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“Yes, of course. I’ll get my mobile.”
Was there a quaver of distress in her voice?
He glanced back only to find her riffling through a brand-new designer purse, seeming simply distracted. She was unquestionably the most beautiful woman he’d ever known, but her life was as screwed up as his.
They had been two rising stars who’d collided in a glitter of passion. She had reached the pinnacle of a career that now dictated the way she must live.
Leila was a millionaire in her own right – her name a brand that was copied. Emulated. She had endorsements. Fame. A demanding life far apart from his own.
This past year Rafael had moved from the realm of millionaire to billionaire, and the fasttrack world of computer technology meant he always had to stay one step ahead of the competition. He’d honed his rapier-edged instincts in fighting his way to the top of his world, and now he wondered if the changes he saw in Leila had been there all along. If he’d simply been too comfortable with his marriage to recognize his wife wasn’t her usual bubbly self.
She certainly seemed more sure of herself than in the past, yet there was a vulnerability about her that hummed about the edge of her success like a nervous hummingbird seeking nectar. There was something wrong that he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
They’d both achieved their goals, but at what price to their personal life? Was their marriage still as strong as it once had been?
He’d find out this week that they’d be together; he’d already planned to spend the bulk of his time in his wife’s company. He’d missed her more than he could possibly express, for tender words had never been easy for him to grasp, much less admit.
It had always been easier to show her how much he loved her with gifts. Like his latest smartphone.
Rafael ran his thumb over the sleek new mobile that was the cutting edge of technology. This was his baby. The wireless device of the future that was featured in the movie Bastion 9, which would premiere here tonight.
But while the phones he’d donated for the elite festival gift bags were silver on black, like the ones that would go on sale tomorrow around the world, this device had a one-of-a-kind liquid magenta shell enhanced with thin black swirls.
Her color.
His mobile was the companion to hers, a reverse of the colors. His and hers phones. A design he’d created as the logo for her own personal line that she’d yet to launch.
“I found it,” she said, holding her old mobile up and squinting at the screen.
He held his palm out for it. “It’ll take me a moment to exchange the chip into the new one.”
Excitement lit her eyes as she crossed to him. “Is that the new device that’s all the buzz?”
He nodded.
“I didn’t know they came in color.”
“They don’t, or at least not for a year and even then never with this design.”
She reached out and laid her hand on his, stilling him. “Is this design your creation as well?”
“It is,” he said, his body surging to life once more by her touch, by the wonder glowing in her eyes.
Her brow furrowed the slightest bit as she studied the intricate swirls. He knew the exact moment she understood the design was much more than lines and curlicues, when she realized this was cursive writing in Portuguese.
“‘My only love,’“ she read, then pressed two fingers to her lips. “It’s perfect.”
He’d thought so too. Had believed she was the only woman he’d ever love from the first moment he’d met Leila five years ago.
Leila had been well into making a stunning comeback in the modeling world, but she’d still been a painfully thin waif with soulful eyes.
And it had been obvious she was very much under her dominating mother’s control. He’d clashed with the “stage mother” immediately, for at the time he was just a developer in a huge software company in London. A nobody, save the unwanted notoriety of being William Wolfe’s bastard, a fact he desperately tried to hide for the shame that it brought on his mother.
Leila Santiago had been the star, hired as the hot model to tout the cutting-edge personal music player he’d developed that recorded and held hundreds of songs.
He’d stood in the shadows of the set watching her, just as he’d watched his siblings play together from afar all those years ago. The longer he’d observed Leila, the more he realized she was dancing to the whims of her domineering mother.
Then as now, Leila’s gorgeous eyes had met his. For a moment he’d seen the pain and uncertainty choking her. Seen the loneliness in her that mirrored his own.
That one look had called to something buried deep inside him. Bare Souls.
She, the lost waif in need of a hero, and he, the unwanted boy desperately needing to find the one person who’d make him feel whole. Make him feel worthy.
Everyone on the set had planned to hit the pubs after the shoot and Rafael had looked forward to getting to know Leila better, but her mother had made it clear that Leila needed to work out instead.
Though Leila seemed at her wit’s end, she didn’t object to her mother’s dictates, as if she were used to acquiescing to the woman.
That had been all the incentive he’d needed to approach the alluring model. That and a good dose of arrogant Brazilian pride!
“Join me for a drink?” he’d asked Leila once he’d gotten her alone.
She’d smiled, though it’d been a nervous one. “My mother has already made plans for a trainer to work with me tonight.”
He cast her plump mother a scathing glance, for if anyone needed a personal trainer it was her. “Why don’t you let her use the workout and you take the night off?”
“With you?”
“Of course.”
“I don’t even know you,” she’d protested, though it’d been a weak one that had encouraged him even more.
He’d introduced himself, and surely made more of his lowly title of software developer than was warranted. But even then he’d had grander dreams. Even then he’d secretly been working on something new and groundbreaking in the computer world.
He’d touched Leila, no more than a caress of her arm. But a jolt of awareness had rocked him to his soul. The sexual attraction jarred him, but not nearly as much as the odd awareness that they were kindred souls.
“Come with me, Leila,” he’d said.
She’d cast one look at her mother and bit her lip, but she’d gone with him. For one glorious night and day they’d played like young lovers on holiday.
He’d learned that just one year before she’d collapsed on the runway, and had spent the ensuing long months that followed in a special clinic recovering from the disastrous effects of anorexia. That she’d let her mother take charge of her life, and had yet to build up the confidence again to break free from her.
That he’d been right all along and she was as lonely as he.
That first impulsive date had sparked the whirlwind romance that had rocked the modeling world and set her mother at instant odds against him. He’d fallen under Leila’s spell – fallen in love, or as in love as he could be at that strained time in his life.
He’d only known that he’d wanted Leila for more than an affair. He wanted her as his wife. Wanted a family with her.
He proposed marriage, and Leila had eagerly said yes. But she’d made it clear she wasn’t ready to be a parent yet.
Neither was he. They’d agreed that family was something they’d start in a few years, after they’d both made their marks. After they’d exhausted the freedom of young love.
He’d known then that one day he’d have it all. A home. A gorgeous wife he loved. And children laughing and playing to chase away the lonely memories of his own childhood. To give him the family he’d craved, yet had been denied for the most part.
But their wait had stretched from three years into four without Leila and him having a real home. Without Leila being part of his life for one entire year.
No more! They’d both waited too long to see their dreams realized.
He slipped the memory card in Leila’s new device and tested it.
“I’ve taken the liberty to add a few pertinent applications but you’ll have to personalize it yourself,” he said, and handed her the mobile.
Her fingers brushed his and she jolted, an external reaction to the same bolt of desire that had shot through him earlier, that still simmered deep inside him.
“It looks complicated,” she said. “You’ll have to show me how to use it.”
“We have time to do that later.”
Once he’d doused his need to be with her. Once he’d wrestled his control back in place and he could simply enjoy this reunion with her.
He crossed to the tray that had been delivered to their suite and poured an iced coffee laced with cachaça. “Would you like a drink?”
“Water with a twist of lime,” she said. “I had orange juice at the airport.”
He grimaced at the near apology in that confession. She rarely drank anything other than enhanced water which added zero calories. He could count on one hand the times he’d seen her eat a full meal and he’d certainly never seen her binge on anything.
But then he was careful too, moderate. He didn’t wish to follow in his own father’s alcoholic footsteps.
He turned to offer her the drink and just caught sight of her rushing into the master bedroom. The closing of the en suite bathroom door echoed softly in the suite.
Not so for the sound of her becoming violently ill. If it were anyone else, he’d pass it off as a malady.
But Leila’s troubled past gave him pause.
The unsettling possibility she’d suffered a relapse plagued him as he carried his garment bag and suitcase into the bedroom.
An economy of quick strides carried him into the facility moments after the toilet flushed. She was at the sink rinsing out her mouth, her face paler than before.
“Leila, what’s wrong?” he asked.
She shook her head, her eyes bleak. “I’ve been ill. Some stomach virus that refuses to leave.”
“Have you seen a doctor for this?”
“Yes, one who was on staff at the shoot gave me an antibiotic, but he did warn me that if this were a viral infection it would do no good,” she said. “I’ll be fine.”
He gave her a more critical look, wanting to believe her. Yet they’d been apart too much this year, and she’d clearly lost weight.
And though he didn’t want to admit it, there was a nervousness about her that hadn’t been there before. A withdrawal, almost as if she were hiding something from him.
“Have you tried to lose weight quickly?”
Leila swung around to face Rafael. “No! I’m not a victim of bulimia or anorexia anymore. I simply have a stomach bug. But if you think I’m lying, Rafael, you are more than welcome to ask my agent or my doctor about my health!”
Inferno! He had not expected her to react with such anger, but then he supposed he deserved it for doubting her.
“Forgive me for insinuating you had suffered a relapse,” he said, reaching for her, but she turned from him and left the bathroom. Left him standing there feeling like a fool for thinking the worst of her. “I worry, Leila.”
She stopped short, shoulders slumping. “I know you do.” She brushed a hand through her hair in a show of impatience. “I worry about you as well, but this year—”
Her hand fluttered in the air, and he reached out and snagged it this time. Pulled her close to his heart where she belonged and was glad she didn’t resist.
“Things will change now,” he said, and gained a shaky nod from her in answer.
This past year had been difficult. Their brief weekend in Aruba sandwiched between her last shoot and his trip to L.A. to consult on the film. This time when they had parted, he’d resented her career more than ever, for it had pulled her from him. Her stellar status had taken precedence over their marriage. Over their plans to start a family.
He’d come close to demanding she take a hiatus from her work. That she embrace her role as his wife again with the same passion as she did her career.
But just realizing that was exactly how his tyrannical father would have acted stopped him.
His marriage to Leila was secure. She loved him and he loved her. They’d just let the outside world infringe too much on their dream.
No more.
Soon he’d plant his seed in her. They’d have their marriage back on track. They’d have a child born of love.
“Dare I ask what brought on your arrogant smile,” she said.
His gaze made a slow glide over her face, her breasts, her hips, before returning to her expressive eyes. “I was thinking of how beautiful you’d look pregnant.”
Chapter Two
THE thought of being with child pelted Leila like a cold icy rain. She couldn’t go through that again, shouldn’t attempt it blithely.
Yet like Rafael she longed for a child. A baby to love, to cradle to her bosom. Her and Rafael’s child, born of love.
But she’d tried and failed.
Last year Leila had discovered she had been pregnant. But in September, when she had been just twelve weeks along, nature had taken a horribly wrong turn.
Leila had lost her baby. She’d lost a lot of blood. Lost weight. Lost heart over the tragedy.
Her mind ached from the doctor’s warning following her miscarriage. Though she was well now, there would always be that chance that due to her anorexia, and the damage it may have wreaked on her body, she could fail to carry a child to term again.
The very last thing Leila wanted was to go through the pain of losing a baby again. She was afraid to try and fail, even though she still wanted to give Rafael the family he craved. Her own arms and heart ached to hold the child she’d lost. Rafael’s baby.
But despite her deep yearning for a family, her fear of suffering another miscarriage had grown into paralyzing terror. More so her fear had been given strength when a fellow model, who’d also struggled with anorexia early in her career, had died in childbirth. A woman Leila had admired.
Yet as her friend’s body had changed during her pregnancy, the young woman had relapsed into her old destructive habits. Leila had watched as her friend had struggled to regain control of her anorexia, but in the end the disease won, taking her friend’s and the baby’s lives.
