“Please,” she said, digging her fingernails into his sides to bring him closer, setting his skin on fire with her passion. “Hurry.”
But he was in no rush to see these last hours slip away. He’d pleasure her with care. He’d savor every second she remained in his arms, for it could be months before he saw her again.
“Beautiful,” he whispered as he trailed kisses down her neck, taking love bites that made her quiver and send a fresh rush of blood to his already engorged sex. “You were made for loving. You were made for me.”
He speared one finger into her hot tight core, groaning that she was as tight and sweet as a virgin still. Sweat popped out on his brow and slicked his back. Blood roared in his ears.
He thrust another finger into her while his thumb found her pleasure point, rubbing hard and fast.
She bucked and cried out, her plea captured in his mouth, branded on his soul.
He would make this last night special for her. For him.
He set a fast tempo, drawing the moment out. His thumb found her pleasure spot and rubbed insistently as his lips captured one tight nipple and suckled hard. He laved each ripe breast until both tightened. His hand rode her hard toward an explosive climax.
He rocked back and watched her, his heart hammering so hard with need he could barely draw a breath, thinking he’d never seen anything as beautiful as Leila lost in passion. Reaching for her climax, coming undone at his touch.
She was free now. Her features open. Natural. More passionate than any professional still shot could convey.
His.
Before the last tremors left her, he settled between her lithe thighs and thrust into her quivering heat with a husky shout of completion. She clutched him to her with her arms, her core muscles, her sultry eyes gleaming like cut ambers.
Sweet, sweet oblivion called to him, yet he moved with slow deliberation, drawing this moment out, committing this to memory. Her nails raked down his back creating rivers of fire. Her long lean legs wrapped around his hips, holding him close, demanding his all.
He gritted his teeth, pumping into her, fingers twined now, eyes locked on each other. “Remember this,” he charged, driving into her hard, fast, pushing her into the stars that surely glittered just for her.
“Always,” she said, her voice no more than a breath.
Then she was lost, her body trembling as her climax overcame her. He sank into her once more and let himself go, lost in the flickering carnival lights of passion with her.
The last thing Rafael wanted to see was the dawn of a new day. But it came anyway.
He rolled from the bed without waking her and took a shower, but the pounding spray failed to ease the tension gripping him this morning. Last night was a clear poignant memory.
Now it was over.
He dressed, then stood by the bed, watching her sleep. He’d promised he’d wake her before he left, but what was the use in depriving her of much-needed sleep?
“I will miss you, querida,” he whispered.
Then with a heavy heart, he slipped from the suite.
CHAPTER EIGHT
NEARLY two weeks had passed since they’d parted in France and still Leila had to struggle to find the strength to get out of bed each morning. Even the tranquility she felt at her home perched high in the Malibu hills was absent this time.
Part of that was because for the first time ever she’d had great difficulty falling asleep to the soothing wash of the tide. But most of her anxiety could be blamed on her heartache over being apart from Rafael.
What little rest she got was fitful—plagued with images of him loving her, his arms open for her return. Him asking her what she wanted most—her career or a family.
Dammit, she wanted both. But her fear over one drove her full tilt into pursuing the other.
Perhaps that was the reason she’d seen a return of the nightmares that had tormented her after her miscarriage.
If she hadn’t received such favorable reports from the clinic regarding a critically young girl who’d reminded her of herself at that age, she’d have found it difficult to function at all. But the money spent on the girl’s care was worth the heartache—worth the sacrifice. At least, that’s what she tried to tell herself.
“You’ve put in horribly long hours this past month,” her agent said when Leila finally confessed she was worried about her stamina. “I’m concerned with your exhaustion. It’s showing on your face and that won’t do.”
Leila was well aware of that! As exhausted as she was, she’d never be able to keep up with the demands expected of her when the real work began.
“Have you seen a doctor?” her agent asked. “No. When do you expect them to send over a contract?”
“Any day now,” her agent said, frowning again as if annoyed that she’d changed the subject. “Once you sign, they’ll want you to be ready to work. It would be crushing to your career if you fell off schedule and were unable to work. Or worse, if you go there looking as exhausted as you do.”
A model’s nightmare. And at her age, maintaining a youthful look was crucial. She had to do something, and if it meant taking medicine for depression again, then that’s what she’d do.
“Very well,” Leila said. “I’ll ring my physician today.”
But due to her doctor’s busy schedule and Leila’s celebrity status he agreed to see her after hours.
“Congratulations on being the spokeswoman for Bare Souls,” her doctor said by way of greeting, proving that even a professional whom she admired for his bluntly honest demeanor was awed by Leila’s stellar success. “I trust the festival was as exciting as the video clips of it suggested.”
“It was an experience of a lifetime,” Leila said, her heart warming over the memory of unbelievable bliss with Rafael. “Unfortunately I caught a bit of a bug there and can’t seem to shake it.”
The doctor quickly launched into his professional persona. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“Exhaustion and a queasy stomach.”
“This started in France?”
She frowned. “Actually, I arrived with an upset stomach. At the time I thought I hadn’t recovered from a stomach virus.”
The doctor patiently listened as she described how food—even the smell of it—would turn her stomach. How she’d feel perfectly fine one moment only to become violently ill the next.
“It didn’t last more than a few days and then I felt fine. Except for being tired,” she admitted as the doctor gave her a careful examination.
“I’ll ask you this once because, considering your medical history, I have to rule it out,” the doctor said. “Have you had a relapse with your eating disorder?”
She’d expected the question. “No. I’ve adhered to a healthy diet and have not been tempted to revert to anorexia once since my recovery. In fact, I have gained weight.”
“Good for you,” the doctor said after weighing her and announcing she was five pounds heavier than the last visit.
The weight gain shocked her, for though she noticed her clothes fit snugger, this was a much greater increase than she’d ever had. She’d been trying to put weight on, had promised Rafael she would, but she had always believed that this would be impossible for her to actually achieve! She had thought that when she had reached her desired ten kilos extra her first erratic impulse would be to begin an immediate and rigid diet. But she had hardly noticed the gain. It certainly hadn’t been at the forefront of her mind.
For a moment she still felt that initial gut impulse to diet, to starve herself if she must, but it wasn’t anywhere near as strong as she had feared. Was there hope for her and Rafael and the future they had once dreamed of?
But almost as soon as this joyous feeling settled in Leila’s heart, she shook herself. She’d still had a negative reaction to her weight gain, even if only slight. Added to her desolation over her miscarriage, this only confirmed her fears about pregnancy and the belief that she’d never be able to cope with the body changes
she’d endure while pregnant. What if she tried, only to fail again? Where would that leave her and Rafael then?
“Leila?” The doctor smiled as she looked up and flushed, embarrassed to be caught lost in internal thought. “Let’s focus on what could cause your problems. As for the exhaustion, I imagine your schedule was intense.”
“Extremely so.”
The passionate nights she’d shared with her husband had cost her much-needed sleep. But she couldn’t divulge something that personal, that precious to her.
The doctor frowned and made a few notes. “Yet, you’ve been tired since the festival ended?”
“Yes. I can’t seem to get my energy back no matter how much sleep I get,” she said.
“What about rest? Are you having difficulty falling asleep?”
“Yes,” she admitted, and because he knew he’d ask more, she simply stated, “I have some personal issues that have troubled me of late, so sleep eludes me.”
“How is your mood? Are you depressed?”
“No,” she said, though she missed Rafael more than ever before. “But I’ve had nightmares about my miscarriage again.”
The doctor frowned. “Before I give you a prescription for an antidepressant, I want to run blood tests and see if something shows up there. It’s very possible you have an infection that is being relentless. If so, the right medicine should set you to rights in no time.”
“I hope so. I can’t afford to be sick now.”
Thirty minutes later, Leila had given blood and urine samples for office tests and was sitting in the empty reception room waiting for preliminary results. Seeing her face on so many magazine covers at once was a shock.
Each one held a variant of the same expression—a woman assured of her status.
Such a lie.
The doctor strode into the waiting room, his expression somewhere between curious and worried. “Leila, are you still taking contraceptives?”
“Faithfully,” she said, that query bringing her to her feet.
“You’re sure you didn’t forget once or twice?”
She shook her head, the first slice of worry scoring her tenuous calm. “Not once.”
He rubbed his chin, stretching the moment out. Pulling her already frayed nerves so taut she was sure they’d snap.
“When was the last time you took an antibiotic?”
“In March,” she said. “I was in Aruba on a shoot and the doctor on staff gave me an antibiotic for a urinary tract infection.”
He nodded, but his pensive expression kept her on edge. “Did you have intercourse during that time or shortly thereafter?”
She felt her face burn, for that memory, too, was one she would never forget. “Yes. My husband joined me there.”
“That explains it.”
Her blood turned to ice, chilling her to the bone. “What do you mean, that explains it?”
“Antibiotics can decrease the effectiveness of birth control medicine. Did you use condoms?”
Her cheeks burned hotly from the implications that sprang to mind. And the fear … Dear God, the fear of what was wrong with her was becoming glaringly clear.
I’m on the Pill, she’d said at that tense moment when they were ravenous for each other again. And Rafael had needed no further urging that time or the one following it.
“What’s wrong?” she asked the doctor, near frantic now, for his line of questions breathed life into her deepest fears.
“You’re pregnant.”
Those two words slammed into her with enough force to drop her back in her chair. “I can’t be!”
“Yes, you can. The blood tests will tell for sure, but at this point I suspect you are about three months along.”
His words sent instant terror crashing through her. She closed her eyes, then snapped them open again, unable to bear the memories of her miscarriage that flashed through her mind. Of losing her precious baby. She couldn’t go through that again.
“Oh, my God, this can’t be possible!” she said, more to herself than him, hands automatically splayed on her belly.
What an odd twist of fate. While she had been in France, adamantly telling Rafael she didn’t feel ready to start a family, she had already been with child.
Rafael would be elated. As she thought of him now and the joy he would feel, her own heart lifted. A baby. Rafael’s baby! If only her choking fears would allow her to feel the same intense joy now. If only she could be confident that she and her body would carry this child safely to term. Another fear reared up to send her heart racing. “Can taking the Pill harm my baby?”
“No, but let’s suspend it until we get the tests back.” Her doctor, always to the point, added, “Leila, having a baby isn’t impossible for you, but you will have to take extra precautions because of your history with anorexia. I insist you see a topnotch obstetrician who specializes in high risk.”
“Of course.” Just like she’d done the last time. And look where that ended. “I’m terrified that I’ll have another miscarriage.” Or worse, that she’d have a relapse and destroy her baby and herself this time.
The doctor rested a hand on her shoulder, his smile understanding. “Calm down, Leila. Wait for the blood tests to come back because this could be a false positive.”
“All right.”
The next twelve hours were sheer hell, but she held her worries inside for most of them, not telling a soul of her fears, her hopes, her worries. Not calling Rafael, for she didn’t want to get his hopes up only to have them dashed.
But on the following morning, her agent dropped by with the new contract for her to sign. Of course they were needed immediately. Leila had no choice but to tell her the truth. “A pregnancy now could end your career,” her agent had said, and though both knew it could signal much more than that, neither brought it up.
“I know that,” Leila said. “But if I am pregnant, it’ll be another month at least before I’m unable to conceal it. I could work up until I have to bow out.”
And if she was pregnant, she would desperately need to hold on to her career, for the baby’s sake. She would need the regimen and control she had over that aspect of her life to help her stay relaxed over the changes to her body. And she needed Rafael.
Her agent tapped a mauve fingernail on the contract she’d just delivered. “Maybe I can get them to act fast on this deal and shoot the first round of the campaign before you have to take maternity leave.”
“I’d be more than willing to do that,” she said, suddenly allowing a glimmer of hope to bloom inside her that there might be a way around this. If only she didn’t miscarry this time.
“Right.” Her agent didn’t sound or look hopeful as she laid the contract on Leila’s desk and jotted something on a note. But her next words shocked Leila to the very core. “In the event that you are pregnant, you could always decide to terminate. It’s obviously unwanted and unplanned. Here’s the name of a good clinic. They’ve been there for several of my clients. I’ll do all I can for you, Leila, but this is your career and your choice to make.”
Leila stared blindly at the address her agent handed to her before she jammed the note in her purse. Without a doubt her mother would have insisted she rid herself of a baby that would put her career on hold, just as she’d convinced Leila to be anorexic.
But the very thought of an abortion curdled Leila’s stomach. She still had nightmares about her miscarriage. This baby may have been unplanned, but unwanted? Rafael longed for a child and she knew he would make a wonderful father. When she had discovered her pregnancy last time she had been ecstatic at the idea of becoming a mother, of holding her tiny baby in her arms. Then her own body had rejected that baby and the loss of that dream had left her desolate. Purposely ridding herself of her child was unthinkable, and yet she knew if she did carry this child to term a relapse would do the same thing.
“Call me as soon as you get the results,” her agent said. “I need to know what you intend to do as soon as possible.”
>
The rest of the day Leila’s emotions bounced between fear, hope and despair.
“You’re definitely pregnant,” her doctor said.
Leila stared out at the waves crashing to the California shore through a sheen of tears. She’d never been more afraid in her life, never wished that Rafael was by her side as much as she did now.
She’d failed her first pregnancy. Had failed both him and their child. But, despite her fear now, she knew she would do everything in her power to protect this one.
“I insist you see an obstetrician,” her doctor said. “Shall I arrange it?”
She took a breath and let it out slowly. “Please.”
Rafael broke the surface of the clear water and levered himself from the terrace pool. After an exhausting day poring over specs with his IT techs in Rio, he’d returned to his penthouse and headed straight for his private gym.
But even after a grueling workout, he’d not been able to rid himself of the tension that had tied him in knots since he’d left Leila. Even doing countless laps in the pool hadn’t beaten the pent-up anger that threatened to consume him over Leila’s refusal to face her fears about starting a family.
A part of him was angry with himself too, blamed himself for allowing this terror to take hold of his precious wife. He, more than anyone, understood her concerns, her trepidation. But still in the back of his mind was the old sense of rejection that had tormented him all his life.
His father had refused to acknowledge him. His relationship with his siblings was strong now, yet he had always been the odd one in the group. The bastard.
Even his own mother had spent any precious time they might have had together working for other families. He remembered one Christmas Day when he had been only small and she had dragged him along to help prepare the meal for another family. “It’s better this way, for now you will be able to eat a good meal,” she’d told him when he’d complained.
But though the leftovers had been excellent, he had been consumed with jealousy as he had watched the other children eat their meal with their parents. Had envied the presents and the laughter and just once had wanted to share such moments with his mother to himself.
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