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

by Kim Lawrence

  ‘Would that be so terrible?’

  ‘Don’t. I—’ She took a step backwards, then another, then his own cry of warning blended in with the splash as she hit the water backwards. Her own scream was lost beneath the surface as she sank like a stone, hitting the bottom before she popped back up like a cork only moments later. She spluttered, choking a little as her head broke the surface.

  Once he saw she was all right Roman started to laugh.

  Treading water, half the pool streaming down her face, Marisa dragged back the tails of her saturated hair from her face and directed her wrathful incredulous gaze at the heartless figure standing there, immaculate and dry, and roaring his head off.

  ‘You think this is f...funny,’ she choked. ‘You...you...’ Her voice was suspended by another fit of coughing to the backing track of his laughter.

  Recovering slightly, she hit at the surface of the water, angrily pounding it with both hands, which only made him laugh louder when her feeble efforts failed to direct much more than a drop on his tailored linen trousers.

  Teeth gritted in determination, she flipped onto her back and beat at the water with her feet until she sank.

  When she surfaced again he was still standing there, as dry as a bone, his hands thrust deep inside his pockets. ‘Sorry,’ he said, not looking the least bit sorry.

  Marisa smiled and floated forward, her arm barely raising a ripple now as she slid gracefully through the water. His own smile died as he watched her progress, completely riveted. She was as innately elegant in the water as she was on land.

  Marisa reached the side of the pool and began to tread water. ‘I suppose I must have looked pretty funny,’ she commented, tilting back her head to look at the tall figure at the poolside. She stretched up a hand, pushing the sagging strap of her sundress that was floating around her like a bell up along the curve of her arm. ‘Give me a hand up?’

  The moment he reached down, long brown fingers extended to catch her wrist to haul her out, she took a deep breath, and sank to the bottom, using her foot to spring-board up out of the water. As she broke the surface her hand shot out and as she grabbed his extended wrist, she fell back into the water, holding on hard.

  Caught by surprise, he seemed to hover on the edge for what seemed like an age before he lost his balance, though somehow he still managed to twist so that he hit the water in a creditably clean dive and emerged only a few feet away.

  ‘You little—’

  She saw the retribution shining in his eyes. ‘No, Roman!’ she exclaimed, holding out a hand and shaking her head.

  He shot her a white grin and she felt her pounding heart respond to his devilish teasing. ‘Yes... I think yes...’

  With a squeal she turned and began to swim away. Even hampered by her clothes her body was sleek in the water and she was fast but not fast enough, because he overtook her in seconds.

  He caught her calf and sank with her; she went down twisting and turning like an otter to free herself, looking like a mermaid as she struggled to escape his grip, her hair floating like pale fronds of exotic seaweed around her face.

  When they broke the surface he had her around the waist, her back against his front as he pulled her in close.

  ‘Surrender?’ he said in her ear.

  She went limp in his arms. ‘Yes.’

  The moment his grip relaxed she slithered away and swam a few strokes before she flipped over and suspended her hands, patting the water either side to keep herself afloat and laughing her triumph at him.

  Roman, the water streaming off his brown face, his dark hair slicked back, didn’t return her smile, the sudden intensity of his stare making her own smile flatten, the sparkle in her eyes fading as, heart thudding with a mixture of excitement and fear, she waited for him to cover the distance between them in a couple of powerful strokes.

  When he stopped and lifted his head he was only a foot away.

  ‘Roman.’ Her lips moved but she couldn’t hear her breathy whisper above the frantic thud of her heart.

  Their glances caught and held.

  Unable to think beyond the need pounding inside her, she watched Roman reach out to her, his fingers sliding over her wet hair as he cupped his hand around the back of her head.

  There was no resistance in her as she floated into him, her face coming up to his, her nose grazing the side of his own. This no longer felt like a game; it felt urgent, the urgency inside her as strong as the need to draw in oxygen.

  She didn’t close her eyes even when his face blurred darkly through her half-closed lids and the hissing ebb and flow of their breaths mingled and became one.

  Feeling the rightness of it, she tilted her head fractionally to one side to allow him access. He covered her mouth, her lips parting as the tip of his tongue traced a path along the plump lower curve before, with a groan, he plunged his tongue inside her mouth.

  With an answering groan, her legs wrapping themselves around his waist to anchor herself up tight against his body, she kissed him back, matching his frantic hunger with her own. She could feel the heat of his body even through the layers of wet clothes as she pressed close, but still not close enough as the hunger that had exploded inside her took control.

  The kiss was so all-consuming that she wasn’t really conscious that they had sunk beneath the water until her lungs began to scream and in unison they kicked for the surface. They floated apart dragging air into their lungs, until he had enough to strike out for the side of the pool. Beside him Marisa matched him measured stroke for measured stroke.

  He hauled himself out of the pool in one smooth fluid motion, the ripple of the powerful muscles in his shoulders and back visible through the clinging fabric of his shirt.

  She watched, waiting for the hand he stretched down, allowing him to pull her up as though she weighed nothing until she was standing beside him.

  ‘Ro—’ Her voice was lost in his mouth, the kiss fierce, and hungry.

  She kissed him back without restraint, giving in to the craving that sang through her blood. Her arms were around his neck when he scooped her up and carried her to the gazebo and laid her down on the daybed, pushing some of the cushions to the floor to make space.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  SHE WAS OUT of the water but Marisa still felt as if she were floating as she lay there on the daybed, her heart pounding in heavy anticipation as she watched him begin to fight his way out of his saturated clothes.

  His shirt fell first, and his damp skin gleamed gold in the sunlight. He was beautiful and she was mesmerised but, even so, there was still a tiny shred of sanity filtering into her overheated brain.

  ‘Someone might see us...’ she murmured, and felt a surge of relief when he ignored her and unzipped his trousers and tore himself loose. A moment later he was standing there naked, and the ache of longing inside was almost too much to bear. Every individual nerve ending was screaming, and a keening moan of need vibrated in her throat as she raised herself up on one elbow.

  Eyes blazing, utterly wild, he fell down to his knees beside the daybed, pushing aside more of the cushions to frame her face with his big hands. Marisa’s hands were on his body as the force of his kiss bent her backwards onto the bed. Her fingers glided over the hard ridges of muscle in his powerful shoulders and back and then moved lower, down his flat belly, then even lower, causing him to suck in a sharp breath when she cupped his hard, hot length in her hand.

  ‘So hot, so smooth—’

  Roman swore, knowing he was perilously close to losing control. He pulled back, sitting on his heels as he took her hands from his body and raised them above her head.

  The wet sundress came away easily and landed with a soggy thud on the floor feet away. His burning glance was almost hot enough to evaporate the water on her skin as it roamed over the slim, supple curves of her body.

  ‘I think you’ll
be more comfortable without this,’ he rasped, pulling down one of the thin straps that supported the tiny lacy bra she wore over one smooth shoulder.

  She blinked and sighed. ‘I will be more comfortable with you inside me.’

  His polished ebony eyes flamed at the throaty provocation and his hands were trembling as he applied himself to removing the last physical impediments to satisfying her wish.

  It took him what felt like a century to peel off the bra. Wet, it had adhered slickly like a second skin to her body, the now transparent fabric outlining the puckering skin of her areolae and the thrusting prominence of her erect nipples.

  When he had finally exposed her body to his hungry gaze his frustration gave way to ruthless desire.

  ‘You are so beautiful!’ he groaned, lowering his length onto the narrow bed beside her and watching her face as the first skin-to-skin contact drew a low feral cry from deep inside her chest.

  He rolled her under him and, resting on his elbows, kissed her almost savagely while he nudged her legs apart with his knees.

  Marisa could feel the heat engulfing her body, moist and waiting, when he slid into her in one slow, measured thrust.

  A deep growl vibrated in his chest as she tightened around him, and he gritted his teeth, his blazing eyes devouring her flushed, aroused face as he began to move, increasing his speed and drawing a series of fractured cries of encouragement from her lips as the delicious pressure between them built.

  When their climax came, for Marisa the release was so intense that she almost blacked out, the pleasure almost too sharp, too sweet, but she held on and slowly drifted back to earth, her head tucked into the angle of his jaw, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist.

  As her sense of self slowly filtered back into her brain, the first strands of self-consciousness began to take control.

  Suddenly feeling intensely vulnerable, she unwrapped her legs and rolled away to lie stiff and still by his side.

  He had a forearm across his eyes and she had no idea what he was thinking. Then again, she told herself bitterly, why should he be thinking anything? It was only sex for him.

  Roman felt her slide away from him with a sense of regret. Her warmth gone, he felt the coldness seep back into him even though it was thirty degrees in the shade. He fought the irrational urge to drag her back against him and feel her burrow into him, as he lay there trying to insulate himself from the emotional fallout of what had just happened between them.

  There didn’t have to be any fallout; he had to accept it was just sex, great sex but just sex. He could deal with that; it was the unwanted emotions that complicated things.

  He felt the cushions beneath him shift as she quietly got up. He opened his eyes ignoring the feeling of rightness that had stubbornly lingered, despite his best efforts to ignore it.

  He propped himself up on one elbow in time to catch a glimpse of her narrow back and the tight peachy curve of her bottom, the gentle swell emphasising the length of her long coltish legs. He felt his sated body stir with desire that pooled heavy in his groin as he watched her drag the wet sundress over her head and a moment later her slim curves were enveloped in the loose folds of material.

  She picked up the bra, which now had a little tear in it, and her panties, and squeezed out the excess moisture. Shoving them into one of the big pockets in the skirt of her dress, she looked around for her sandals.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  Her gaze lifted but her eyes skittered away from his, the veneer of calm thin enough to reveal the delicate quivering muscles along her jaw, the blue-veined pulse throbbing against the transparent skin of her temple.

  ‘Exactly what it looks like. I need to get back to Jamie.’

  ‘You do know you use Jamie as an excuse to avoid any discussion you don’t want to have?’

  She sealed her lips and said nothing.

  ‘So this is your plan, to pretend nothing has happened?’ he asked, choosing to forget that barely a minute earlier that had been his own plan A.

  ‘Jamie will always come first,’ Marisa said, looking away as he swung his legs over the side of the low bed they had shared. The flash fire of desire she felt as his naked body was revealed in all its glory scared her; the complete lack of control she’d just displayed scared her.

  And with good reason. She knew from experience that where Roman was concerned she had no pride whatsoever, that when he was in the equation need and desire overrode every moral and practical consideration.

  She had finally achieved the safety and stability her life had always lacked. Roman was the antithesis of safe and stable; he was wild and unpredictable... If it had only been her own heart and pride she was gambling with she would’ve thrown caution to the wind, she would have followed her heart, her instincts.

  But this wasn’t just about what she wanted, what she craved. It couldn’t be. She was a mother now, and it wasn’t enough to tell her son that she loved him—after all, her own father had loved her. She was determined that Jamie would have the stability that she had always longed for growing up.

  Roman was in their lives now, but for how long would that last, especially once he realised how she felt about him? The fact she hadn’t blurted out her feelings for him during their recent lovemaking had been luck rather than any caution on her part. If she allowed it to happen again she might not be so lucky next time.

  ‘Should I have a problem with Jamie coming first? I feel the same way,’ Roman said.

  You can talk the talk, Roman, but can you walk the walk? he thought broodingly. If you know your son’s best interests are best served by taking yourself out of his life, will you do the right thing—will you even recognise what the right thing is? Or will you be blinded by love and even blinder to the damage you inflict in its name?

  He turned his head sharply, his chest heaving with the effort of pushing away the mocking voice of self-doubt in his head as he countered the argument by admitting that he loved his son, but what he felt for Marisa was likely as much to do with the chemistry of dopamine levels in his brain as any deeper romantic connection.

  ‘You...?’ She stopped and then redirected her gaze over one of his powerful shoulders, staring off into the distance. ‘Will you put some clothes on? I can’t concentrate when you’re...like that. Just put some clothes on,’ she finished lamely.

  Pushing free of the battle in his head, he grinned, eliciting an indignant outburst from her.

  ‘Do not look so damned smug!’

  His grin did not fade as he walked across to a wooden chest the other side of the daybed. Lifting the lid, he rifled through the folded contents and in moments brought out a pair of swimming shorts and a tee shirt.

  ‘There are swimsuits in there,’ she accused.

  Pulling the tee shirt over his head, he paused to nod before smoothing down the fabric that clung to the dampness of his skin, moulding it to the corrugated muscles of his belly. ‘Some.’

  ‘Why didn’t you mention it before?’

  ‘You didn’t really give me the chance, did you? You jumped in fully clothed.’

  She didn’t respond to this vastly modified version of events.

  ‘Why did you marry Rupert?’ he suddenly asked.

  The shock of the question made Marisa freeze. ‘You know why.’

  ‘I know there’s something you aren’t telling me, because you wouldn’t have the sense to marry for money.’

  ‘Dad’s debts were—’ She stopped and gave a deep sigh, deciding to tell him everything. She was certain Rupert wouldn’t have minded her telling the truth to the father of her child. ‘Rupert knew he was dying when he asked me to marry him, Roman, and he had already lost his lover—the love of his life. You see, Rupert was gay. His partner was not out, because he’d been married with a family, and then he died very suddenly. Rupert couldn’t even go to his funeral. So he had no o
ne to be with him during his last illness. I think it broke Rupert’s heart when his lover died, and his biggest fear was being alone when he died.’

  ‘And so he wasn’t,’ Roman said softly.

  She shook her head. ‘No, because I agreed to be his wife, in name only.’ Her eyes lifted and there were tears standing out in them. ‘He really was a very lovely man. A kind, thoughtful person.’

  ‘He would have made a good father.’

  ‘You are Jamie’s father.’

  ‘Yes, I am, and...so I’ve been thinking about Jamie.’ Not exclusively, he had to admit, because he had been mostly thinking about how his and Marisa’s bodies and desires were so perfectly attuned. How much he wanted her.

  At what point did wanting become dangerous?

  ‘Oh?’

  He stifled the stab of guilt he felt at what he was about to suggest. He knew he was exploiting her greatest weakness, which was Jamie.

  She probably deserved better than he was about to offer.

  There was an irony in the acknowledgment when you considered that, to him, for the last few years she had symbolised everything that was treacherous. She had highlighted his weakness, a weakness he hadn’t known he had.

  He nodded towards the pile of tumbled pillows. ‘That was great, I hope you’ll agree.’

  ‘I assume you’re not asking me for reassurance on your technique, Roman, or a score out of ten.’

  ‘No, but neither am I suggesting marriage.’

  Her eyes flew wide. ‘I never thought you were,’ she said faintly. ‘Do you mind telling me what you are suggesting?’

  ‘That we become a...team.’

  ‘A team? Is there a uniform? Do we have a coach?’

  He frowned at her flippancy. ‘Team Jamie, I mean. Because we both want what is best for him—I think we have already established that.’

  She nodded.

  ‘What just happened—’

  ‘Can’t happen again,’ she interjected swiftly.

  He looked knowingly at her. ‘But we both know that it will. Don’t we?’