“But you did anyway. Did our sheets even get cold before she moved in?”
“You left me, Rebecca.”
She lifted her chin and met him dead in the eye. “It took me almost a year to see someone else. Yet you were married and expecting a baby by then.”
It was hard to admit the truth, but why hide it any longer? He acted like he was the one who was wronged. What about her? She wanted him to know how difficult it had been for her.
His look was intense, curious. “You did not take a new lover? Why should I believe this?”
“You can believe what you want, Alejandro.” She lowered her eyes, toyed with the hula girl charm on her bracelet. “I’ve never been the sort of woman who falls into bed with whomever strikes my fancy. Not that there’s anything wrong with it, but I always had to be careful.”
Alejandro stared at the top of her head. All this talk about marriage was closing a vise around his neck. He had every intention of marrying her, of binding her to him so he had legal rights to his child, but the thought of it always made anger burn low in his gut. He would marry her, but he didn’t have to enjoy the prospect. Sometimes he wondered if he’d been expertly maneuvered into it. He tried not to consider that possibility very often.
But what was this about being careful who she’d slept with? Her attention was firmly fixed on the gold bracelet she wore. He wanted to reach out, clasp her arm and make her look at him. But he did not.
“What do you mean, querida?”
“My father. Layton International,” she said, never looking up.
He thought back to how upset she’d gotten when he told her he’d had her investigated. Suddenly it made sense. And he thought that if Jackson Layton were here now, he’d throttle him. “Did your father have you watched all the time?”
Her head snapped up. Tears glinted in her eyes. Something tightened in his chest. He reached up to rub absently at the spot, realized what he was doing and dropped his hand again.
“He might have. I don’t really know any longer.” She laid her head back against the seat, closed her eyes. He found himself thinking how fragile she looked. She’d been almost a shadow of herself when he’d seen her in New York last week. Since returning to Spain he’d put Señora Flores to work feeding her. She had more color in her cheeks, and she was starting to fill out a little bit. Soon she would be big with his child. The thought made him possessive.
“Why would he do this to you?”
She took a deep breath, let it out again. “Because I was a girl, Alejandro. He wanted a son to leave the business to.” She looked at him. “He thought I would be weak, that I would lose my head over a man—because that’s what women do, naturally.”
“Not you,” he said, and meant it. One of the things he’d always been impressed with was her sense of the hotel business. They’d spent hours talking about every aspect of the business when he had still been new to it. And after he’d taken her company he’d watched her in the boardroom, reviewed her management of Layton International, and realized who’d really steered the company into a freefall. The only weak Layton had been her father.
“He had cause to think so,” she said quietly.
“Because of me?”
“No, someone else.”
Something very like jealousy sliced into him. “You were in love?” She’d told him she loved him. He’d believed it until she’d betrayed him. But to think she’d loved someone else, really loved him? He had an urge to slam his fist into something.
“It was a couple of years before I met you, the summer I was twenty,” she said. “Parker Gaines was very sophisticated, very suave. He was a con man—though I didn’t know it, of course.”
She bowed her head, spoke to her lap. “My father wanted to test me. Or so he said. He hired Parker to ‘breach my defenses’ as he put it. I was young enough and—” she laughed bitterly, brokenly “—lonely enough to believe Parker’s lies. He seduced me, claimed to love me and stole money from me. Worse, he got the combination to the safe in my office. He stole documents, checks, plans for future developments. Father was livid.”
Alejandro seethed with fury. Dios, had her father been insane? He did not doubt for a moment that she spoke the truth. She was too devastated, her fingers trembling as she talked, her voice breaking on the name Parker Gaines.
“Why would your father do this?”
She shrugged, as if it didn’t mean anything, but he knew that was far from true. “He wanted to teach me to be ruthless. He called me to his office after I’d discovered the extent of Parker’s theft. And Parker was there, drinking Scotch and smiling like he’d won the lottery. He’d recorded our conversations, played back some of the juicier ones for my father while I stood there and tried to defend myself.” She sucked in a shaky breath. “God, it was humiliating. But I learned my lesson. I was very careful who I let into my life after that.”
She was supposed to be a spoiled heiress, not this ravaged woman pouring out her private pain to him. Alejandro didn’t know he’d reached for her until he gripped her hand in his, felt the small bones and cool skin. “I’m sorry that happened to you, querida.”
Though he would never say so to her, he was also glad her father was dead. It saved him the trouble of killing the man himself.
She didn’t say anything, just nodded, her head turned toward the window. When her shoulders shook silently, he squeezed her hand. Nothing more. Though it went against every instinct he had not to drag her into his arms and hold her.
Why had she told him those things? Rebecca splashed cool water on her face and looked at her red-rimmed eyes in the mirror. Was she insane? He’d been horrified, like any rational person would be, but he’d viewed it more as a curiosity outside his sphere than as something that touched him personally. He’d been kind, but no more.
What had she expected? That he would enfold her in his arms and kiss her tears away? Take her to his bed and make love to her? If she’d hoped for a connection with him she’d sorely miscalculated. She had to be careful, had to keep her feelings hidden. She would not give him that kind of power to hurt her ever again.
When they had arrived back at the villa he’d wasted no time getting away from her. He’d gone into his office and shut the door. She didn’t blame him. It was a pitiful story, but not truly tragic in the way losing a child was.
Rebecca pressed her hand to her stomach, her heart fluttering at the thought. “You will be well, little one. I know it,” she said. “Your daddy is big and strong, and you will be strong just like him.”
For the rest of the evening she didn’t see Alejandro. He was still in his office, door closed, when she returned from the kitchen and Señora Flores’s wonderful paella. She could hear him barking out orders to someone on the other end of the telephone line.
Though she didn’t remember going to bed, it was dark when she opened her eyes. She was floating, falling, her back landing on cushiony softness. Something covered her. Blankets?
“Alejandro,” she breathed, knowing even in sleep who had moved her. She reached for him, wound her arms around his neck. “You are here,” she said. “With me.”
“Why were you on the chaise, Rebecca? It cannot be comfortable for the whole night.”
“Bed’s too big.” She yawned.
“You have to sleep in the bed. It is better for you.”
“Stay with me.”
Did he groan? “I cannot,” he said, gently pulling her arms away from his neck.
She was waking up by degrees, her mind becoming more alert. Alejandro was here, now. She’d been so lonely without him. Was it wrong of her to want him? To want to feel needed by him, even if only for a short while?
“Why don’t you want me?” she asked, unable to keep the hurt from her voice.
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
He sat on the edge of the bed. She reached out, trailed her fingertips along his jaw. She could see him in the dim light from the moon—the hard lines of his face, the outline
of his big body silhouetted against the pale wall behind him.
“You’ve already hurt me,” she said softly. “What’s one more time?”
“Go back to sleep, Rebecca.” He kissed her palm and placed her hand over her heart.
She thought his hand ghosted over her hair, but she couldn’t be sure.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
WHEN Alejandro told her they could marry while his sister was visiting, she didn’t realize he meant that very afternoon. He’d presented her with a prenuptial agreement that morning. Somehow, after what she’d told him about her father and Parker, it hurt that he would shove a legal document at her that basically said he didn’t trust her and ask her to sign it.
And, truthfully, it wasn’t just about the agreement. She understood that a rich man—or woman—had to protect assets. But when she loved him so much, when she wanted him to love her in return, it simply drove home the fact this marriage was convenient, a means to an end. It was about the baby, not about her.
He’d watched her without speaking while she read it. It took a while, since her vision kept blurring.
“You do not wish your lawyers to see this first?” he’d asked, when she kept rereading the same clause.
“I can read a contract, Alejandro.” And she could—but when this was about her life with the man she loved, about their future and their baby, it took longer to digest all the legalese. Finally she’d signed it, then excused herself. He’d let her go easily enough, and for that she was grateful.
Now, the four of them rode to the registry hall together. Valencia and her husband Philippe, who’d been able to get away from his business at the last minute, talked and laughed the entire way. Even Alejandro laughed from time to time. He clearly adored his sister. He was almost a different person with her around.
Rebecca could see why. Valencia’s personality was infectious. She was a kind, happy person, and she loved her husband to distraction. Rebecca watched the other couple enviously. If Valencia loved her handsome Frenchman, then Philippe worshipped the ground his wife walked on. Their children, whom they’d left in France with his parents, were their pride and joy. It was a blessed existence they shared. Rebecca could only hope for a fraction of their happiness once her baby was born.
The ceremony was conducted in Spanish, with a translator for her—required by law—and was over quickly. Though she hadn’t been in Spain the requisite amount of time to marry a citizen, Alejandro had somehow got around that detail. It was good to be rich and famous, apparently.
Valencia hugged her tight after it was over. “I am so glad my brother has you,” she said in thick English. “You will make him happy. He deserves happiness, yes?”
Rebecca smiled tremulously. “Yes, he does.”
Though he looked, to her, as if he’d be happier anywhere but standing in the registry office with a new bride. Fortunately his discomfort was not apparent to his sister or her husband. Philippe clapped him on the back and congratulated him profusely, and Valencia hugged him and whispered something in his ear.
After the wedding, they spent the afternoon shopping for baby furniture. Valencia was excited, Philippe marginally less so, but Alejandro wore a look of stony reserve. She imagined that shopping for baby things so soon, when they’d been married only a couple of hours and she didn’t even look pregnant, was hard on him. He must surely be thinking of the last time he’d picked out cribs and bassinets.
She wanted to go to him, wanted to take his hand and squeeze it the way he’d squeezed hers when she had told him about Parker. Eventually, when they’d strolled into yet another store featuring yet more cribs, Rebecca found herself beside him. She put her hand into his and gave it a quick squeeze, before joining Valencia, who was cooing over sleepsuits and piling them into a basket.
By the time they arrived back at the villa after dinner, it was late. Valencia and Philippe retired to their room, and Rebecca decided to say good-night as well. Alejandro stopped her when she started up the stairs.
“We are in the master suite, mi esposa. It would be odd for us not to share a room now, sí?”
Blood thundering in her ears, she followed him to the room where they’d made love for the first time in five years. He stopped in the door and let her go through first. If she’d anticipated him carrying her over the threshold, she would have been disappointed. As expected, the memories assailed her as soon as she walked inside. She could see the bed in the room beyond the living area. Had she gotten pregnant there? Or had it happened in Dubai?
Fifteen minutes later, Alejandro still hadn’t spoken. He showed no signs of heading into the bedroom any time soon. She remembered last night, how she’d so pitifully asked him to stay. How he’d refused. So now what?
Finally, she couldn’t stand the silence any longer. “How are we to share a room together if you don’t want to be in the same bed with me? Shall we play a game of tic-tac-toe to decide who gets the bed and who gets the couch? Or maybe you should just let me return to my own room.”
He looked up from his seat on one of the leather couches flanking the television. He hadn’t turned the TV on, had just sort of sunk wearily onto the leather with a glass of sherry and a dark look.
“The servants will talk, querida. Besides, I want to share a bed with you,” he said. “Very much.”
“But last night—”
“Last night we were not married.” He spat the last word as if it were hemlock on his tongue.
She folded her arms and leaned against the arm of the opposite sofa, bemused. “Why did that matter? We’ve obviously spent the night together before.” She pressed her hand to her stomach. “I have proof.”
She tried to be lighthearted, but he didn’t laugh. His gaze raked her from head to toe.
“You look tired,” he said. “Why don’t you get ready for bed?”
She slipped onto the cushion facing him. He was snappish because of the memories he’d had to endure today. “I’m sorry you had to go into all those stores. I know it must have been hard for you to look at baby things.”
The black look on his face didn’t change as he tossed back his drink. “I have a better idea,” he said, rising to his feet. “Why don’t we get ready for bed together?”
Before she knew what he planned, he was pushing her back on the couch, unbuttoning the cream silk dress she’d gotten married in, his lips following the gaping trail of buttons down between her breasts.
Sensation rocketed through her, so much more sweet and sensitive now that she was pregnant. She tried to concentrate, to focus on him. She knew what he was doing. Avoidance. Only this time he couldn’t order her out of his sight. This time he had to shut her up with his mouth, his body.
Was it wrong to be happy about his methodology? Eagerly she went for his shirt, and he captured her mouth, thrusting his tongue inside to tangle with hers. He tasted like sherry, sweet and silky, and she shoved the shirt from his shoulders, her control slipping away with every caress, every breath.
“Alejandro, oh, I missed you …”
“I need you, Rebecca,” he said seconds later.
Butterflies swarmed in her stomach as she kissed him again, fusing her mouth to his almost desperately. He’d never said that to her before. Not like that. Want, yes. Need, never.
He removed her dress while she shoved his trousers off. Underwear disappeared, and then there was nothing left between them but skin—damp, hot. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he rocked his hips against her. He stopped short of entering her body and she whimpered.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, his eyes wildly searching hers.
“You won’t. Make love to me. Please make love to me, Alejandro.” Silently, she said the words she couldn’t say: I love you.
Then he was thrusting deep inside her, their bodies rising to meet each other in perfect harmony.
Rebecca awoke sometime in the night, aware she was alone in bed. A light came from the living area. She searched for something to put on, foun
d Alejandro’s shirt. The tails went halfway down her thighs and she had to roll the sleeves several times. It smelled like him. She pulled the fabric over her nose, inhaled deeply.
Alejandro sat on the couch, a photo album on his lap. She stopped short, her heart thudding into her throat. But he looked up at her, and the movement prevented her from backing away, pretending she hadn’t been there at all.
He didn’t look angry. Emboldened, she went over and sat beside him, leaned her head against his shoulder. She didn’t speak. Neither did he.
“She trusted me,” he finally said. “I failed.”
Rebecca climbed to her knees beside him, put her arms around him, leaned her head against his. “It’s not your fault. It’s no one’s fault.”
He didn’t say anything.
“I went to tuck her in,” he said a long while later. “She was blue. Her body was swollen with the fluids her heart couldn’t pump. The doctors couldn’t save her.”
She stroked his hair. “I’m sorry.”
“I cannot do it again.”
“You won’t have to.” Her heart ached so much she thought it might burst.
“You do not know that,” he said softly. “You cannot know it.”
She took his hand, placed it over her abdomen. “I do,” she said fiercely. “I won’t let it happen.”
“I have said the same thing,” he replied. “But there are some things even I cannot control.”
Something was wrong with him. He didn’t feel right. He’d been on the edge of something for days now. Alejandro threw his pen down and swore violently. All he wanted to do was return home to the villa and make love to Rebecca. He should be over this compulsion by now, but it showed no signs of evaporating.
He’d told her about the night he’d found Anya. He’d never told anyone but the doctors. Never wanted to. He couldn’t tell her, however, that he’d blamed her for the pain he’d suffered. It didn’t seem right with her sitting there beside him, holding him, their baby growing inside her and her swearing she would not let the same thing happen again.
Hot Nights with a Spaniard (Mills & Boon M&B) (Mills & Boon Special Releases) Page 47