Reclaimed by the Tycoon - Chapter 1

There was something spectacular about the way the early evening sun glanced across the kingdom of Castilona, painting it in shades of gold, from the mountains in the east to the beaches that surrounded the island, so that it almost appeared to glisten. People traveled from all over the world for these sunsets, to marvel at the ancient Mediterranean kingdom, and to enjoy the wine for which this small principality was renowned.

Today, however, was something else. It was as if the weather gods knew that this event had the power to make or break Isabella Lopez’s burgeoning career, and had decided to bless her with the kind of warm summer’s evening that would cause even heaven to weep with envy.

After eight months of planning, the famed Festival de Vino de Verano was on the eve of commencing. For the next month, the streets would throng with tourists, wine-lovers, and nobility, the list of important delegates eye-watering. It would be the first festival since King Octavio had ascended the throne, and the palace had stressed to Isabella, repeatedly, how important it was that everything go smoothly.

Which is why she’d declined every other job, to give the festival her entire focus. After all, she couldn’t let her high school friend Princess Xiomara down.

True, they hadn’t seen each other in years, but the princess had done Isabella a huge favour in suggesting her to run this event, and Isabella intended to repay her by putting on a festival the likes of which they’d never seen before.

Which made it particularly disastrous to find herself slumped on the footpath, the victim of an inconveniently curved cobblestone, which had apparently been offended by her spiked heel and had taken it out on her ankle.

She’d yelped as she’d gone down, but the crowds continued to bustle past, apparently not bothered by the plight of a woman who’d crumpled like a sack of potatoes onto the sun-warmed path, unable to get up again.

Cursing softly beneath her breath, she pushed her fingertips into the stones, attempting to leverage herself back to a standing position, but her ankle was throbbing and already starting to look ominously swollen.

‘This is not ideal,’ she muttered. Isabella, though, was nothing if not resourceful. She’d needed to be, to learn to survive by her wits alone. Orphaned as a young girl, she’d been raised by a loving foster mother who’d passed away a week before Isabella turned eighteen. If it hadn’t been for her high school friends, like Xiomara, Isabella would have been completely alone. In many ways, she was alone, by choice. She’d made an artform of avoiding romantic complications—the one relationship she’d thought might be going somewhere had turned out to be a complete disaster, and had simply reaffirmed her commitment to focusing on herself and her career. Besides, she was only twenty-five. If she wanted to, later, she could reconsider. But she had at least a decade before she let herself get caught up in the temptation of seeking out the one thing she’d never known: a real family.

A quick skim of her phone’s recent calls showed one name, and one name only: her assistant, Lucia. She tapped the name and waited for the call to connect, only to be forwarded straight to voicemail. She disconnected and pushed her phone back in her bag, glancing around, to flag someone down for help. If she could just get up off the ground, she’d be fine. She could hobble to the main road to hail a cab.

But at the exact moment she went to raise her hand to attract someone’s attention, the last person on earth she could ever ask for help strode into view, and it was like being jolted back in time. Precisely two years back in time, in fact.

There, in the middle of the bustling Calle del Sol, was Salvador Rialta. All six and a half feet of swarthy, muscular, tall-dark-and-handsome, with that thick, dark hair pushed back from his brow, wearing—of all things, on a day like this—a jet black suit with a snow-white shirt. He was exactly the same as he’d been the first night they’d met. In a word: perfection.

Like he had any right to look so good, after what he’d shown himself capable of. Making her think she was falling in love with him, only for it to turn out that he was married and just having fun with silly, naïve Isabella.

Just like that, Isabella went from wanting to garner help from whomever she could, to wishing the ground would open up and swallow her. She dipped her head forward, glaring at the traitorous cobblestone that had started this whole nightmare, willing Salvador to walk past without noticing her.

‘Senora, do you need help?’

His voice was unmistakable. The same deep tones, raw huskiness in every syllable, power and confidence imbued by the directness of his address. Heat flooded her body, as intimate memories pulsed through her. So she sat there, crumpled in on herself, while her mind and body caught fire with recollections of how it had felt to be held by him, kissed by him, to be made love to by him.

Slowly, so that she had time to blank her features of any emotion, she let her emerald-green eyes roam his body, trying not to remember every detail of his muscular, tanned legs, his toned waist, strong chest, roughened by a hint of dark hair, shoulders that were broad, which she’d loved to kiss, and finally, his face. That face. With its square jaw, slashed cheekbones and obsidian eyes, framed perfectly by thick, black lashes that almost created the impression of eyeliner, and a wide, intelligent brow.

She had the advantage; she’d picked him from a distance away, and had had time to prepare, whereas Salvador was clearly in shock at having the physical proof of his bastardry in a heap at his feet.

Indeed, a muscle jerked in his jaw as he looked down at her, flecking beneath his golden tan. No doubt he was clenching his teeth with remorse at having decided to rescue a damsel. Knowing him as she did, Isabella had no doubt he was hoping it might lead to a little extra-marital pleasure. It was just like the first night they’d met, when Isabella had been distracted and walked down the wrong alley, late at night, and been surrounded by a Castilonian gang. If it hadn’t been for Salvador, emerging from the rear entrance of a club at that exact moment, she shuddered to think of what might have happened.

Yet, he was there, and he took on the gang with his bare strength alone, showcasing the fighting skills he’d garnered as a young runaway. Though Isabella’s childhood had been sheltered, they’d connected over the fact that they were both orphans, alone in the world. For the first time in Isabella’s life, she’d felt truly seen.

And it had all been a lie.

Senora, do you need help? His question swirled through her mind, burning at the edges of her brain, angering her so much more than it should have.

‘I can promise you this, Salvador. You are the last person on earth I will ever accept help from, even if the alternative is a slow, painful death. Now, leave me alone.’