Читать книгу One Night Of Consequences Collection - Ким Лоренс, Annie West - Страница 64
ОглавлениеTHE PRINCESS DIANA PLAYGROUND was in the corner of Kensington Gardens, just north of the palace. It was still early, and the playground had just opened, but in the midst of August holidays it was already starting to fill with children of every age, laughing and whooping as they raced toward the teepees and leaped on the ropes of the life-size pirate ship. It was a magical place, as you might expect of a children’s playground, near a palace, based around a Peter Pan theme and named after a lost princess.
But I was here desperate for a different kind of magic.
Protection.
Edward St. Cyr had protected me more than once. We’d first properly met three years earlier, when I’d been walking up from the Tube late at night and I’d passed a group of rowdy teenagers on Kensington High Street. I’d been weighed down with groceries, and tried to keep my head down as they passed. But some of the boys had followed me up the dark street, taunting me crudely. As one started to knock the grocery bags out of my hand, there’d been a flash of headlights on the street and the slam of a car door, and suddenly a tall man in a dark coat was there, his face a threatening scowl, and the young men who’d scared me fled like rabbits into the snow. Then he’d turned to me.
“Are you all right, miss...?” Then his expression had changed. “But wait. I know you. You’re Claudie Carlisle’s cousin.”
“Yes, I...”
“You’re all right now.” He’d gently taken my trembling hand. “I’m Edward St. Cyr. I live a few streets from here. May I give you a ride home?”
“No, I couldn’t possibly. I...”
“I wouldn’t mind a walk myself,” he said briskly, and with a nod to the driver of his Rolls-Royce, he’d insisted on walking me home, though it took ten minutes.
“Thank you,” I’d said at the door. “I never meant to impose....”
“You didn’t.” He’d paused. “I remember what it’s like to feel alone and afraid. Will you let me check on you in the morning?”
I’d shaken my head. “It’s truly not necessary.”
“But you must.” He’d lifted a dark eyebrow. “If for no other reason than it will annoy your cousin, whom I’ve despised for years. I insist.”
Now, as I looked out at Kensington Gardens in the distance, I saw the paths where we’d once walked together, he and I. He’d been kind to me. We’d been—friends.
Or had we? Had he always wanted more?
I’m tired of waiting for you to forget that Spanish bastard. It’s time for you to belong to me.
I shivered. When we left Mexico yesterday, I had been prepared to make any sacrifice to save my baby from Alejandro. Even if the price would have been going to bed with a man I did not love.
But now I was starting to wonder if that was truly necessary. Perhaps Alejandro was not entirely the heartless monster I’d once feared him to be....
“You shouldn’t have run.”
Hearing Alejandro’s dark voice behind me, I whirled around. “How did you catch up so fast?”
He was scowling. “Did you think I’d let you disappear with Miguel?”
“I didn’t disappear. I...”
“Had some kind of baby emergency?” He folded his arms. “You ran for a reason. And we both know what it is.”
Could he have somehow found out about Edward St. Cyr? The two men were slightly acquainted. And far from being friends. I didn’t think he would take it well. I bit my lip, breathing, “I...”
“You panicked because I asked you to marry me,” he accused.
Oh. I exhaled. “We both know you weren’t serious.”
“We both know I was.”
“You won’t be, once you have a chance to think about it. You don’t want to get married. You said so a million times.”
“I never intended to have a child, either,” he pointed out, “so there was no reason to marry. But now... You heard what Claudie said. Marrying you will make clear to the whole world that he’s my son. That he’s my heir. Right or wrong,” he said tightly.
Right or wrong? Meaning I wasn’t good enough? That Miguel wasn’t? My eyes narrowed. “I don’t love you.”
“I can live with that,” he said sardonically. “We both love our son. That is the only love that matters.”
“You’re wrong,” I said stubbornly. “My parents loved me, but they also loved each other, till the day they died. I remember how they looked at each other....”
“Most people are not so fortunate,” he said harshly. “I’ve spent a year pursuing you, Lena. I don’t want to fight over custody now. I don’t want to worry, anytime you take him for a walk, that you might try to run away with him. I want this matter settled between us, once and for all.”
Ah. Now we were getting down to it. “You mean I should give you total control over me, body and soul, so you can avoid the inconvenience of a custody battle?” I said incredulously, then shook my head. “This idea of marriage is just a momentary madness with you—it will pass....”
My voice trailed off as I saw Hildy on the edge of the playground, frantically signaling.
Alejandro frowned. “What is it?” He started to turn his head. “What are you...”
“On second thought, let me think it over,” I said quickly. Touching his arm, I gave him a weak smile. “So much has happened since yesterday. Maybe I’m too exhausted to think straight.” I pointed toward the outdoor café at the front of the playground. “Could you...please...get me some coffee?”
Alejandro’s dark gaze flickered over my bedraggled dress, the dark circles under my eyes. “Of course, querida,” he murmured courteously. Turning away, he started toward the outdoor café.
The instant he was gone, I rushed to meet Hildy.
“Where’s Edward?” I said desperately.
She was already shaking her head. “Mr. St. Cyr wasn’t home. They said he’s in Tokyo.”
Of all the bad luck! “Can I borrow your phone?”
“Yes....” She reached into her pocket, then looked up, her mouth a round O. “I didn’t bring it! It’s still at home!”
Alejandro was already handing over money at the café. I saw him pick up two coffees from the counter. No time.
My shoulders fell. “Thanks anyway. You’d better go.”
“Good luck, miss....”
Defeated, I looked out across the green park, deep emerald beneath the lowering gray London sky. I suddenly wondered what the weather was like in Spain. Warm. Sunny. Blue skies. With the chance of a hot, seductive Spaniard demanding that I share his bed.
No! I couldn’t let myself think about it! Just sharing custody of Miguel would be bad enough. I would never, ever be Alejandro’s lover! And certainly not his wife!
“Here.” Alejandro handed me a white paper cup that warmed my hands. The coffee smelled like heaven. I took a sip, then sighed with appreciation as I felt the heat melt me from the inside. It was sweet, and creamy.
“You remembered how I liked it,” I said in surprise.
He took a sip of his own black coffee, and gave a wicked grin. “That’s how all women like it.”
“That’s not true!”
He shrugged. “It’s mostly true. Cream and sugar will calm a woman down every time.”
I glared at him. “You are such a—”
“A heartless bastard?” He paused, then tilted his head. “Do you still think I’ll be such a disaster as a father?”
He sounded wistful, even—hurt? No. Impossible. A man like Alejandro had no heart to injure. But still, guilt rose in me, making my cheeks burn. “Maybe you’re not completely evil.” I looked down at the cup. “You did get my coffee right. Even though you’re completely wrong with your stereotype about women liking cream and sugar.”
“Obviously,” he agreed. He tilted his head. “Your arms must be getting tired from holding Miguel all this time.”
“A bit,” I admitted sheepishly. “He’s starting to get too heavy to carry like this for long.”
Finishing off his coffee, he threw the empty cup in the trash and reached out. “Give him to me.”
I hesitated, then handed him over. I watched anxiously, but Alejandro was careful, holding him, even turning Miguel around so he could see the world around him. Alejandro caught my look. “How am I doing?”
“Not bad,” I said grudgingly.
“Would you care to walk?” He lifted a dark eyebrow. “Since he needed a walk so badly that you almost jumped out of a moving car. This taking babies on walks must be a serious business. Or else you had some other reason for coming here that you don’t want me to know about.”
I looked at him sharply. Did he know something? Or was he just fishing?
He gave me a bland smile.
I shrugged. “It was what you said. Pure panic at your marriage proposal.” I took a sip of coffee. “Kind of like how you reacted last year when I told you I loved you. Instant disappearance.” For a moment, we stared at each other. Then I turned away. “Yes. Let’s walk.”
The rain had eased up, and though gray skies were hovering, eager children of all ages, speaking many different languages, were now playing everywhere as we strolled past the pirate ship.
“So what is your answer?” he said casually, as if he’d been asking me out for a movie.
“About what?”
He looked at me.
“Oh.” I licked my lips. “That.”
“That.”
“Be serious.”
“I’m trying to be. But I’ve never asked any woman to marry me before. I’m starting to think I must be doing it wrong. Do I need to get down on one knee?”
“Don’t you dare.”
“Then what is it?”
I’m afraid you’d make me love you again. The cold knot near my heart, which had started to warm on the edges, returned to ice. “Come on,” I mumbled, looking at the ground. “We both know that I’m not exactly duchess material.”
“Are you trying to let me down gently?” he demanded. He stopped, leaning our baby against his hip as he looked at me. “Is there someone else? Perhaps the person who helped you flee London last year, and travel around the world?”
“It’s not like that.”
“When a man protects a woman,” he said grimly, “it is exactly like that.”
“How do you know it’s a man?”
“By looking at your face,” he said softly. “Right now.”
I looked away. My throat hurt as I took another sip of the rich, sweet coffee, watching all the mothers and fathers and smiling nannies hovering on the edge of their children’s delighted play. Some of them looked back at me. They probably imagined we were a family, too.
But we weren’t.
I would have given anything if Alejandro could have been a man I could trust with my heart. A regular guy, a hardworking, loving man, who could have been my real partner. Instead of a selfish playboy duke who didn’t know the meaning of love, and if married would plainly expect me to remain a dutiful wife imprisoned in his castle, raising our child, while he enjoyed himself elsewhere. Why shouldn’t he? If love didn’t exist, I could only imagine what he thought of fidelity.
“Why did you seduce me, Alejandro?” I blurted out.
He blinked. “What?”
My voice trembled as I looked up at him. “If you weren’t trying to get me pregnant to provide an heir for you and Claudie, why did you seduce me? Why did you even notice me?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Are you really going to make me spell it out? Fine. You’re—you—” I waved my half-full coffee toward him “—and I’m...” I indicated my white dress I’d worn for thirty-six hours now, wrinkled and possibly stained with baby sick I didn’t know about, and I shivered in the cool morning air. “I believed Claudie’s story last year because, for the first time, everything made sense. There was no other reason for you to... I mean, why else would a man like you, who could have any woman in the world, choose a woman like...”
Reaching out his hand, he cupped my cheek. “Because I wanted you, Lena. Pure and simple. I wanted you.” Looking down at me, he said in a low voice, “I’ve never stopped wanting you.”
My lips parted. I trembled, fighting the desire to lean into his touch. The paper cup fell from my hand, splashing coffee across the grass. But I barely noticed. Craning back my head, I blinked back tears as I whispered, “Then why did you break up with me like that, so coldly and completely? Just for telling you I loved you?”
Alejandro stared at me, then dropped his hand. “Because I didn’t want to lead you on. I’d promised myself I’d never have either wife or child....”
“But why?” I said, bewildered. “Why wouldn’t you want those things? You’re the last of your line, aren’t you? If you died without an heir...you would be the last Duke of Alzacar.”
“That was my intention,” he said grimly.
“But why?”
“It doesn’t matter anymore.” He looked down at Miguel in his arms. “Fate chose differently. I have a son.” His dark eyes blazed at me, filled with heat and anger and something else...something I couldn’t understand. “And I will protect his future. Right or wrong.”
“You keep saying right or wrong. What is wrong about it?” I narrowed my eyes. “If you’re trying to imply that he’s not good enough—”
“Of course not,” he bit out.
“Then it’s me—”
He shook his head impatiently, his jaw tight. “I’m talking about me.”
The great Duque de Alzacar, admitting some kind of fault? I blinked. I breathed, “I don’t understand....”
“What is there to understand?” he said evasively. “Now that I am a parent, my priorities have changed. Wasn’t it the same for you, when Miguel was born?”
I hesitated. It was true what he said, but I still had the sense he was hiding something from me. “Yes-s....”
“We have a child. So we will do what is best for him. We will marry.”
“You didn’t want to marry me in Mexico.”
“That was when I thought you were a liar, a thief and probably a gold digger. Now my opinion of you has improved.”
“Thanks,” I said wryly.
“Why are you fighting me? Unless—” He gave me a sharp, searching gaze. “Are you in love with someone else?”
The image of Edward flashed in front of my eyes. I wondered if Alejandro would still keep his improved opinion of me if he knew I’d been living in another man’s house. It would look sordid, even if the truth had been so innocent. At least—innocent on my side. Swallowing, I looked away.
“I’m not in love with anyone.” My voice was barely audible over the noisy children at play.
His shoulders relaxed imperceptibly. “Then why not marry me?” His tone turned almost playful. “You really should consider it for the jewels alone....”
I gave a rueful laugh, then looked at him. “I’d never fit into your world, Alejandro. If I took you at your word and became your wife, we’d both be miserable.”
“I wouldn’t be.”
I shook my head. “Your expectations of marriage are lower than mine. It would never work. I want—” I looked down as my cheeks turned hot “—to be loved. I want what my parents had.”
Alejandro abruptly stopped. We were in the far back of the playground now, in a quiet overgrown place of bushes and trees. “But what about our son? Doesn’t he have some rights, as well? Doesn’t he deserve a stable home?”
“You mean a cold, drafty castle?”
“It’s neither drafty nor cold.” He set his jaw. “I want my son, my heir, to live in Spain. To know his people. His family.”
I frowned at him. “I thought you had no family.”
“My grandmother who raised me. All the people on my estate. They are like family to me. Don’t you think he deserves to know them, and they should know him? Shouldn’t he know his country? Where else would you take him—back to Mexico?”
“I loved it there!” I said, stung.
“We will buy a vacation house there,” he said impatiently. “But his home is with his land. With his people. With his parents. You of all people,” he said softly, “know what it means to have a happy, settled childhood, surrounded by love.”
I sucked in my breath. I felt myself wavering. Of course I wanted all those things for my son.
“You’ll be a duchess, honored, wealthy beyond imagining.”
“I’d be the poor stupid wife sitting at home in the castle,” I whispered, hardly daring to meet his gaze, “while you were out having a good time with other, more glamorous women....”
His dark eyes narrowed. “I have many faults, but disloyalty is not one of them. Still, I can understand why you’d immediately think of cheating. Tell me—” he moved closer, his sardonic gaze sweeping over me “—did you enjoy having the use of Edward St. Cyr’s house? His jet?”
My eyes went wide. My mouth suddenly went dry.
“How did you find out?” I said weakly.
“Before my jet left Mexico, I told my investigators to dig into the layer of the shell company that owned the house in San Miguel. If it wasn’t Claudie who helped you,” he said grimly, “I intended to find out who it really was.”
Well. That explained why he’d stopped asking. “Why have you pretended all day you didn’t know?”
His handsome face looked chiseled and hard as marble beneath the gray sky. “I wanted to give you the chance to tell me.”
“A test?” I whispered.
“If you like.” His eyes glittered. “Women always find the quality of danger so attractive. Until they find out what danger really means. Tell me. Did you enjoy using St. Cyr’s possessions? His money? His jet? How about his bed? Did you enjoy sharing that?”
“I never shared his bed!” I tried not to remember the husky sound of Edward’s voice. It’s time for you to belong to me. Or the way he’d flinched at my reaction—an incredulous, unwilling laugh. He’d taken a deep breath. You’ll see, he’d whispered, then turned and left. Pushing the memory away, I lifted my chin. “We’ve never even kissed!”
“I see.” Lifting an eyebrow, Alejandro said scornfully, “He helped you out of the goodness of his heart.”
That might be pushing it. I bit my lip. “Um...yes?”
“Is that a statement or a question?”
“He’s a friend to me,” I whispered. “Just a friend.”
Alejandro looked at me more closely. “But he wants more, doesn’t he?” The sweep of his dark lashes left a shadow against his olive skin, his taut cheekbones, as he looked down at our baby in his arms. After all this time, he still carried Miguel as if he were no weight at all. He said in a low voice, “I won’t let my son keep such company. Because I, at least, have clear eyes about what danger means.”
“And I understand at last,” I choked out, “why you suddenly want to marry me.”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “Lena—”
“You say he is dangerous? Maybe he is. But if it weren’t for Edward St. Cyr, I don’t think I could have survived the darkness and fear of the past year. He was there for me when you deserted me. When you left me pregnant and alone and afraid.”
His face turned white, then red. “If you’d given me the chance—”
“I did give you a chance. You never called me back.” I took a deep breath. “I know now you weren’t the monster I thought you were. But I’ll never be able to trust you like I did. It’s lost. Along with the way I loved you.”
Silence fell, the only sound the children playing on the other side of the trees. I heard their shrieks of joy.
When Alejandro spoke, his voice was low, even grim. “Love me or not, trust me or not, but you will marry me. Miguel will have a stable family. A real home.”
I shook my head. He moved closer.
“You promised to come to Spain, Lena,” he said. “You gave your word.”
I threw him a panicked glance. “That was when—”
“Ah. You hoped you could break your promise, didn’t you? Perhaps with St. Cyr’s help?”
My silence spoke volumes. His dark eyes hardened. “You gave me your word that if I brought you to London, you would come with me to Spain.”
He was right. I had. Now, I felt so alone and forlorn. Alejandro was starting to wear me down. To break my will. To remind me of a promise I’d never wanted to keep.
“It will only lead to misery,” I whispered.
“Wherever it leads,” he said softly, “whatever we’d once planned for our lives...you are part of my family now.”
“Your family. You mean your grandmother?” I shivered, imagining a coldly imperious grande dame in pearls and head-to-toe vintage Chanel. A little like my own grandmother, in fact. “She will hate me. She’ll never think I’m good enough.”
He gave a low laugh. “You think you know what to expect? A cold, proud dowager in a cold, drafty castle?”
“Am I wrong?”
“My grandmother was born in the United States. In Idaho. The daughter of Basque sheep ranchers.”
“Idaho?” My mouth fell open. “How did she...?”
“How did she end up married to my grandfather? It is an interesting story. Perhaps you can ask her when you meet her.” His lips twisted grimly. “Unless you intend to break your promise, and refuse to go to Spain after all.”
I swallowed, afraid of what it would mean to go to his castle. Surrounded by his family and friends. Surrounded by his power. How long could I resist his marriage demand then?
“Enough. You always spend too long in your mind, going back and forth on decisions that have already been made. End it now.” Reaching into his pocket, Alejandro pulled out a phone and dialed a number. He pushed it into my hand. “It’s ringing.”
“What?” I stammered, staring down at the phone. “Whom did you call?”
“My grandmother. If you are breaking your promise to me, if you are truly not willing to bring Miguel to Spain to meet her, tell her now.”
“Me? I can’t talk to your grandmother!”
“No. I can’t,” he said coldly, “because I love her. You have no feelings for her whatsoever, so you should have no trouble being cruel.”
“You think I’m cruel?” I whispered as the phone rang.
His eyes met mine. “Tell her she has a great-grandchild. Introduce yourself. Tell her I’ve asked you to marry me. Go on.”
I stared at him numbly, then heard a tremulous voice at the other end of the line.
“¿Hola? Alejandro?”
It was a warm, sweet, kindly voice, the sort of voice that a grandmother would have in a movie, the grandmother who bakes cookies and is plump and white-haired and gives you hugs and tells you to eat more pie—or in this case, more paella?—because food is love, and she loves you so much that you’re her whole existence, her light, her star. It was the type of voice I had not heard since my parents had died.
“Alejandro?” The woman sounded worried now. “Are you there?”
“It’s not Alejandro,” I replied, my voice unsteady. “But he asked me to call you. I’m a...friend.”
“A friend?” The sweet tremulous voice gasped, her accent definitely American. “Has he fallen sick? Was he in an accident?”
“No, he’s fine....”
“If he were fine, he’d be calling me himself, as he always does.” A sob choked her voice. “You’re trying to break it to me gently. But you can’t. First I lost my children, then my...” Her voice broke. “Alejandro was all I had left. I always knew I would lose him someday. That sooner or later—” another sob “—fate would catch up with me and...”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” I cried in exasperation. “Alejandro’s fine! He’s standing right by me!”
She sucked in her breath. Her tone changed, became curious. “Then why are you calling me on his phone?”
“He...wanted me to tell you the happy news.” Glaring at Alejandro, I kept my voice gentle as I said, “You’re a great-grandmother.”
“A—” her voice ended in a gasp. A happy gasp. “Alejandro has a child?”
“We have a five-month-old son. I’m the baby’s mother.”
“You’re American? Canadian?”
“Born in Brooklyn.”
“Why didn’t he tell me before? What’s your name? Have we met?” She didn’t seem like the snooty duchess I’d imagined. She continued eagerly, “Did you elope? Oh, I’ll never forgive Alejandro for getting married without me—”
“He didn’t tell you because—well, he wasn’t sure about it. For your other question, we’re not married.” I gritted my teeth. “And we have no plans to be.”
“You have no—” She cut herself off with an intake of breath. Then changing the subject with forced cheer, she said, “So when can I meet my great-grandson? I can hardly wait to tell my friends you’re coming to live in the castle. The pitter-patter of little feet at Rohares Castle at last!”
“I’m sorry. We’re not going to live in Spain.”
“Oh.” I heard the soft whoosh of her whimper. “That’s...all right.” She took a deep breath. “So when are you coming to visit so I can meet him?”
I bit my lip. “I don’t know if we can....”
“I understand,” she sniffled. “It’s fine. Just send me a Christmas card with the baby’s picture, and...it’s fine. I’ve had a good life. I don’t need to meet my only great-grandchild....”
My own fear of spending time with Alejandro, of allowing him more power over me, suddenly felt small and selfish compared with letting her meet Miguel—and even more important, allowing my son to have the family I myself had yearned for. What did I have, a heart of stone?
“All right.” With a sigh, I accepted the inevitable. “We’ll come to Spain in the next day or two. Just for a visit, mind!”
But even with that warning, her cries of joy exploded from the phone. I held it away from my ear, glaring all the while at Alejandro. “I’ll let you talk to Alejandro,” I told her, then covering the mouthpiece, I handed him the phone and grumbled, “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.” He took it from my hand, looking down at me seriously. “I’ll win your trust, Lena. And then...”
“Then?”
He gave me a sensual smile. “You’ll be my wife within the week.”
* * *
There are many different kinds of seduction.
There’s the traditional kind, with flowers, chocolates, dinner by candlelight. That’s the way Alejandro had seduced me last summer. He called the Kensington mansion, asked for me, invited me to dinner. He showed up at the door dressed in a tux, his arms full of roses—to Claudie’s rage—and greeted me with a chaste kiss on the cheek.
“You look beautiful,” he’d murmured, and took me to the best restaurant in London. He asked me questions, listened aptly and physically grew closer and closer, with the innocent touch of his hand, the casual brush of his body against mine. He held my hand across the dinner table in the candlelight, in full view of the other patrons, looking at me with deep soulful eyes, as if no other woman had ever existed. Afterward, he took me to a club. We danced, and he pulled me into his arms, against his hard, powerful body. Closer. Closer still, until my heart was in my throat and I started to feel dizzy. In the middle of the dance floor, he lowered his head and kissed me for the first time.
It was my first kiss, and as I closed my eyes I felt the whole world whirling around me. Around us.
When he finally pulled away, he whispered against my skin, “I want you.” I’d trembled, my heart beating violently, like a deer in a wolf’s jaws. He’d looked down at me and smiled. Then took me back to his rooftop terrace suite at the Dorchester Hotel.
There had been no question of resistance. I was a virgin in the hands of a master. He’d had me from the moment he kissed me. From the moment he showed up at my door in a sleek tuxedo, with his arms full of roses, and told me he wanted me in his low, husky voice. He’d had me from the moment he’d seared me with the intensity of his full attention.
That was the traditional way of seduction. It had worked once, worked with utterly ruthless efficiency against my unprepared heart. But I knew the moves now—that is to say, I knew how they ended. With pleasure that was all too brief, and agony that was all too long.
But there are many different kinds of seduction.
Alejandro had decided we wouldn’t leave immediately for Madrid, but would spend one night in London, resting at his usual suite of rooms at the Dorchester. He told me it was because the baby and I both looked tired. I was immediately suspicious, but as we left the park, he did not try to kiss me. Even after we’d arrived at the luxurious hotel, he did not look deeply into my eyes and tell me I was the most beautiful woman on earth, or pull me out onto the rooftop terrace, overlooking Hyde Park and all the wide gray sky, to take me in his arms.
Instead, he just ordered us lunch via room service, then afterward, he smiled at me. “We need to go shopping.”
I frowned at him, suspecting a trick. “No, we don’t.”
“We do need a stroller,” he said innocently. “A pushcart. For the baby.”
I could hardly argue with that, since we’d left the umbrella stroller back in San Miguel. “Fine,” I grumbled. “A stroller. That’s it.”
“You’re very boring.”
“I’m broke.”
“I’m not.”
“Lucky you.”
“I can buy you things, you know.”
“I don’t want you to.”
“Why?”
I set my jaw. “I’m afraid what they’d cost me.”
He just answered with an innocent smile, and had his driver take us to the best shops in Knightsbridge, Mayfair and Sloane Street. He bought the most expensive pushcart he could find for Miguel, then pushed it himself, leaving the bodyguards trailing behind us to hold only shopping bags full of clothes and toys for the baby.
“You said just a stroller!”
“Surely you wouldn’t begrudge me the chance to buy a few small items for my son?”
“No,” I sighed. But Alejandro kept pushing the boundaries. All the bodyguards who trailed us were soon weighed down with shopping bags.
“Now we must get you some clothes, as well,” Alejandro said, smiling as he caught me looking wistfully at the lovely, expensive dresses. I jumped, then blushed guiltily.
“No. Absolutely not.”
“It’s the least I can do,” Alejandro replied firmly, “considering it was because of me that you lost your inheritance.”
“That wasn’t your fault...” I protested. He looked down at me with his big, dark, Spanish eyes.
“Please let me do this, querida. I must,” he said softly. “Such a small thing. You cannot deny me my desire.”
I shivered. That was exactly what I was afraid of. That if I couldn’t deny him this, I wouldn’t be able to deny him anything. And soon I’d be putty in his hands again, like a spaniel waiting for her master with slippers in her mouth.
I’d end up married to a man who didn’t love me. Who would ignore me. And I’d spend the rest of my life like a ghost, haunting his stupid castle.
Wordlessly, I shook my head. He sighed, looking sad.
I was proud of myself for sticking to my guns. But as we walked through the expensive shops, Alejandro saw me looking at a pretty dress a second too long. He gave one of his bodyguards a glance, and the man snatched it up in my size.
“What!” I exclaimed. “No. I don’t want that!”
“Too bad,” he said smugly. “I just bought it for you.”
Irritated, I tried to foil Alejandro’s plan by carefully not looking at any of the beautiful clothes, shoes or bags as we walked through the luxury department store and designer boutiques. But that didn’t work, either. He simply started picking things out for me, items far more expensive and flashy than I would have picked out for myself. Instead of the black leather quilted handbag I might have chosen, I found myself suddenly the owner of a handbag in crocodile skin with fourteen-karat-gold fittings and diamonds woven into the chain.
“I can’t wear that!” I protested. “I’d look a proper fool!”
He grinned. “If you don’t like me choosing for you, you have to tell me what you want.”
So I did. I had no choice.
“Dirty blackmailer,” I grumbled as I picked out a simple cotton sweater from Prada, but his smile only widened.
The salespeople, sensing blood in the water, left their previous customers to follow eagerly in our wake. The size of our entourage quickly exploded, with salespeople, bodyguards, Alejandro, me and our baby in a stroller so expensive that it, too, might as well have been made of rare leathers and solid gold. Other people turned their heads to watch as we went by, their eyes big as they whispered to each other beneath their hands.
“I feel conspicuous,” I complained to Alejandro.
“You deserve to be looked at,” he said. “You deserve everyone’s attention.”
I was relieved to return to his suite of rooms at the Dorchester, even though it was so fancy, the same suite Elizabeth Taylor had once lived in. I was happy to be alone with him.
And yet not happy.
It took a long time for the bodyguards to bring up all the packages. Even with help from the hotel staff.
“I didn’t realize we bought so much,” I said, blushing.
Alejandro gave a low laugh as he tipped the staff then turned back. “You hardly bought anything. I would have given you far more.” He looked down at me. Running his hand beneath my jaw, he said softly, “I want to give you more.”
We stood together, alone in the living room of the suite, and I held my breath. Praying he wouldn’t kiss me. Wishing desperately that he would.
But with a low laugh, he released me. “Are you hungry?”
After I fed Miguel and tucked him to bed in the second bedroom, we had an early dinner in the dining room, beneath a crystal chandelier, on an elegant table that would seat eight, with a view not just of London, but of the exact place where, last summer, he’d pressed me against the silver wallpaper and made love to me, hot and fast and fierce against the wall.
All through dinner, I tried not to look at that wall. Or think about the bed next door.
I told myself he wasn’t trying to seduce me. Maybe he wasn’t. Maybe it was just my delusion, reading desire in his dark, hot glances. It had to be me. He wouldn’t actually be intending to...
Alejandro suddenly smiled at me. “You are tired. It has been a long day for you.”
“All that shopping,” I grumbled. He grinned, taking an innocent sip of his after-dinner coffee.
“I meant before that. Mexico. Claudie. Your sleepless night on the plane...”
“Oh.” I yawned, as if on cue. “I am a little tired.”
“So go take some time for yourself. Take a nap. A shower. Go to bed. I will take over.”
“Take over?”
“With Miguel.” As I blinked at him in confusion, he lifted a dark eyebrow and added mildly, “Surely you can trust me that far—as far as the next room? If there is any problem, I will wake you. But there won’t be. Go rest.”
I took a long, hot shower, and it was heaven. Putting on a soft new nightgown straight from the designer bag, I fell into the large bed, knowing that someone else was watching our child as I slept, and I wasn’t on call. That was the most deliciously luxurious thing of all.
When I woke, early-morning sunlight was streaking across the large bed, where I’d clearly slept alone. Looking at the clock, I saw to my shock I’d slept twelve hours straight—my best night’s sleep in a year. I stretched in bed, yawning, feeling fantastic. Feeling grateful. Alejandro...
Alejandro!
He couldn’t possibly have stayed up all night with the baby! He must have left. Jumping out of bed in panic, I flung open the bedroom door, terrified that Alejandro had spirited away our baby and left me behind.
But Alejandro was in the living room, walking our baby back and forth, singing a Spanish song in his low, deep voice, as Miguel’s eyes grew heavy. Then Alejandro saw me, and he gave me a brilliant smile, even though his eyes, too, looked tired.
“Buenos días, querida. Did you sleep?”
“Beautifully,” I said, running my hands through my hair, suddenly self-conscious of my nightgown, which in this bright morning light looked like a slinky silk negligee. I tried to casually cover the outline of my breasts with my arms. “And you?”
“Ah,” he said, smiling tenderly down at his son. “For us, it is still a work in progress. But by the time we are on the plane to Madrid, after breakfast, I think our little man will sleep. He’s worn himself out, haven’t you?”
I stared at the two of them together, the strong-shouldered Spaniard holding his tiny son so lovingly, with such infinite care and patience, though he’d clearly kept Alejandro up most of the night.
Miguel looked up with big eyes at his father. They had the same face, though one was smaller and chubby, the other larger and chiseled at the cheekbones and jaw. But I could not deny the look of love that glowed from Alejandro’s eyes as he looked into the face of his son.
I’d been wrong, I realized. Alejandro did know how to love.
He just didn’t know how to love me.
Turning back, Alejandro gave me a big grin, filled with joy and pride. Our eyes locked.
The smile slowly slid from his face. I felt his gaze from my head to my toes and everywhere in between. His soulful dark eyes seemed to last forever, like those starlit summer nights.
I looked at Alejandro in this moment, and I was suddenly afraid. Seeing him as a father, as a true partner in caring for the tiny person I loved so much, I trembled.
I could handle his gifts. I might even be able to handle the sensual awareness that electrified the air between us. I could keep my heart on ice. I could resist.
But this?
There are many different kinds of seduction. Some are of the body. Some are of the mind.
But others, the most powerful, are of the heart.
