The Brazilian Millionaire's Love-Child (4 page)

‘I’m not ashamed!’ Isobel caught her breath. ‘But, if that’s supposed to be some sort of apology, I don’t accept it. You have no right to come here, uninvited, and behave as if I should be flattered.’

‘It was not an apology,’ inserted Alejandro mildly, dropping the stockings onto the floor and looking down at her with light, disturbing eyes. ‘I was merely speaking the truth,
querida
. Do not blame me for that.’

‘Oh, right.’ Isobel glanced about her wildly, looking for something—her dressing gown, perhaps—to cover her
semi-nakedness. But she’d taken her robe into the bathroom, and the trousers and sleeveless wrap-tank she’d been planning to wear offered little in the way of protection. ‘And I suppose if I were a Brazilian girl you’d behave in exactly the same way?’

Alejandro’s lips thinned. Despite recent events, he couldn’t deny that there was no way Miranda’s mother would have allowed him to enter her daughter’s bedroom, even if he’d wanted to. Despite the new freedoms the twenty-first century had brought, women of good family clung to the old ways. Oh, that wasn’t to say that young people didn’t rebel. He was sure Miranda had done things her mother knew nothing about. But on the surface anyway the old customs applied, and he was honest enough to admit he’d want it no other way.

The silence between them stretched, and when he didn’t answer her her lips twisted in contempt. ‘I didn’t think so,’ she said, turning her back on him. ‘Now, will you please get out of here?’

Alejandro’s hands balled into fists, the urge to grip her shoulders and pull her back against him almost overwhelming. From this angle, he was offered only a glimpse of her breasts, but the narrow curve of her waist and the delectable swell of her hips were irresistible. And the rounded cheeks of her bottom protruding from the black lace of her panties sent a hot rush of blood into his groin.

He wanted her, he acknowledged grimly. Wanted to bury his burning sex inside her and expunge all the stress and frustration he’d felt since he first kissed her in the welcoming heat of her body.

But he couldn’t do it.

He mustn’t do it.

For God’s sake, he wasn’t an animal. And she wasn’t some cheap whore he could seduce and leave without a
backward glance. He respected her too much for that. And, for that reason, he had to get himself out of here before his own needs and the indisputable temptation she represented overcame his good sense

And then, as he was backing towards the door, she turned her head and looked at him. Blue eyes, as clear and lucid as a summer sky, met his tormented gaze. Eyes that softened and gentled as he looked at her, lips parting to allow the provocative tip of her tongue to appear between her teeth.

She held his gaze for long, disturbing moments, and then she said a little breathlessly, ‘Your—your jacket’s hanging on the stand in the hall. You—you might have seen it when you came in.’

In actual fact, Alejandro had been aware of nothing but Isobel when he’d entered the apartment, but he acknowledged now that there probably had been some coats hanging in the hall.

‘Certo,’
he said, a faintly mocking expression marring his dark features. Right. But what had he expected? he asked himself bitterly. That she might change her mind and beg him to stay?
‘Obrigado.’
Thanks.

Isobel managed a slight smile over her shoulder, but her teeth came together and trapped her tongue before she could say anything else. He’d already shown her what he really thought about her. His silent admission that he wouldn’t treat a Brazilian girl with the same lack of respect that he’d shown her proved it. Just because she was tempted to throw caution to the winds and let him make love to her—something she suspected they both wanted—she had to remember that was not a sensible option.

Alejandro had reached the bedroom door now, and before he stepped out of her sight he gave a slight bow of his head. ‘It has been a pleasure knowing you, Isobella,’
he remarked, not without some irony. ‘
Adeus, cara
. I hope you have a good life.’

As Isobel digested the finality of his words, he disappeared into the living room, and she waited breathlessly for the outer door to open and close. He was going, she thought, aware of her own mixed feelings about it. He had to go. But she didn’t really want him to.

The silence was deafening, and her mood swung from ambivalence about his departure to an anxious curiosity as to why he hadn’t left. She would have heard the door, she assured herself. Which meant he was still in the apartment. But why? What was he doing?

She had to find out and, snatching up the shirt she’d discarded when she’d gone for her shower, she pulled it on and wrapped the folds around her. It only skimmed her thighs, but at least it was a little less revealing than her underwear.

Alejandro was in the living room. Because her apartment was on the sixth floor, she hadn’t drawn the curtains, and he was standing at the window staring out at the lights of the city.

He’d put on the jacket he’d been wearing when he’d arrived at the apartment, and she could see how wet and creased it was. Even so, that didn’t explain why he was still here, and with a tentative clearing of her throat she said, ‘Is something wrong?’

Alejandro swung round, his hands at his throat, and she realised he’d been fastening his collar and tie. She’d been too premature, she realised. She should have given him more time. As it was, she felt a fool for intruding.

‘You have an interesting view,’ he said, his hands dropping to his sides. ‘My apologies. I realise I am overstaying my welcome.’

Isobel’s tongue clove to the roof of her mouth. ‘Your—
your coat’s soaking,’ she said at last, unable to think of anything else, and Alejandro’s lips twisted.

‘Esta chovendo,’
he said, and then, collecting himself, ‘It is raining,
cara
.’ He spread his arms. ‘When it rains, I get wet.’

Isobel pressed her lips together. ‘You could—you could wear your other jacket,’ she pointed out, and Alejandro’s lips tilted.

‘So I could,’ he agreed ruefully, slipping the mohair jacket off his shoulders again. ‘As always, you are—
como se diz?
—the soul of practicality,
nao
?’

Isobel didn’t feel very practical, particularly when she was halfway across the living room before she remembered her state of undress. But by then it was too late to indulge in any false modesty, and, stepping into the hall, she lifted down the leather jacket she’d hung there and brought it back to him.

‘Many thanks,’ he said, coming to take the jacket from her, and as he did so she was made intensely aware of the damp, masculine scent of his skin.

‘I—no problem,’ she murmured. And then, before she could prevent the words, ‘Your shirt’s wet too.’

Alejandro lifted a hand and smoothed it down over his chest. The silk clung to his skin, and he made a slight gesture of acknowledgement. ‘So it is,’ he conceded with a rueful smile. ‘Unfortunately, I do not have another shirt to wear.’

‘I—I could dry it,’ offered Isobel recklessly, and he gave her a conservative look.

‘I think not,
cara
.’

‘Why not?’

‘You know the answer to that as well as I do,’ murmured Alejandro, his voice thickening as his eyes lowered to the sensual beauty of her mouth. ‘Or are you so immune to
this attraction I feel between us that you do not care what I do?’

That was so patently untrue that Isobel could only stare at him in mute appeal. She’d never been more aware of any man, of his heat and his magnetism, and the indefinable aura of masculinity and strength that emanated from him.

‘I—I care,’ she got out at last, and she wasn’t sure what she was admitting to when he cast his jacket aside and trailed an unsteady finger down her cheek.

‘Merda,’
he muttered, a low groan vibrating in his chest. Then his hand curled about her neck, and he was pulling her forward so that he could cover her mouth with his.

I
SOBEL
gave an involuntary little gasp as he kissed her. The initially gentle pressure of his lips was so inviting, so insistent, and she couldn’t help her hands from spreading weakly against his shirt.

Wet silk dampened her fingers as the satin-smooth heat of his tongue slid between her teeth and into the moist cavern of her mouth. The matching heat of his skin rose hotly through the fine fabric of his shirt, and her hands closed convulsively against the muscled pressure of his midriff.

He deepened his kiss, his hand sliding from her nape and into the tangled glory of her hair. His thumb explored her ear, finding the erratic pulse that beat so wildly beneath his touch, and he tilted back her head so that his mouth could seek the quivering column of her throat.

‘I—We—we shouldn’t,’ she managed to stammer when she felt her shirt sliding off her shoulders, felt his fingers peeling down the straps of her bra.

‘
Porque nao
? Why not?’ he asked, using the words she’d used earlier. ‘Do you not want me to show you what you do to me?’

‘I just—’ The erotic brush of his fingers across her breast caused her breath to hitch, and it was a struggle to remember what she had been going to say. ‘Alejandro…’

‘Do not tell me you do not want this just as much as I do,’ he insisted, his accent more pronounced now, soft and sensual, soothing her shattered nerves with the downy brush of velvet. ‘You do, do you not?’ he persisted, circling her breast with his tongue, and she felt as if her whole body was on fire.

She moaned as his teeth took the place of his tongue and he took one swollen nipple into his mouth. Any lingering resistance was being eroded by his mouth and the intimate touch of his hands, and she wouldn’t have been human if she hadn’t responded to it.

Yet still she struggled to remember the reasons why she shouldn’t let him do this. But, when his hand cupped the rounded swell of her buttocks and brought her close against him, the unmistakeable pressure of his arousal pulsing against her stomach caused her legs to turn to jelly.

‘Nao?’
he murmured. It was as much a question as a denial and Isobel felt her senses swimming.

‘I—’

It was impossible to say the words she knew she ought to say, and, with a groan of triumph, Alejandro swung her up into his arms.

‘
Quero
—I want you,’ he said, burying his face in the hollow of her shoulder. ‘Let me prove it,
nao
?’

His mouth found hers again as he carried her across the hall and into her bedroom. Her shirt and bra had disappeared and, apart from the scrap of black lace, she was naked in his arms.

Alejandro laid her on the bed, tearing off his own shirt as he came down beside her. He kissed her again as she fumbled with the buckle of his belt, and she turned towards him and cupped his face with her hot little hands.

The delicious provocation of her breasts against his
chest was almost his undoing. The urge to spread her legs and push his aching shaft inside her was almost irresistible, but he was determined she should enjoy this just as much as he intended to.

In Isobel’s case, some coherent corner of her mind was still insisting that this couldn’t be happening. She’d never been the kind of woman to sleep around and, apart from David, she was totally innocent of the ways of men.

Yet feeling him loosening his belt, unzipping his trousers, she couldn’t resist trying to confirm what her subconscious mind was telling her could not be true. But the throbbing heat that thrust against her palms was all too real, all too powerful. He’d pushed his trousers down his legs, and his male strength was hard and unmistakeably aroused.

As she touched him Alejandro caught his breath, sucking air into lungs that suddenly seemed deprived of oxygen.
‘Cara,’
he protested thickly. ‘
Cuidado!
Have a care! I have only so much control.’

Isobel’s tongue circled her lips. ‘But you like me to touch you?’ she questioned, and he gave a strangled laugh.

‘
Sim
, I like you to touch me,’ he admitted huskily. But he captured both her hands in one of his and imprisoned them above her head even so. Then, his eyes darkening possessively, ‘But I want to touch you too. Everywhere.’

Isobel trembled. Her whole body felt as if it was on fire with excitement and anticipation, and when he skimmed her lacy briefs down her legs she felt no sense of shame.

For the first time in her life she was glorying in her nakedness and Alejandro’s reaction to it. With David, she had never felt like this, and it was only now that she really understood why.

Alejandro bent his head and buried his face in the soft curls of her mound, probing fingers seeking and parting
the damp folds between her legs. She was wet, so wet and ready for him, he discovered half-guiltily. Why did he feel as if he was seducing an innocent? Why did he find that innocence so impossible to resist?

Isobel parted her legs almost involuntarily. The sensations Alejandro was arousing made her weak and eager for more. Even the scratch of his stubble against her bare thighs was unbearably stimulating to someone so inexperienced in the ways of sex.

It was difficult to breathe. The atmosphere in the room was hot and sultry. Just like Alejandro’s love-making, the musky scent of his body was more erotic than she had ever dreamed. And when his tongue took the place of his fingers, penetrating those satin folds, she couldn’t prevent the hoarse cry that issued from her lips.

She was on the brink of incoherence, mindless with need, aching to assuage the unfamiliar feelings inside her, when he lifted his head and covered her mouth with his. Then, straddling her thighs, he allowed the blunt head of his erection to nudge her tingling core.

‘Tu queria,’
he said thickly. ‘I must have you,
cara
.’ Then, with an ease she could only envy, he parted her legs and buried his throbbing shaft in her slick sheath.

He heard her catch her breath when his powerful thrust encountered tight muscles.
Deus
, he thought incredulously; it was almost like making love to a virgin. His contempt for her ex-husband was complete.

But when those same muscles expanded and then tightened around him his own urgent desire made any kind of intelligent thought impossible. Slipping his hands beneath her bottom, he lifted her so that he could encase himself completely. And, amazingly, she accepted him, her slim legs curving sensually about his hips.

When he started to withdraw almost to the point of sep
aration she moved with him, and he heard her fractured breathing with a delight he’d never experienced before. She was the most responsive woman he’d ever made love with, and he wanted to prolong their shared quest for fulfilment as long as he possibly could.

But before long Isobel’s eager response drove him to quicken the pace of his strokes. Her breasts were taut against his sweating body; even the little cries she was making were totally seductive.

He tried to hold onto his control, but he was fighting a losing battle. When the ripples of her climax caused her muscles to convulse around him and he was drenched with her essence, he had to pray she knew what she was doing. He couldn’t hold out any longer, and with a final groan he surrendered to the blissful gush of his own release.

Alejandro’s body had at last stopped shuddering and he rolled to one side so that Isobel could breathe more easily. Then a shrill sound assaulted his ears.

He heard the sound without association. Or maybe he just didn’t want to recognise it, he realised. But as it continued he was forced to identify it as his mobile phone.

His face was buried in the pillows beside Isobel’s head, and he wished with an urgency that bordered on paranoia that someone would just turn the damn thing off. But then he remembered that the phone was still secure in its own little pocket in his suit jacket. The jacket that was lying on the floor in the other room.

Stifling an oath, Alejandro pushed himself up onto his elbows and then jackknifed onto his knees.

Isobel stirred, casting languid eyes in his direction. ‘What is that noise?’ she asked, one hand reaching for his arm. ‘What are you doing? I don’t want you to go.’

‘And believe me,
querida
, I do not want to go either,’ he assured her huskily, capturing her hand and raising her palm to his mouth. His tongue briefly touched the soft skin, and then he added ruefully, ‘My—how do you say?—my cellular telephone is ringing,
nao
?’

Isobel frowned. ‘Your mobile?’

‘
Sim
, my mobile,’ he agreed, reaching for his suit trousers as he scrambled off the bed. Hopping on one foot, he managed to get his leg into one of the openings. ‘You will excuse me,
querida
? It is no doubt my father, and when he calls and I do not answer he tells my mother and she worries,
nao
?’ He raised apologetic brows. ‘They both worry. They think London is a dangerous place.’

Isobel’s lips pursed. ‘Not that dangerous,’ she protested, and Alejandro lifted his shoulders in a gesture of resignation.

‘As you say,’ he agreed drily, but, hauling up his trousers, he gave her a smile before striding out of the bedroom.

It was his father, as Alejandro had suspected it might be, but not calling to reassure either himself or Alejandro’s mother that all was well with their son. He rarely rang, and only if the matter was urgent. This time the news he had to deliver caused Alejandro to close his eyes in frustration. It was a week since his father had made his first call on this subject. Now, although he had hoped to bring his son better news, it seemed the situation had got progressively worse.

‘But can’t Anita handle it?’ Alejandro exhorted impatiently. ‘For God’s sake, Miranda is only nineteen!’

‘Anita says she is at her wit’s end. Your going away at this time has only exacerbated the problem. Miranda will not listen to either Anita or her counsellor.’ His father paused. ‘As I understand it, your final meeting was today,
yes? I know you had planned to continue on to Paris, but I really think you should come home, Alejandro. If you care about the girl at all, you owe it to her to try and make her see reason.’

‘I am not a professional, Papa.’ Alejandro pushed agitated fingers through his hair.

‘But you do seem to be the only person Miranda will listen to,’ declared Roberto Cabral heavily. ‘Please, Alejandro. Do not make me have to beg.’

Alejandro was closing the phone when he became aware of Isobel standing in the doorway. She had pulled on her shirt again, but it barely reached her thighs, and her feet were bare.

‘What’s going on?’ she asked, her eyes puzzled, and he wished he had the right to tell her.

‘It was my father,’ he said, slipping the phone into the pocket of his trousers. He pulled a face. ‘Regrettably, I have to return to Rio as soon as I can get a flight.’

Isobel’s stomach hollowed. ‘To Rio?’ she said, feeling an awful sense of abandonment.

‘I am afraid so.’ Alejandro sounded as if he meant it, but what did she know?

‘Is something wrong?’ she ventured cautiously. ‘Is your mother ill?’ She couldn’t think of anything else that might warrant such urgency.

‘Nao.’
Alejandro forced himself to brush past her without taking her in his arms again as he badly wanted to. ‘It is a business matter,’ he lied, going into the bedroom and rescuing the rest of his clothes. And, when she followed him to stand watching his hasty dressing, he added, ‘Although my father retired some time ago, he still takes an active interest in the company’s affairs.’

Isobel bit her lip. ‘I see.’

Alejandro was sure she didn’t see, but there was no way
without betraying a confidence that he could reassure her. Instead, he said, ‘Do not look like that,
querida
. I want to see you again. It is just—’

‘Business,’ Isobel inserted flatly. ‘I know.’ Her lips twisted. ‘You’d better hurry. I wouldn’t want you to miss your plane.’

Alejandro finished buttoning his shirt and regarded her wearily. ‘Do not speak so bitterly, Isobella. If there was any way I could get out of this
commitment
I would.’

‘Yeah, right.’ Patently she didn’t believe him, and Alejandro desperately didn’t want it to end this way.

‘Cara,’
he said persuasively, ‘I will come back. To London, I mean. This is not the end for us, I promise.’

Isobel pressed her lips together and shook her head. She wanted to believe him. She really did. But for him to say he was leaving the country just as they’d become intimate seemed fated somehow.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said, but Alejandro couldn’t leave it like that.

‘It does matter,’ he said, pushing his feet into his shoes. ‘I would not want you to think I do not care about you.’

‘And do you?’ asked Isobel between clenched teeth, knowing in her heart of hearts that he could say anything right now to appease her.

‘Of course I do.’ He regarded her intently for a few heated moments, because he knew if he touched her again he wouldn’t be able to let her go. He added, ‘Do not imagine I am unaware of my—responsibilities,
cara
.’ A faint colour invaded his cheeks. ‘You are right to doubt me. I have been—how do you say?—reckless,
nao
? I should have taken precautions, but—’

Isobel’s cry of anguish arrested his words. ‘Don’t,’ she commanded unsteadily. ‘Don’t say anything more. My God!’ She gave a harsh gulp. ‘I wondered where all this
was leading. You nearly had me fooled, do you know that? Well, stuff your concern,
senhor
.’ She used the title contemptuously. ‘You don’t have to worry about me. I can look after myself.’

‘Isobella—’

‘And don’t call me that. My name is Isobel.’ She gathered the folds of the shirt almost defensively about her. ‘Just go, right? Before either of us says something we’ll regret.’

‘Isobel,
por favor
.’

‘No.’

There was a break in her voice and she prayed he couldn’t hear it. She would not break down in front of him, she told herself. She wouldn’t! But she wanted to; she wanted to shout and scream and yell her feelings of betrayal to the skies.