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“It’s not Alejandro,” I replied, my voice unsteady. “But he asked me to call you. I’m a...friend.”
“A friend?” The sweet tremulous voice gasped, her accent definitely American. “Has he fallen sick? Was he in an accident?”
“No, he’s fine....”
“If he were fine, he’d be calling me himself, as he always does.” A sob choked her voice. “You’re trying to break it to me gently. But you can’t. First I lost my children, then my...” Her voice broke. “Alejandro was all I had left. I always knew I would lose him someday. That sooner or later—” another sob “—fate would catch up with me and...”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” I cried in exasperation. “Alejandro’s fine! He’s standing right by me!”
She sucked in her breath. Her tone changed, became curious. “Then why are you calling me on his phone?”
“He...wanted me to tell you the happy news.” Glaring at Alejandro, I kept my voice gentle as I said, “You’re a great-grandmother.”
“A—” her voice ended in a gasp. A happy gasp. “Alejandro has a child?”
“We have a five-month-old son. I’m the baby’s mother.”
“You’re American? Canadian?”
“Born in Brooklyn.”
“Why didn’t he tell me before? What’s your name? Have we met?” She didn’t seem like the snooty duchess I’d imagined. She continued eagerly, “Did you elope? Oh, I’ll never forgive Alejandro for getting married without me—”
“He didn’t tell you because—well, he wasn’t sure about it. For your other question, we’re not married.” I gritted my teeth. “And we have no plans to be.”
“You have no—” She cut herself off with an intake of breath. Then changing the subject with forced cheer, she said, “So when can I meet my great-grandson? I can hardly wait to tell my friends you’re coming to live in the castle. The pitter-patter of little feet at Rohares Castle at last!”
“I’m sorry. We’re not going to live in Spain.”
“Oh.” I heard the soft whoosh of her whimper. “That’s...all right.” She took a deep breath. “So when are you coming to visit so I can meet him?”
I bit my lip. “I don’t know if we can....”
“I understand,” she sniffled. “It’s fine. Just send me a Christmas card with the baby’s picture, and...it’s fine. I’ve had a good life. I don’t need to meet my only great-grandchild....”
My own fear of spending time with Alejandro, of allowing him more power over me, suddenly felt small and selfish compared with letting her meet Miguel—and even more important, allowing my son to have the family I myself had yearned for. What did I have, a heart of stone?
“All right.” With a sigh, I accepted the inevitable. “We’ll come to Spain in the next day or two. Just for a visit, mind!”
But even with that warning, her cries of joy exploded from the phone. I held it away from my ear, glaring all the while at Alejandro. “I’ll let you talk to Alejandro,” I told her, then covering the mouthpiece, I handed him the phone and grumbled, “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.” He took it from my hand, looking down at me seriously. “I’ll win your trust, Lena. And then...”
“Then?”
He gave me a sensual smile. “You’ll be my wife within the week.”
* * *
There are many different kinds of seduction.
There’s the traditional kind, with flowers, chocolates, dinner by candlelight. That’s the way Alejandro had seduced me last summer. He called the Kensington mansion, asked for me, invited me to dinner. He showed up at the door dressed in a tux, his arms full of roses—to Claudie’s rage—and greeted me with a chaste kiss on the cheek.
“You look beautiful,” he’d murmured, and took me to the best restaurant in London. He asked me questions, listened aptly and physically grew closer and closer, with the innocent touch of his hand, the casual brush of his body against mine. He held my hand across the dinner table in the candlelight, in full view of the other patrons, looking at me with deep soulful eyes, as if no other woman had ever existed. Afterward, he took me to a club. We danced, and he pulled me into his arms, against his hard, powerful body. Closer. Closer still, until my heart was in my throat and I started to feel dizzy. In the middle of the dance floor, he lowered his head and kissed me for the first time.
It was my first kiss, and as I closed my eyes I felt the whole world whirling around me. Around us.
When he finally pulled away, he whispered against my skin, “I want you.” I’d trembled, my heart beating violently, like a deer in a wolf’s jaws. He’d looked down at me and smiled. Then took me back to his rooftop terrace suite at the Dorchester Hotel.
There had been no question of resistance. I was a virgin in the hands of a master. He’d had me from the moment he kissed me. From the moment he showed up at my door in a sleek tuxedo, with his arms full of roses, and told me he wanted me in his low, husky voice. He’d had me from the moment he’d seared me with the intensity of his full attention.
That was the traditional way of seduction. It had worked once, worked with utterly ruthless efficiency against my unprepared heart. But I knew the moves now—that is to say, I knew how they ended. With pleasure that was all too brief, and agony that was all too long.
But there are many different kinds of seduction.
Alejandro had decided we wouldn’t leave immediately for Madrid, but would spend one night in London, resting at his usual suite of rooms at the Dorchester. He told me it was because the baby and I both looked tired. I was immediately suspicious, but as we left the park, he did not try to kiss me. Even after we’d arrived at the luxurious hotel, he did not look deeply into my eyes and tell me I was the most beautiful woman on earth, or pull me out onto the rooftop terrace, overlooking Hyde Park and all the wide gray sky, to take me in his arms.
Instead, he just ordered us lunch via room service, then afterward, he smiled at me. “We need to go shopping.”
I frowned at him, suspecting a trick. “No, we don’t.”
“We do need a stroller,” he said innocently. “A pushcart. For the baby.”
I could hardly argue with that, since we’d left the umbrella stroller back in San Miguel. “Fine,” I grumbled. “A stroller. That’s it.”
“You’re very boring.”
“I’m broke.”
“I’m not.”
“Lucky you.”
“I can buy you things, you know.”
“I don’t want you to.”
“Why?”
I set my jaw. “I’m afraid what they’d cost me.”
He just answered with an innocent smile, and had his driver take us to the best shops in Knightsbridge, Mayfair and Sloane Street. He bought the most expensive pushcart he could find for Miguel, then pushed it himself, leaving the bodyguards trailing behind us to hold only shopping bags full of clothes and toys for the baby.
“You said just a stroller!”
“Surely you wouldn’t begrudge me the chance to buy a few small items for my son?”
“No,” I sighed. But Alejandro kept pushing the boundaries. All the bodyguards who trailed us were soon weighed down with shopping bags.
“Now we must get you some clothes, as well,” Alejandro said, smiling as he caught me looking wistfully at the lovely, expensive dresses. I jumped, then blushed guiltily.
“No. Absolutely not.”
“It’s the least I can do,” Alejandro replied firmly, “considering it was because of me that you lost your inheritance.”
“That wasn’t your fault...” I protested. He looked down at me with his big, dark, Spanish eyes.
“Please let me do this, querida. I must,” he said softly. “Such a small thing. You cannot deny me my desire.”
I shivered. That was exactly what I was afraid of. That if I couldn’t deny him this, I wouldn’t be able to deny him anything. And soon I’d be putty in his hands again, like a spaniel waiting for her master with slippers in her mouth.
I’d end up married to a man who didn’t love me. Who would ignore me. And I’d spend the rest of my life like a ghost, haunting his stupid castle.
Wordlessly, I shook my head. He sighed, looking sad.
I was proud of myself for sticking to my guns. But as we walked through the expensive shops, Alejandro saw me looking at a pretty dress a second too long. He gave one of his bodyguards a glance, and the man snatched it up in my size.
“What!” I exclaimed. “No. I don’t want that!”
“Too bad,” he said smugly. “I just bought it for you.”
Irritated, I tried to foil Alejandro’s plan by carefully not looking at any of the beautiful clothes, shoes or bags as we walked through the luxury department store and designer boutiques. But that didn’t work, either. He simply started picking things out for me, items far more expensive and flashy than I would have picked out for myself. Instead of the black leather quilted handbag I might have chosen, I found myself suddenly the owner of a handbag in crocodile skin with fourteen-karat-gold fittings and diamonds woven into the chain.
“I can’t wear that!” I protested. “I’d look a proper fool!”
He grinned. “If you don’t like me choosing for you, you have to tell me what you want.”
So I did. I had no choice.
“Dirty blackmailer,” I grumbled as I picked out a simple cotton sweater from Prada, but his smile only widened.
The salespeople, sensing blood in the water, left their previous customers to follow eagerly in our wake. The size of our entourage quickly exploded, with salespeople, bodyguards, Alejandro, me and our baby in a stroller so expensive that it, too, might as well have been made of rare leathers and solid gold. Other people turned their heads to watch as we went by, their eyes big as they whispered to each other beneath their hands.
“I feel conspicuous,” I complained to Alejandro.
“You deserve to be looked at,” he said. “You deserve everyone’s attention.”
I was relieved to return to his suite of rooms at the Dorchester, even though it was so fancy, the same suite Elizabeth Taylor had once lived in. I was happy to be alone with him.
And yet not happy.
It took a long time for the bodyguards to bring up all the packages. Even with help from the hotel staff.
“I didn’t realize we bought so much,” I said, blushing.
Alejandro gave a low laugh as he tipped the staff then turned back. “You hardly bought anything. I would have given you far more.” He looked down at me. Running his hand beneath my jaw, he said softly, “I want to give you more.”
We stood together, alone in the living room of the suite, and I held my breath. Praying he wouldn’t kiss me. Wishing desperately that he would.
But with a low laugh, he released me. “Are you hungry?”
After I fed Miguel and tucked him to bed in the second bedroom, we had an early dinner in the dining room, beneath a crystal chandelier, on an elegant table that would seat eight, with a view not just of London, but of the exact place where, last summer, he’d pressed me against the silver wallpaper and made love to me, hot and fast and fierce against the wall.
All through dinner, I tried not to look at that wall. Or think about the bed next door.
I told myself he wasn’t trying to seduce me. Maybe he wasn’t. Maybe it was just my delusion, reading desire in his dark, hot glances. It had to be me. He wouldn’t actually be intending to...
Alejandro suddenly smiled at me. “You are tired. It has been a long day for you.”
“All that shopping,” I grumbled. He grinned, taking an innocent sip of his after-dinner coffee.
“I meant before that. Mexico. Claudie. Your sleepless night on the plane...”
“Oh.” I yawned, as if on cue. “I am a little tired.”
“So go take some time for yourself. Take a nap. A shower. Go to bed. I will take over.”
“Take over?”
“With Miguel.” As I blinked at him in confusion, he lifted a dark eyebrow and added mildly, “Surely you can trust me that far—as far as the next room? If there is any problem, I will wake you. But there won’t be. Go rest.”
I took a long, hot shower, and it was heaven. Putting on a soft new nightgown straight from the designer bag, I fell into the large bed, knowing that someone else was watching our child as I slept, and I wasn’t on call. That was the most deliciously luxurious thing of all.
When I woke, early-morning sunlight was streaking across the large bed, where I’d clearly slept alone. Looking at the clock, I saw to my shock I’d slept twelve hours straight—my best night’s sleep in a year. I stretched in bed, yawning, feeling fantastic. Feeling grateful. Alejandro...
Alejandro!
He couldn’t possibly have stayed up all night with the baby! He must have left. Jumping out of bed in panic, I flung open the bedroom door, terrified that Alejandro had spirited away our baby and left me behind.
But Alejandro was in the living room, walking our baby back and forth, singing a Spanish song in his low, deep voice, as Miguel’s eyes grew heavy. Then Alejandro saw me, and he gave me a brilliant smile, even though his eyes, too, looked tired.
“Buenos días, querida. Did you sleep?”
“Beautifully,” I said, running my hands through my hair, suddenly self-conscious of my nightgown, which in this bright morning light looked like a slinky silk negligee. I tried to casually cover the outline of my breasts with my arms. “And you?”
“Ah,” he said, smiling tenderly down at his son. “For us, it is still a work in progress. But by the time we are on the plane to Madrid, after breakfast, I think our little man will sleep. He’s worn himself out, haven’t you?”
I stared at the two of them together, the strong-shouldered Spaniard holding his tiny son so lovingly, with such infinite care and patience, though he’d clearly kept Alejandro up most of the night.
Miguel looked up with big eyes at his father. They had the same face, though one was smaller and chubby, the other larger and chiseled at the cheekbones and jaw. But I could not deny the look of love that glowed from Alejandro’s eyes as he looked into the face of his son.
I’d been wrong, I realized. Alejandro did know how to love.
He just didn’t know how to love me.
Turning back, Alejandro gave me a big grin, filled with joy and pride. Our eyes locked.
The smile slowly slid from his face. I felt his gaze from my head to my toes and everywhere in between. His soulful dark eyes seemed to last forever, like those starlit summer nights.
