Forbidden Seductions: His Forbidden Passion / Craving the Forbidden / Girls' Guide to Flirting with Danger. Anne Mather
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of the hotel were well-lit.
‘Shall we go into the cocktail bar?’ she asked, with a confidence she was far from feeling. ‘I imagine we can get tea or coffee in there.’
‘Tea or coffee?’ Dominic’s lips twitched. ‘Well, yeah, if that’s what you want.’
‘It is.’ Cleo spoke firmly. ‘I don’t drink, Mr Montoya.’
She started across the floor and to her relief he accompanied her. But she couldn’t help being aware of the speculative glances they were attracting from female staff and patrons alike. They were probably wondering what a hunk like him was doing with someone like her, she thought ruefully.
Even in casual clothes, Dominic Montoya exuded an air of power and authority that was hard to ignore. Whereas she, in a dark green sweater, khaki trousers and an orange parka jacket felt—and probably looked—as if she was out of her depth.
Thankfully, the cocktail bar was almost empty at this hour of the afternoon. They had their choice of tables and Cleo chose one that was both clearly visible from the bar and near the exit.
A waitress came at once to take their order, not turning a hair when Dominic requested coffee for two.
‘Is that OK with you?’ he asked, taking the armchair opposite. ‘I can’t say I’m a great fan of tea myself.’
‘Coffee’s fine,’ agreed Cleo tensely. ‘Thank you.’
‘Hey, no problem,’ he responded, picking up a coaster and flicking it absently between his fingers. Long brown fingers, Cleo noticed unwillingly. ‘So…’ He arched his brows enquiringly. ‘Have you thought any more about what I told you?’
Cleo hunched her shoulders. ‘Yes, I’ve thought about it,’ she admitted. She’d literally thought about little else, unfortunately.
‘And?’
‘And I don’t see how what you say can be true,’ she offered carefully.
‘Why not?’
‘Um—’ She moistened dry lips before continuing, ‘If you and I are supposed to be—brother and sister, we don’t look much alike, do we?’
Now, why had she chosen that particular item out of all the things he and his aunt had told her to question first? She was pathetic!
‘Well, that’s easily explained.’ Dominic lay back in his chair, steepling his fingers and regarding her over them with lazy green eyes. ‘I was adopted. Your father’s wife couldn’t have any children.’
‘Will you stop calling him my father?’ exclaimed Cleo fiercely, even while the relief she felt was zinging through her veins. He wasn’t her brother.
But then, what did it matter? She probably wasn’t his adopted sister either.
Probably?
The waitress arrived with the coffee and the few minutes she took unloading her tray gave Cleo time to think. What was she supposed to make of his answer? That his wife’s inability to give him a child was why Robert Montoya had had an affair with Celeste Dubois?
It annoyed her that the woman’s name sprang so easily to mind. She’d only heard it mentioned a couple of times and yet it felt as if it was emblazoned on her soul.
The waitress poured the coffee, and offered cream and sugar. Cleo accepted, but her companion declined. Then the young woman departed again, but not without a calculated backward glance at Dominic. Which he didn’t return, Cleo noted, annoyed at herself for doing so.
Dominic tasted his coffee and then pulled a face. ‘When will the English learn to brew a decent cup?’ he demanded, shaking his head. He intercepted the look she cast him and gave a rueful grin. ‘I bet you could do better than this.’
‘I doubt it.’ Cleo wasn’t prepared to be cajoled into an invitation. She put down her cup. ‘Why don’t you tell me why you think the Novaks aren’t my real parents?’
‘IN OTHER words, why don’t I cut to the chase?’ suggested Dominic drily, and Cleo nodded.
Serena had been right, he thought resignedly. Ms Novak was one tough lady. And she wasn’t going to be distracted by a few compliments, even if her face had betrayed a very different reaction when she’d discovered they weren’t related after all.
Dominic wasn’t a conceited man, but he hadn’t lived for thirty years without becoming aware that women liked him. And Cleo Novak liked him as a man—if not as her nemesis. He’d bet his life on it.
But that didn’t even figure in the present situation. There were enough women in his life already, and he had no intention of doing to her what his father had done to her mother. Lily Montoya was going to find this very hard as it was without him showing a quite inappropriate interest in the girl.
Nevertheless, she was very attractive…
He expelled an impatient breath and said crisply, ‘OK, why don’t you tell me about yourself? Before we get into the heavy stuff, I’d like to hear about your life with the Novaks.’
‘With my parents, you mean?’
Cleo was stubborn, but he already knew that.
‘Right,’ he agreed. ‘With your parents.’ He paused. ‘What did Henry—what did your father do for a living?’
Cleo hesitated. ‘He did a lot of jobs. He was a taxi driver for a time, and a postman. When he and my mother died, they were working for an old lady in Islington. She let them occupy the basement of her house in exchange for gardening and—well, household duties.’
‘Really?’
Dominic frowned. So what had happened to the not inconsiderable sum of money his father had given them? Evidently Cleo had had a good education, so that was something. But it sounded as if her adoptive father hadn’t stuck at any job for very long.
Still, that wasn’t his concern. ‘But you didn’t live with them?’ he prompted and, after a moment, Cleo fixed him with a defiant look.
‘Is this important?’ she demanded. ‘Why do you want to know so much about me? I thought you had all the answers.’
‘Hardly.’ Dominic’s tone was rueful. ‘Well, OK, we’ll leave it there for now—’
‘For now?’
‘Yeah, for now,’ he said, his tone hardening. He paused. ‘I suppose I should tell you how you came to be living with the Novaks, shouldn’t I?’
Cleo gave a dismissive shrug. ‘If you must.’
‘Oh, I must,’ he told her a little harshly. ‘Because whatever spin you choose to put upon it, you are Robert Montoya’s daughter, and I can prove it.’
‘How?’
Cleo sounded suspicious now and Dominic decided that was better than indifferent. She was regarding him with dark, enquiring eyes and, for the first time, he saw a trace of his father in her cold defiance.
Putting a hand into his inner pocket, he pulled out a folded sheet of worn parchment and handed it to her. Half guessing what it might be, Cleo opened it out with trembling fingers.
And found herself looking at a birth certificate, with Robert Montoya’s name securely in the place where a father’s name should be.
Without bothering to check the mother’s name, or the identity of the infant concerned, she thrust the sheet back at him. ‘This isn’t mine,’ she declared tremulously. ‘My birth certificate is with the papers my parents left.’
‘Your second birth certificate,’ Dominic amended flatly. ‘My father