Claiming His Unknown Son (Mills & Boon Modern) (Spanish Secret Heirs, Book 2)

by Kim Lawrence

  Cool, casual and controlled, Marisa felt none of the above, but then it had never been an exactly realistic expectation. Maybe there would come a time when she could, if not relax, at least feel less...exposed around Roman, but that day was a long way off yet, so she decided to settle for guarded.

  Employing her lashes to conceal the compulsive sweep of her gaze as it moved up his lean body, she noted he had opted for his version of casual today, wearing the black jeans that emphasised the length of his own legs and the power of his muscular thighs, his leather jacket open to reveal a summer-weight fine-wool tailored sweater.

  His chiselled jaw was clean-shaven and his dark hair was shorter than it had been the previous day, the sharp, close cut emphasising the stark perfection of his bone structure, the overall effect one of maleness, effortless power and exclusivity.

  Fragments of their conversation the previous day had been floating through her head ever since, all unresolved issues, question marks and guilt carried over to today, the weight of it all making it feel as if she were walking around in a heavy overcoat.

  The couple of painkillers she had swallowed earlier had done nothing to relieve the headache; like the guilt, it was probably permanent, she decided dully.

  Pushing through the negativity, she forced another smile. ‘Hello, you found us.’

  ‘You are not exactly hidden.’

  Before she could follow up with an invitation for him to come in or work out the edge in his words he stepped past her into the hallway. Many first-time visitors stepping over the threshold were charmed by the light interior, commenting on the original flagged floor, the flowers set in the inglenook or the massive age-blackened beam above it.

  Roman didn’t look charmed, but then he was a Bardales and his horses probably lived somewhere grander than this.

  ‘So nice to see you,’ she drawled sardonically as he walked into the middle of the hallway and turned around to face her. Her nervous system was struggling to adjust to his presence—actually, she was just struggling, full stop.

  He either ignored the sarcasm or he didn’t notice it. ‘I just drove straight in here.’ Hands held out in front of him, palms facing upwards, he gave an incredulous shrug and waited for her explanation.

  Not sure what sort of response he clearly wanted, instead she watched the muscles in his jaw quiver. She had no idea why he was angry...very angry, so she limited her reply to a cautious little—

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Do you actually have any security?’ He reached out and touched the door key, original and solid, seeming to imply her entire attitude to modern security was lacking.

  Whatever she had imagined he was so wound up over it was not this—security? Had he expected to pass a guard checkpoint with metal detectors? To see guard dogs patrolling the perimeter of the small estate set in a leafy backwater where the crime figures probably skewed the national statistics?

  ‘Security as in...?’ His expression made her rush on before he exploded. ‘Well, nothing beyond the basic, but we have a very good alarm system. It’s only five years old.’

  ‘A ten-year-old could break in here.’

  His scorn made her lips tighten. ‘Well, the insurance firm were more than satisfied.’ When they’d given her their quote their only stipulation was that she keep all her jewellery in a bank vault, and that was no problem because Marisa couldn’t imagine herself wearing any of the elaborate, mostly Victorian stuff she’d inherited from Rupert. She’d have given it to a surviving family member had there been one. ‘There isn’t really anything of enormous value here.’ Not since she had lent Rupert’s collection of modern paintings to a grateful gallery. They were not really to her taste and the artwork that had replaced them was an eclectic mix of mostly local artists, and certainly not valuable.

  ‘How about our son?’

  Her eyes widened as the colour seeped with dramatic speed from her face, leaving two bands of angry stain along the curves of her cheekbones.

  She was shaking with fury...just... Well, how dared he walk in here and start implying she couldn’t care for her own son? She inhaled sharply, then fixed him with a molten gold glare and folded her arms across her chest as if to contain the emotions she was struggling to control.

  ‘So you think the best way to work out an amicable arrangement between us is to walk in here and start throwing around accusations? You are here as a guest. I do not answer to you. I have been taking care of Jamie for four and a half years...’ Unconsciously her hands went to her stomach as she pulled in a tense breath. ‘Actually, even longer than that. He is everything to me and has been ever since the moment I knew I’d conceived and I would—’ She suddenly stopped. ‘Why on earth am I defending myself to you?’ she muttered half to herself.

  She didn’t add the words, To someone who hasn’t been here and didn’t even want a child, but she really wanted to. He clearly read the sentiment shining in the contempt of her glare, because he spread his hands, his long fingers extended in a pacifying gesture.

  ‘I might have overreacted somewhat.’

  Partly mollified by his unexpected climbdown, even if it had come across as reluctant rather than humble, she gave a slightly hysterical laugh from her dry throat, which she covered with a fake cough that quickly turned into a genuine one.

  ‘Are you contagious?’

  ‘You can’t control a cough...’ she retorted, reading irritation in his stiff expression. An image floated unbidden into her head of Roman, his face a mask of carnal need, curved over her, his knees between her thighs and his hands curled around her wrists. It was so real she could have sworn in the split second before she banished it that she could feel his warm breath on her face.

  ‘Shall we start again?’ he suggested.

  Her fingernails inscribing crescent moons into the soft palms of her hands, she nodded and made an effort to unclench, everywhere.

  ‘I know this must be hard for you—’ she began, only to be spoken over immediately.

  ‘I do not require your sympathy.’

  She sucked in a breath and glared at him standing there, hauteur and disdain stamped all over his patrician face. ‘Fine, then assume you don’t have it,’ she countered, her eyes flashing gold fire before she pulled her protective cloak of coolness around her once more. ‘For the record, it’s a very quiet area.’ She made sure there was nothing whatever placatory about her statement. ‘Jamie is never alone; if I’m not there, his nanny is.’

  She could tell he was thinking that a nanny did not seem adequate protection against an individual intent on kidnap or whatever it was he was imagining would happen, but he clamped his lips over this observation instead.

  ‘We really do have a good security system and the estate wall is several feet of solid granite,’ she continued, ‘but I want Jamie to have as normal a childhood as possible and he is perfectly safe here.’

  She could almost see him fighting back another retort but she was too stressed to see the funny side of this—was there even a funny side to see?

  ‘I never intended to imply—’ he began.

  She cut across him in a flat voice and dug her hands into the pockets of the trousers that were tailored enough to show off the narrowness of her waist and the shapely length of her thighs and slim calves.

  ‘But you did.’

  It was a relief when his intense gaze left her face and she took the opportunity to breathe, really breathe. She could only hope that this would get easier because the effort of maintaining the illusion that she was in charge of this situation... No, she was in charge, she told herself, but it was still exhausting.

  Yet it was essential. If she lowered her guard she was convinced Roman would bulldoze through her to get to Jamie, and this, she reminded herself, ashamed that she even needed to, was all about Jamie and what was best for him.

  If Roman got the idea that she was a doormat,
he would keep trying to walk all over her. She unconsciously lifted her chin; in her defence it was easy to forget who was in charge when you were in a room with a man who dominated this and any other space he happened to be in.

  ‘Can I get you anything...tea, coffee?’

  The polite question brought his wandering gaze back to her face as he slung her an incredulous Are you joking? look.

  ‘You can get me my son.’

  It wasn’t just the possessive inflection but the underlying hungry need in his voice that sent a fresh trickle of unease down her stiff spine. As the tension climbed back into her shoulders, she watched his eyes search the space behind her as though he expected to see Jamie suddenly appear.

  ‘Jamie is outside in the garden,’ she explained with a sense of calm she was certainly not feeling. ‘I want to get a few ground rules sorted first.’

  Astonishment flashed across his face. ‘You...?’ She could almost see the quivering line as he reeled in the rest of his response and stood there directing his fierce black stare at her, presumably waiting for her to fall apart or maybe at his feet begging forgiveness. He might have stepped out of the boardroom in recent years but he had lost none of the arrogance she remembered...if she had ever needed a reminder that he was no laid-back thriller writer. Roman was a maverick, the man who made the rules, not the man who followed them.

  She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue and waited as long as she could bear before she blurted out, ‘So are you all right with that?’ The tiny flash of something close to admiration in his dark eyes before he dropped his gimlet gaze might only have existed in her imagination, but her sense of triumph was real as she silently chalked up an invisible line in the air.

  Her tiny burst of optimism vanished as she contemplated her immediate future stretching out in front of her like a winding road with no end in sight.

  God, it was depressing! Somehow she would have to slot Roman into their lives, but as she regarded his tall, imposing person through the shade of her lashes, she felt her heart sink even lower. He really wasn’t a person who slotted into any neat space; he dominated every environment. She repressed a sigh and thought wistfully of her life a few short days ago. It had been neat and ordered and her stomach hadn’t... She hadn’t felt... Her fluttering gaze lingered tremblingly for a split second too long on the sculpted firm contours of his overtly sensual mouth and her insides dissolved hotly as lust suddenly paralysed her ability to think anything.

  ‘So what are your ground rules?’ His voice was low and disconcertingly expressionless as he pushed the words past his even, clenched white teeth, but at least it gave her the impetus to drag herself free of the sensual vortex that had held her immobile for a few shaming moments.

  This was what she had been trying not to think about: the fact, inescapable and shameful, that after all that had happened she was still disastrously attracted to Roman... No, attracted was an insipid word to describe her physical response to him, which in the past she had thought of as a form of temporary insanity.

  Except it wasn’t temporary!

  She had been avoiding it by focusing on the practicalities involved with bringing him into Jamie’s life. The irony of this scenario was wedged like a lead weight against her breastbone. He clearly resented her being in control when in actuality she had not felt less in control...at least of her own body for...well, actually ever since she had left his hotel room more than five years ago.

  As the pounding in her head stepped up its painful tempo her aggravation and seething frustration exploded into speech. ‘I really wish you wouldn’t take everything so personally, Roman! I’m not trying to make a point, but actually, if you want to look at it that way, they are my rules.

  ‘If you want to be any part of Jamie’s life...’ She paused, wondering if he actually knew what he wanted in practical terms, but not sure she actually wanted to know. ‘I’m genuinely not trying to be awkward. I’m—’ Her waving hand gesture and helpless shoulder shrug begged his understanding. When there was no crack in his stony façade she shook her head. ‘I’m trying to avoid a difficult situation. He is only four and I don’t want him confused, so you can’t rush him. He needs to get to know you before we tell him who you are.’

  Roman’s head reared back as though she’d struck him. ‘You’re protecting him from me?’

  The same way his mother had tried to protect him and Rio from their father.

  ‘You need to be patient, Roman.’ She sighed. ‘You can’t expect him to just...’

  ‘Love me.’

  A short, strained silence followed this interruption.

  ‘That wasn’t what I was about to say,’ she said quietly. She gnawed gently on her full lower lip, the action causing his eyes to drift in that direction, pausing on the lush plumpness that bore the imprint of her teeth. ‘I just wanted to warn...’ He stiffened and she held up both hands. ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, this is like walking on eggshells! This is hard enough without you being so damned touchy. I’m just trying to say—if you’ll let me?’

  Their eyes connected and after a short pause one corner of his mouth lifted. ‘Go ahead...’ He opened his hand in invitation.

  ‘I’m just trying to warn you not to expect too much too soon. We haven’t really discussed just how we’re going to do this, but I don’t want you to have unrealistic expectations.’

  ‘You’re trying to warn me not to expect him to love me on sight. I’m not an idiot, Marisa.’

  ‘I think we should take things slowly.’

  A nerve clenched in his lean cheek. He’d waited five years, he told himself; a few more days would not matter.

  ‘In a few months when—’

  ‘Months!’

  Marisa lowered her gaze, seeing no point in pushing things any further. ‘Let’s just play it by ear, shall we?’ His silence was better than an argument and she decided to interpret his grim expression as a yes. ‘He’s playing outside—this way.’ She gestured to the open door to their left.

  For a split second she thought he was not going to react to her invitation, and she allowed herself a little sigh of relief when he did.

  Conscious of his towering presence, in every sense of the word, she led the way through the doorway to the rear of the house past what had once been a dairy and was now a boot room. She unlatched the closed portion of the stable door that led out to the kitchen garden, where gravel paths wove their way through a geometric arrangement of raised beds bursting with a variety of leafy green vegetables, herbs and soft fruit, each bordered by neatly trimmed box hedging.

  ‘That one is Jamie’s garden,’ she said with a proud smile as they passed one of the raised beds that stood out from the other well-tended beds with their straight lines and leafy growth because there were no straight lines in sight, just patches of seedlings poking their way through the ground in artistic swirls, and seed packets tied to sticks fluttering in the breeze.

  She turned her head to explain to Roman how much Jamie loved to watch things grow and his fascination with creepy-crawlies, and caught a look on his lean face as he followed her gaze and registered the swirls of green, that brought a lump to her throat and an ache of unexpected empathy to her heart. She looked away quickly but was left with a feeling that she had suddenly intruded on a very private moment.

  When she turned back, the mixture of longing and loss was gone as he righted a wooden marker that said trees, the wobbly letters in green marker pen sloping, the s back to front.

  ‘He calls broccoli trees,’ she explained as he straightened up and dusted his hands on the seat of his immaculate jeans, causing a stab of longing to vibrate through her body, illustrating the danger of allowing empathy for him to breach her defences.

  She had built a life that was stable and secure, for her and for Jamie, who’d had enough trauma in his short life to last several lifetimes. There had to be a way of allowi
ng Roman access to him without disrupting what they had, and that wouldn’t happen if she couldn’t get her hormones under control.

  She looked away and felt a fleeting stab of nostalgia for the days when she had imagined she was not someone who was particularly interested in sex. All it had taken was for Roman to appear on her horizon to blow that comforting theory completely out of the water.

  ‘When he was...ill I promised him a garden. I thought he’d forget but—’ she gave a rueful laugh ‘—he didn’t, so don’t go making any promises you can’t keep because he’ll hold you to them.’

  Roman frowned. ‘Very subtle.’

  The sardonic rejoinder brought a sting of colour to her cheeks.

  ‘Next you’ll be telling me a child is for life, not just for Christmas. So is telling him lies prohibited or is lying by omission allowed?’

  Roman watched her flush again as the jibe hit home, but it didn’t make him feel particularly good.

  She sighed.

  ‘I’ll tell Jamie you’re a friend.’

  He hid his reaction beneath his heavy half-lowered lids.

  ‘So you’ll lie to him again.’ His head tilted to a mocking quizzical angle. ‘Or are we friends?’

  The mockery stung. Marisa knew they could never be friends...and she hated that the acknowledgment, quite illogically, made her sad.

  People who had been lovers did stay friends but she assumed those people had things in common besides sex. The only thing they had in common besides sleeping together was Jamie. Without Jamie, Roman would not be here and she would not be... She took a deep breath and dragged her hand across the smooth hair that was moulded to her head like a shiny cap. She was skirting around the real elephant in the room, which was the complicated confusion of her feelings, the buzz in her bloodstream. She didn’t want Roman here, so why did she feel more alive than she had in a long time?

  ‘So you’re all right with that?’ she threw back with more than a hint of challenge.

  The tightening of his jaw was a lot less casual than his shrug. ‘Do I have a choice?’