‘Are you telling me that you want to get married? To me?’ Jude laughed incredulously. ‘That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard in my life.’

      Cesar stiffened. ‘No child of mine will be born out of wedlock.’

      ‘Born out of wedlock? Cesar, this is the twenty- first century! In case you hadn’t noticed, pregnancy and marriage no longer necessarily go together! Why would you ask me to marry you?’

      ‘Isn’t it obvious?’ He frowned. He was doing the honourable thing—the only thing.

      ‘It isn’t just about the child,’ he told her roughly. ‘I…I still want you…’

      ‘But I may not want you…’

      He curled his fingers into her hair and pulled her towards him.

      ‘Shall we put that to the test…?’

      Cathy Williams is originally from Trinidad, but has lived in England for a number of years. She currently has a house in Warwickshire, which she shares with her husband Richard, her three daughters, Charlotte, Olivia and Emma, and their pet cat, Salem. She adores writing romantic fiction and would love one of her girls to become a writer—although at the moment she is happy enough if they do their homework and agree not to bicker with one another!

       Recent titles by the same author:

      RAFAEL’S SUITABLE BRIDE

       BEDDED AT THE BILLIONAIRE’S CONVENIENCE THE ITALIAN BILLIONAIRE’S SECRET LOVE-CHILD KEPT BY THE SPANISH BILLIONAIRE THE ITALIAN BOSS’S SECRETARY MISTRESS

      RUTHLESS TYCOON, INEXPERIENCED MISTRESS

      BY

      CATHY WILLIAMS

      CHAPTER ONE

      CESAR was not in the best of moods as he swung his Bentley down the small street into which his sat nav had guided him. It was a little after nine in the evening and the weather, which had looked promising in London for taking his car out for a run, had become increasingly poor the farther east he had travelled. Flurries of snow had kept his wipers busy for the past forty-five minutes.

      When he had arranged a meeting with his brother, this venue was not what he had had in mind. In fact, his club in London had been his preferred choice, but Fernando had insisted on meeting in his God-forsaken stamping ground of Kent, a place which held no interest for Cesar and therefore one which he had never seen the need to visit.

      He now cursed under his breath as he pulled up in front of a building that had all the charm of a disused warehouse. For a few seconds after he had killed the engine, he stared at what looked suspiciously like graffiti on the walls and wondered whether his faith in computer technology had been misplaced. Had that disembodied female voice which had guided him away from the city centre got the directions all wrong?

      With a sharp, impatient click of his tongue, Cesar swung himself out of his car in search of a door of sorts.

      He would personally donate his car to the nearest vagrant if his brother lived in this dump. Fernando was not the sort of guy who did dumps. In fact, Fernando was the sort of guy who specialised in avoiding them at all costs.

      Cesar did his best to swallow his anger at having to deal with this massive personal inconvenience. He was here for a specific purpose and, to that end, there was no point in dwelling on the fact that his Friday night had been ruined. Nor was there any point in getting annoyed with his brother. By the end of the night Fernando would have enough to deal with, never mind his lack of foresight in arranging this meeting, in the dead of winter, miles away from civilisation.

      The door was cunningly concealed amidst the graffiti and, for a few seconds after he had pushed it open, Cesar took time to adjust to his surroundings.

      This wasn’t what he had expected. Disused from the outside the place might well appear to be, but once inside, the picture was vastly different. A few dozen people were milling about what seemed to be a club of sorts. To one side of the semi-darkened room, a cluster of leather chairs and sofas were scattered around low tables. Elsewhere people stood drinking by a long, sleek bar which curved in a U shape to encompass most of the back of the room. To the left there appeared to be a raised podium and yet more chairs.

      It didn’t take long to spot his brother, talking in a small group, animated as he usually was and the centre of attention.

      Having specifically told Fernando that he wanted to have a one-on-one meeting to discuss the small matter of his trust fund, Cesar was enraged to now discover that he had been conned into attending what looked like a private party. The subdued lighting didn’t give him much of a clue as to the nature of the guests involved, but he didn’t have to exert his brain too much to work out that they would all be his brother’s usual cronies. Blonde bimbos, gambling partners and general wastrels who shared the same ambitions as Fernando to spend the family money as flamboyantly as possible whilst simultaneously dodging anything that smelled remotely like hard work.

      Cesar grimly thought that his brother was on the wrong track if he thought he could avoid discussing his financial future by conniving to have a bunch of chaperons around him.

      By the time he descended on Freddy, all of the group bar one had departed and Cesar treated his brother to a smile of pure displeasure. He didn’t bother to look at the crop-haired youth standing next to him.

      ‘Fernando,’ he said through gritted teeth. He held out one hand, his cursory nod to courtesy. ‘This is not what I expected.’ It had been several months since he had laid eyes on his brother. In fact, the last time had been at a family gathering in Madrid, where yet again Cesar’s attempts to interest his brother in the fortunes of the company had met with a resounding lack of interest. It was then that he had told Fernando in no uncertain terms that he would be putting his trust fund under the microscope. It was within his power to defer it until such time as he considered it wise to release it and he wouldn’t hesitate to use his power of attorney. ‘Get your act together,’ he had warned, ‘or kiss sweet goodbye to that lifestyle of yours.’

      Of course, Fernando had responded by staying as far away from the company head office as he physically could.

      ‘I thought…Friday night…’ Freddy’s smile was pure charm. ‘Live a little, big brother! We can talk tomorrow. Actually, I wanted to show you…’ He spread his hands in a gesture to encompass the room and Cesar looked at him in cool silence. ‘But I am being rude.’ He turned to the woman he’d been talking to who had been displaced by Cesar striding in front of her. ‘This is Judith—Jude—meet my brother, Cesar… What can I get you, Cesar?’ He edged away. ‘Whisky? As usual?’

      ‘And I’ll have another glass of wine, Freddy.’ Jude had to take a few sideways steps until she was standing directly in front of the most intimidating man she had ever set eyes on in her life.

      So this was the famous Cesar. No wonder Freddy had been quaking in his proverbial boots at the prospect of having a meeting with him. He was a good four inches taller than his brother and where Freddy was good-looking in an approachable, flirtatious kind of way, this man was stunning. His face was dark and lean and, with its perfect bone structure, somehow forbidding. This was a face that could chill to the bone.

      She did her best to smile. This elaborate set-up had been meticulous in the planning. Freddy had been so desperate to introduce his brother to the place he had bought. It was a converted warehouse which was halfway to becoming the sexy jazz club of his dreams, waiting only for the injection