The Brazilian Millionaire's Love-Child (8 page)

Carlos regarded him doubtfully. ‘You mean that?’

‘Would I lie to you, old friend?’ Alejandro countered, which wasn’t quite an answer. He thrust open his door. ‘Tell your beautiful wife I’ll join you another evening if I may?’

Carlos gave a resigned grimace of acceptance, and with a farewell lift of his hand he set the car in motion again. Turning, he drove back to a fork in the drive and followed the gravelled track that led to his own house some half a mile further on.

Alejandro decided to take a shower before ringing Anita. It was a deliberate decision, a concerted attempt to prove to himself that he was still in control of the situation.

All the same, he didn’t stop to dress before crossing the
vast expanse of his bedroom to where the phone extension was situated. His mobile phone was useless at the
estancia
. There was no signal, and they had to rely on the sometimes unpredictable land line to keep in touch with the coast.

Clad only in the towel he’d wrapped carelessly about his hips, he dialled the number, and to his surprise Anita answered the phone herself.

‘Alex, darling!’ she exclaimed, not without some annoyance. ‘Where have you been all day? Carlos said you’d gone to Rio, but I couldn’t believe it. You’d said nothing to me about going to the city when you were here last evening.’

Alejandro bit his tongue on a scathing retort and said instead, ‘It was an emergency.’ Then, disguising the irritation in his voice, ‘Is something wrong?’

Anita chose not to answer his question, but said annoyingly, ‘What kind of an emergency? Is your father ill again? Oh, I must speak to Elena. When I am away from the city myself, I am afraid I neglect—’

‘My father isn’t ill,’ Alejandro broke in flatly, the chilled air from the cooling system bringing goose bumps out all over his skin. Or was that a sign of his apprehension? For God’s sake, why didn’t the woman get to the point? What was this all about?

‘Then what—?’

‘It was an emergency board meeting, right?’ Alejandro knew he had to put a stop to her prevarication. ‘Why have you been ringing me? I would have thought—um—Ms Jameson would have kept you busy.’

‘Oh her.’ Anita made a sound of irritation. ‘I haven’t seen Ms Jameson all day.’

‘Why not?’

Alejandro only just managed not to bark the words, but he guessed Anita had caught the impatience in his voice.

‘Well…’ He could imagine she was pouting now. ‘If it’s
of any interest to you, I’ve had a migraine. But, after the way you left here last night, I doubt it matters.’

‘Anita!’

‘What?’ she asked sulkily. ‘When I couldn’t reach you today, I was sure you were avoiding me. I know what Carlos said, but he’s never liked me, and you know it.’

Alejandro sighed. ‘Anita,’ he said again, ‘why would I want to avoid you?’

‘Why indeed?’

Alejandro’s free hand balled into a fist on his thigh. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Oh, please!’ Anita snorted. ‘I’m not a fool, Alex. I saw the way Ms Jameson reacted when she saw you. You were the last person she expected to meet. But you weren’t surprised, were you, Alex? You knew she was coming.’ She uttered an angry oath. ‘I suppose that was why you persuaded me to give the interview?’

Alejandro stifled the retort that sprang to his lips and said levelly, ‘I thought it was your agent who arranged the interview.’

Anita sniffed. ‘Strictly speaking, I suppose it was, yes.’

‘So why blame me?’ Alejandro was dismissive. ‘I thought you said that as well as talking about your writing you’d welcome the chance to lay some of the rumours about Miranda’s, ah, problems to rest.’

‘You say that so callously, Alex.’ Anita clicked her tongue. ‘She was your wife, you know.’

‘Do you think I can forget it?’ Alejandro’s tone was bitter. ‘But you know as well as I do that our
marriage
was a farce!’

‘Don’t say that!’ Anita caught her breath. ‘Miranda loved you.’

‘Miranda loved herself,’ retorted Alejandro flatly. ‘Come on, Anita. Telling the truth won’t hurt her any more.’

‘Well, I don’t think I want to talk about Miranda,’ said Anita, sniffing again. ‘Let the gossips say what they like. I don’t care.’

She did, but Alejandro wasn’t cruel enough to remind her of it. So far as his late wife was concerned, he’d had to cope with far too many demons of his own.

‘Anyway,’ she continued, ‘why did Anton choose that particular publication?’

Alejandro avoided a direct answer. ‘I believe you said you’d known Sam Armstrong when you first started writing.’

‘I did, of course.’ Anita was momentarily diverted. ‘He was very nice to me.’ But then she remembered her accusation. ‘That doesn’t alter the fact that the Jameson woman recognised you, Alex. Was it you who advised Anton to contact
Lifestyles
magazine? You might as well tell me. I’m going to find out anyway.’

‘All right.’ Alejandro blew out a breath. ‘I did know who she was before she got here. We met some years ago, when I was in London. I—liked her. And, according to all reports, she’s very good at her job. Why not have the best?’

Anita was silent for a moment and then she said silkily, ‘And did you sleep with her?’

Alejandro’s laugh was harsh. ‘Goodnight, Anita,’ he said grimly, and, holding the receiver with the tips of his fingers, he dropped it back into its cradle.

I
SOBEL
slept badly again and was up soon after six, gazing out at the shadowy silhouettes of the palms swaying beside the veranda.

She was waiting for the first trace of daylight to appear on the horizon, that tinge of pink that would rapidly turn to lemon-yellow as the sun began its morning ascent.

She wasn’t dressed yet, but she would have loved to put on a vest and shorts, or even her swimsuit, and go down to the ocean. The water was so warm and appealing, and she longed to plunge her sticky body into the waves.

But the fear that she might run into Alejandro again was stronger. For the time being, at least, she would have to be content with taking a shower.

But she was so confused.

She’d spent the whole of the previous day waiting for Senhora Silveira to send for her, but it hadn’t happened. Oh, Ricardo Vincente had taken her on a tour of the villa, as promised, and she’d duly admired the rich, if rather oppressive, opulence of its appointments.

But there’d been no sign of her hostess, or of Alejandro. Either the woman had changed her mind about the interview, or she was allowing her guest a little time to get over her jet lag.

As for Alejandro…

Isobel sighed.

As far as Anita was concerned, she couldn’t quite believe she was that considerate. So what? Had Alejandro told his mother-in-law the truth? And, if so, had she pulled the plug on the interview? So why had Ricardo behaved as if she might be interested in Anita’s background? When was anybody going to tell her what was going on?

The previous day had passed incredibly slowly. Although Isobel had her laptop with her, and she’d been able to edit an earlier article she’d written for the magazine, her heart hadn’t been in it. Several times she’d gone into the bedroom and considered packing her suitcase, but pride wouldn’t let her. She was here to do a job and, if she was permitted, that was what she had to do.

By the time she’d a shower and one of the maids had brought her breakfast, she was feeling a little better. Not optimistic, exactly, but prepared to face whatever was ahead. It was time that she showed some initiative. If Anita didn’t know about Emma, there was no reason why she should change her mind about the interview.

Bearing in mind what Ricardo had said about Anita sleeping late, she delayed leaving her apartment until after eleven o’clock. But then, dressed in black-cropped capris that buttoned at the knee, a cream gauze-smock over a black vest, wedge-heeled sandals, and carrying a bag containing her recording equipment and laptop, she walked along the veranda and entered the hall of the villa.

It was already hot outside. Isobel could feel the beads of perspiration on the back of her neck. But the hall was cool and airy.

Two maids were using a power cleaner, polishing the mosaic-tiled floor. Her heels clattered on the tiles and attracted their attention. Isobel was about to try out her
phrasebook Portuguese and ask where Senhora Silveira was, when a man appeared in the arched doorway across the wide expanse of the floor.

Tall and dark, with broad shoulders tapering to lean hips, the man’s face was in shadow. But, even backlit by the sun pouring in through the windows of the room behind him, Isobel had no hesitation in identifying who it was.

Alejandro.

For a moment, her legs almost buckled. She hadn’t forgotten the way they’d parted the previous day. But then, remembering her determination not to be intimidated, Isobel walked stiffly towards him.

‘Senhor,’
she said, using his title for the maids’ benefit. ‘I didn’t expect to find you here.’

‘Now, that I can believe,’ remarked Alejandro drily, allowing her to make all the running. He leant his shoulder against the marble pillar that supported the lintel. ‘How are you this morning, Ms Jameson?’

Isobel had to clear her throat before replying. ‘I—I’m very well, thank you,
senhor
,’ she said, halting a few feet from him. ‘Eager to get started on the interview.’ She hesitated and then continued, ‘Do you know if Senhora Silveira is up?’

It was another of those ambiguous questions, and Alejandro’s mouth took on a cynical curve. ‘How would I know that?’ he asked. ‘I am not my mother-in-law’s keeper. But, if you want to know why she did not send for you yesterday, I can tell you she was—what do you say?—indisposed?’

Isobel listened to what he was saying, but it wasn’t easy. His nearness was too acute. Despite the fact that the scar on his cheek that had previously been obscured by shadow was now starkly visible, she was intimately aware of him. The power of his sexuality overwhelmed her, made a mockery of her intention to remain detached.

But, ‘Indisposed?’ she managed after a moment, and Alejandro inclined his head.

‘She had a headache,’ he said flatly. ‘Anita’s headaches are legendary. They appear at the most convenient times.’

Isobel concentrated on the neckline of his shirt, trying not appear interested in his explanation. ‘Don’t you mean
in
convenient times?’ she questioned, and his lips curled with momentary amusement.

‘I mean what I said,’ he retorted drily. ‘As you will find out in time,
querida
.’

Isobel shivered.

He was wearing a black shirt that clung to his torso this morning, smudged with sweat in places as if he’d been exerting himself in the heat outside. Black trousers clung to long, powerful legs, tight and revealing, the cuffs pushed into ankle-high suede boots.

‘And do you think she’ll be well enough to see me this morning?’ she got out eventually, and sensed rather than saw the indifferent shrug that marked his response.

‘She seemed all right yesterday evening,’ Alejandro declared carelessly. ‘But I doubt she will want to see you before noon.’

Isobel chanced a look at him. ‘You were here yesterday evening?’

‘No.’ Alejandro spoke tolerantly. ‘I spoke to her by
telefone
only.’ There was a moment’s silence, and then he added softly, ‘I have been waiting for you,
cara
. I knew that sooner or later you would appear.’

Isobel expelled a breath. ‘I thought we said all that needed to be said yesterday morning,’ she declared, shifting her bag from one hand to the other. She glanced about her. ‘Despite the
senhora
’s absence, perhaps you could tell me where the interview is likely to take place.’

Alejandro straightened from his lounging position. ‘It
is not going to work, you know,’ he said mildly, and Isobel felt the sense of panic she’d experienced when she’d first seen him engulfing her again. He hesitated, evidently choosing his words with care. ‘But by all means take some time to consider the situation. I suggest we spend a little time together.’ His brows lifted sardonically. ‘You liked me once. I realise I have changed.’ A rueful hand brushed his scarred cheek. ‘Even so, perhaps I can persuade you I am not an unreasonable man.’

Isobel took an involuntary backward step. ‘I—I didn’t come here to spend time with you,’ she protested, hoping the maids, who had abandoned their floor-buffing in favour of polishing the panelling, couldn’t understand English.

‘I know that.’ Alejandro’s lips twisted. ‘But you don’t have to be afraid of me. I may look like an ogre but, I assure you, I am still depressingly human.’

Isobel’s eyes widened. She realised he had mistaken her panic for something else. ‘You don’t understand,’ she said, her eyes darting towards his and then away again. ‘I just meant I was asked to interview Senhora Silveira, and—’

‘I understand what you meant very well, Isobella,’ Alejandro retorted drily. ‘And I also know why you were invited to come here. But surely it is not unreasonable in the circumstances to expect a little understanding on your part?’

Isobel’s knees were trembling with the effort to maintain her composure. ‘Are—are you saying there is to be no interview?’ she asked. ‘Because if that’s the case—’

‘Listen to me!’ A muscle jerking in Alejandro’s cheek betrayed his agitation. ‘The interview is not at stake here. Do you understand me? Your association with Anita is your concern, not mine. What I would like to do is have
a serious conversation with you about our daughter. I had planned to show you my
estancia
this morning, but—’

Isobel was distracted. ‘Your
estancia
?’ she echoed, and Alejandro sighed.

‘
Sim
. My
estancia
,’ he agreed, noticing she hadn’t contradicted his other statement. ‘My ranch, if you like. As well as my work for Cabral Leisure, I breed polo ponies.’

‘Polo ponies?’

A faintly mocking smile tugged at the corners of his thin lips. ‘
Sim
, polo ponies. My manager does all the hard work, I am afraid. I just share in the rewards. It is my—
como se diz?
—my escape from the city,
nao
? You will like it, I am sure. But it is some miles from here, and since Anita was indisposed yesterday…’

His words reminded her of the situation, and she realised she’d allowed him to divert her with his talk of
estancias
and polo ponies. She also realised how little she knew about this man. Despite the comfort of her upbringing, she certainly wasn’t used to the kind of wealth Alejandro seemed to take for granted. Perhaps he thought it would influence her.

But he was wrong.

‘And did your wife like staying at the
estancia
,
senhor
?’ she asked, deliberately bringing Miranda into the equation. ‘I imagine she must have. Were you married as soon as you returned to Brazil?’

Alejandro’s pale eyes hardened. ‘Why would this interest you?’ he demanded. ‘Unless what you really want to know is why the accident occurred.’ His mouth curled. ‘Ah, you think Miranda would not have married me if it had happened before our wedding, hmm? You are suggesting that she must have regretted it? That that is why she overdosed on heroin within a year of taking her vows?’

‘No!’ Isobel was horrified at the emotions she’d inad
vertently unearthed. She hadn’t even known how his wife had died. ‘That wasn’t what I meant at all.’

‘But I notice you do not deny that you find me repulsive,’ retorted Alejandro bitterly. ‘Still, I do not care what you think of me,
cara
—so long as you do not interfere with what I want.’

Isobel moistened her lips. ‘Which is?’

‘You know,’ Alejandro told her heavily. ‘I intend to get to know my daughter. To be a part of her life from now on.’

Isobel’s stomach hollowed. It was what she’d been afraid of ever since meeting him again and realising the kind of man he was. A man used to having his own way, she hazarded. A man whose wealth and power would allow nothing to stand in his way.

Which was why she said desperately, ‘I told you—Emma isn’t your daughter.’

‘But I know she is.’ He was inflexible. ‘I have proof.’ Then, ‘Be silent!’ he commanded, when she would have protested again. Hard hands reached for her shoulders, forcing her to face him. And, although she glanced behind her, hoping the maids might come and help her, the two girls had slipped silently away.

‘I had hoped we might deal with this as two adults,’ he went on grimly, the hard pads of his fingers digging through to the bone. ‘But clearly that is not to be the case. And that is all right with me also. I can be patient, Isobella.’

She winced then, and he wondered if he was hurting her. Alejandro acknowledged that he wanted to. Anger and frustration vied for dominance, and it was difficult to remain calm when so much was at stake.

For her part, Isobel was stunned by his assertion. What proof could he have? For God’s sake, did anyone else
know about this? This was an Alejandro she hadn’t anticipated, and something told her he wasn’t about to be put off with a futile denial.

She glanced up into his dark face, and then wished she hadn’t. Glittering amber eyes caught and held hers with a riveting gaze. She couldn’t look away, and unknowingly her lips parted. Her tongue appeared again to moisten their dryness, its pink tip giving her face a delicate vulnerability.

It wasn’t meant to be provocative. Alejandro knew that. But, as he continued to hold her, his earlier emotions were giving way to something else—something insistent, and infinitely less controllable. An unwilling awareness reared its ugly head.

As on the previous morning at the beach, the memory of how she’d felt in his arms overwhelmed his reason. He still wanted her, he admitted incredulously. Wanted her with an urgency that bordered on madness, his own needs making a mockery of everything else.

When he jerked her towards him, she had no chance of resisting him. She was caught off-guard, off-key and off-balance. With a little gasp of alarm, she stumbled against him, her case dropping helplessly from her fingers as she tried to save herself.

But all she succeeded in doing was in fisting a handful of his shirt to right herself. And, before she could draw back, he’d bent his head towards her and captured her mouth with his. The overnight stubble on his jaw only added to his sexuality, and his hand at her nape sent crazy shivers racing down her spine.

She sank against him, too bemused by the intimacy of his actions to offer further resistance. The heat of his kiss, the sensual possession of his hands, the clean, male scent of his body were seducing her to a state where mindless emotion was her only response.

He murmured to her in his own language, hoarse, unsteady words and phrases that she didn’t understand. But their meaning was clear, and they only added to the sense of unreality that was gripping her, seducing her will and making her moan with pleasure.

His hands caressed her, sliding beneath her smock and her vest, spreading against the warm skin of her spine. She arched against him when his fingers traced the hollow above her bottom. And she felt the unmistakeable pressure of his manhood throbbing against her abdomen.

Alejandro felt his erection too. Felt his trousers tighten around him and the undeniable rush of blood to his groin. And knew a helpless sense of frustration at his body’s weakness.

But the yielding softness of her hips against his was so good, so arousing. And the idea of burying his aching shaft inside her was a powerful thing. He remembered how tight she’d been, how satisfying it had felt to feel her muscles contracting around him. He’d never experienced such a sensation, like an explosion of his senses, of his will…