Fear cramped in Betsy’s stomach.
When the door at the far end of suite opened and Carlos emerged from the bathroom, holding Sebastian, her knees sagged as relief swept through her.
‘I woke up and...and Sebastian was missing.’ Her voice shook. ‘I thought you had taken him to Spain.’ Anger replaced her fear and she glared at Carlos. ‘Where are our passports?’
‘I locked them in the safety deposit box,’ he said calmly. ‘You had left your handbag open and I noticed the passports and moved them. You shouldn’t leave them lying around. All kinds of hotel staff have access to the suite.’
Carlos set Sebastian down on his feet and he toddled across the room and picked up a fluffy toy. ‘You said that you had forgotten his favourite toy rabbit, so I bought him a replacement while I was in London.’
Betsy exhaled slowly as some of the tension drained from her body. ‘That was kind of you.’
‘Sebastian needed his nappy changed, but I thought you might be disturbed if I took him into the en suite bathroom.’
She became aware that Carlos was staring at her, and her heart skipped a beat as she belatedly remembered that she had slept naked because she hadn’t brought any nightwear with her to the hotel. When she’d leapt out of bed she’d been frantic to find Sebastian and hadn’t thought to pull on the bathrobe.
Carlos looked as though he had been chiselled from marble, so still was he. His skin was drawn as tight as a drum over the sharp edges of his cheekbones and there was tension in the unforgiving line of his jaw. Beneath his heavy brows his eyes glittered, and Betsy’s pulse quickened in response.
She remembered the one and only other time she had been naked in front of a man. This man.
Two years ago, Carlos had laid her down on the sofa and knelt over her, supporting his weight on his elbows while his gaze roamed over her body. When his eyes had returned to her face there had been a fierce hunger in his expression that had filled her with nervous excitement. She had been a virgin, and unprepared for the intensity of his unbridled passion.
He had marked her for ever when he’d made her his. She understood that now, and it made the ache in the pit of her stomach more intense, heavier, needier.
There was no mistaking the feral hunger in Carlos’s eyes as he subjected her to a leisurely inspection, allowing his gaze to linger on her breasts before moving down to the slight curve of her stomach, the flare of her hips, and finally to the dusting of honey-brown curls between her thighs.
Heat scorched Betsy and a red stain spread over her cheeks. Her entire body felt on fire, and she burned hotter still when her nipples tingled and tightened, jutting forward as if begging for his touch, his mouth.
A lifetime passed, or so it felt, and the air between them throbbed with sexual tension. Betsy could not control the wild restlessness inside her, the fire that consumed her. She was transfixed by the golden gleam in Carlos’s eyes, the hunger he could not hide.
Until he had turned up at the cottage she’d never expected to see him again. And since then he had been so angry that it hadn’t occurred to her that he might find her attractive. But desire was stamped on his hard features and on his full, sensual lips, which for once were not curled in an expression of cynical contempt.
Moments ago she had been terrified that he had taken Sebastian to Spain. Now she was terrified that if Carlos kissed her she would be unable to resist him.
She crossed her arms over her breasts and blushed again when he gave her a sardonic look that said it was too late for modesty.
‘I have to...’ Her voice trailed away. She couldn’t think straight while Carlos continued to stare at her as if she were prey and he was preparing to devour her.
But the spell was broken. He blinked, and when his thick black lashes lifted again his eyes were coolly dismissive.
‘Hurry up and put some clothes on. We’ll go to your cottage so that you can pack everything you and Sebastian might need before we fly to Spain today.’
CHAPTER FOUR
CARLOS RAKED HIS hands through his hair as Betsy spun round and raced back into the bedroom. His eyes followed the gorgeous rounded curves of her bottom and he did not know how he stopped himself from going after her.
When he’d walked into the sitting room and she had been standing there, completely and beautifully naked, he’d felt stunned. She was every bit as lovely as he remembered and then some. Motherhood had softened the angles of her body and given her a sensual allure that made him catch his breath. With her hair rippling in silky waves on her bare shoulders she’d reminded Carlos of a painting by one of the Old Masters.
She had been Aphrodite, or a Siren, and he’d wanted to worship her with his mouth pressed against her creamy skin. As he’d watched a flush of rose-pink spread down her throat and across her décolletage and lushly perfect breasts he had wanted to reacquaint himself with her tantalising contours. He could not remember wanting anything so badly in his life.
His mind flew back to two years ago. Betsy had been in the lounge at the house in London when he’d hurried back from the competitors’ ball.
‘Did you wait up for me?’ he’d asked her.
‘Of course I waited up for you.’
Her shy smile had floored him. He had wanted her for weeks, but he’d made himself wait for her to give him a sign. She’d walked over to him and wound her arms around his neck. When she’d drawn his head down and pressed her lips against his, the wolf inside him had howled.
He had been too impatient to take her upstairs to the bedroom and had tugged her clothes off before tumbling her down onto the sofa. The moonlight slanting through the blinds had cast a pearly shimmer over her nakedness so that she had seemed ethereal. He remembered the soft gasp she’d given as he’d cupped her breasts and licked her nipples. And when he’d slipped his hand between her thighs and touched her intimately she’d made a choked sound that he had thought was pleasure.
Could it have been surprise? Surely he would have known if she had been a virgin? But he had been so hungry for her, and intent on satisfying his desire, Carlos thought uncomfortably as he pulled his mind back to the present.
The previous day, when he had been tipped off about the story in the British tabloids that said he had a secret child, he hadn’t believed it for a minute. He knew he could have instructed his lawyers to investigate. But for two years he’d been unable to get Betsy out of his mind and, if he was honest, he’d seized the excuse to meet her again. He had felt confident that his inexplicable fascination with her would end once he saw her and realised that she was nothing out of the ordinary. And when he had proof from a paternity test that she was a liar he would be able to dismiss her as a mistake from his past.
But she was the mother of his son. He had received the confirmation email from the DNA clinic an hour ago, and it had reinforced his determination that Sebastian would not be illegitimate. To claim his son, he knew he must marry Betsy. But it was disturbing to realise how close he had come to losing his self-control simply by looking at her.
Since he had lost his temper with devastating results when he was a teenager, Carlos had kept a tight hold on his emotions, and he never made rash decisions. But in the past thirty-six hours all that had changed—and Betsy was to blame, he acknowledged grimly.
Two years ago she had gotten under his skin in a way that no other woman had ever done, and she was having the same effect on him now. But, just because she made him feel like a callow youth with an overload of hormones, it did not mean that he was in danger of succumbing to his inconvenient desire for her, he assured himself.
He could handle her, and he would marry her for his son’s sake. Sebastian was the innocent one in this messy situation that his parents had made.
It occurred to him that Sebastian was being unusually quiet. The reason became clear when he looked across the room and saw that the toddler had found the baby
wipes in the change bag and was pulling them out of the packet. All around him the carpet was littered with wipes.
‘Hey, conejito! That means little rabbit in Spanish,’ he told his son as he hunkered down next to Sebastian and shoved the wipes back into the packet. ‘We had better not tell your mama what you’ve done or we’ll both be in trouble.’
No doubt Betsy would accuse him of failing to keep a close eye on the baby, Carlos thought ruefully.
Sebastian’s lower lip wobbled ominously when he realised he could no longer play with the wipes. Carlos quickly handed him the new toy rabbit. Sebastian grabbed it and his rosebud mouth curved into a smile that would melt the steeliest heart.
Carlos sucked in a breath. He still couldn’t quite comprehend that this angelic little boy was his son. His fingers shook as he brushed them over Sebastian’s silky brown curls. He was utterly perfect and enchanting.
Carlos stood up and scooped the baby into his arms. The skin on Sebastian’s cheeks was as soft and downy as a peach, and his black eyelashes were impossibly long and curling. He was unmistakably a Segarra—although Sebastian had his mother’s button nose, Carlos thought, running his finger along his own nose, which had been described as ‘aquiline’ by a female fashion editor who had written gushingly about him in a magazine when he’d modelled a brand of sportswear.
Since he’d retired from playing tennis he’d felt adrift. Sure, he’d established his sports management agency, and was actively involved in running Veloz, but he had a superb team of executives and the reality, Carlos knew, was that he was just the figurehead of the company. His charity, the Segarra Foundation, was important to him, but in truth he had been struggling to find purpose in his life. What better purpose could he have than being a father to his son?
Sebastian’s face was so close to his that Carlos could count his long eyelashes. He wondered if his own father had felt this overwhelming urge to protect him when he was a child. Carlos had been closer to his mother, but he’d had a good relationship with his father—until that fateful day—the day when he had destroyed his family. His father had never forgiven him.
A small finger poked into his eye made Carlos wince. ‘Steady there, conejito,’ he said softly as Sebastian continued to explore his face with chubby little hands. And then, quite unexpectedly, Sebastian pressed his mouth against Carlos’s cheek and gave him a dribbly kiss.
Carlos had noticed that Betsy was demonstrative with the baby, and often kissed his cheeks, and there was no doubt that Sebastian was copying the affectionate gesture.
Dios! His heart clenched. ‘Tu es mi hijo,’ he told Sebastian huskily. ‘You are my son. I will take care of you and love you always.’
* * *
Betsy could not put off facing Carlos any longer. She had taken her time dressing, but she only had to put on her jeans and top and tie the laces on her trainers. Bundling her hair into a loose knot on top of her head had wasted another couple of minutes. Her reflection in the mirror revealed a hectic flush on her cheeks. She wished that instead of a skimpy strap top she could cover up with a baggy sweatshirt to disguise the betraying peaks of her nipples.
Her stomach muscles clenched as she recalled how Carlos’s eyes had roamed over her naked body with a shocking possessiveness that had infuriated her. She wasn’t his. But the hunger in his gaze had warned her that if Sebastian had not been in the room Carlos would have tumbled her down on the sofa and trapped her beneath him with a muscular thigh, just as he had done two years ago.
She was appalled by how excited she felt at the idea of him making love to her.
Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and sidled into the sitting room. While she had been hiding in the bedroom a breakfast trolley had been delivered to the suite. The aroma of ground coffee and freshly cooked toast assailed her, and she discovered that she was starving. Sebastian was sitting in a high chair and Carlos was feeding him yoghurt.
‘Stop hovering,’ he drawled when he glanced over at her. ‘It wasn’t the first time I’ve seen you naked.’
She might have guessed that he wouldn’t be tactful and refrain from mentioning the embarrassing incident.
Flushing hotly, she marched across the room and sat down at the table. ‘It’s lucky the paparazzi can’t see you now. It wouldn’t do your playboy reputation any good if word got out that you are adept at nappy-changing and feeding a baby.’ She gave him a puzzled look. ‘I didn’t expect you to be so at ease with Sebastian.’
‘I’ve had plenty of practice with my nephew. My sister has a two-year-old son,’ Carlos explained as he fed Sebastian a spoonful of yoghurt. ‘Graciela gave birth the night after I’d won the championship. She said that the tension of watching my match on TV brought on her labour.’
He grimaced.
‘Miguel was born with a heart defect that required emergency surgery a few hours after his birth. My sister was in pieces when she called me. Her husband is a naval officer, and his ship was on a tour of Antarctica, and our father is mostly confined to bed or wheelchair-bound after he suffered a stroke a year ago. I rushed back to Spain the morning after you and I had spent the night together to be with Graciela.’
Betsy believed him. It wasn’t likely that he’d make up a story about his nephew needing life-saving surgery.
‘It must have been so frightening for your sister.’
She remembered how overwhelmed she’d felt when the midwife had placed Sebastian in her arms moments after he’d been born. He had seemed fragile, even though he’d been a strong, healthy baby.
‘You mentioned your father, but not your mother,’ she said carefully. Perhaps Carlos’s family was as splintered as hers.
‘She’s dead.’ His voice was emotionless. ‘She died when I was fourteen and Graciela was ten. My sister grew up without her mother, and it was hard for her—especially when Miguel was ill, and she was so worried about him. She needed support from her family.’
Something about Carlos’s closed expression stopped Betsy from prying into his mother’s death. ‘Was Miguel’s surgery successful?’ she asked.
‘Thankfully, yes. He is a normal, active two-year-old.’
Carlos watched Sebastian munch on a finger of toast that Betsy had given him.
‘The first time I saw my nephew he was in a neonatal unit and attached to various tubes and wires that were keeping him alive.’ A muscle in his jaw clenched. ‘It put my victory into perspective. I had won the trophy I’d coveted, but it seemed meaningless when my sister’s baby’s life hung in the balance.’
‘Did it have anything to do with your decision to retire from playing professional tennis?’
Betsy had been as shocked as Carlos’s legions of fans when he’d announced that he would not be defending his BITC title nor playing any more tournaments.
He nodded. ‘I’d achieved everything I had set out to do playing tennis.’
Once again his voice was expressionless, but Betsy had the feeling that he was keeping something back and exerting fierce control over his emotions.
The media portrayed Carlos as a shallow playboy who preferred to party with his jet-set friends and surrounded himself with a bevy of beautiful women. But the man she had got to know during those few weeks when she’d worked as his housekeeper had been unexpectedly insightful. Carlos had even told her about the Segarra Foundation, a charity he had set up with the aim of giving children from deprived backgrounds access to all sports and in particular tennis.
Betsy had been charmed by him once before, and it would be easy to fall under his spell again, she thought as she sipped her coffee. But she was no longer a naïve young woman with a head full of dreams. Becoming a single mother had made her grow up fast.
‘I can’t marry you,’ she said abruptly.
Her hand was unsteady when she placed her cup back on the saucer and the delicate china rattled.
‘Why not?’
She glanced at him, surprised that he sounded calm rather than confrontational, which he had been up until now.
‘Isn’t it obvious?’
Carlos frowned. ‘Is there a boyfriend on the scene?’
‘No. Bringing up a child alone doesn’t leave much time for dating,’ Betsy told him drily.
Silently she acknowledged that she compared every man to Carlos, and she had never been as fiercely attracted to anyone else.
‘Then what are your objections? Every child needs a mother and a father.’ There was an odd note in Carlos’s voice that made Betsy curious. ‘It would be better for our son to grow up with both his parents.’
‘Would it?’ She sighed. ‘We don’t even like each other, so how could we create a happy family for Sebastian? What if it didn’t work out and we divorced? I won’t risk putting Sebastian through a vicious custody battle like my parents did to me.’
Carlos gave her an intent look. ‘You said you were eight when your parents’ marriage ended. It sounds like it was a difficult time.’
‘It was. I loved my mum and dad equally, but their divorce was acrimonious and I was torn between them. My loyalties were divided. I lost who I was because I tried so hard to make each of them happy.’
Betsy hated talking about her childhood. Even before her parents had split up there had been arguments and sulking, tears and tantrums on both sides. She had felt as if she was walking a tightrope. One wrong step and everything would come crashing down.
‘The truth is that I was just something else my parents fought over—like money and who got the dog,’ she told Carlos. ‘But as their fights got louder and more vicious, the quieter I became. Sometimes I even considered running away. I thought that if I wasn’t around they would stop arguing.’
Housekeeper in the Headlines Page 5