by Amy Ayers
The trays, however, were laden with exotic treasures that she had no problem consuming, and she dug in—figs wrapped with prosciutto, fresh berries and cream, several different types of caviar.
Marco sipped his champagne, and Senna became acutely aware she was the only one eating. “Aren’t you going to have something?” She licked her lips and sipped the sparkling water the steward had brought her. She suddenly felt self-conscious. Her body had changed after Max was born. She had a fullness to her curves that she hadn’t had before. But nursing ramped up her appetite making it hard to say no when she probably should.
“I will. I just like watching you eat. It’s…hypnotic.”
Senna blinked and met his heated gaze. When he chose to turn it on, she was completely at the mercy of his magnetism. It was like his body sent out pulses that she absorbed in every sensory center in her body.
Being a living, breathing woman, she had been just as in awe of his physical beauty as anyone else when she started her internship. But she was smart. She knew he spent time socially with one of his executives, a woman named Brynn Vandermere. She was rumored to be an old family friend. But Senna had always thought there was no way that Marco had been just friends with the Nordic beauty. Just being in the same room with Brynn made her feel like a gnarled troll.
And when he wasn’t out with Brynn, a few cursory Google searches showed that Marco had a different, yet always stunning, woman on his arm for every occasion. Starlets, socialites, models, they orbited him like he was the sun and they were all vying for any piece of sunlight he might be willing to bestow upon them.
She refused to be one of the many adoring females who lined the marbled hallways of Medina Enterprises, either. Working there meant one thing, an internship and a fast track to a lucrative job opportunity when she graduated. Marco’s interest toward her was professional from the start, properly aloof and businesslike, until, well, it wasn’t.
Senna couldn’t pinpoint exactly when the shift happened. It was gradual but deliberate. One day she noticed his gaze linger on her a little longer than normal. The next week he stood next to her in the elevator just a few inches closer than was necessary. Then it was the longer one-on-one meetings he suddenly started scheduling with increasing frequency.
And she had loved every single minute of it. She welcomed it. Her grandmother had instilled enough Catholic guilt in her to realize she was pining after a man who would never give her any long-term satisfaction, but at some point, she stopped caring.
The night of the intern dinner had been magical in every way. It was the end of a successful internship full of opportunity and professional growth. Having Marco flirt with her was just icing on an already decadent cake. That night there most certainly was champagne involved and, as they grabbed a bottle and two glasses and made their way up to his private rooftop, complete with a huge bed-like double lounge, Senna had already decided what was going to happen.
They’d used protection. Marco insisted on condoms, and Senna had eagerly agreed. But passion and alcohol had made them sloppy, Senna knew that. And obviously there had been consequences.
Suddenly Senna found herself wanting more answers. She’d complied with his demands, gone to his place of employment, gotten on a plane with him bound for a country she’d never visited. It was only fair that Marco give up a little more information.
Senna took the napkin from her lap and dabbed her lips, trying to ignore the tension that seemed to have bubbled forth with his words.
“Hypnotic. Hmm. You can just say it. You don’t have to be polite.” She leaned forward like she was getting ready to tell him a secret. “I like to eat. A lot.”
Marco laughed. That was a sound Senna hadn’t heard in a long time.
“Is that funny? The fact that my appetite is keeping me from losing those last ten pounds I put on with Mr. Max over there?”
“Why are women always so concerned over a few pounds here or there? Your body did something amazing, Senna. You made a person. And any man worth having would take hold of those last few pounds and worship them, worship you.”
His eyes locked with hers with a smoldering intensity. Just his gaze made her heart race and her core clench.
As if on cue Max woke and started to fuss. Any further questions she had for the baby’s father would have to wait. She stood up and went to him, releasing him from his carrier. He was soaked. No wonder he was fussing.
“I need to change him.”
“You can do it here or there’s a bedroom and bathroom behind those doors.” He smiled. “Do you need assistance?”
“Um, no. I’m good.” She grabbed her bag that had a change of clothes and diapers in it.
“What, you think I can’t change a baby’s diaper? I’ve been doing my research. YouTube has been very helpful.”
“Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to believe everything you see on the internet?” She started making her way to the back of the plane with Max securely in her arms when a thought flitted through her mind.
“You know, I didn’t exactly pack for an overseas trip. I’ve got only a few diapers and just one more change of clothes for him.”
“Don’t worry. Everything you need for both you and Max will be there when we arrive. And if it’s not, it can be obtained almost instantly.”
“Right. Okay.”
“What, you don’t believe me?”
“No, I believe you.” That’s what scares me.
Chapter Four
It was the middle of the night local time when they began their descent to the small airport in the province of Girona, about twenty kilometers northeast of Barcelona. He must have dozed off at some point, because he awoke to Renaud letting him know they were close to landing and that Senna and Max had retired to the bedroom. He hadn’t exactly slept well since being back in Miami—too many unknowns and too much future at stake.
He headed to the back of the plane to check on them, knowing Senna would want Max back in his carrier for landing. Could this really be her first time in an airplane? It was a good thing he’d procured passports for them both just as a precaution.
He opened the door to the bedroom slowly and walked inside. Only a dim lamp lit the interior. Nestled on top of the coverlet he found Senna fast asleep with Max burrowed in next to her. Her dark chestnut hair spilled over the pillow, and her full lips hovered just inches from Max’s chubby cheek.
Her blouse was askew, the top two buttons undone, and he could see a healthy glimpse of her camisole underneath. A surge of desire and possessiveness washed over him, causing him to sit down—hard—in one of the club chairs close to the bed.
Would things have been different if he had stayed in Miami? If he hadn’t boarded this very jet mere hours after making love to Senna and left the country for over a year? If he’d stayed and Senna had simply come to work one day, sat down in his office, and announced she was pregnant?
He’d never know, and it was too late to rewrite history.
He shook his head. The last couple of weeks had extracted a flurry of emotions. The joy of finding out he was a father was quickly replaced by the anger of having been left in the dark. Everything was jumbled, awry, and for the first time in a very long time, he wasn’t sure what the future held. Only what he had planned.
He steepled his arms on his lap and rested his chin against his hands. Senna was a beauty, maybe not an obvious one, but someone who beguiled and seduced completely without intention. She was the type of woman you took for granted until you were virtually overcome with the need to possess her. She wasn’t so overtly beautiful that women hated her and men tripped over themselves to be close to her. His desire for her was like a soft whisper, slowly getting louder and louder until it was deafening.
Senna stirred in her sleep and hitched up her knee slightly. The movement caused her skirt to continue its journey up her thigh revealing the top of her stocking. He had to strengthen the clasp of his hands to prevent himself from reaching out to stroke the strip of
skin now revealed to him.
Whatever circumstances had kept them apart, they certainly hadn’t assuaged his physical desire for her. He wanted her still, but he didn’t have time to entertain such feelings. Decisions had been made, and there was work to be done.
He rose from the chair and lowered himself silently to the edge of the bed. Senna’s eyes fluttered open and locked on his. There were no flashing licks of golden anger in the soft green depths. Only the haze of sound sleep, something he was fairly certain she hadn’t had in a long time.
“Hey.” She pushed herself up on her elbow to get a better look at Max. “Looks like the little king is pretty comfortable in a private jet.”
“You never forget your first time, even if you are an infant.”
Senna’s easy smile stretched over her lovely features. “What time is it?”
“It’s about four thirty a.m. local time. We’re going to be landing soon.”
He saw the panic skitter across her face as she sat up quickly and tucked her legs underneath her. He watched her glance down at her wrinkled attire.
“Don’t worry. We’ll have time to freshen up before we make introductions.”
“Are we staying at your house?”
Marco blinked. He supposed it was a house. If you called a fourteenth-century ancestral castle complete with guesthouses, full stables, servants quarters, and a main hall large enough to hold three hundred people, a house.
“We’re staying at my family estate, yes. I’ve secured one of the wings for our use.”
“We don’t need a wing. Max and I are pretty self-sufficient.”
Marco just smiled. She’d appreciate the rooms, he was certain of it. “Everything you need will be in your rooms.”
“Rooms?”
“Yes, you have your own bedroom and the nursery and nanny’s room are across the hall.”
“Max doesn’t need a nanny, he has me.”
“He does need a nanny, because you may be otherwise occupied.”
“Doing what? Did you get me a job waiting tables at the local taberna?”
Why couldn’t she just nod and agree? “Hardly.” Marco managed to spit out. He stood up abruptly. “Do you need help getting Max settled for landing?”
“No, but can you watch him while I use the bathroom?”
“Of course.”
She stood and crossed to the bathroom and disappeared inside. Next to him on the bed Max began to stir.
He really was a beautiful child. He was strong and sturdy and everything Marco could have hoped for in a son. Pride filled him at the thought of introducing him to his family. He may not have been planned, but he was a gift, one Marco never thought he wanted at this stage of his life.
The landing was smooth, and the ride from the airport to their home just outside of Girona City was relatively quick. Senna looked a little green from the curved mountain roads, but Max was awake and alert.
As JP made the last turn he slowed slightly, allowing the country estate to come into view at a more leisurely pace. Senna had her face to the window and for the first time in a long time Marco allowed himself to take in the grand home through the eyes of a newcomer.
“Marco, it’s a castle. You live in a castle.”
“Estate, castle. Same thing.”
Dawn wasn’t quite breaking but the sky was lightening, bathing the ancient structure in rosy tones. The craggy hills and valleys surrounding their estate also reflected the warm hues of dawn. As a boy he had run free through those mountain paths, discovering the joys of being let loose in the wild—filling up on a patch of wild berries, climbing the highest tree, discovering large spiders he was certain were an ancient and unclassified species. He desperately wanted Max to have those same joys.
JP parked at the front entrance and helped Senna and Max out of the vehicle. She held him tightly in her arms, almost like she was shielding him from some unseen force.
Marco felt an overwhelming desire to put her at ease. Yes, he wanted something from her, but she wasn’t a business entity to intimidate into cooperation or an enemy to bully or coerce with brute force. He had hoped to bring Max home to Spain without her, but he could now see that was never a possibility. Not only was she physically feeding the baby but their bond was strong. Senna was a good mother. She was tired and overworked, but she loved her son. That was a plus for Max, but it was going to make it harder for Marco.
“I think I see a damsel in distress up in one of those towers.” Senna laughed softly at her own joke.
“The only damsel I’m concerned about right now is you.” Suddenly feeling proprietary, he snaked his arm around her waist and urged her forward. “Come, Senna. It’s just a house.”
She hesitated then allowed herself to be led inside.
Even though the hour was early, the household staff greeted them as was the custom. Rene, his family’s butler for the last few decades, stepped forward.
“Welcome home, Mr. Medina, Ms. Callas. I trust your flight was uneventful?”
“It was fine, Rene, thank you.” He handed his laptop bag and suit jacket to the older man.
A rounded older woman with a kind face stood at Rene’s side.
Marco kissed her check. “Allow me to introduce you. Madame Cecile Marchande, please—”
“Ooooh, what a lovely baby. Look at those eyelashes! Please, mademoiselle, allow me.” She lifted Max deftly to her shoulder bouncing and singing. Max looked stunned but delighted by her exuberance.
Rene cleared his throat.
Marco smiled. Rene was a dour, old codger, but he was family. He was a slave to decorum and propriety, which made him valuable to Marco’s mother who valued those attributes above almost everything else. Marco cut off his admonition. “It’s fine, Rene. Ms. Callas can take the baby to their rooms to freshen up. Madame Marchande, perhaps you can assist?”
“Of course, sir.”
“Your family must still be sleeping.” Senna whispered to Marco as the nanny began to lead her away. Voices did tend to echo in the large space. If the foyer had her virtually speechless, she’d be in for quite a surprise when he had the chance to give her the grand tour.
“Yes, princesa. It’s still rather early. There will be plenty of time for introductions soon enough.”
…
Everything in the Medina home seemed custom built to make her feel like an idiot. It had taken ten minutes to figure out the shower heads in the bathroom. There were three main heads along with multiple jets. How many nozzles does a person need in a shower? Was there some sort of European blueprint for cleanliness they didn’t teach in the Miami-Dade school system? Once she’d figured them out, though, she had to admit, the effect was mind-blowing. Hot water pulsed on her back like the hands of a well-trained masseuse, kneading each and every kink into smooth, relaxed muscles.
She’d taken a short nap. Even though it was the middle of the night back home, she was ready to start the day and rid herself of jet lag. She had no idea how the time difference would affect Max, but babies often seemed far more adaptable than their adult counterparts. Besides, uber-nanny Madame Marchande claimed to have the magic solution.
She rinsed the last of what she assumed was conditioner out of her hair. The shower was filled with bottles and soaps, none of which had labels, and each one smelled more divine than the last. Either her hair was going to be well conditioned or weighted down with some sort of body cream made from the tears of virgin Catalan nuns.
She wrapped the luxurious towel tightly around her body and entered the bedroom.
“Hello, Senna! Welcome to Girona!” A petite woman with a black pixie cut and large honey-brown eyes identical in shade and intensity as Marco’s embraced her with a surprisingly strong grip.
“Holy crap!” That probably wasn’t what properly bred ladies said in similar situations, but Senna didn’t have time to think it through.
The little intruder pulled back and gave Senna an appraising look. “You are just as beautiful as Marco said yo
u were. We’re going to have so much fun!”
“Okay, can I at least know who you are before we go skipping off into the sunset together?” Senna tried to drop her hands and step back but the woman’s grip was firm.
“Oh, of course, Marco probably didn’t have time to tell you I would be here. I’m Milania, his sister. You can call me Mila.”
“Hello, Mila, nice to meet—”
“I want you to be comfortable in our home.” Mila finally loosened her grip and skipped over to Senna’s recently vacated bed and sat down. “I can’t wait to meet my precious nephew. I’m going to be the best aunt ever.”
Senna couldn’t help but smile. Mila’s innocent joy was infectious. She had a spritelike quality that made it difficult to gauge her age, but she couldn’t be older than twenty. At twenty-five, Senna felt positively ancient next to her. “So, Marco said I get you all day starting with breakfast. Did you find everything in your closet satisfactory? Marco sent me a picture, and I guessed your sizes.”
She crossed the room, grabbed hold of the ornate handles, and pulled the doors open. The closet was lined with shelves of shoes, boots, purses, accessories of all kinds. In the middle was a large island filled with drawers. Trays of jewelry sat on top of the island, and luxurious benches dotted the room. It was a boutique just for her.
All Senna could manage was a groan followed by a whimper.
“I know, there isn’t much.” Mila had followed her inside and seemed to be paying careful attention to her reaction. “But don’t worry, we can fill it up. I did just finish an in-house design internship with Chanel in Paris.” She leaned in and whispered, “I have connections.”
Senna wasn’t sure they were looking at the same closet. The shelves and rods weren’t full, but several dresses hung on one of the racks along with some blouses and pants. Several shelves held shoes and bags that combined probably cost more than her college education. A quick inspection of the drawers revealed a variety of undergarments that put her cotton panties and nursing bras to shame. She picked up a particularly delicate thong, completely sheer with only two small nude satin bows at each hip. The price tag matched her monthly grocery budget.