Did she look that bad? Her doctor had said she was healthy, if a little underweight. Alejandro had probably moved on to some elegant, gorgeous woman who simpered and put up with his moods. She felt dowdy and unattractive just thinking about it. And heartbroken.
“I’m fine. What do you want?”
“I wish to talk with you.”
“Start talking.”
He nodded at the door. “Can I come in?”
“No.”
He pushed a hand through his hair, blew out his breath in annoyance. “It would be easier to let me in, would it not? Or do you prefer your neighbors hear what I have to say?”
She had no idea what he would say but, no, she didn’t want her neighbors to hear it. She shoved the door closed and slid the chain back. Besides, her stomach chose that moment to roil. All she wanted was to sit down and get this over with. She jerked the door open and turned her back on him, going over to sit on the couch and fold her legs beneath her. Hostility was her only armor. She prayed he would not see beneath it.
He came inside, his gray gaze coolly assessing his surroundings. He seemed unsurprised she was moving. Of course. He probably knew everything about her job with the Cahill Group. No doubt he saw it as a betrayal that she would work for Roger, but what else was she supposed to do?
“You look unwell,” he said again as he strode into the living room. His hands were thrust in his pockets. He was so tall, so imposing. And he was standing in her apartment, his presence reminding her of all they’d done together. Her heart throbbed with anger and hurt.
She shook her head. “It’s nothing. What do you want?”
“You didn’t cash your severance check.”
Rebecca blinked. “You came all the way to New York to say that?”
“No. I came to meet with Layton International’s board.”
She swallowed a wave of tears. He was here for business, not for her. It seemed so strange to hear something about her company from him. A board meeting that she wasn’t a part of. Hadn’t known about.
“Just tell me what you want and get out,” she said wearily. Her brain had gone numb. She couldn’t deal with him—couldn’t begin to imagine telling him about the baby she carried. When she got to London and got settled in she’d give him the news. He’d be angry, but this was her body and her pregnancy and she’d do things her way.
He reached into his jacket and pulled out an envelope. When he tossed it onto the coffee table, she eyed it warily. “If that’s another severance check, you can keep it. I don’t want your money.”
Perhaps if Roger hadn’t hired her she would have been forced to cash it. But now that he had, she had no intention of taking a dime from Alejandro. He’d once called her greedy. Let him wonder why she wouldn’t accept money from him.
“It’s not.”
Rebecca heaved a sigh and leaned forward to grasp the envelope. Maybe if she opened it he would leave. Sadness washed over her, but she pushed it away and ripped the packet open to stare at the contents.
Dashing a hand over her cheeks to wipe away her tears, she tried to sound flippant. “I should refuse, but I won’t.” She clutched the deed, more touched than she wanted to be. She wasn’t going to take his money, but she would take this. One day she would give it to their child.
“No, La Belle Amelie is yours.”
“I’ll pay you for it. Just give me time to put together the financing.”
“No.”
Rebecca sucked back tears, forced a laugh. She didn’t know how to respond, so she resorted to flippancy. “Honestly, Alejandro, the sex was pretty good, but I doubt it was worth quite this much.”
His mouth opened, then closed as his gaze fixed on something lying on the table. His head turned, as if he was trying to read—
She scrambled for the bag of books she’d knocked over reaching for the envelope and shoved them back inside. Before she could stash the bag beneath the table Alejandro had ripped it from her grasp.
His expression was a mixture of horror and rage as he yanked a book out and stared at the title. Eyes hot with emotion pinned her like a bug. “What is the meaning of this?”
She considered for about half a second telling him the books were for a friend. But she couldn’t do it. This baby was his too, and, God help her, she still loved him. She wanted him to know—wanted him to be happy about it. And she was terrified at the same time. Terrified he would be angry, that he wouldn’t believe her, that he might try to take the baby away.
No. She would never allow that. Never. He’d already taken the one thing that had meant the most to her. He would not do so ever again.
“Surprise,” she said softly, her throat as dry as noon in the Sahara.
Soul-deep fear riveted Alejandro in place. Pregnant? She was pregnant? He shook his head to clear it. No, this could not be.
“How did it happen?” he said, his voice very cold and controlled.
Her expression crumpled a little, then hardened as if she were determined not to show any weakness in front of him. “The usual way, I imagine. We certainly had enough sex, don’t you think?”
“You are telling me you’re pregnant.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Yes, Alejandro. I’m pregnant.”
“How do you know the baby is mine?” She’d left him five weeks ago. Plenty of time to dupe some other man into believing she cared for him. Roger Cahill, perhaps? The man was only about twenty years her senior—still perfectly capable of being her lover.
Her face whitened. She shielded her abdomen with a hand. “How could you ask such a thing? Of course it’s yours! The doctor estimates seven weeks.”
Alejandro dropped the book on the table and raked a hand through his hair. Dios. If this baby were really his, how could he go through it again? How could he live each day wondering if it would be the day his baby would die?
Anya. Her little body turning blue, the trip to the emergency room, the frantic efforts to revive her. Dios, no. Her eyes haunted him to this day. He would never survive it a second time.
Hurricane-force emotion whirled inside him. Which was the easier to digest? Rebecca sleeping with another man so soon after she’d left him—which would require the doctor to be wrong about the dates—or the knowledge her baby was his and might very well be vulnerable to the genetic defect that had taken Anya’s life?
Solving the baby’s parentage would be easy enough to do, though he very much feared it was unnecessary; she was telling the truth. He went over to where she sat on the couch, her expression one of hurt and misery. She tilted her head back to look up at him.
He would not be moved by what he saw in her face. “You said you were taking the pill. Did you lie? Did you do this on purpose, thinking it would gain you Layton International?”
She shot up from her sitting position, but he was too quick for her. Grabbing her wrist, he prevented the slap she tried to deliver. Her blue eyes reflected hurt and surprise. Awareness shot through him at the contact of skin on skin, though it was only his hand on her wrist. He wondered if she felt it too. What would she do if he lowered his head and kissed her?
He wanted to. The compulsion shocked him.
She jerked free and moved out of his reach. “You can be so vicious, Alejandro. Why do you always need to think the worst of people? Sometimes things just happen.”
He rolled a shoulder irritably. “I’m a wealthy man, querida. It wouldn’t be the first time a woman thought to gain advantage by claiming I’d fathered her child.”
Her jaw went slack.
“I have had one child, Rebecca, in spite of what you might think. Fatherhood is not a responsibility I take lightly.”
“I’m glad to hear it, for our baby’s sake. But I am—was—on birth control. It was a new prescription and it obviously didn’t do the job it was supposed to do.”
He took his mobile phone from his pocket and called the airport, giving instructions to ready his jet for takeoff.
“What are you doing?” Her voice sound
ed strained.
He ignored her.
“Alejandro?” The sound was sharper this time.
He pocketed the phone and prepared to do battle. “We are returning to Madrid tonight.”
She folded her arms beneath her breasts. He ignored the arrow of heat knifing into his groin. Had her breasts gotten fuller? Sí. As if she wasn’t beautiful enough already. Need washed over him. To strip her slowly, to lick his way from nipple to nipple, to drop lower and taste her before thrusting hard into her—he very much wanted to do all these things, and often. For a month he’d thought of almost nothing else.
“Have a nice flight,” she said. “Glad you could stop by.”
He bared his teeth in a smile he knew she couldn’t mistake for a friendly overture. “I do not use the royal we, amor. You are coming with me.”
She paled. “No. You aren’t taking this baby away from me, Alejandro. I’ll fight you with everything I have.”
“And what would that be, Rebecca?” He stalked closer, satisfied when she backed away. He was too furious to play games with her. “I have more money and more resources at my disposal than you could ever hope to muster in a year of phone calls to all your former contacts. You will accompany me.”
Her throat worked. “Why are you doing this? I have a job in London. I have a life—”
“Your life is with me now. You will pack a suitcase, inmediatamente, and come with me.”
“This is America, Alejandro. You can’t kidnap me and force me onto a plane. We have laws against that.”
He laughed. Cute of her to try and dissuade him with the threat of the American authorities. And completely useless. He would do anything—no matter how ruthless, no matter how underhanded—to win this battle with her.
“Nevertheless, you belong to me. You will cooperate, or I will make sure you never see this child again after it is born. I will use any means necessary to win. Do not mistake me.”
Her breathing grew faster as she battled some emotion. Tears, no doubt. But he would not be swayed if she lost control. He knew he was being harsh, but icy sharp fear had him in its grip. He would protect this child at all costs. He would never, ever allow Anya’s fate to strike again. This baby would be tested within an inch of its life. So would he. And so would Rebecca. He would leave nothing to chance.
“Why do you have to be so cruel?” It was little more than a whisper.
The barb pricked him. But he had no use for misguided attempts to imbue him with guilt. “Life is cruel. Better to face the bull head-on, sí?”
She sank back onto the couch, her breathing irregular. The hairs on his arms prickled. Dios, she’d had trouble breathing once before—when he’d upset her.
He dropped to his knees in front of her, gripped her shoulders. “Breathe, Rebecca. All will be well. Come with me and I will take care of you both. I promise you.”
She dropped forward until her forehead was touching his, pulled in deep breaths. He cupped her jaw in both hands, smoothed his thumbs over her cheeks. “Shh, mi querida, don’t fight. Think of something happy, yes?”
“Easy … for you … to … say—”
“Kittens,” he said. “Kittens are happy. Or puppies. Sí, think of these things. I will buy you a puppy. Or a kitten. Or both. Just be calm,” he said softly, caressing her slowly, rhythmically. His heart battered his ribs as he worked to soothe her. Because of the baby—it is only because of the baby …
“You will not … take … my baby. Not—”
“No.” What else could he say? It was imperative she be healthy for their child.
“Your … word.”
Cold conviction dripped down his spine. He knew what he had to do, though it filled him with dread. “You don’t need my word, amor. You will have my name.”
How could she possibly marry him?
A week later Rebecca was still wondering how she’d agreed to get on that plane and return to Madrid. She’d been terrified when he had threatened to take her baby away by fair means or foul. After what he’d done to get Layton International, she did not doubt he was capable of anything.
But even that hadn’t been quite enough to tip her over the edge. No, it was the way he had touched her so sweetly, the way he had soothed her with his beautiful, sexy voice. His fingers on her skin, sending shards of sensation through her. Giving her his strength, helping her get through the panic.
She’d loved him so much in those moments that she’d have agreed to move to Mars if he’d asked her to. Worse, she had been able to deceive herself—briefly—that he loved her in return simply by the sweetness of his touch.
It certainly had been self-deception, because he hadn’t touched her since. She did not know if he ever would.
Rebecca pressed her temples against the headache flaring to life. She’d quit her new job, followed him to Spain like a lovesick puppy, and he’d barely spoken to her. He was probably still laughing at how easy it had been to convince her.
But it was the best decision for their child. She knew it down deep. Alejandro would be a good father, a fierce, protective father. His child would never be an afterthought in his life. She was comforted by that knowledge.
For herself, however, a lifetime of heartbreak lay ahead. He’d gone to extraordinary lengths to get her company, yet the real punishment would be in living with him and loving him when he did not return the feeling.
How would she endure it?
She would simply have to. But she could never allow him to know the power he had over her. While she could trust him with their child, she could never trust him with her heart. It would be a lonely existence, but she would survive it. And once their child came along she would have someone to love, someone who would love her unconditionally.
Unexpectedly, Alejandro arrived home that afternoon to collect her for her doctor’s appointment. She protested that she could go alone, but he would hear none of it. Because of what had happened to Anya, she didn’t fight him over it. He had a need to be there—a need to be involved and understand everything that happened with her pregnancy. He wanted to protect the baby. If it helped him feel somehow in control of the future, she wouldn’t stop him.
The appointment was routine. Alejandro was sensible enough about her wish not to have him there for the pelvic exam, but he returned immediately after. They both had blood taken for the genetic testing Alejandro insisted on having, though the baby couldn’t be tested for heart defects until much later. The doctor assured them that if they both were fine, the baby most likely would be too.
Later, when they were in the car on the way back to the villa, Alejandro said, “We need to set a date for the wedding. Have you called your mother?”
Rebecca turned to look at him. She’d been watching the people on the sidewalks as they passed by. She didn’t know what to say to him anymore. He was like a stranger to her. When they talked it was about the baby or the wedding, nothing more. And that was only sporadic.
“She hasn’t returned my call yet.”
He looked surprised. Rebecca shrugged. She was accustomed to her mother’s shallowness by now. “She’s probably shopping. Or skiing.”
Disapproval hardened his expression. “Do you want to wait so she can be here for the ceremony?”
She picked at a thread on her cardigan. “It’s not necessary.”
Silence. Then, “My sister wants to meet you.”
“I’d like to meet her, too.” He’d always spoken with affection for his sister. She was nervous about the prospect of meeting Valencia, but curious as well.
“She is arriving soon for a short visit. We can be married while she’s here, if that is agreeable.”
Rebecca fiddled with her bracelet as she digested this information. He hadn’t mentioned his family at all since she’d returned. “Does she know about the baby?”
“Sí, I have told her.”
Which meant his sister knew why they were marrying so quickly. “And your parents?”
“They will know soon
enough.”
She wasn’t sure what to think about why he hadn’t yet told his parents. “What will they think about you marrying me?”
He gave her a significant look. “They won’t care. They are far more interested in their own lives than in mine or my sister’s.”
She heard the bitterness in his voice. She hadn’t forgotten what he’d said to her in the car the night they’d returned from his parents’ party. And after her brief time in Juan and Carmen Ramirez’s company she knew it was probably the truth. They reminded her of her own mother: selfish and self-absorbed.
“They will not be at the wedding?”
His laugh was sudden and sharp. “You don’t want them there, believe me. They would somehow manage to turn it into a personal drama where they occupied center stage.”
“You had a lavish wedding before,” she said. “I believe even the King and Queen attended.” She’d looked up the photos on the Internet. Alejandro had been spectacular, his bride gorgeous—but neither of them had smiled much.
“There is no time for this kind of wedding,” he said coolly. “You would be big with our baby by the time we married. We will have a quick civil ceremony and be done, sí?”
She pushed her hurt down deep. It wasn’t that she wanted a huge wedding—she just wanted this to be about something more than a marriage of convenience to him. She also wanted to understand why he’d married his first wife, since he claimed not to have loved her.
Something he’d told her tickled her mind. “You said the night of the anniversary party that your father wanted to chase me away five years ago. If he cared who you married then, why not now?”
Alejandro sighed. “It wasn’t you specifically, Rebecca. He wanted me to marry my brother’s fiancée.”
“I don’t understand.”
“My father arranged a marriage for my brother. It was a matter of family honor to him. When Roberto died, it fell to me to keep the agreement.”
“Your brother died before you met me. If you were to marry her in his place, then you were already engaged.” She felt tears pricking her eyes. Stupid hormones. This was old news.
Alejandro’s brows slashed down. “No. I had no intention of marrying her, in spite of my father.”
Hot Nights with a Spaniard (Mills & Boon M&B) (Mills & Boon Special Releases) Page 46