasn’t the kind of person who lashed out at anyone. Plus, he’d been good to her. He didn’t deserve her anger. “Sorry about that.”

  He said nothing.

  “Really. I don’t generally act like this, and I feel bad about insulting you.”

  He pulled in a breath and studied her for a second. “Okay. Apology accepted. But only because the quiet car this morning about drove me nuts.”

  “You were bored?”

  “Weren’t you? We’ve done nothing but drive and eat for days. It’s getting old.”

  She had a little too much on her mind to be bored, but maybe that was the problem. Maybe if she’d stop thinking, an answer would come.

  “I wasn’t bored. I was trying to come up with something to say to my dad. But apparently thinking isn’t helping, so maybe it’s time to talk. Except not about my dad. Surely, there are a mill
ion other things we could discuss.”

  Standing in front of the trunk, he considered that. “You’re right. The only time we fight is when we talk about you going home. Better to stay away from that. Agreed?”

  “Agreed.”

  He smiled his acknowledgment and her heart kicked against her ribs. Good grief, he was gorgeous. A Nebraska breeze blew his dark hair across his forehead and above brown eyes that were sharp and curious. Warmth flooded her. She dropped her gaze, but it landed on a full mouth that had her wondering what kissing him would be like.

  “Let’s see if this thing has a spare.” He turned his attention to the car again.

  She blew out a quiet sigh of relief that he hadn’t seemed to notice the way she was looking at him, before she peeked into the trunk and watched him lift the carpeting to reveal a spare tire and some tools. He dropped the tools and tire on the ground then crouched beside the flat. Using the long shiny thing, he eased off the hubcap.

  His broad back stretched his knit shirt to capacity then tapered into a trim waist. His blue jeans encased an absolutely perfect butt.

  He peered over his shoulder at her. “Taking notes?”

  Her face heated. She hoped he was talking about the tire change and hadn’t seen the way she was studying him. “No. But maybe I should. If my dad kicks me out, I might need to be able to do things like this.”

  She regretted the words the minute they were out of her mouth. Talking about her dad was supposed to be off the table.

  He rose, took the second tool and put it under the car’s bumper to raise the tire off the road. Cars drove by but the silence from Riccardo was deafening.

  Finally, he said, “No trust fund?”

  Glad he’d found a way to redeem the conversation, she admitted something she rarely told anyone. “A healthy one, actually.”

  “So, you’ll probably never have to change your own tire.”

  He might have great eyes, a mouth she wanted to kiss and a nice butt, but the man was back to insulting her. “Look at the pot calling the kettle black. What do you do for a living that lets you drop work at a moment’s notice and traipse around the country ruining other people’s privacy?”

  “You mean what do I do for Ochoa Online?”

  “If that’s where you work.”

  He turned and picked up the third tool, crouched beside the car and began unscrewing the bolts that held the tire in place. “Yes. That’s where I work.”

  She slid her gaze from his broad back to his bottom, along muscular thighs currently holding him balanced in front of the tire he disconnected. He had to be strong not to grunt or groan or even sway.

  The cool September air suddenly grew warm again.

  She forced herself back into the conversation. “So you own a company?”

  “Technically, my cousin Mitch owns Ochoa Online.” His attention taken by the tire and the conversation, he didn’t even glance at her. She took advantage and ran her gaze along the muscles of his arms as they flexed with every twist of the big wrench.

  “I’m the money guy. I create and watch our budgets and five-year plans. I monitor sales. And the minute more than thirty dollars in profit comes in, I invest it.”

  Her brow furrowed. “Thirty dollars?”

  “I was teasing.”

  Annoyed with herself for being so distracted by the flexing of his muscles that she’d made a dumb mistake, she didn’t reply.

  After thirty seconds of nothing but the sound of interstate traffic whizzing by, he said, “Probably not a lot of teasing goes on at your dad’s dinner parties.”

  “More than you’d expect.” Curious about him, and his connection to her father, Morgan brought back the subject of his job. “So, my dad pays to be on your wine site?”

  He rose, reached for the spare and carried it to the car. “No. We list his wine and get a commission on everything he sells through our site.”

  Wow. No wonder taking her home was so important to him. “You make a lot of money because of him, don’t you?”

  “People like brands. Status. Especially when it comes to wine. Your dad himself is a brand, the epitome of status.”

  A breeze ruffled his dark hair again but this time it brought the scent of his aftershave to her. She’d smelled it in the car for days, but right now with him making changing a tire look sexy, as he talked about things that made her realize he was pretty damn smart, she began to wonder about him. Who he was. How loyal he had to be to his cousin to take on the task of bringing home a runaway bride. And good grief, why was such a great-smelling, smart, sexy guy still single?

  Flustered by her thoughts while he was blissfully unaware that she was practically lusting after him, she said, “Are you telling me my dad’s wines only sell because of his name?”

  “Your dad’s wines are excellent. Name or no name, he wouldn’t get on OchoaWines.com if Mitch didn’t like the flavor and quality.”

  She laughed. “Really? You’d have turned down Colonel Monroe?”

  “Not me. Mitch.” He twisted the wrench, fastening the bolts for the new tire, causing the muscles of his back to ripple. “He has standards for the products he sells. A reputation for offering only the best. People shop at his sites because they know they don’t have to look anywhere else. He has the best. So, he’d turn down Queen Elizabeth if her products didn’t meet his standards.”

  “That would be interesting to see.”

  “No one’s ever turned down your dad?”

  She thought for a second. “No. Even when things start going wrong, my dad has the ability to guide any conversation in the direction he wants it to go.”

  “Which is why you’re worried about talking to him.”

  Because they’d agreed not to discuss this, she simply said, “Yes.”

  He rose, dusted his hands on his thighs and caught her gaze. “You really think he’d kick you out of his life?”

  Part of her wanted to remind him they said they weren’t going to talk about her situation. The other part wanted another person to understand so she wouldn’t think she was just this side of crazy for not being able to live that way anymore.

  The other part won. “Not in the way you’re assuming. He wouldn’t say, ‘That’s it, Morgan. You’re out of here.’ He’d tell me he was disappointed in me and treat me differently, coolly, until I fell in line again.”

  “That’s a hell of a way to live.”

  “Actually, it was a very easy way to live in some respects. I knew exactly what he wanted from me. A respectful daughter who helped him in his business. In fact, I think the blame for Charles rests as much on me as it does on him. I dated Charles because I knew it was what my dad wanted. He wanted me with Charles. So, I was with Charles.”

  Riccardo stared at her, a confused expression on his handsome face. “That’s just sad.”

  The wind raised her hair and she tucked it behind her ear. “No. It was life with my father. Walking down the aisle, I realized I wanted more.”

  “More?”

  She almost blurted out that she wanted somebody like him. Someone strong and interesting. Someone who listened to her opinions. Gave her choices. But after running away from her wedding, another man was the last thing on her mind. As it was, if her dad shut her out, she’d have to create an entire new life, without family, and probably with only a handful of friends who’d be okay with going against her dad. She didn’t need the added complication of this handsome Spanish guy.

  But, oh, he was tempting.

  “I don’t know how to describe more except to say I realized I’d never had the chance to see who I am. What I’d do if I didn’t have one of the smartest men on the planet making my decisions for me before I even knew there were decisions to be made.”

  “I think I get it. Your dad looked down the board, knew he’d want grandkids, found a suitable guy and introduce
d him into your world.”

  “That’s it exactly!”

  He picked up the old tire.

  Happy he understood, she bent over to gather the tools. “It’s like you were in our living room.”

  He tossed the tire into the trunk and took the tools from her. “I know a bit about bossy patriarchs. Mitch and I are modern thinkers, but our dads aren’t. Our granddad was worse.” He looked up at her. “It’s why Nanna’s so strong. Not opinionated, but strong.”

  “Your grandmother, right?”

  “Yes. She was married to a guy two generations above me. My father and Uncle Santiago are strong, but apparently their father was like a stubborn bull.”

  “My dad’s not a bull, but he’s stubborn. But not like you’d think. He doesn’t dig in his heels and fight. He has this look.”

  She tried to imitate her father’s expression when he was unhappy with something she said.

  Riccardo shook his head. “Sorry. That wouldn’t get me to change my mind.”

  “How about this one?” She raised one eyebrow as she squinted.

  “I’d probably offer him a laxative.”

  “Stop!” A laugh escaped her. “I don’t want to make fun of my dad. I just want to show you that he can be intimidating.”

  “I already know that.”

  She nodded. “That’s right. He got you to come after me by threatening to pull out of your company.”

  “Among other things.”

  “He knows how to find a weakness and exploit it.”

  “So, you have to figure out how to be strong. Sometimes it isn’t what you say but how you say it.” He closed the trunk and said, “‘Dad, thank you very much for the benefit of your experience but I’ve decided to go in another direction.’”

  She sighed. “He’d pour a brandy, offer me a seat on a Queen Anne chair by the fireplace in the den and ask me to explain the direction.”

  “And you’d say, ‘I’m not ready to reveal particulars yet.’”

  She deepened her voice, imitating her dad. “‘It sounds to me that you haven’t thought it through.’”

  He raised his voice an octave to sound like a woman. “‘Nope. I’m good. Say, did you see the Patriots won another game?’”