“Shall I find out who she is, Señor Montero?” Andrés Montero didn’t immediately answer the discreet question from his assistant. Instead he kept his gaze trained on the woman who’d caught his attention just moments ago. A hot summer breeze rolled in off the Mediterranean, lifting the blonde’s hair as she ran. From where he stood beneath the palm tree, Andrés watched her shove back the curly strands while she maneuvered her petite curves around a row of sunning chairs near the path that led to the resort. Lifting his snifter of brandy he took another sip. But it wasn’t the alcohol that warmed his blood at this moment. Intrigued far more than he cared to admit he visually traced the soft curves of her breasts beneath a dark blue bikini top down to the pale glow of her bare stomach, to the flare of her hips concealed beneath a white sarong. Una turista. She looked young, with a carefree spirit and optimism he usually had no patience for. And yet he experienced a twinge of disappointment as she disappeared inside the luxury hotel a moment later. His luxury hotel. With the reputation as being Spain’s elusive bachelor billionaire—tabloid-dubbed, of course—Andrés never found himself without a willing female to warm his bed. But he was quite careful and selective of the women who actually made it that far. He swirled his brandy before taking another sip. All he had to do was give Pablo the word, and the blonde could be waiting naked in his bed within hours. Though first she’d be pulled aside and questioned extensively and discreetly. If she met Andrés’ requirements and was interested, she’d be presented with a confidentiality contract. The women of course were always interested. He narrowed his eyes and turned his attention to the Mediterranean Sea which basked in the lavender and coral swirls from the sunset just a short while ago. Already he could imagine the blonde reclining upon smooth sheets the loose curls of her hair falling over her shoulder to tease creamy breasts.