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‘He’s hungry,’ Isabella declared tightly as she walked back across the room and out into the kitchen. Retrieving a bottle of milk formula from the fridge, she opened the microwave, tapped in the correct heating time and switched it on. As the plate inside started to rotate with the bottle of milk, she turned round to find Leandro framed in the doorway, his expression bordering on accusatory as his gaze met hers across the distance between them. ‘You are not feeding our son yourself?’
For a second or two Isabella froze. Then as another guilty wave immersed her, she bit back the angrily defensive retort that she’d been about to let loose. Instead she started to pat Raphael comfortingly on the back as, sensing her discomfort, he began to struggle in her arms.
‘No …I’m not. I breastfed him for three months but it was difficult.’ Leandro’s steady gaze held hers in thrall and for a tense, troubling moment Isabella could not break free from the spell. Feeling his scrutiny and judgement intensely, she started to rock rhythmically from side to side in a bid to comfort her increasingly restless baby son. It was clear to her that Raphael could absolutely sense her unease and the effect this ‘strange’ man was having upon his mother’s usual calm. ‘I was suffering with post-natal depression for a while and my milk just seemed to—to dry up,’ she continued with her explanation.
The words seemed as insubstantial as cotton wool—as though she were merely making unconvincing excuses for what Leandro must see as her complete lack of determination in the matter. Isabella could have cried with the deep unfairness of his perceived judgement. It had not been easy being pregnant and having to cope with the prospect and reality of bringing a child into the world on her own. Apart from the physical aspects, emotionally Isabella had not known what had hit her. And when she hadn’t even been able to contact Leandro to let him know what had happened after their night together, she had experienced overwhelming fear and the most devastating vulnerability too. Swallowing hard, she jiggled Raphael some more to get him to settle but he would not be comforted. He was as mesmerised by Leandro as she was and kept straining to look at him over her shoulder.
‘You should have had proper help so that you could continue. In Spain we would have done things properly.’
The accusation in his voice no longer open to speculation but just about as obvious as it could get, Leandro walked towards her and held out his arms. ‘Give him to me,’ he ordered quietly. Wanting to resist but somehow unable to, Isabella relented, and surprisingly Raphael immediately quieted. Her heartbeat slowed to an astonished thud inside her chest. Jerking his head a little towards the microwave, then looking straight at her, Leandro positioned his hands securely around his baby son and held him tenderly to his chest. ‘See to the milk. I will take Raphael into the living room and we will wait for you.’ Breathing out with some force as they left the room, Isabella heard the timely ‘ping’ from the microwave and, opening the door, reached inside in a daze to retrieve the now-warmed milk …
‘Soy su padre, mi hijo.’ I am your father, my son …The rest of the world retreated into oblivion as Leandro spoke to his child alone for the first time and he was completely content just to let it. The concerns that had lately been so prevalent and that had seemed to tirelessly dominate his thinking—his father’s death, his mother’s melancholy, the unsatisfactory script for the new film, even his increasing desire to see Isabella again—all stole into a silent void as he willingly lost himself in the wide grey innocent eyes that solemnly gazed up at him. The one thought that did consume him was that in the instant he had glanced back into that curious and innocent glance Leandro knew that he had become the fiercely protective custodian of this beautiful innocent life he held in his arms. He would willingly die before he let harm touch so much as one hair of his son’s head. That being the case, Isabella had no choice but to return to Spain with him and their son. Any arguments she put to him to dispute that choice, Leandro would ruthlessly knock down as easily as a pack of cards. But he would get his way …he had to get his way. He owed it not just to himself, but to the memory of his beloved father who had longed for the miracle Leandro held in his arms right now. Raphael …his perfect little son …
‘Let me take him.’
Suddenly Isabella was there, regarding Leandro with apprehension and concern in her dark-eyed glance as she approached him—clearly oblivious to anything else but the beautiful child he held in his arms.
‘I can feed him.’
He held out his hand for the bottle of milk she had brought and felt a flash of irritation ricochet through his insides when she seemed to hesitate. ‘Do you not think I know how to handle a little one like this? Give me the milk and you can go and take a bath or do whatever it is you need to do to help you relax after work.’
Surprised to say the least by his apparent consideration of her own possible needs, Isabella handed Leandro the bottle and watched him position the teat in Raphael’s eager little mouth—her son clearly displaying no protest at having his father feed him instead of his mother. They looked quite at home, the pair of them—as though this were a ritual they shared on a nightly basis instead of it being the very first time …Isabella couldn’t deny the odd mix of confusion and yet delight that was generated inside her at the touching sight.
‘I’m famished and I was going to get something ready for dinner …You’re welcome to join me if you haven’t eaten yet.’ He’d probably refuse, she told herself. And it would be nothing less than idiotic to feel rejected if he did. But right now no amount of sensible advice she could offer herself was likely to help. Not when her feelings about this man were all tangled up with her quite tangible fears about her own and her baby’s future.
‘How could I possibly refuse such a lovingly extended invitation?’ he responded mockingly. To Isabella’s intense alarm, Leandro glanced up at her with the kind of taunting, devilish sparkle in his striking gaze that could make a woman lose the power of speech and she recalled just how receptive she’d been to those scorching little glances when he’d first employed them and she had ended up in bed with him. That never-to-be-forgotten event that had resulted in the adorably sweet child he now cradled in his arms.
‘I was only going to make a simple rice dish so don’t get your hopes up. I’ll feed Raphael his meal first, then I’ll bath him and put him to bed. After that we can eat and talk …That is if you’re not in a hurry to go anywhere else for a while?’
‘Is it likely that I would be in a hurry to go somewhere else tonight, Isabella?’
The smile that had touched his lips and caused such mayhem vanished, and the look he levelled at Isabella instead was as devoid of humour as a judge at the Old Bailey presiding over a murder trial. Immediately she mourned for his smile.
‘We need to talk and discuss our plans for the future. I am not going anywhere until we have those firmly in place …and I am warning you now that I will not be taking no for an answer when it comes to the matter of you and Raphael coming to live in Madrid with me.’
‘You can’t make a contentious statement like that and expect me to—’
‘I am afraid I can …but before you say anything else there is something I have to ask you.’
‘What’s that?’ Forced to curtail her annoyance and not happy about it one iota, Isabella crossed her arms over her chest and inwardly seethed.
‘Your family …do they know that I am Raphael’s father?’
The question completely took the wind out of Isabella’s sails. It was a great sadness to her that she had not been able to share her child’s father’s identity with anyone …not even her own mother. How many times, when people had expressed admiration for her beautiful son’s ‘amazing’ eyes or stunning face, had she had to suppress her longing to say, Yes, he is so like his father. His name is Leandro Reyes and he is amazing too.
Emilia had done her best, of course, to try and get her to confess the identity of Raphael’s father, but Isabella instinctively knew the potential danger of such a confession to a woman as ambitious as her sister. The last thing she wanted either for herself, Raphael or Leandro was some glib article about them featuring in Emilia’s magazine. And if by some unbelievable fluke it had been mooted by someone else that Leandro Reyes might well be the father of Isabella’s son, then Emilia—perversely, she was sure—would be the first to deny such an implausible premise. Because in her eyes she was the beautiful, successful daughter in the family who consorted with the rich and famous …not Isabella …
‘No,’ she said out loud in answer to Leandro’s question. ‘None of them know. I thought it best under the circumstances not to tell them.’
Because perhaps she viewed their lovemaking as an unimportant one-night stand that she’d succumbed to whilst away from home in a strange country? The thought was like the tip of a red-hot poker suddenly pressed against Leandro’s skin. But then he regrouped. Had Isabella resisted naming him as Raphael’s father to her family because of the celebrity attached to his name? Did she think that perhaps they would not believe her story or that they might even press her to pursue him for support? In other words …had she been protecting him?
‘Why?’ he asked her, moving Raphael closer into his chest and revelling in the strong feelings of protectiveness and warmth that deluged him. ‘Were you ashamed of what happened?’
‘No!’
The passion in her face reassured Leandro that his initial speculation was wrong even more convincingly than her fierce denial. He felt himself relax against the back of the sofa and even briefly smiled. ‘Then why? Why did you not tell them that I was Raphael’s father?’
‘Why should I? I’m an adult …and what I do is my business, not theirs.’ Isabella would not go on to explain to him that whatever decisions or actions she took—they were nearly always criticised by her exacting parents. Therefore, telling them about Leandro would only have invited more condemnation and disapproval, and, honestly, what self-respecting, intelligent human being would welcome that? Sighing, Isabella moved gracefully across the room to absently straighten one of the silver-framed photographs on the window sill.
Waiting patiently for her further explanation, Leandro was quite content to observe her eye-catching curves in her slim black jeans and agreeably tight sweater. With her long dark hair reaching down to the middle of her back and the too-distracting sway of her hips when she moved, she was the kind of earthy, sexy woman whose arousing image would disrupt most men’s sleep when they saw her. Registering the inevitable tension that this thought produced, Leandro tried to will away the passionate arousing memory of that long hot night they’d spent together in Spain, but he wasn’t strong enough to totally banish the image that taunted him.
‘Anyway …I don’t want anyone knowing my business except those I know I can really trust …and unfortunately they are few and far between. And you must have enough to contend with already being in the public eye without having stories about an illegitimate son appearing in the papers.’
Staring down at the near blissful expression on Raphael’s face as he continued to drink from his bottle, Leandro admired Isabella’s obvious integrity at wanting to protect her own and his privacy, but he winced at the repugnant idea of his child being labelled ‘illegitimate’ in the newspapers …His father, Vincente, would turn in his grave! Which immediately presented him with another dilemma that needed resolving. This particular one he decided to save until they got the chance to talk properly later …but he vowed that after the matter of Isabella moving out to Spain with him, it would be top of his agenda.
‘But you say you tried to contact me when you found out that you were pregnant?’ He lifted his gaze as she slowly walked back across the room towards him, unable to stop himself from appreciating the very arresting picture she made. Dios mio! But she was more bewitching than any sultry movie star he had ever worked with!
Recalling the painful memory of being so clearly disbelieved at claiming acquaintance with Leandro …not just once, but several times by the different people at his film company’s offices, Isabella frowned. ‘I tried many times, Leandro …but I think your people truly believed that I was some kind of stalker or something! Anyway …they wouldn’t take a message no matter how many times I rang, and all my letters went unanswered. I suppose it comes with the territory when you’re well known and don’t know who you can trust …but it made it impossible for me to let you know about Raphael.’
‘So—’ Leandro lowered his voice with the heaviest of sighs ‘—you thought that you would never see me again?’
‘Can you blame me for thinking that? On the morning we said goodbye it was “business as usual” for you—I could tell you’d probably never even give me another thought once I was gone!’ She shrugged, her heart filling with renewed hurt that he could dismiss so casually what they’d shared. It hadn’t helped when a woman at his offices had made some exasperated comment when Isabella had phoned, that Leandro Reyes always had some woman hanging on his coat tails!
‘It is not true that I did not think of you again. Why do you think I am here now?’
Isabella didn’t answer him that she’d privately speculated that he was looking for another one-night stand. She was too upset to even say the words. Turning away so that he wouldn’t witness the tears that had momentarily clouded her vision, Isabella went to the door. ‘I should get on and get some dinner ready. Are you all right holding the baby for a while? You can lay him down on the sofa if he gets too heavy.’
She disappeared before Leandro could even reply …
As they sat in Isabella’s small, neat kitchen to eat the meal she had prepared and served—Raphael sleeping peacefully in his bed after his bath and some rhythm and blues music station playing quietly in the background on the radio—Isabella stole a glance at the man sitting opposite her across the Spanish lace tablecloth she’d brought back from Santiago. There were so many topics she’d love to converse with Leandro about besides the astounding fact that they had a son together. He was an amazing man doing extraordinary work in a field of the arts that people were fascinated by and she longed to tell him how much she had loved the film he’d directed that she’d seen the other night with Chris. But, although right now there was little distance between them physically, emotionally they seemed miles apart. Leandro Reyes was an unknown quantity to Isabella even though her feelings for him were not, and she longed to find a way to bridge that seemingly enormous gulf between them. He apparently loved his son on sight, but would that be enough to cement a proper relationship between him and Isabella and was that what he really wanted?
Guiltily catching his eye and seeing him offer a wry smile, Isabella sighed out loud and put down her fork. The poor man had just discovered she wasn’t exactly a gourmet cook. It was fairly evident that the dish she had cooked was pretty inedible. But how was she supposed to be able to concentrate on cooking when the father of her child—a man she had only met twice before and had experienced the most momentous connection with—was sitting in her living room cradling their child as if he were the pivot on which the earth turned round?
‘I’m sorry …this is pretty awful. You don’t have to eat it.’
‘No …it is fine. I am not so hungry anyway. It is not the food that I came here for, Isabella, as we both know …’
She knew that he was talking about the baby but the intensity of his gaze was like coming into direct and sudden contact with the relentless reflection of a glaring Spanish sun and Isabella pushed back her chair a little too suddenly and got to her feet. Moving across to the clean granite worktop next to the fridge, she took the cork out of the bottle of red wine that resided there and poured Leandro a generous glassful, then a much smaller one for herself. Bringing the glasses to the table, she sat back down again and smiled awkwardly.
‘Perhaps this will get rid of the taste,’ she joked, raising her glass to her lips and taking a sip. The alcohol acted like a heady cocktail to her already heightened nervous system, but Isabella told herself she needed some kind of boost to help her deal with the discussion that was about to take place.
‘Isabella?’
‘Yes?’
‘Let us not waste any more time with distracting trivialities. We need to talk seriously.’
‘Yes, I know that.’
She wouldn’t look into his eyes, she vowed nervously. Leandro Reyes was possessed of the kind of eyes that stole a woman’s soul and haunted her for ever and she needed to stay strong and focused—not just for her own sake, but for Raphael’s too.
‘You realise that you are going to have to agree to be my wife?’ he said commandingly before he leant back in his chair and sighed heavily. ‘Don’t you?’
CHAPTER SEVEN
SHE was so amazed by this statement that for a moment all Isabella could do was stare at Leandro blankly as she strove to get her astounded brain to deal with what she’d just heard. Was he joking? There was no smile touching his lips, no humorous glint in his eye. She had to assume he was serious.
‘But I don’t want to get married!’ she said in agitation, rising to her feet.
Leandro kept his features perfectly neutral as he too stood up, but inside his chest his heart had jolted in surprised protest at her point blank refusal of the suggestion he had made. Was it marriage in general she had something against or was the idea of marrying him simply one she could not entertain? For a moment, the latter thought made his blood throb with anger. He didn’t think he’d be overstating the matter if he concluded that most women he met considered him a more than reasonable catch. But not this woman, apparently. When he had discovered yesterday that Isabella had had his baby, his natural inclination had been to make her his wife and that was still Leandro’s goal. He simply would not entertain the idea of his son’s parents living apart from each other whilst he was growing up. Leandro had seen the effects of separation on too many of his friends’ children to be at all enamoured of the idea—no matter what the reasons.
‘We have to think of the child,’ he insisted, grey eyes turning to flint. ‘It is in Raphael’s best interests that he has a mother and father who are together and married, rather than he lives with just one of us alone. Living in England is not an option for me, seeing as most of my film work is in Spain. It is simply not practical that we live together here. The other important consideration is that my family live in Madrid …as I do. When they find out about Raphael they will naturally want him close by so that they can see him regularly.’
‘And what about my family?’
‘You have already more or less indicated that you are not close.’ Shrugging his broad shoulders with arrogant ease, Leandro dismissed Isabella’s comment as being of little to no account. She had a pushy sister, as he recalled, who had insensitively persuaded her against her will—whilst she had been undertaking a quest of her own—to try and find him and gain an interview, and a mother and father who did not sound like the most loving of grandparents that a child could wish for. Parents who could not find it in their hearts to help their daughter with childcare when she was clearly in need hardly deserved consideration as far as he was concerned. He knew his mother, aunts and extended family would feel exactly the same dismay about them as he did. In fact it was quite detestable to Leandro to think of his son in the sphere of such aloof and perhaps cold people.
The spread of crimson on Isabella’s otherwise pale cheeks spoke volumes, but he would not let her discomfort at his frankness sway him. Right now he was more interested in persuading her to concede to his very justified demand that she and Raphael return to Spain with him. And as far as their future relationship was concerned, well …Leandro was absolutely adamant that they had to get married for Raphael’s sake.
‘And besides that—you forget that I have a job here. A job that I really do enjoy,’ she elaborated.
‘And this is the same job that you told me you had become dissatisfied with?’
The sarcasm in his tone deepened Isabella’s blush. ‘I was able to look at it in a more positive light when I returned from Spain!’
‘And so …does it pay good money, this job you are suddenly so eager to stay with?’
‘That’s none of your business!’
‘I beg to disagree. It is very much my business when it concerns my son’s welfare.’
Isabella glared. ‘We do all right …and my grandfather left me this house so at least I have no mortgage to pay. I’ve also been working really hard towards getting a promotion and that means a pay rise, so financially things will be a lot easier for us then.’
‘I am sorry but I cannot say that fills me with confidence, Isabella. If you are struggling to manage on one wage then you are clearly not doing all right! And unless your expected promotion pays you double what you earn already—then in my opinion you will still be struggling to make a decent standard of living. There is simply no good reason for you to remain here in England when you and Raphael can live very comfortably with me in Spain. Besides, do you not realise you will have a job that you really enjoy there too?’
A smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, Leandro closed the distance between himself and Isabella—his previous irritation stunningly transformed into a commanding need for intimacy that was so all-pervasive and persuasive that for a moment he completely forgot his impatience with her. Her arresting scent clung to the air with hypnotic sweetness and those disturbingly dark eyes with their lush ebony lashes rendered him more captivated than any acknowledged beauty in the film industry he had ever worked with.
‘You will be able to be at home with Raphael full time, and when you want a break my mother and my aunts will no doubt offer their services. You will not have to juggle both work and childcare like you are doing now and you will have more free time to pursue other interests as well. Speaking of other interests …what about your book? The one you were writing about the Camino? How close are you to finishing it?’
It was hard to formulate an answer to the question when he was standing so near. And Isabella was still trying to come to terms with his stunning suggestion of getting married. This was Leandro Reyes she reminded herself with a powerful sense of shock shooting through her veins—world-renowned film director and much admired by many …This was no simple love affair with a handsome stranger. It had connotations that were both life-changing and far-reaching. She could be laying her whole life open to public scrutiny for one thing …especially if she agreed to marry him. Being a person who liked to safeguard her privacy as much as possible, the very idea of being so exposed was anathema to her. Brushing her hair behind her ear with her fingers, Isabella forced herself to meet the mercurial gaze that so mercilessly dazzled her.
‘I’ve still got quite a way to go. I just haven’t really been able to find the time …I do intend to finish it, though. I think about it often.’
It was true. Isabella also thought about the momentous few weeks she’d walked the Camino trail and what it had meant to her personally. As well as the physical challenge and the profound personal transformation, her senses had been confounded with secret delight by all the sights and sounds she’d been greeted by in that part of Spain. The architecture, the history, the wild landscapes and the amazing people she’d met would be with her for ever. And those people—her fellow peregrinos—had all bar none accepted her just for herself. There had been no judgement and no expectation involved, just simple, uncomplicated companionship and friendship, and it had been such a relief. Coming from the family she did, where conformity to their wishes and expectations was an ever-present challenge, walking the Camino had helped give Isabella back her sense of herself.
Since her return she’d vowed not to relinquish that sense of self to anyone else’s desires ever again. But most of all …most of all she remembered that never-to-be-forgotten meeting with Leandro and the magical evening they had shared that had started out in Señor Varez’s little bar and ended up in a hotel room that was the height of luxury. The still air had bathed them in sultry heat and their only accompaniment had been the music of the rain that had hypnotically glanced against the windows. Together they had turned that night into a spellbinding dream …Meeting Leandro had changed everything for Isabella. Apart from her knowing that she could never give her heart to any other man but him, he had given her her beautiful baby son. Now no one would ever convince her that there was no such thing as divine intervention …
‘Then you must finish it when you come to Spain, no?’ His warm fingers glancing against the underside of her chin came as the most exhilarating thrill and Isabella found herself catching her breath as heat flooded through her in an intoxicating rush. ‘Never underestimate the importance of art,’ he asserted huskily. ‘It is the secret to saving our sanity in this world. But it will be easier for you to think about this when there is no longer the need to go out to work.’
Although his encouraging words about art—in her case writing her book—were music to Isabella’s ears, the tacit implication in Leandro’s words told her that he already believed he had her full agreement to go to Spain and live with him, and that was not a decision that she had definitely reached at all. It made her panic a little. Especially when she believed that he was only asking her because of his deep sense of responsibility towards Raphael. What if the profound connection she had sensed between them had been one sided? She did not know as yet what Leandro really felt about her at all. And she still couldn’t help wondering if he had only looked her up because he was in London and saw an opportunity for another hot little encounter with her. Now, because of their son, he was saddled with a woman for whom the only feelings he entertained might be purely sexual. Hurt and disappointment welling up inside her, Isabella knew she could not remotely consider marriage with this man if he didn’t love her.
‘I’m sorry, Leandro, but I’m overwhelmed by what you expect me to do! First you insist that we move to Spain with you practically immediately, then you tell me that we must get married! You say that it’s in Raphael’s best interests that we make a life together, but can you really be so sure that that’s what’s best? What if him being here with me and seeing you whenever you can make it to England would be the best thing for him? He’s happy at his nursery. It’s run by a very close friend of mine and I know that she ensures he has the best care. As for us …’ The skin between Isabella’s dark brows puckered a little as she contemplated the thing that was disturbing her the most. ‘We slept together once and we made a baby. That doesn’t mean that we could make a marriage between us work or that we’d be better parents if we were together. What I think is that we both need more time to really work this out …to come up with the best solution. Don’t you agree?’
Her plea for understanding did not elicit the positive response she might have hoped for. To her shock and surprise Leandro abruptly turned and walked away from her, but not before Isabella registered the volatile spark of fury and impatience in his eyes with a nervous somersault in her stomach.
‘I cannot give you more time!’ he declared, turning to face her again. ‘Have you not been listening? I already told you that I needed to be back in Madrid in three days’ time. I do not have the kind of job where I can get someone to stand in for me when I take time out …I have an expensive cast and crew waiting for me when I get back that expect me to be there on schedule to start shooting this film, not to mention the financial backers who expect one-hundred-and-ten-per-cent commitment for the money they are investing. So you see, Isabella, I cannot wait for you to make up your mind to come to Spain with me. Raphael is my son too and I want full custody of him alongside his mother! To lose nine months of my child’s life is bad enough—to lose even one more day of that life is inconceivable to me now that I have seen him and held him in my arms. Can you not comprehend that?’
As well as being furious at her seeming obstruction of his desires, simmering deep inside Leandro was absolute rage that he had not received any of Isabella’s messages about her pregnancy. When he got back to Madrid, one of the first tasks he would be undertaking was to call on the film offices concerned, make a proper investigation about what had happened and then make his fury known to the people responsible. Their over-zealous protection had denied him knowledge of his son as well as the once-in-a-lifetime chance to witness the miracle of his birth, and to his mind that was not an action that would be eliciting his unconditional forgiveness any time soon …
‘Of course I can comprehend that you want to be with your son, Leandro, but sometimes it’s just not possible to have our desires instantly gratified. Sometimes a little planning and forbearance is required.’
‘Dios mio! You test my forbearance, Isabella!’
His white-hot anger cut Isabella to the quick. This was definitely not the kind of reunion she would have envisaged for them both, given the choice. Now she felt utterly miserable.
‘You have no idea what it means to me to discover I have a son …no idea at all.’ His lean jaw visibly clenched, Leandro focused his agitated gaze firmly on Isabella’s unhappy face. ‘It is punishment enough that I did not know of his existence until yesterday. Do not punish me further by keeping him from me another day.’
As she heard the anguish in his voice Isabella’s heart ached for his distress. Now she knew an instinctive need to hold him, to tell him she understood his great need to be around his child …but, fearing that he might reject such advances when the atmosphere between them was fraught with such tension, she stayed where she was, her arms down by her sides.
‘My father died.’
‘What?’ Isabella held her breath in surprise and shock. She saw Leandro lift up his hand to push it through his hair, but he stopped halfway and shook his head, as if it pained him beyond measure to even say the words. ‘When?’ she asked him. ‘When did this happen?’
‘Not long after we said goodbye in Vigo. He was mowed down by a drunken driver …It is also why I need to be with my son.’
Sensing that he did not want to go into detail, Isabella felt her heart swell with compassion. Now she understood why he was so vociferous about his demands that they go to Spain. If he had recently lost his father …and in such a brutal, shocking way …it must be even more important for him to have a close bond with his son.
‘I’m so sorry, Leandro.’ She moved towards him to touch him, to show him how moved she was by his confession, but he stepped away from her, as if he almost regretted having to share this information with her. His gaze glittered fiercely.
‘I do not need your sympathies, Isabella!’ he said savagely, and a muscle ticked at the side of his lean jaw. ‘All I need is for you to come to Spain with Raphael!’
Leandro had not wanted to tell Isabella about what had happened to his father, but the emotion of their situation had prised the information from him. He only hoped that he could trust her not to share it with anybody else. He was fiercely protective of his especially close relationship with his father, even more so since he had gone. His reasons for wanting Isabella to move to Spain with him were imperative and he was not playing games here. He wanted Raphael with him …he wanted his son. He could not go home without him now that he had seen him. He owed it to Vincente to be a good father to his grandson—the way Vincente had been a good father to Leandro. What he could not afford to do was let Isabella’s doubts cloud the issue in any way.
‘Leandro? Raphael’s happiness and well-being means everything to me and I don’t want to do anything to jeopardise that. If I come to Spain with you, I need to feel that I’m doing the best thing for my son …that I won’t regret it.’
He stared at her as though it pained him to look at her. ‘Put yourself in my position—a father who did not know he was a father until yesterday, nine months after my son was born—and then you will know about regret, querida …’
And without another word he left her there alone in the kitchen, his expression an amalgam of sorrow and anger as he furiously brushed past her, leaving Isabella feeling as if she’d done him the most dreadful wrong that she might never be able to put right ….
Leandro ended the conversation with his mother and placed the receiver back on its rest. His hand shook slightly as he did so. After getting over the initial shock, Constanza Reyes had been ecstatic to learn that he had a son and that he was bringing him home with him tomorrow. She had laughed and cried for joy, as well as pledging to offer prayers to the saints, and the terrible depression that had descended upon her since his father’s death had seemed to miraculously recede. For such a blessing, Leandro knew only the most unimaginable gratitude. But strangely enough the conversation had left him a little morose instead of completely happy. He had lost a father and gained a son, but relations with the woman who was the mother of his child were under a most regrettable strain. Isabella had been on his mind almost constantly since he had left her last night—as indeed she had been on it over the past eighteen months—and he longed to know how to make relations between them more conducive.
Was he so wrong to expect her to leave her life in England and make a new life with him and Raphael in Spain? After the time they had spent together in the Port of Vigo last spring, Leandro did not think that he had imagined the powerful connection that had radiated so compellingly between them. When he had let Isabella go without even giving her his cell phone number, he had had much cause to regret his overly cautious action. And all that time after she had left she had been pregnant with his child and he had not known it …Regret and pain locked his throat when he considered how she had managed on her own and how betrayed she must have felt when the film company would not even pass on her messages to him. He should not be surprised that any vestiges of past affection had probably been obliterated under the circumstances.
Yet he could not help craving her attention like a drug he could not give up. Last night he had slept little. How could a man sleep when he was plagued by daydreams and fantasies of a woman who fulfilled every criteria of feminine perfection that Leandro could imagine? The softly provocative kisses he had received from her delectable lips in that hotel room eighteen months ago—as well as the memory of the arousing little sounds she had made in the throes of making love—were a seductive torment to him even now in the cold light of morning.
Impatiently he pushed to his feet, driving his hands into the slim pockets of his jeans as once again the hot, drugging heat that flooded his body at the thought of Isabella made it impossible to sit or relax at all. As his edgy, preoccupied gaze swept the newly tidy room that his friend’s housekeeper had restored in the early hours whilst Leandro had been working he had to console himself with the fact that at least tomorrow he would have the chance to be alone with Isabella and Raphael in his own house. And once his baby son was fed and settled for the night, then he would waste no more time in making relations between himself and his beautiful amante far sweeter and more agreeable than they were at present. And living with him and sharing some of the material and cultural advantages of his world and seeing how much that environment must benefit their son, Isabella would soon forget her worries that she might be jeopardising Raphael’s happiness and quickly agree to becoming Leandro’s wife …
CHAPTER EIGHT
