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

by Kim Lawrence

  Looking at him was a mistake, because once she’d started it was hard to stop. There was something about his features that just pulled her in... Her eyelids half closed as her thoughts drifted back to the airport again, to the moment when his fingers had cupped her cheek. The gesture connected in her mind to the ache she felt deep inside.

  Confusion pressed down on her; she had never needed a male shoulder to lean on. Sure, Rupert had been there for her in her hour of need, but his condition had meant that for most of their relationship he had been the one doing the leaning and that had felt normal to her. Her dad had been like a kid pretending to be an adult sometimes, and from early on it had been up to her to look out for him.

  She comforted herself with the knowledge that the airport situation had been the result of a combination of factors—all high stress—and it didn’t mean she had turned needy. She dragged her gaze free from his face, turning a deaf ear to the voice in her head that pointed out the multitude of flaws in her argument.

  As the car crunched over the gravel, the purr of the powerful engine that had been imperceptible became more noticeable by its absence as they drew to a halt. The sudden silence made her aware of every sound inside the intimate space of the interior, the soft hiss of their intermingled breathing, the squeak of fabric on leather and, more distant, the eerie sound of an owl’s call as Roman opened his door, allowing the fresh night air to flood the car.

  She turned her questioning gaze to him and found her eyes snared yet again. Something in his steady unblinking stare and the impression the air was being sucked out of the space around her left her breathless, making her rush into speech. She said the first thing that came into her head, wincing slightly that the tone was all wrong; her voice sounded too breathless, too desperate.

  ‘I can’t imagine looking at someone and seeing the face I look at every day in the mirror.’

  She watched one dark brow lift before the motion-detection lights on the gravel-covered forecourt that had illuminated the interior of the car chose to go out, adding another layer of darkness to the enclosed space.

  It wasn’t just the lines of his face that the darkness blurred, it blurred her resolve and it lowered her resistance...to what, exactly? she asked herself.

  She shivered. She didn’t really want to know the answer. It was bad enough she was unable to pretend that it was Roman she was fighting. The battle was with herself and the forbidden emotions, the hunger he awoke inside her.

  She gave her head a tiny shake as if to dislodge the thought. She didn’t want to think about it; she wouldn’t.

  She tensed as his deep gravelly textured voice broke the silence. ‘We might look alike, but we are very different people.’

  Marisa tore her eyes from his shadowed face, too spooked by the fascination it held for her to ponder the odd inflection in his flat statement.

  She turned back and found that Roman was looking at her, making no attempt to leave the car. Her stomach muscles quivered with a combination of fear and something she refused to identify as excitement as she resisted the pull of the invisible silken thread that in her imagination joined them.

  ‘How so different?’ she asked, though she thought she already knew part of the answer. She had looked at his brother and her nerve endings had not tingled, there had been no silent thread connecting them and she had not wanted to breathe in the scent of Rio. She brought her thoughts to an abrupt halt, realising to her horror that she had begun to lean in towards Roman.

  ‘From Rio?’ he said, sounding as though he had forgotten what he had been talking about.

  ‘Yes.’ She straightened up in her seat, pushing her hair behind her ears as the outside lights, perhaps activated by some night creature, clicked on again.

  ‘People say I am more like my father than Rio.’ The bleak comment was delivered with a twist of his lips.

  She felt pinned to her seat like a suicidal moth drawn to a flame by his dark complex stare.

  ‘Is that a bad thing?’ she wondered huskily.

  The question seemed to jolt him, leaving Marisa with the impression that he regretted saying anything at all. She felt a surge of frustration; she had met clams that revealed more about themselves than him. Or maybe that’s just with me, she mused. Maybe he shares his innermost thoughts with other people...other women...?

  Unbidden, an image of the blonde with the impressive chest that he’d been glued to during the rash of publicity shots for one of his films a few years ago flashed into her mind. Maybe that woman brought out a different side to Roman? Maybe he showed his vulnerable side to her...?

  She pushed the thought away, dodging the accusing voice in her head that was yelling, You’re jealous! The idea was simply ridiculous. The last thing she wanted was to know what made Roman tick. The man was too intense for words, and just breathing the same air as him gave her a headache. As for him having a vulnerable side, it would be her first mistake to imagine he even had one.

  No, Marisa, your first mistake was to walk into that hotel over five years ago.

  A furrow formed between his sable brows. ‘What’s wrong?’ he barked.

  She shrugged at the accusing question. ‘What do you mean? Why should anything be wrong?’

  ‘You squeaked.’

  Her chin went up. ‘I did not—’ she began and then broke off. This, she decided, could get very childish very quickly. ‘I have a headache.’ To her relief he appeared to accept the half-lie, as actually she did have the beginning of a headache. ‘It’s been a long day.’ She glanced up at the building and thought, It doesn’t look like it’ll be getting better any time soon. ‘I still think it would have been simpler if you’d got to know Jamie at home.’

  One dark brow elevated. ‘So you were inviting me to be your guest?’

  ‘God, no!’ The words were out before she could stop them. ‘I mean—’

  ‘Yes?’ he pressed when she halted, looking interested in her answer.

  She compressed her lips and flung him an angry look. She was too tired for a conversational battle of attrition. ‘You could have picked him up, gone for trips—’ And I could have observed from a safe distance, and there would have been no kisses.

  ‘Trips?’

  ‘He likes the zoo.’ He didn’t seem too impressed by her hasty improvisation.

  ‘So your expert advice is that a few day trips to the zoo is the best way to get to know my son? That it would make up for the last four and a half years.’

  ‘He happens to like the zoo,’ she gritted back.

  ‘So you said.’

  ‘I hadn’t given much thought to alternatives because you were so obviously not going to accept the idea.’ No, he’d wanted everything to be all on his terms, and because she felt so guilty she had agreed to it all in a moment of weakness. He’d claimed she owed him and he was right.

  ‘Look, I’m aware that this isn’t ideal.’ His eyes flickered to the shadow of his ancestral home. ‘It’s not exactly warm and intimate, I know,’ he admitted. ‘But it is away from prying eyes.’

  Marisa lowered her gaze, musing ruefully that could only be a good thing. Even thinking of the words warm and intimate in connection with Roman was dangerous.

  ‘Don’t you have somewhere else that is less—’

  ‘I keep hotel suites in a few city locations,’ Roman said, anticipating a surprised if not disapproving reaction to a lifestyle choice that had not won universal approval.

  What was to his mind a practical option, his mother saw as some sort of inability to put down roots. Everyone, she claimed, needed a home. When he pointed out that he owned a tropical beach house and a mountain cabin, she pointed out that, no matter how picturesque it was, a place without road access and a half-day trek to reach it, or one that involved stilts and was only accessible by boat, could only be called homes by someone who was running away.

  She di
dn’t specify from what, and she was, as he had told her, over-exaggerating the situation. His choice not to buy a more traditional property was a purely practical solution. Why buy somewhere that would be empty most of the year when you could keep luxury suites where all your needs were catered for in several cities without the bother of maintenance or staff?

  ‘You live in hotels?’

  He’d encountered reactions to his lifestyle before, but not like the sympathy he saw in her face.

  ‘It gets a bit boring, doesn’t it?’

  ‘You have lived in hotels?’

  Marisa nodded. ‘I’ve lived in lots of different places. My dad travelled and I travelled with him. There was one time when he had his credit card refused at the—’ She caught sight of Roman’s concerned expression and stopped. ‘Sometimes we travelled first class and sometimes... Well, Dad was always generous even when he had no money and he had friends who were equally generous with their sofas and floors.’

  ‘That must have been...worrying for you.’

  ‘Not for him.’ He’d always said he didn’t need to worry because she did it for him. ‘He always saw the bright side of life.’

  ‘And you?’

  ‘I didn’t mind not having money sometimes. The posh hotels were nice but the novelty of on-tap room service and every whim catered for fades.’ Instead, she had longed for the familiarity of a room and belongings that were all her own. ‘It must have been fun for you and your brother growing up here.’ Unaware of the wistful envy in her voice, she imagined two boys having a ball exploring a place that likely as not boasted secret rooms and, on first appearances, dungeons.

  ‘It had its moments.’

  A rather cryptic non-answer, she thought.

  The information he’d offered about his parents’ marriage and the heavy hints that his relationship with his father had not been very healthy would explain the conflicting emotions she saw on his face before his mask slid back into place.

  ‘I think a home is people, not a place,’ she mused half to herself. Jamie was her home and she was his.

  ‘Are you offering to be my home? A roof over my head, my harbour in a storm...?’

  His pointed sarcasm brought a flush to her cheeks and an unexpected knife thrust of pain to the region where her heart lived. ‘No, of course not. I just meant—’ A flustered hand pressed to her chest as though she expected to see blood seeping through her fingers and she stopped babbling; she had no idea what she meant.

  The sardonic glitter faded from his eyes. ‘I don’t like to stay in one place for too long.’

  Was he talking about a place or people? she wondered. Had the hinted-at bad memories from his childhood prevented him from putting down roots? Or was his comment shorthand for his preference for one-night stands and temporary affairs? Just the idea added nausea to her physical symptoms.

  ‘We could not be more different, then,’ she said quietly. ‘But then I’m a mother and a child needs stability, routine—’ She stopped, realising she’d started out talking about Jamie but what she actually meant was herself. They were the things that she craved.

  ‘I’m a father,’ he cut in harshly.

  Unable to react to his brusque interruption or protest his interpretation of her comment, because he had virtually thrown himself out of the car door in his haste to get away from her, she opened the passenger door. Exiting the car with less fluid grace than Roman, she turned and found herself thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder with him.

  She took an involuntary step backwards and mumbled, ‘S-sorry,’ to his chest. She would have taken a second distancing step back but with no warning his hand shot out, his fingers curling around her upper arm.

  Heart pounding, her face lifted slowly to his, and she heard the breath snag in his throat as desire and longing twisted and expanded inside her chest.

  Trapped as much by the desire coursing in a hot stream through her body as the hypnotic pull of his obsidian stare, she stood there quivering—aching. She had never reacted to any man this way, any man but Roman. He seemed to have direct access to a part of her that scared her.

  A part of her that didn’t recognise common sense or self-preservation, a part of her that didn’t care about consequences.

  The combination of passion and fear reflected in the golden pools of her eyes should have made Roman step back but he found himself stepping closer instead, pushing his body into hers as his hand slid to the small of her back, pulling her against him until their bodies were sealed hip to hip.

  He saw the moment she felt the carnal imprint of his erection, her pupils dilated and he heard the throaty little gasp that left her parted lips.

  He could feel a growl in his throat as he bent his head lower towards her plump, trembling lips, his blood heating as he thought of plunging his tongue past them and tasting the moist warmth of her mouth.

  ‘Oh, my God, what was that?’

  Startled, he dropped his hand from her waist as she turned around, her wide fearful eyes scanning the darkness above their heads where moments before a ghostly apparition, a flash of white, and the beating of wings had disturbed the silence.

  ‘An owl hunting.’

  A predator, Marisa thought, looking straight at another predator, all six feet four inches of him standing there, his chest heaving as he dragged air into his lungs like a drowning man.

  What am I doing?

  ‘I thought it was a ghost.’

  ‘There are no ghosts here. The past is dead and gone and it would be a mistake to try to resurrect it.’

  Well, that didn’t sound as if he was talking about nocturnal birdlife, but it did sound as if he was talking about their almost kiss. She was grateful the half-light hid her shamed blush.

  She got the message loud and clear. Once he had wanted more than she was able to give, now it seemed that all he wanted from her was sex—and then only on his terms.

  ‘I’m not trying to resurrect anything. I just want to get Jamie indoors and settled for the night,’ she explained quietly. ‘So what are we waiting for—the reception committee?’

  ‘Don’t worry, there won’t be anyone around at this hour.’

  He had reasoned that it would be less stressful for a child to arrive at a new place if there weren’t lots of new people to cope with, as well, though he had to admit Jamie seemed a remarkably resilient child.

  The swell of pride that tightened his chest as he turned to look at his sleeping son took him by surprise.

  ‘So how do we do this?’ Finding it hard to be the person asking for instructions, he directed his question to Marisa, aware as he looked at her of a fresh flare in the hunger that was still thrumming through his body. He’d told her he didn’t want to resurrect the past, but that was because he had enough to deal with in the present without going around opening old wounds. He just hoped the logic would filter down at some point to his rampant hormones.

  The things this woman did to him remained stronger than anything he had ever experienced; nothing had changed over the years they’d spent apart, and that was the problem. There was no volume control on the hunger she aroused in him; there was no halfway house. It was full on, and it controlled him.

  He shouldn’t have to remind himself that acting on it was a bad idea considering what had happened the last time.

  Circumstances had brought her back into his life but Roman had moved on. Marisa was still his weakness but he told himself he had strengthened his defences. He lifted his avid gaze from the cushiony softness of her lips and swallowed.

  ‘Will he wake up if we move him?’ he asked huskily.

  ‘That’s really doubtful. He’s flat out.’ Despite her claim, as she scooped Jamie up, she closed her car door quietly and saw that Roman was following suit. As her eyes brushed his she hastily stepped back to put some distance between them, in the process backing into a low hedge
. Immediately the warm night air was filled with the heavy summery scent of lavender.

  ‘This way.’ He gestured for her to walk ahead of him and tried not to notice the lush tautness of her bottom and the gorgeous length of her slim legs.

  CHAPTER NINE

  THOUGH THE PREDICTABLY massive space of the hallway was empty it was flooded with light. Marisa blinked and looked around with genuine pleasure.

  The heavy dark wood panelling and stone walls could have been oppressive but somehow they weren’t. The darkness was alleviated by the brilliant glowing threads of the antique rugs underfoot and the series of framed photographic landscapes on the walls.

  ‘Did your mother plan the decor?’

  ‘My mother hasn’t been here since the divorce.’ His lips quirked into a fleeting ironic half-smile as he added, ‘As I said, other than a staff of thirty or so we will have our privacy.’

  She couldn’t return his smile; privacy of any sort was the last thing she needed. What she needed was space.

  So why are you just standing there?

  The question could have just as easily been directed at Roman, who continued to stare at her over Jamie’s curly head.

  ‘It’s a lot to take in,’ she said quietly.

  ‘I’ll show you to your rooms.’

  He led her up the curved stone staircase to the galleried landing above.

  ‘There a small salon just down there.’ He nodded to the right-hand side of a long corridor with an ornately stuccoed barrelled ceiling. ‘Your rooms are this way.’ He took a right turn, this corridor a twin of the other.

  ‘Here they are.’ The door opened into a sitting room, but she didn’t waste much time looking around as Jamie had woken up and started crying.

  Correctly assessing her priorities, he pointed her to an open door. ‘His bedroom is through there at the end.’

  It took her hardly any time at all to settle Jamie, who’d fallen straight back to sleep before she had even pulled down the covers on his bed.