Читать книгу Latin Lovers: Passionate Spaniards - Кэтти Уильямс, Cathy Williams - Страница 12

LEANDRO gazed down at his sleeping baby son with a fierce swell of pride, apprehension and love pouring through his chest all at the same time. The sensation rocked him so hard that the ground beneath his feet suddenly felt like the deck of a ship upon a wild, precarious ocean instead of the firm foundation he knew it was in reality. Tears stung his eyes as he dropped down onto his haunches, carefully smoothed back a rogue curl from the baby’s velvet-smooth cheek and experienced the exquisite flutter of his gentle breath against his hand.

At thirty-six years of age, Leandro’s life was not bereft of memorable moments, but this was one that would be recorded in the deepest annals of his heart, mind and soul for ever. Even with Raphael asleep, he had straight away recognised the similarity between his child and himself as an infant. Remembering his parents’ photographs, he recalled that he had had the same black curly hair and the same plump features as the little boy before him. His mother would be undone by this news of a grandchild. Leandro could already imagine her weeping with joy. The baby’s existence would help towards healing the great hurt done her when her beloved husband had lost his life so cruelly and without warning.

All at once he was galvanised by a tremendous sense of overwhelming purpose. The plans for the future that he had vaguely turned over in his mind last night after Isabella had left now became almost urgently reinstated at the sight of his child. He found that his thinking on the subject was so much more focused than it had been.

Surging to his feet, Leandro just about contained the sense of urgency that was gripping him to regard Isabella with deceptive calmness. She stood with her arms down by her sides, her face pale with anxiety, her dark eyes locking onto his as if she were a prisoner awaiting sentence and he the judge and jailer who held the key to her freedom or incarceration …

Attacked on all sides by a myriad conflicting emotions, Leandro clenched his jaw and drew determinedly upon his characteristic resolve to overcome the feelings that threatened to swamp him. Self-control was paramount now if he was going to achieve the outcome he suddenly knew with great clarity that he desired and he could not afford to be swayed by emotion alone. There were important things to be conveyed to Isabella …the mother of his son. Things that he had no time in which to consider how she would react to them, or whether they pleased or displeased her.

‘I can see that he is my child …of that there is no doubt.’ Moving his head slowly from side to side, Leandro took a moment to let the astounding realisation properly sink in. ‘Last night, his existence was merely the most impossible, incredible idea. But now today, seeing him in the flesh …it is …’ Dropping his hands to his hips, he looked nothing less than stunned. ‘How can I explain? There are not the words to say.’ As he considered Isabella his penetrating glance grew doubly resolute. ‘But now that I have seen him …it is clear to me that you will both have to return to Madrid with me,’ he declared, as though he were the authoritative captain of a ship announcing to his passengers that the crew had to make an unavoidable detour on their voyage …a detour that was not open to argument.

‘What?’ Now it was Isabella’s turn to look stunned.

‘I am due to start directing a new film in three days’ time and I want you and our son with me when I return …I do not have time to contest this with you, Isabella; it simply must be. I have a house a little way from the old part of the town and fortunately I will be working close by because I am shooting on location there. There is no need to worry about bringing everything. Just pack essentials for you and the child for now. Anything else you want to bring I can arrange to have transported over later.’

Her mouth agape, Isabella closed it again as she strove to assimilate the sensation of being dragged along by a runaway train by her coat tails. Indignation helpfully shook her out of her temporary stupor. She could hardly believe what she was hearing. He wanted her and Raphael to move back to Spain with him in just a couple of days? As she considered the determined glitter in those incredible eyes of his, along with the indisputably dictatorial stance he was taking, Isabella inwardly took umbrage. ‘Now wait a minute here! You can’t just say, “It must be,” and expect me to meekly agree as if there was no question that I should come with you! This is our home! My friends and my family live here …My life is here!’

‘In Spain you told me that you wanted to live a different life. You said that things for you had become predictable …that you longed to change that. To me that would suggest that you might welcome the notion of living in another country—not be totally against the idea. Surely walking the Camino helped you to have less fixed and rigid views, Isabella?’

He had a point, of course. Feeling acutely discomfited by his solemn-faced cynosure as well as the wisdom in his words, Isabella sighed and ran her hand across her brow. ‘My views aren’t rigid or fixed!’ she protested, glancing down at her slumbering baby. She had never sought to deny him knowledge or influence of his father—on the contrary, she had tried every which way she could to contact him—but at the same time Leandro could not just wade in and take charge of everything now that he was here. If only she could think more clearly for a minute! But that was easier said than done when the strongly magnetic pull for this man kept interfering—like some pirate radio station infiltrating the airwaves. ‘But if you seriously expect me to consider your suggestion, then I need more than three days to think it over.’

‘No,’ he snapped back with a dangerously warning glance, ‘that is not possible! I want my son with me when I return to Spain and I am not prepared to wait while you make up your mind about whether it is a good idea or not! How do I know that when I leave the country you would not flee somewhere else with Raphael and leave no forwarding address?’

Isabella blanched in indignation. ‘I would never do that to you!’ As she struggled to calm herself she could see the genuine fear in Leandro’s expression that she might do just that and her heart turned over with sorrow. She would never deprive him of contact with his son or Raphael contact with his father. ‘Look …this is an impossible situation. I know that. We both have to be reasonable if we’re going to make the right decision …don’t you agree?’

‘The “right” decision?’ For a moment Leandro appeared scornful. ‘The right decision is that we simply have to do what is best for Raphael! And, in my opinion, living with both parents in a comfortable home and not lacking for anything is surely something to be desired and not rejected? Even if it is not in the country he was born in. I want to be in my son’s life on a daily basis—I am not interested in a long-distance “weekend father” kind of relationship! The only way we can accomplish that is for both of you to come and live with me. I say again, Isabella …it is Raphael’s welfare that must take precedence over any other considerations. And I have already been deprived of nine months of his life and do not intend to be deprived of any more!’

At the sound of the raised male voice, Raphael stirred where he lay on the sofa beneath the pretty fringed shawl, opened his startling grey eyes and whimpered softly as he looked up at Leandro.

‘Increíble …’

Lapsing into awed Spanish, Leandro gazed down into the glistening mirror of his infant son’s eyes, his expression rapt. Any vestige of doubt that they were father and son was annihilated into dust in that amazing moment. He let his breath out slowly.

Automatically moving past him to pick up her infant, Isabella felt her own body tremble violently with emotion. She felt for both of them. For her baby son who, did he but know it, was looking upon the face of his father for the very first time …and for Leandro, meeting the child he hadn’t even known existed until yesterday …

I have already been deprived of nine months of his life and do not intend to be deprived of any more!

The ache inside her throat burned intolerably as Leandro’s passionate words echoed hurtfully round her brain. She had tried so hard to contact him when she’d found out that she was pregnant, but every avenue, every door to reaching him, had been absolutely shut in her face. It would have been easier to try and make contact with the Pope! What was she supposed to have done under the circumstances but decide to raise her child on her own?

Frustration and guilt gripping her, Isabella tried to stay calm for her son’s sake. Carefully lifting Raphael up into her arms, she cradled him tenderly as he laid his head on her shoulder and proceeded to suck his thumb—all the while regarding Leandro from beneath his sable lashes with a mixture of curiosity and wariness.

‘He’s hungry,’ Isabella declared tightly as she walked back across the room and out into the kitchen. Retrieving a bottle of milk formula from the fridge, she opened the microwave, tapped in the correct heating time and switched it on. As the plate inside started to rotate with the bottle of milk, she turned round to find Leandro framed in the doorway, his expression bordering on accusatory as his gaze met hers across the distance between them. ‘You are not feeding our son yourself?’

For a second or two Isabella froze. Then as another guilty wave immersed her, she bit back the angrily defensive retort that she’d been about to let loose. Instead she started to pat Raphael comfortingly on the back as, sensing her discomfort, he began to struggle in her arms.

‘No …I’m not. I breastfed him for three months but it was difficult.’ Leandro’s steady gaze held hers in thrall and for a tense, troubling moment Isabella could not break free from the spell. Feeling his scrutiny and judgement intensely, she started to rock rhythmically from side to side in a bid to comfort her increasingly restless baby son. It was clear to her that Raphael could absolutely sense her unease and the effect this ‘strange’ man was having upon his mother’s usual calm. ‘I was suffering with post-natal depression for a while and my milk just seemed to—to dry up,’ she continued with her explanation.

The words seemed as insubstantial as cotton wool—as though she were merely making unconvincing excuses for what Leandro must see as her complete lack of determination in the matter. Isabella could have cried with the deep unfairness of his perceived judgement. It had not been easy being pregnant and having to cope with the prospect and reality of bringing a child into the world on her own. Apart from the physical aspects, emotionally Isabella had not known what had hit her. And when she hadn’t even been able to contact Leandro to let him know what had happened after their night together, she had experienced overwhelming fear and the most devastating vulnerability too. Swallowing hard, she jiggled Raphael some more to get him to settle but he would not be comforted. He was as mesmerised by Leandro as she was and kept straining to look at him over her shoulder.

‘You should have had proper help so that you could continue. In Spain we would have done things properly.’

The accusation in his voice no longer open to speculation but just about as obvious as it could get, Leandro walked towards her and held out his arms. ‘Give him to me,’ he ordered quietly. Wanting to resist but somehow unable to, Isabella relented, and surprisingly Raphael immediately quieted. Her heartbeat slowed to an astonished thud inside her chest. Jerking his head a little towards the microwave, then looking straight at her, Leandro positioned his hands securely around his baby son and held him tenderly to his chest. ‘See to the milk. I will take Raphael into the living room and we will wait for you.’ Breathing out with some force as they left the room, Isabella heard the timely ‘ping’ from the microwave and, opening the door, reached inside in a daze to retrieve the now-warmed milk …

‘Soy su padre, mi hijo.’ I am your father, my son …The rest of the world retreated into oblivion as Leandro spoke to his child alone for the first time and he was completely content just to let it. The concerns that had lately been so prevalent and that had seemed to tirelessly dominate his thinking—his father’s death, his mother’s melancholy, the unsatisfactory script for the new film, even his increasing desire to see Isabella again—all stole into a silent void as he willingly lost himself in the wide grey innocent eyes that solemnly gazed up at him. The one thought that did consume him was that in the instant he had glanced back into that curious and innocent glance Leandro knew that he had become the fiercely protective custodian of this beautiful innocent life he held in his arms. He would willingly die before he let harm touch so much as one hair of his son’s head. That being the case, Isabella had no choice but to return to Spain with him and their son. Any arguments she put to him to dispute that choice, Leandro would ruthlessly knock down as easily as a pack of cards. But he would get his way …he had to get his way. He owed it not just to himself, but to the memory of his beloved father who had longed for the miracle Leandro held in his arms right now. Raphael …his perfect little son …

‘Let me take him.’

Suddenly Isabella was there, regarding Leandro with apprehension and concern in her dark-eyed glance as she approached him—clearly oblivious to anything else but the beautiful child he held in his arms.

‘I can feed him.’

He held out his hand for the bottle of milk she had brought and felt a flash of irritation ricochet through his insides when she seemed to hesitate. ‘Do you not think I know how to handle a little one like this? Give me the milk and you can go and take a bath or do whatever it is you need to do to help you relax after work.’

Surprised to say the least by his apparent consideration of her own possible needs, Isabella handed Leandro the bottle and watched him position the teat in Raphael’s eager little mouth—her son clearly displaying no protest at having his father feed him instead of his mother. They looked quite at home, the pair of them—as though this were a ritual they shared on a nightly basis instead of it being the very first time …Isabella couldn’t deny the odd mix of confusion and yet delight that was generated inside her at the touching sight.

‘I’m famished and I was going to get something ready for dinner …You’re welcome to join me if you haven’t eaten yet.’ He’d probably refuse, she told herself. And it would be nothing less than idiotic to feel rejected if he did. But right now no amount of sensible advice she could offer herself was likely to help. Not when her feelings about this man were all tangled up with her quite tangible fears about her own and her baby’s future.

‘How could I possibly refuse such a lovingly extended invitation?’ he responded mockingly. To Isabella’s intense alarm, Leandro glanced up at her with the kind of taunting, devilish sparkle in his striking gaze that could make a woman lose the power of speech and she recalled just how receptive she’d been to those scorching little glances when he’d first employed them and she had ended up in bed with him. That never-to-be-forgotten event that had resulted in the adorably sweet child he now cradled in his arms.

‘I was only going to make a simple rice dish so don’t get your hopes up. I’ll feed Raphael his meal first, then I’ll bath him and put him to bed. After that we can eat and talk …That is if you’re not in a hurry to go anywhere else for a while?’

‘Is it likely that I would be in a hurry to go somewhere else tonight, Isabella?’

The smile that had touched his lips and caused such mayhem vanished, and the look he levelled at Isabella instead was as devoid of humour as a judge at the Old Bailey presiding over a murder trial. Immediately she mourned for his smile.

‘We need to talk and discuss our plans for the future. I am not going anywhere until we have those firmly in place …and I am warning you now that I will not be taking no for an answer when it comes to the matter of you and Raphael coming to live in Madrid with me.’

‘You can’t make a contentious statement like that and expect me to—’

‘I am afraid I can …but before you say anything else there is something I have to ask you.’

‘What’s that?’ Forced to curtail her annoyance and not happy about it one iota, Isabella crossed her arms over her chest and inwardly seethed.

‘Your family …do they know that I am Raphael’s father?’

The question completely took the wind out of Isabella’s sails. It was a great sadness to her that she had not been able to share her child’s father’s identity with anyone …not even her own mother. How many times, when people had expressed admiration for her beautiful son’s ‘amazing’ eyes or stunning face, had she had to suppress her longing to say, Yes, he is so like his father. His name is Leandro Reyes and he is amazing too.

Emilia had done her best, of course, to try and get her to confess the identity of Raphael’s father, but Isabella instinctively knew the potential danger of such a confession to a woman as ambitious as her sister. The last thing she wanted either for herself, Raphael or Leandro was some glib article about them featuring in Emilia’s magazine. And if by some unbelievable fluke it had been mooted by someone else that Leandro Reyes might well be the father of Isabella’s son, then Emilia—perversely, she was sure—would be the first to deny such an implausible premise. Because in her eyes she was the beautiful, successful daughter in the family who consorted with the rich and famous …not Isabella …

‘No,’ she said out loud in answer to Leandro’s question. ‘None of them know. I thought it best under the circumstances not to tell them.’

Because perhaps she viewed their lovemaking as an unimportant one-night stand that she’d succumbed to whilst away from home in a strange country? The thought was like the tip of a red-hot poker suddenly pressed against Leandro’s skin. But then he regrouped. Had Isabella resisted naming him as Raphael’s father to her family because of the celebrity attached to his name? Did she think that perhaps they would not believe her story or that they might even press her to pursue him for support? In other words …had she been protecting him?

‘Why?’ he asked her, moving Raphael closer into his chest and revelling in the strong feelings of protectiveness and warmth that deluged him. ‘Were you ashamed of what happened?’

‘No!’

The passion in her face reassured Leandro that his initial speculation was wrong even more convincingly than her fierce denial. He felt himself relax against the back of the sofa and even briefly smiled. ‘Then why? Why did you not tell them that I was Raphael’s father?’

‘Why should I? I’m an adult …and what I do is my business, not theirs.’ Isabella would not go on to explain to him that whatever decisions or actions she took—they were nearly always criticised by her exacting parents. Therefore, telling them about Leandro would only have invited more condemnation and disapproval, and, honestly, what self-respecting, intelligent human being would welcome that? Sighing, Isabella moved gracefully across the room to absently straighten one of the silver-framed photographs on the window sill.

Waiting patiently for her further explanation, Leandro was quite content to observe her eye-catching curves in her slim black jeans and agreeably tight sweater. With her long dark hair reaching down to the middle of her back and the too-distracting sway of her hips when she moved, she was the kind of earthy, sexy woman whose arousing image would disrupt most men’s sleep when they saw her. Registering the inevitable tension that this thought produced, Leandro tried to will away the passionate arousing memory of that long hot night they’d spent together in Spain, but he wasn’t strong enough to totally banish the image that taunted him.

‘Anyway …I don’t want anyone knowing my business except those I know I can really trust …and unfortunately they are few and far between. And you must have enough to contend with already being in the public eye without having stories about an illegitimate son appearing in the papers.’

Staring down at the near blissful expression on Raphael’s face as he continued to drink from his bottle, Leandro admired Isabella’s obvious integrity at wanting to protect her own and his privacy, but he winced at the repugnant idea of his child being labelled ‘illegitimate’ in the newspapers …His father, Vincente, would turn in his grave! Which immediately presented him with another dilemma that needed resolving. This particular one he decided to save until they got the chance to talk properly later …but he vowed that after the matter of Isabella moving out to Spain with him, it would be top of his agenda.

‘But you say you tried to contact me when you found out that you were pregnant?’ He lifted his gaze as she slowly walked back across the room towards him, unable to stop himself from appreciating the very arresting picture she made. Dios mio! But she was more bewitching than any sultry movie star he had ever worked with!

Recalling the painful memory of being so clearly disbelieved at claiming acquaintance with Leandro …not just once, but several times by the different people at his film company’s offices, Isabella frowned. ‘I tried many times, Leandro …but I think your people truly believed that I was some kind of stalker or something! Anyway …they wouldn’t take a message no matter how many times I rang, and all my letters went unanswered. I suppose it comes with the territory when you’re well known and don’t know who you can trust …but it made it impossible for me to let you know about Raphael.’

‘So—’ Leandro lowered his voice with the heaviest of sighs ‘—you thought that you would never see me again?’

‘Can you blame me for thinking that? On the morning we said goodbye it was “business as usual” for you—I could tell you’d probably never even give me another thought once I was gone!’ She shrugged, her heart filling with renewed hurt that he could dismiss so casually what they’d shared. It hadn’t helped when a woman at his offices had made some exasperated comment when Isabella had phoned, that Leandro Reyes always had some woman hanging on his coat tails!

‘It is not true that I did not think of you again. Why do you think I am here now?’

Isabella didn’t answer him that she’d privately speculated that he was looking for another one-night stand. She was too upset to even say the words. Turning away so that he wouldn’t witness the tears that had momentarily clouded her vision, Isabella went to the door. ‘I should get on and get some dinner ready. Are you all right holding the baby for a while? You can lay him down on the sofa if he gets too heavy.’

She disappeared before Leandro could even reply …

As they sat in Isabella’s small, neat kitchen to eat the meal she had prepared and served—Raphael sleeping peacefully in his bed after his bath and some rhythm and blues music station playing quietly in the background on the radio—Isabella stole a glance at the man sitting opposite her across the Spanish lace tablecloth she’d brought back from Santiago. There were so many topics she’d love to converse with Leandro about besides the astounding fact that they had a son together. He was an amazing man doing extraordinary work in a field of the arts that people were fascinated by and she longed to tell him how much she had loved the film he’d directed that she’d seen the other night with Chris. But, although right now there was little distance between them physically, emotionally they seemed miles apart. Leandro Reyes was an unknown quantity to Isabella even though her feelings for him were not, and she longed to find a way to bridge that seemingly enormous gulf between them. He apparently loved his son on sight, but would that be enough to cement a proper relationship between him and Isabella and was that what he really wanted?

Guiltily catching his eye and seeing him offer a wry smile, Isabella sighed out loud and put down her fork. The poor man had just discovered she wasn’t exactly a gourmet cook. It was fairly evident that the dish she had cooked was pretty inedible. But how was she supposed to be able to concentrate on cooking when the father of her child—a man she had only met twice before and had experienced the most momentous connection with—was sitting in her living room cradling their child as if he were the pivot on which the earth turned round?

‘I’m sorry …this is pretty awful. You don’t have to eat it.’

‘No …it is fine. I am not so hungry anyway. It is not the food that I came here for, Isabella, as we both know …’

She knew that he was talking about the baby but the intensity of his gaze was like coming into direct and sudden contact with the relentless reflection of a glaring Spanish sun and Isabella pushed back her chair a little too suddenly and got to her feet. Moving across to the clean granite worktop next to the fridge, she took the cork out of the bottle of red wine that resided there and poured Leandro a generous glassful, then a much smaller one for herself. Bringing the glasses to the table, she sat back down again and smiled awkwardly.

‘Perhaps this will get rid of the taste,’ she joked, raising her glass to her lips and taking a sip. The alcohol acted like a heady cocktail to her already heightened nervous system, but Isabella told herself she needed some kind of boost to help her deal with the discussion that was about to take place.

‘Isabella?’

‘Yes?’

‘Let us not waste any more time with distracting trivialities. We need to talk seriously.’

‘Yes, I know that.’

She wouldn’t look into his eyes, she vowed nervously. Leandro Reyes was possessed of the kind of eyes that stole a woman’s soul and haunted her for ever and she needed to stay strong and focused—not just for her own sake, but for Raphael’s too.

‘You realise that you are going to have to agree to be my wife?’ he said commandingly before he leant back in his chair and sighed heavily. ‘Don’t you?’