Читать книгу The Mills & Boon Stars Collection - Мишель Смарт, Cathy Williams - Страница 64

AS SOON as the front door had shut behind them, Paulo let go of Isabella’s elbow and she found herself missing its warmth and support immediately.

‘The car is a little way up the street,’ he said, still in that same flat tone which she’d never heard him use before.

He’d parked it there deliberately. Just in case. He had not known what he expected to find. Or who. He hadn’t known if she would come willingly. And how he would’ve coped, had she refused. Because some instinct had told him even then, that he would not be leaving without her.

Isabella walked beside him towards the car, suspecting that he’d slowed his normal pace down in order for her to keep pace with him. She got out of breath so easily these days. ‘Where are you taking me?’

‘Taking implies force,’ he corrected, looking down at her dark head, which only reached up to his shoulder. She seemed much too tiny to be bursting ripe with pregnancy. ‘And you seem to be accompanying me willingly enough.’

What woman wouldn’t? she thought, with another wistful pang. ‘Where?’ she repeated huskily.

A plane droned overhead, and he briefly lifted his face to stare at it. ‘For now, you will have to come home with me—’ He sent her a searing glance as if he anticipated her objection. ‘Think about it before you say anything, Bella. It makes the most sense.’

If anything could be said to make sense at that precise moment, then yes, she supposed that it did. And hadn’t that been her first choice? Before she’d seen him prowling half-naked around his own territory—like some sleek and beautiful cat? Gato. Before she’d seen the beautiful woman who’d frozen her out so effectively. Before she’d decided that she could not face him with her terrible secret.

‘Doesn’t it?’

Isabella nodded, wondering what Judy was going to say this time. ‘I suppose so.’

‘As to what happens after that…’ A silky pause. ‘There are a number of options open to you.’

‘I’m not going back to Brazil!’ she declared quietly. ‘And you can’t make me!’

He let that one go. For the moment. ‘Here’s my car.’

A midnight-blue sports car was parked with precision close to the kerb, and Isabella stared at the low, gleaming bodywork in dismay.

‘What’s the matter?’

She glanced up to find that the black eyes were fixed intently on her face. He must have noticed her hesitation. She gestured to her stomach, placing her hands on either side of her bump, to draw his attention to it. ‘Look—’

‘I’m looking,’ he replied, taken aback by the sudden hurl of his heart as one of her hands strayed dangerously close to the heavy swell of her breast.

‘I’m so big and so bulky, and your car is so streamlined.’

He held the door open for her. ‘You think you won’t fit?’

‘Look away,’ she said. ‘It won’t be a graceful sight.’

She began to ease her legs inside and his face grew grim as he turned back to look at the house they had just left—where two small boys forlornly watched them from an upstairs window. He did not know what lay ahead, beyond offering her temporary refuge, but already he suspected that his loyalties might be torn. How could they not be?

He’d known Isabella’s father for years—ever since he was a boy himself. And for the last ten summers since his wife’s death had accepted Luis’s hospitality for both himself and his son.

Eddie had been just a baby when his mother had died so needlessly and so tragically in a hit-and-run accident that had produced national revulsion, but no conviction. The man—or woman—who had killed Elizabeth remained free to this day. In the lonely and insecure days following her death, it had seemed vital to Paulo that Eddie should know something of his South American roots.

As a father himself, Paulo felt duty-bound to inform Luis Fernandes what was happening to his daughter. But Isabella was not a child. Far from it. Would she expect him to collude with her? To keep quiet about the baby? And for how long?

He waited until they’d eased away from the kerb, before jerking his head back in the direction of the house.

‘How long were you planning to stay there?’

‘I don’t know.’ She stared at the road ahead. ‘I just took it day by day. Mrs Stafford said that I could work the baby into my routine.’

Paulo’s long fingers dug into the steering wheel. ‘But you must have some idea, Isabella! Until the baby was…what…how old? Six months? A year? Would you then have returned to Brazil with a grandchild for your father to see? Or were you planning to keep it hidden from him forever?’

‘I told you,’ she answered tiredly, wishing that he wouldn’t keep asking her these questions—though she noted that he’d refrained from asking the most fundamental question of all. ‘I honestly don’t know. And not because I hadn’t thought about it, either. Believe me, I’d thought about it so much that the thoughts seemed to just go round and round inside my head, until sometimes I felt like I would burst—’

Paulo’s mouth hardened. Hadn’t he felt exactly like that after Elizabeth’s death? When the world seemed to make no sense at all? He stole a glance at her strained, white face and felt an unwilling surge of compassion. ‘But the more you thought about it, the more confused you got—so that you were still no closer to deciding what to do? Is that right?’

His perception disarmed her, just as the warmth and comfort of the car soothed her more than she’d expected to be soothed. Isabella felt her mouth begin to tremble, and she turned to look out of the window at the city speeding by, so that he wouldn’t see. ‘Yes. How could I be?’ She kept her voice low. ‘Because whatever decision I reach—is bound to hurt someone, somewhere.’

Her words were so quiet that he could barely hear, but Paulo could sense that she was close to tears. A deep vein of disquiet ran through him. Now was not the time to fire questions at her—not when she looked so little and pale and vulnerable.

He thought how spare the flesh looked on her bones—all her old voluptuousness gone. As if, despite the absurdly swollen bump of her pregnancy, a puff of wind could blow her away.

‘You haven’t been eating properly,’ he accused.

‘There isn’t a lot of room for food these days.’

‘Have you had supper?’

‘Well, no,’ she admitted. She’d been seeking refuge in her room: too tired to bother going downstairs to hunt through the junk food in the Staffords’ fridge for something which looked vaguely nutritional.

‘Your baby needs sustenance,’ he growled. ‘And so, for that matter, do you. I’m taking you for something to eat.’

Nausea welled up in her throat. She shook her head. ‘I can’t face the thought of food at the moment. Too much has happened—surely you can understand that?’

‘You can try.’ His mouth twisted into a mocking smile. ‘For me.’

She knotted her fingers together in her lap. ‘I suppose I’m not going to get any peace unless I agree?’

‘No, you’re not,’ he agreed. ‘Just console yourself with the thought that I’m doing it for your own good.’

‘You’re so kind, Paulo.’

He heard the tentative attempt at sarcasm and oddly enough it made him smile. At least her spirit hadn’t been entirely extinguished. ‘More practical than kind,’ he murmured. ‘We need to talk and you need to decide your future. And we can’t do that in private at my house.’

‘Because of Eduardo?’

‘That’s right.’ He wondered how he could possibly explain away her pregnancy to the son who idolised the ground she walked on. ‘He’ll be curious to know why you’re here—and we can’t give him any answers if we don’t know what they are ourselves. And it might just come as a shock for him to see you so—’ the words tasted bitter on his lips ‘—so heavily pregnant.’

She remembered the cool, blonde beauty who had let herself in and forced herself to ask the question. ‘What about Judy? Won’t she mind me landing myself on you?’

‘I shouldn’t think so.’

There was an odd kind of pause and she turned her head to stare at the darkened profile.

‘I’m not seeing her any more,’ he said.

‘Oh.’ Isabella was unprepared for the sudden warm rush of relief, but she tried not to let it show in her voice. ‘Oh, dear. What happened?’

Paulo compressed his lips, resisting the urge to tell her that it was none of her business. Because it was. Because somehow—unknowingly and unwittingly—Isabella had exposed him to doubts about his relationship with Judy which had led to its eventual demise.

He’d thought that shared interests and a mutually satisfactory sex-life were all that he needed from a relationship. But Isabella’s visit had made him aware that there was no real spark between him and Judy. And something which he’d thought suited him suddenly seemed like an awful waste of time. ‘We kind of drifted apart,’ he said.

‘But you’re still friends?’

‘I suppose so,’ he answered reluctantly. Because that was what Judy had wanted. She’d settled for ‘friendship’ once she realised he’d meant it when he told her it was over. But he knew deep down that they could never be true friends—she still wanted him too badly for that. ‘We’re not supposed to be discussing my love-life, Isabella.’

‘Well, I don’t want to discuss mine,’ she said quietly.

‘Does that mean you aren’t going to tell who who the father of your baby is?’

Isabella flinched. ‘That’s right.’

‘Do I know him?’

‘What makes you think I would tell you, if even you did?’

He found her misplaced loyalty both exasperating and admirable. ‘And what if I made you tell me?’ he challenged.

The streetlights flickered strange shadows over his face and Isabella felt suddenly uncertain. ‘You couldn’t.’

‘Want to bet?’

‘I n-never bet.’

‘I’m not sure that I believe you,’ he said softly. ‘When you are living, walking proof that you took a huge gamble.’ And lost, he thought—though he didn’t say it. The look on her face told him he didn’t have to. The car came to stop at some traffic lights and he shifted in his seat to get a better look at her.

And Isabella forgot the baby. Forgot everything. Through the dim light, all she could see in that moment were his eyes. Dark, like chocolate, and rich like chocolate, and sexy like chocolate. And chocolate was what Isabella had been craving for the past eight months. ‘Paulo—’

But he’d turned his attention back to the road ahead. ‘We’re here,’ he said grimly.

She heaved a sigh of relief as he pulled up outside an Italian pasta bar. Heaven only knew what she’d been about to blurt out when she had whispered his name like that. At least the activity of eating might distract him from his interrogation—and maybe she was hungrier than she had previously thought. It would certainly make a change to have a meal cooked for her.

The restaurant was small and lit by candles, and almost full—and Isabella was certain that they would be turned away. But no. It seemed that here they knew him well. Paulo asked for, and got, a table in one of the recesses of the room—well away from the other customers.

She glanced down at the menu she’d been given, at the meaningless swirl of words there. And when she looked up again, it was to find him studying her intently.

‘Do you know what you want?’

She shook her head. ‘No.’

He jabbed a finger halfway down his menu. ‘Why don’t you try some spinach lasagne?’ he suggested. ‘Lots of nutrients to build you up. And you, querida, could certainly do with some building up.’

She nodded obediently. ‘All right.’

He wasn’t used to such passivity—not from Isabella—and thought how wan her face looked as the waiter came over to their table. ‘Drink some tomato juice,’ he instructed, almost roughly. ‘You like that, don’t you?’

‘Thanks. I will.’ She shook out her napkin and smoothed it out carefully on her lap as he gave their order.

‘So.’ He traced a thoughtful finger on the crisp, white cloth and leaned across the table towards her. ‘We—or rather you—have a few big decisions to make.’

‘I’m not going home!

‘No. So you said.’ His mouth hardened. ‘Anyway, your objection is academic, isn’t it, Bella? No airline will allow you to fly in such an advanced stage of pregnancy.’ He paused, his dark gaze on her belly, as if he could estimate the gestation just by looking. ‘And you’re…how many weeks?’

She hesitated. ‘Thirty-seven.’

‘Only three weeks to go,’ he observed, his eyes burning into her. ‘So when did you conceive?’

Isabella blushed. ‘I don’t have to answer that.’

‘No, you don’t,’ he agreed. ‘But I can work it out for myself in any case.’ His eyes shuttered to dark slits as he did a few rapid sums in his head, then flickered open to stare at her with astonishment. ‘That takes us back to just around Carnival time.’

‘Paulo, must you?’

He ignored her objection, still frowning. ‘That means you must have become pregnant just after I left.’

She supposed that there was no point in denying it. ‘Yes.’

‘Or maybe it was during my visit?’ he suggested, unprepared for the lightning-bolt of jealousy.

‘No!’ she shot back.

He frowned again, not seeming to care that the waiter was depositing their food and wine before them. ‘So who is it? I don’t remember seeing you with anyone. No ardent lover hanging around the place. I don’t remember you rushing off every minute to be with someone.’

Quite the opposite, in fact. She had been at his side most minutes of the day. Her father had even made a joke about it. She has become your little shadow, Paulo, the older man had laughed and Isabella had aimed a mock-punch at her father’s stomach while Paulo had watched the movement of her lush breasts with hungry eyes and a guilty heart. And been very sure that if his host knew what was going on in his mind, then he would have kicked him off the ranch there and then.

‘So who is it?’ he asked again, only this time his voice sounded brittle.

Isabella mechanically ate a mouthful of pasta, forcing herself to meet his eyes. ‘Is my coming to stay with you conditional on me telling you who the father is?’

‘I don’t need to know his name. I’m certainly not going to try to wring it out of you.’ There was a long and dangerous pause. ‘But if he turns up, demanding to see you—’

‘He won’t,’ she put in hurriedly. ‘It won’t happen. I give you my word, Paulo.’

‘You sound very sure,’ he observed. He looked over the rim of his wineglass, fixing her with a dark gaze which was as intense as his next soft question. ‘Does that mean that the affair is definitely over?’

The affair? If only he knew! ‘Yes.’ Isabella swallowed. She owed him the truth. Or as much of the truth as she dared give without earning making herself sound like the biggest fool who ever walked the earth. ‘It’s over. It never really got off the ground, if you must know.’ Her eyes glittered with a defiant kind of pride as she stared at the man she had idolised for as long as she could remember.

‘But I can’t come to stay with you, not even for a minute—not if you despise me for what I’ve done, Paulo.’

‘Despise you?’ He looked across the table, saw the stubborn little tilt of her chin, and felt a wave of anger wash over him. What a way to have a first baby, he thought bitterly. It shouldn’t be like this—not for any woman—but especially not for Isabella.

He remembered Eduardo’s impending arrival, when Elizabeth had planned everything right down to the very last detail. Nothing had been left to chance, save chance itself. He had joked that her hospital bag had been packed almost from the moment of conception, and Elizabeth had laughed, too. His voice softened. ‘Why on earth would I despise you?’

‘Why do you think?’ Isabella stared down at her plate with eyes which were suddenly bright. ‘Because I’m going to have a baby. I’m going to be an unmarried mother! I’ve let my father down,’ she husked. ‘And myself!’

He leaned further across the table towards her, so that the flame of the candle was reflected in the black eyes. ‘Now listen to me, Isabella Fernandes, and stop beating yourself up!’ he whispered fiercely. ‘We aren’t living in the Dark Ages. You’ll be bringing a baby up on your own—so what? A third of the population in England is divorced, for God’s sake—and there are countless children who are the casualties of broken marriages. At least your child won’t have to witness the deterioration of a relationship.’

‘But I didn’t want to have a baby like this!’

‘I know you didn’t.’ He took her hand in his, staring down at it as it lay inertly in his palm. It felt small and cold and lifeless and he began to massage the palm with the pad of his thumb, stroking some kind of warmth back into it. He felt her trembling response and found himself filled with a sudden fierce need to comfort her. Protect her.

‘There is no Merton Hotel, is there?’ he asked suddenly.

She glanced up. ‘How do you know that?’

His mouth twisted into a strange kind of smile. ‘How do you think? I came looking for you.’

‘Did you?’

‘Sure I did.’

After she’d left his house so abruptly, he’d gone to the theatre with Judy. He had sat through the show feeling distracted and bored and had been forced to endure all kinds of intrusive questions afterwards at supper, when Judy had been determined to find out everything she could about Isabella.

Too much wine had made Judy tearful and very slightly hysterical as she’d accused him of concealing something about his relationship with the Brazilian girl. She’d made accusations about Isabella which had appalled him nearly as much as they had aroused him…

Grim-faced, he’d driven her home and resisted all her attempts to seduce him. Afterwards, he had gone home and phoned Directory Enquiries for the number of the Merton Hotel, only to discover that no such place existed.

So Isabella had not wanted him to find her, he remembered thinking, with faint surprise, because women usually made it easy for him to contact them—not the opposite. But that, he had decided reluctantly, was her prerogative.

And now he knew why.

He stared at her. ‘Just why did you come to see me that day, Bella?’ he asked. ‘Was it to ask for my help?’

She hesitated. ‘I…Yes. Yes, it was.’

‘But something changed your mind. I wonder what it was.’ His eyes narrowed with interest. ‘Why did you go away without telling me?’

‘I couldn’t go through with it. When it came down to it, I just couldn’t face telling you.’

‘And that’s it?’ he demanded.

Again, she hesitated, but she knew she couldn’t admit that she’d been intimidated by his girlfriend. And by the very fact that he had one. ‘That’s it.’ She turned her face up to his and stumbled out his name. ‘Oh, Paulo!’ she sighed. ‘Whatever have I done?’

The choked little words stabbed at him, and he gave her hand one final squeeze. ‘There’s nothing you can do about it. You’ve been unlucky, that’s all—’

‘No, please don’t say that.’ She kept her voice low. ‘This is a baby we’re talking about! Not a piece of bad luck!’

‘That’s not what I meant. You took a risk—and you’ve paid the ultimate price for that risk.’ He gave a bitter laugh. ‘Didn’t anyone ever tell you, Bella, that there’s no such thing as safe sex?’

But he found that his words produced unwanted images—images of Isabella being intimate with another man, her dark hair spread in a shining fan across a stranger’s pillow and a bitter taste began to taint his mouth. He put his napkin down on the table and threw her a look of dark challenge. ‘I just hope it was worth it, querida.’

Worth it? Isabella stared down at her plate, but all she could see was a blur of tears. If only he knew, she thought. If only he knew.