The Brazilian Millionaire's Love-Child (9 page)

But no!

With a determination born of obduracy, Alejandro forced himself to lift his head and stare down at her. Her eyes were closed, and he briefly closed his own against the sensuous temptation she represented.

Her mouth was swollen, and there were marks on her cheek where the roughness of his chin had burned her. And, before he released her, he couldn’t resist rubbing a possessive thumb across the abrasion on her skin. He wanted to do more—a lot more, he acknowledged with a certain amount of self-contempt. But time and their surroundings were against him. Besides, he had no intention of allowing her to think this gave her the upper hand.

That wasn’t going to happen, he assured himself grimly. Forcing himself to put some space between them, he tried to quell the bulge between his legs with a slightly unsteady hand.
Calm down
, he told himself, grasping the pillar behind him.
However you feel, you’ve got to stay in control.

His injured leg provided a distraction—albeit an unwelcome one. Standing for any length of time was unwise, and the muscles in his jaw tightened as a shaft of pain arrowed down his thigh.

Still, it reminded him of how unpredictable life could be. How unpredictable his own life had been to this point.
Meu Deus
, did he want her to think he was still attracted to her? She provoked him, that was all. To the point of madness at times.

Meanwhile Isobel had no idea what he was thinking. She’d opened her eyes to find him regarding her with an unmistakeable look of contempt on his face. Her face flamed instinctively, at the thought of her own stupidity, if nothing else.

She could console herself with the thought that the confusion he’d created in her mind over Emma had clouded her reason. But for a moment, while he’d been kissing her, she’d had to admit all her inhibitions about him and his intentions had scattered to the winds.

‘Are you all right?’

The coldness of his voice was an added push towards sobriety and Isobel took a steadying breath. Then, bending to rescue the case containing her laptop, she said tersely, ‘I will be. When I get out of here.’ And, because it was the uppermost thought in her mind, she added, ‘And please don’t think I believe your lies. Or that by throwing your wealth in my face I’ll be so overwhelmed with admiration that I’ll submit to any suggestion you make.’ She squared her shoulders. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me?’

‘Tomorrow,’ said Alejandro, as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘We will go to Montevista tomorrow. I will pick you up at eight o’clock.’

Isobel blinked. ‘Montevista?’ she said, realising she was back to repeating everything he said. ‘What the hell is—?’ She broke off, annoyed that she had shown any interest. ‘Well, whatever it is, or
wherever
it is, I’m not going anywhere.’

‘Montevista is my
estancia
,’ said Alejandro with infuriating calmness. ‘As I said earlier, before you fell so conveniently into my arms…’

‘I didn’t fall into your arms.’

‘You will like it. It is very beautiful. Very remote.’ He paused. ‘Please do not let me down, Isobella. I am not a wise man to cross.’

‘Is that a threat,
senhor
?’

Isobel tried to sound defiant, but she could hear the tremor in her voice.

‘It is my advice,
cara
. Eight o’clock,
sim
?’

‘And if I refuse?’ Isobel forced herself to meet his gaze. ‘Will you force me,
senhor
?’

Alejandro’s pale eyes hardened. ‘I suggest you grow up, Isobella,’ he said, his voice harsh with feeling. ‘I realise my appearance is a deterrent, but you will get used to it. I can promise you that.’

‘You really don’t understand.’ Isobel stared at him helplessly. ‘Your appearance has nothing to do with it.’ Then, because she was sure he didn’t believe her, ‘And pretending you can prove that Emma is your daughter—’

‘I can.’

‘No.’

‘Yes.’

‘What is going on here?’

The imperious voice was both a relief and a frustration.
Isobel sighed and turned to find Anita Silveira crossing the hall towards them. She was trailing the ties of a chiffon wrap that was open over a matching negligee, and Isobel had to acknowledge that only a woman of her arrogance and stature could manage to look elegant in such an unsuitable outfit.

‘Alex!’ she exclaimed, her eyes flickering over Isobel and then returning to him. ‘Why are you here? I did not know you were coming. Come, we can have brunch together.’

‘I am not hungry, Anita,’ said Alejandro coolly, apparently not at all perturbed by his mother-in-law’s appearance. ‘As a matter of fact, I was just leaving.’

Anita’s brows drew together. ‘But you have been talking to Ms Jameson!’ she protested.

‘In your absence, that is all,
querida
,’ Alejandro lied without apparent conscience. ‘I was merely telling her about the
estancia
,
nao
?’ He turned back to Isobel. ‘
Adeus
, Ms Jameson. It has been a pleasure.
Adeus
, Anita. We will talk tomorrow,
talvez
?’

‘Wait!’ Anita turned irritably to Isobel herself. ‘You may go, Ms Jameson. I will send for you when I am ready.’

‘But—’

Isobel started to speak, but one look at Alejandro’s dark face and she thought better of it.

‘Very well,’ she said tightly, wishing she didn’t feel so helpless. She would ring Uncle Sam, she decided firmly. No interview was worth what she being forced to endure.

I
SOBEL
spent the next half hour pacing about her sitting room, undecided as to what she ought to do.

Although the idea of ringing Sam had seemed fairly reasonable in the heat of the moment, now she wasn’t so sure. Besides, she couldn’t deny she was apprehensive about Alejandro’s part in all of this. The last thing she needed was her uncle wading in in her defence and making things even worse.

If only she could be sure Alejandro had been lying when he’d said he could prove Emma was his daughter. And what if he hadn’t? What then?

She had no idea how he’d found out about Emma in the first place. But instead of arguing with him—and the rest, she shivered—she should have behaved like the professional journalist she’d always believed herself to be and asked him.

He might not have answered her, of course. But at least she would have had the satisfaction of knowing she’d tried. The whole situation had changed so much since that first night when she’d arrived at the villa, when all she’d had to worry about was seeing Alejandro again. Now she had so much more to lose.

Someone knocked at her door and she stiffened. But it
wouldn’t be Alejandro, she assured herself, impatient at the anxiety that just the thought of him could summon at will.

Still, she was relieved when she opened the door to Ricardo Vincente. Did this mean she was still employed? Or had Anita seen something in the hall that had made her change her mind?

‘You will come with me,
senhora
,’ Ricardo said with his usual air of officiousness. ‘Senhora Silveira is ready for you.’

Isobel swallowed. ‘Are you sure?’ she ventured, ignoring the fact that she had gone in search of her hostess earlier.

‘The
senhora
wishes to begin the interview immediately,’ declared Ricardo a little impatiently. ‘Come. I will show you to her apartments.’

As she crossed the hall again, Isobel saw that the maids had resumed their polishing. How discreet, she thought, not without a trace of bitterness. Did everybody dance to Alejandro’s tune?

They took the stairs this time, ascending to a galleried landing that overlooked the hall below. Here, angled windows cast light on heavily patterned carpets, bronze urns and marbled statuary giving the corridor that led away from the landing an imposing ostentation.

At the end of the corridor, double doors signalled their destination. Ricardo tapped once, and after evidently hearing some response he flung the doors wide in a dramatic gesture.

‘Ms Jameson,
senhora
,’ he said, almost as if Anita was royalty. He gestured Isobel forward. ‘
Va em frente.
Go ahead.’

Isobel entered slowly, her eyes registering that this was not the office she’d expected. Slatted blinds at the windows
revealed a spacious sitting-room, overstuffed sofas and chairs forming various seating arrangements about the floor.

A large square-patterned rug covered most of the area. An ornate stone-fireplace occupied a prominent position, faced by a tapestry screen. There were austere portraits on the antique-finished walls, and more of the self-conscious bric-a-brac decorating every available surface.

Anita was seated on a
chaise longue
in the window embrasure. And, just like her son-in-law downstairs, she’d positioned herself so her face was obscured by the brightness behind her. But as Isobel came in she rose to greet her, and the younger woman realised Anita was still wearing the filmy garments she’d been wearing earlier.

‘Ms Jameson,’ she said, her expression enigmatic. ‘Do sit down, will you not? Ricardo, ask Sancha to arrange for some coffee.’

‘Sim, senhora.’

Ricardo bowed and withdrew, and Isobel glanced a little nervously about her. ‘Where would you like me to sit,
senhora
?’ she asked, aware that her palms were sweating. And, because she was half-afraid she might drop her briefcase, she gathered it rather protectively against her chest.

Anita regarded her for a long, disturbing moment, and then she indicated the chair set at right angles to the
chaise
. ‘Here, I think,’ she said with a thin-lipped smile. Then, nodding towards the bag Isobel was clutching so protectively, ‘You will not need that today,
senhora
. I hope you agree we need to get to know one another first,
nao e
?’

Isobel hesitated. ‘Oh, but—’

‘You have some objection,
senhora
?’

Anita arched imperious brows and Isobel realised she didn’t have any choice if she wanted to do what she’d
actually come here for. ‘No. No,’ she said putting down her briefcase and subsiding onto the chair Anita had suggested. ‘But I’m not very interesting, Senhora Silveira. I’d really rather talk about you.’

Anita seated herself on the
chaise
again, stretching out her legs and spreading the folds of chiffon about her. Then, regarding her guest with an intensity Isobel found unnerving, she said, ‘My son-in-law tells me you met in London some years ago.’

It was a daunting opening, and Isobel was taken aback. What, exactly, had Alejandro said? But, ‘Yes,’ she murmured, concentrating on a huge bee that was buzzing against the window. Then, ‘You have a wonderful view,
senhora
. I imagine you find staying here much different from your home in Rio.’

‘Why did you not mention it when I introduced you?’ Anita was not to be diverted.

‘Oh. Well, it was difficult,’ said Isobel at last. Then, finding inspiration, ‘I didn’t want you to think I’d only come here because I knew Senhor Cabral.’

‘And you had not?’ Anita’s brows arched again.

‘Heavens, no.’ At least on that score Isobel could be totally honest. ‘He—’ She cleared her throat. ‘He was the last person I expected to see.’

‘Mmm.’

Anita was obviously absorbing this, but Isobel didn’t fool herself that that was to be an end to the matter. And she wasn’t disappointed.

‘And was this a business meeting?’ Anita asked after a moment. ‘Perhaps Cabral Leisure wanted to advertise in one of your uncle’s magazines, yes?’

It was a temptation to agree, but Isobel suspected it was a trap, and decided to be as honest as she could be. ‘It was at a birthday party, actually,’ she said, trying to make light
of it. ‘A friend of mine, who is in the advertising industry, invited your son-in-law to come along. And—and he did.’

‘And this was when?’

‘Oh…’ How to answer that? ‘A few years ago,’ she said at last. ‘I can’t actually give you a date.’

Although she could, to the exact day and time.

‘And you haven’t seen him since?’

‘Not since he left London, no.’

Anita was silent for a few moments, and Isobel waited apprehensively for her to ask her to explain that statement.

But she didn’t.

As if she’d decided she could save any further questions about Alejandro for another day, Anita lifted her arms above her head and stretched luxuriously.

Then, with the arrival of the maid with the coffee she’d ordered, she turned to less personal matters. She asked Isobel about her aunt and uncle, showing some interest in the fact that her aunt bred horses. For a moment, Isobel was sure she was going to mention Alejandro again.

But no. She went on to question Isobel about her work and her professional background, showing a polite interest in her answers, if nothing else.

However, by the time the coffee was finished, she was evidently getting bored. ‘I am tired,
senhora
,’ she said. ‘We will continue our discussions tomorrow afternoon,
sim
? For now, you might like to rest also. Ricardo may have told you, I often work late into the night. That is why I am usually unavailable in the mornings.’ Her lips twitched. ‘I am sure you can find your own way back to your apartments.’

Alejandro half-expected Isobel to defy him.

When he arrived at the Villa Mimosa the following morning, he was quite prepared to have to force her to go
with him. And force her he would, if he had to, he told himself. He had been looking forward to this day for far too long.

But, in the event, she was waiting for him on the veranda at the front of the villa. Although it was still quite early, she was neatly dressed in a plain V-necked olive tee-shirt and khaki shorts. Her hair, longer now than he remembered it, was braided into a thick plait that lay confidingly over her shoulder. She wore no jewellery and little make-up, but she still managed to look distractingly feminine.

Alejandro brought the Lexus to a halt at the foot of the shallow steps that led up to the veranda, and before he could open his door and get out Isobel had run down to join him.

Pulling open the opposite door, she said, ‘Don’t bother to get out. I can manage.’ She swung herself up into the seat beside him with an agility that exposed slim thighs, lightly reddened by the sun. ‘Okay.’

Alejandro regarded her quizzically. ‘Forgive me,’ he said, ‘but I had not expected you to be so eager to spend the morning with me.’

‘I’m not,’ retorted Isobel flatly, even though his nearness made her pulses race. ‘But as you seem to have difficulty walking…’

Alejandro’s jaw tightened. ‘You feel sorry for me, is that it?’ He gave a harsh laugh. ‘Please. I do not need your pity. And I am perfectly capable of getting in and out of this vehicle.’

Isobel cast him a frustrated look. If only he knew, she thought irritably. Far from feeling sorry for him, all her energies in that direction were concentrated on herself.

Didn’t he realise that the scar on his cheek created an almost primitive fascination? That he had a raw sexuality
that no amount of soul-searching on her part could totally dismiss? He wasn’t the man she’d known in London, no, but he was far more dangerous. He was Emma’s father, a fact that she’d conveniently managed to suppress until she’d come here.

‘You’ve obviously injured your leg,’ she said at last as he put the Lexus into gear. ‘I was merely being considerate.’

‘Realmente?’

‘Yes, really,’ she replied tersely. ‘I’d do the same for anyone in your situation.’

‘Tell it as it is, why do you not?’ murmured Alejandro drily, and saw the way her full lips compressed into an impatient line.

But he really didn’t want to waste the morning arguing with her. Or to arouse her enmity, if he hadn’t done so already. His daughter was more important than that, more important than any resentment he might feel towards her.
Que droga
, but he was resentful. He’d missed out on the first two years of Emma’s life.

Emma…

They drove through the small town of Porto Verde. Isobel, who hadn’t left the villa except to go down to the beach since her arrival, looked about her with interest.

Like the village that was nearer the villa, Porto Verde reminded her of places she’d visited in the Caribbean. Square plots surrounded colour-washed houses whose tiled roofs steamed lightly in the morning sun. Even at this hour washing hung from haphazardly slung lines; dogs roamed at will, and children with huge brown eyes turned to watch them as they drove past.

She saw the airport in the distance, but Alejandro turned off the coast road and drove inland up a steeply climbing track. And away from the coast all signs of habitation dis
appeared, the road given over to hedges of flowering hibiscus and long grasses moving languidly in the barely perceptible breeze.

It was primitive, but beautiful. Much like the man she was with, she thought fancifully, still not entirely sure she was doing the right thing by coming with him. But what choice did she have, actually? She had to know what he knew about her and Emma.

She expelled a breath, feeling the heat outside pressing against the car’s windows. Or was it just her temperature that was rising, driven by the tension inside the car?

‘It’s very beautiful,’ she said at last, deciding to avoid any controversial questions for the moment. ‘How far is it to—what was it you called it?—Montevideo?’

‘Montevideo is in Uruguay,’ said Alejandro flatly. ‘The
estancia
is called Montevista. It is actually a Spanish name. It means—’

‘Mountain view,’ inserted Isobel with a grimace. ‘I do understand a little simple Spanish, Alejandro.’

‘Ah.’

Alejandro caught his breath, his fingers tightening about the wheel. He’d forgotten how good his name sounded on her tongue. Had forgotten a lot of things about her, he conceded ruefully. Most particularly, how easy it would be to let what happened the day before blind him to the real reason she was here.

All the same, he couldn’t ignore the fact that he’d spent much of the night stressing over his own stupidity. Grabbing her like that, kissing her!
Por amor de Deus
, what had he been hoping to achieve?

To make love with her—that was the answer, he acknowledged grimly. For a few moments, he hadn’t been able to think of anything else. And despite the passage of years he remembered everything about her. Which should
have warned him how unpredictable bringing her to the
estancia
today was.

The sky overhead was a translucent blue. Isobel’s eyes followed the vapour trail of a jet flying high above them, and caught a glimpse of a sinuous body before it disappeared into the grasses at the side of the track. A snake, perhaps? she wondered, recalling the warning her uncle had given her about the wildlife in this area. She shivered. Not all the creatures were friendly. And she wasn’t only referring to the animals.

They eventually reached a sort of plateau and Isobel was grateful when the road straightened out. It had twisted and turned for miles, it seemed, and although she was normally a fairly good traveller her nerves weren’t helping her roiling stomach.

The air was so clear, she saw, looking about her, realising that the blue line on the horizon was the sea. In the other direction purple mountains, half-shrouded in mist, looked distant and mysterious. Here, a heat haze hovered over miles of open grassland, the vast landscape punctuated by stands of pine or flowering acacia.

There were groups of cattle too, seeking shade beneath the trees. Rather dangerous-looking cattle, Isobel thought, their long, pointed horns turning irresistibly in their direction.