Читать книгу The Santana Heir - Elizabeth Lane - Страница 8

Two

Grace pressed close to the window as the Gulfstream G500 dropped toward Lima. Far to the west, the setting sun streaked the clouds with rose and flame. Below the plane, breathtakingly close, the craggy peaks of the Andes jutted into the thin air like ice-tipped daggers.

“Unbelievable,” she murmured.

“Isn’t it? I never get tired of flying home.” Emilio emerged from the cockpit where he’d been consulting with his private pilot. Grace was still getting used to his way of making things happen. Within a few hours of their first meeting, he’d pulled strings to secure the couriered delivery of visas from the Peruvian consulate for her and Zac. Grace had been given just one day to pack and recruit a friend to house-sit. The next morning she and Zac had been picked up and driven to the airport in a chauffeured limousine. Bypassing the hassle of ticket and security lines, they’d been whisked along a side road to Emilio’s private plane. Almost before she’d realized it, she was having hot coffee and flaky cheese croissants in the air, served by a slim young man who fussed over Zac and smiled at her efforts to make herself understood in her high school Spanish.

To paraphrase Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, she wasn’t in Arizona anymore. She and Zac had been swept up by this cyclone of a man and transported to another world—a world that, for Grace, was still shrouded in unreality.

“How is the boy doing?” Emilio slid into the leather seat across the aisle. He’d spent much of the flight in the office section of the plane, leaving Grace to tend Zac in the main cabin. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to impose his presence on her; or, more likely, he simply hadn’t had much interest in her company. As his nephew’s caretaker, her status wasn’t far above a servant’s.

Grace glanced toward Zac, who lay strapped in his car seat, sound asleep. “The little pill spent most of the day wearing himself out,” she said. “I’m hoping he’s down for the count. I know I am.”

Emilio’s gaze lingered on the sleeping baby, as if examining each feature for traces of his brother. “He’s a beautiful child, isn’t he?”

“He had a beautiful mother.” Grace squelched the urge to remind him what Cassidy had gone through to carry and deliver her baby, refusing needed medicines to treat her cancer that might have caused him harm. All that Arturo had given up was a minuscule blob of DNA—and that while thoroughly enjoying himself. Emilio had contributed nothing at all. The idea that this man was entitled to storm into her life and snatch away the child she loved was unthinkable. But that was her new reality.

“You look tired, Grace.” Emilio’s gaze took in her drooping hair and tired face. Even after the long day, he looked maddeningly fresh and unrumpled in khakis and a simple polo shirt that matched the black armband he wore as a sign of mourning. Even the faint stubble on his jaw looked as if it was meant to be there.

“In my house you’ll have all the help you need,” he said. “You’ll be able to see the countryside, pursue your art, anything you like—an advantage I suspect you didn’t enjoy at home.”

Grace hummed noncommittally. Admittedly, the thought of having some help sounded nice. So far, Zac had been a full-time job. But was there more behind Emilio’s offer? If Emilio were to marry—as he almost certainly would—his wife would most likely push her aside, forcing her to leave the boy. Was Emilio preparing for that possibility by increasing Zac’s dependence on the household servants instead of her?

Emilio glanced out the window. “We’re coming into Lima, Grace. Come over here. You’ll see more from this side of the plane.”

He rose, giving her room to slip into the space next to the window. She felt the hot tingle of awareness as her body brushed his. He was warm and solid through his clothes, his skin smelling lightly of sage-scented soap.

Pulling past him she took her seat. Did he know that her pulse had surged as they touched? But why even speculate? Emilio Santana was well aware of his effect on women—even on this woman who had every reason to dislike him. For such a man, seduction would come as naturally as breathing.

But Grace had no intention of falling under his spell. Simple wariness of his wealth and influence had been enough to get her to uproot her life and halt proceedings on the adoption she wanted more than anything. If she actually gave in to his charm, who knew what he could convince her to do?

“Down there.” His hands framed her shoulders, turning her toward the view. The mountains had fallen away to a pale ribbon of coastline, surprisingly bleak.

“The mountains keep the rain from reaching the coast.” Emilio’s hands remained on her shoulders, the contact triggering subtle whorls of heat. “In Lima, the precious little water we get comes mostly from fog and wells. Look, you can see the city lights from here.”

The twilight mist was rolling in from the sea, softening the vast river of light that was the capital city of Peru. As the plane glided in on approach, the city unfolded below—a panorama of ancient churches, towering skyscrapers, open plazas and streams of evening traffic. On the outskirts of the city ramshackle slums clung to the barren hillsides.

“Will we be staying in Lima tonight?” Grace asked.

“We’ll just be touching down to refuel, check you and the boy through immigration, and load some supplies. Then we’ll be flying on to Cusco. My driver will be waiting there with the car. It’s a spectacular flight. You won’t be seeing much tonight, but there’ll be plenty of other chances.

“So we’ll have to deplane for immigration?” Grace glanced over at the sleeping Zac, a sigh escaping her lips as she imagined standing in a long line with a cranky baby in her arms.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll just show your papers to the right people. They know me. If there’s any question, they can board the plane and meet you in person.”

So easy. No doubt some cash would be changing hands. Grace had heard it was the accepted way of getting things done in this part of the world. She had never approved of what she viewed as bribery. But tonight she was too tired to stand on principle.

Minutes later the landing gear dropped and the wheels touched down. The tanker truck was waiting on the tarmac. By the time the refueling was finished, Emilio had taken care of the paperwork and returned to the plane. “All done.” He handed Grace her stamped passport. “I told you there would be no problem.”

“I must say I’m impressed,” she countered. “But whatever you did to speed things along, I don’t want to know about it.”

“You Norteamericanos! So proper!” He chuckled, his grin a white flash in the darkness of the cabin. “Look at it this way, Grace. You are happy because you didn’t have to wake the baby and wait in line for your papers. My friend in Migración is happy because he can now pay his rent. Our pilot is happy because he’ll be home in time for dinner. And I am happy because everyone else is happy. What do you see here that is not good?”

Grace’s only answer was a weary sigh as she buckled her seat belt for the takeoff. “How long will we be in the car once we land?” she asked, changing the subject.

“Not long. It’s an hour’s drive from Cusco to Urubamba. You can sleep on the way if you get tired. There’ll be blankets and pillows in the backseat, and some fresh baby formula in case the boy wakes up hungry.”

“His name is Zac.”

There was a beat of awkward silence. “But of course,” Emilio said.

As the plane rose skyward again, Grace studied his profile against the window. For a powerful, confident man, he seemed ill at ease with his newly discovered nephew. She suspected he’d never spent time with children before. If the jet-setting, thrill-seeking lifestyle she’d seen highlighted in the tabloids was accurate then she doubted he’d ever taken responsibility for another person in his life.

If that was true, she already had her work cut out for her. It wouldn’t be easy, helping a man change the habits from a lifetime of no consequences and disposable relationships, but this was one relationship Grace intended to see Emilio take seriously. If he was going to claim custody of Cassidy’s precious son, she would make sure the Peruvian Playboy learned to be a father to Zac. Not just a father, but a dad.

* * *

The silver-gray Audi purred along the mountain road, gearing down on the hairpin curves. The narrow highway from Cusco to Urubamba could be dangerous after dark, and Emilio had warned his driver to take extra care. Tonight there was precious cargo on board.

On the far side of the backseat, Grace had fallen asleep, her tousled blonde head pillowed in the corner between the seat and the window. Feeling an unaccustomed tenderness, Emilio had tucked a blanket around her as she slept. She’d had her whole life uprooted, but she’d kept her complaints to herself. All she’d asked of him was to let her be with the child she loved—a child who wasn’t even hers. He couldn’t help but admire that kind of devotion. For all her stubborn independence, Grace Chandler was a genuinely good woman. Arturo’s son was lucky to have her.

The baby slumbered between them, securely buckled into his car seat. In the semidarkness, Emilio studied the chubby features—the pert nose and dimpled chin, the straight brows and feathery black eyelashes. He saw more of Cassidy than his brother in the child. But that would change. Like all Santana males, young Zac would grow to be a tall, handsome man. By the time he came of age, he would already be learning to run the estate and the Santana business empire.

Such big responsibilities for a little boy. Little Zac should have his father here to teach him. Tio Emilio would have to fill the void. Heart skipping, Emilio brushed a fingertip across the soft ridge of knuckles. Zac stirred and whimpered, causing Emilio to pull away. Had he done something wrong? Por diós, he didn’t know the first thing about babies.

With Arturo gone, duty demanded that he be a father to this niño precioso. But how could he even begin?

Emilio remembered his own father as a busy, distant man who’d suffered a fatal heart attack at fifty, leaving a mistress in Callao and a twenty-year-old son as the head of the family. Arturo had been yanked out of Harvard and forced to grow up fast. Emilio, barely seventeen, had been left to drift.

Their mother, a pampered society beauty, had been little help. She’d taken to her bed for the first few months, then flung herself into a series of sad affairs that ended one night in a fatal mix of pills and alcohol.

In short, Emilio had barely ever known what it was like even to have a parent—he’d certainly never learned to be a parent. To him, this small lump of humanity was more intimidating than a boardroom full of corporate rivals bent on eating him alive.

“A penny for your thoughts.” Grace’s husky voice startled him. She’d awakened and was studying him with her extraordinary hazel eyes. Tangled hair framed her sleepy face. She looked surprisingly sexy, he thought. He was struck by the intimate feel of the moment—the dark, close atmosphere of the car’s backseat; her presence beside him, warm, drowsy and more relaxed than he’d ever seen her, speaking to him in a soft, languorous voice.

“I asked you what you were thinking.” She spoke as if explaining her previous question. Knowing she might not be pleased by the truth, Emilio scrambled for a diversion.

“Tell me about Cassidy,” he said.

“Didn’t you know her when she was here?”

“We had a few conversations. But she didn’t mention her family or her illness.”

“There wasn’t much family to tell you about. We were teenagers when her father married my mother. At first we had nothing in common. She was the beautiful, wild one. I was the older, serious one. We alternated between fighting and ignoring each other. But after our parents died in a plane crash we became close. I took care of her until she was old enough to leave home and get modeling work. Wherever she went, we kept in touch.”

“What about the brain tumor?” he asked. “Cassidy had headaches in Peru, but she never mentioned...” He shook his head. “I keep wondering if she knew, even then.”

“Cassidy had surgery and radiation for the tumor six years ago, when she was twenty-two. The doctors said it might come back. When she started having headaches again, yes, she knew what it was.”

“And the baby?”

“Soon after she got home, she discovered she was pregnant. The doctors advised an abortion. Cassidy wouldn’t hear of it. She even made us promise that if we had to, we’d keep her body on life support long enough to safely deliver the baby. But that turned out not to be necessary. She lived to hold her son and name him...and to give him to me.” Grace gulped back a surge of tears. “She sacrificed so much to bring him into the world.”

Emilio pondered what she’d told him. “She’s not the only one. It’s a big sacrifice you’ve made, too, uprooting your life to bring him here, to a strange country—”

Her eyes flashed in the darkness. “Zac is my life. There’s nothing I’ve left behind that matters as much to me as him.”

“But your house, your work—”

“My house will be there. And once my art supplies are unpacked, I can work almost anywhere. All I need is a little space.”

“If you wish to work, of course, there’ll be room for you to set up a studio.” Emilio said. “Not that you’ll need the income. If you decide to stay, you’ll receive pay and lodging for being in charge of my brother’s son.”

Her body went rigid, jerking her bolt upright in the seat. Emilio knew at once he’d said the wrong thing. But he didn’t know how make it right.

He spoke against the icy wall of her silence. “You’ll also have a car and driver at your disposal. A pretty woman driving alone in this country is asking for trouble.”

Of course he would see to it that she had everything she required while she was here and taking care of the boy. It was only fair. No matter what she said, he knew she’d given up a great deal. Room and board, plus an income for whatever else she needed, were little enough for him to provide.

Her full lower lip quivered. “Is that all you think I am to Zac? Just his hired caretaker?”

So that was what he’d said wrong. Emilio exhaled, easing the frustration that had surged like heat in a volcano. “Of course not. I’m just trying to do the right thing—for you, for Zac and for my family’s future.”

She was silent for a moment, studying him with those arresting eyes. They still danced with anger, but she seemed to be holding it in. “Tell me about your family,” she said, surprising him.

“As you said about your own family, there’s not much to tell. I lost my parents fifteen years ago. My firstborn brother died when he was four. Then there was Arturo...and me. That’s all.”

“What about Arturo’s wife? He told me he was getting married.”

“The wedding never happened. Arturo kept finding excuses to put it off. He said he was busy with work. But I think the truth was he never got over Cassidy.”

Her gaze deepened in the shadows. “So you’re the last of the Santanas.”

Emilio glanced at the sleeping baby. “Not anymore.”

* * *

By the time the car reached the outskirts of Urubamba, Zac was awake and fussing. Grace found the formula stored in the portable cooler. Soon he was chugging it down, clasping the bottle like a pro. Before long he’d be old enough to wean to a sippy cup, and after that there’d be walking, talking, potty training—so many ways a little boy would need a mother’s help. How could she ever think of going back to Arizona and leaving him to the care of hired nursemaids?

Emilio sniffed and frowned. “I think somebody might need changing.”

Grace nodded, recognizing the familiar stink. “That’s no surprise. But I was hoping I wouldn’t have to change him in the car.”

“I was hoping the same thing. If it can wait a few more minutes, we’ll be home.”

Home to a place she’d never been before. The line from the old John Denver song flickered through Grace’s mind. But even without seeing much of it, she knew this strange country would never be home to her. It could be Zac’s home, though. And if this was what was best for Zac, then she’d find a way to deal with it. For now, she’d have to try to look on the bright side of things.

And that would include finding humor where she could...such as in the way Emilio was edging away from Zac, toward his side of the car. “Have you ever changed a baby?” she asked, amused at his discomfort.

“No, and I don’t plan to.”

“Why? I’ve known some very manly men who don’t mind changing a diaper.”

“In your country, maybe. Not in mine. I would not even know where to begin.”

“Well, in that case, maybe I should give you a demonstration.” Opening the diaper bag, she made a show of fumbling for the things she’d need.

His hand flashed out and caught her wrist. “Please not now, and not in this car!”

As she met his concerned gaze, Grace couldn’t help it. She had to giggle. A dimple deepened in her cheek.

Muttering a curse in Spanish, he released her and sank back against the seat. “So you’re teasing me! You’re a vixen, Grace Chandler!”

“I’ve been called worse.” Grace closed the diaper bag. “I’ll give you a break this time. But take warning, Emilio, if you’re going to raise a baby, you’ll have to get used to everything that comes with being a father!”

A startled expression flickered across his face. Was it because she’d had the effrontery to stand up to him, or had he just realized that he’d be responsible for acting as a father for his brother’s son? Taking on a child as heir was one thing, but becoming a parent was another matter entirely. Was he up to the challenge?

The question fled her mind as the car swung off the highway and onto a graveled road that crunched beneath the wheels. Leafy branches overhung the long, narrow drive, forming a filigreed canopy that let in shafts of silver moonlight.

The lights of a small gatehouse shone through the darkness. A uniformed guard stepped out to open the wrought-iron gate. Grace shivered as she glimpsed the holstered pistol at his hip.

“We’re home, Grace,” Emilio said.

Home—a place she’d never been before.