Stunned—maddened, in fact, by the tilt of her chin and the irritatingly condescending note in her voice—he said slowly, ‘And what exactly is that?’
‘It’s a football match.’
‘Wrong.’
Her eyes widened and flicked to his face, and he felt a juvenile twitch of satisfaction at having taken the wind out of her sails.
‘It’s not just a football match, it’s the derby between two of Argentina’s best teams, who also happen to hate each other and are not shy about showing it. People get hurt. You could have got hurt.’
Saying the words out loud made him feel sick, but the impulse to pull her into his arms and hold her safe swiftly evaporated as he glanced down at her. She was staring up at him mutely, and the truculent expression on her face, coupled with the fact that a group of men across the street were staring at her with undisguised admiration, made his already fraying temper unravel further.
‘More importantly,’ he said tersely, ‘if you had been hurt it might have got out that you are here as my guest—and, frankly, that’s not something I want to be made public.’
She went pale and, watching the colour drain from her cheeks, he felt a twinge of guilt at the brutality of his words. But he told himself that he didn’t care. Mimi had been more than willing to play her part in deceiving his family, not to mention permanently depriving a bunch a pensioners of their savings, so she had no right to get upset at hearing a few home truths.
‘The Vázquez family is as high-profile and respected here as the Caines are in England, and I don’t need you jeopardising either one of my good names—particularly with the wedding so close.’
Her incredible blue eyes flashed with barely concealed scorn and, shaking her head, she gave him the sort of smile that could turn water into ice.
r /> ‘And that’s all that matters to you, isn’t it, Basa? Your name. Sorry, I mean your names.’ Her lip curled. ‘And I thought philanthropists were supposed to care about the welfare of others...’
He held her gaze. ‘Oh, I care—just not about rude, self-absorbed little troublemakers like you, who act first and think later.’ His jaw clenched as he remembered the slippery rush of panic when he’d realised she had bolted. ‘And who have no qualms about lying or stealing or sneaking off, but still expect some poor mug to roll up and rescue them from the mess they make.’
‘That’s not fair. I didn’t ask or need to be rescued!’
She was gazing at him with a combination of loathing and disbelief, as if he’d just turned into a toad in front of her.
‘And you are definitely not my idea of a knight in shining armour.’
Her voice was growing shriller, and he could see more of the men glancing curiously at them.
‘Yeah, well, you’re definitely not my idea of a damsel in distress.’
She might be young and female, and in need of rescuing, but she was hardly innocent. In fact, he doubted she knew the meaning of the word.
Shaking his head, he swore softly under his breath as a couple more men glanced over. What was he doing? He should be getting her off the street, not engaging with her in some kind of slanging match.
‘Okay, that’s it,’ he said irritably. ‘I am done with this stupid conversation.’
‘That makes two of us,’ she snapped.
He couldn’t be sure if it was the petulance in her voice or the way she was holding her battered overnight bag in front of her like a shield that finally caused his temper to snap, but without consciously planning to do so he reached out and plucked the bag from her hands.
‘Hey! What are you doing? Give that back.’
She made a grab for it and instantly he caught hold of her, wrapping his fingers around her wrist.
‘Let’s go!’
‘I’m not going anywhere with you.’
She struggled against him, her long blonde hair slipping free of the ponytail at the base of her neck, but he simply tightened his grip and began propelling her past the determinedly blank faces of his security team towards the first of the two large black SUVs idling down a side street at the edge of the square.
‘What are you doing?’
She was struggling to break free of his grip, and a voice inside his head was telling him that he was acting like some Stone Age throwback—only his fingers refused to let go of her arm.
‘Escorting you to the car,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘Before someone recognises you.’