One Night in... Rio: The Brazilian Millionaire's Love-Child / Virgin Mistress, Scandalous Love-Child / The Surgeon's Runaway Bride. Anne Mather
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with a tight smile at Isobel, she said, ‘I have told Ruis to arrange with Sancha to have your meal served in your room, senhora. I am sure you would prefer it this evening, nao?’
Isobel’s sigh was heartfelt. ‘Oh yes; thank you, senhora’ she said, making sure to avoid Alejandro’s eyes. ‘I am rather weary. It’s been a long journey. If you’ll excuse me, I will have an early night.’
‘I will escort Ms Jameson back to her suite,’ said Alejandro at once, but to Isobel’s relief Anita objected.
‘I think Ms Jameson would prefer one of the servants to assist her,’ she said, patting his sleeve reprovingly. ‘She barely knows you, querido.’ The smile she directed towards him was intimate. ‘You can be a little intimidating at times.’
Alejandro’s mouth thinned, and he said something to Anita in their own language that wiped the smile from her face. Then, turning to Isobel, he said coldly, ‘I apologise if I have intimidated you, senhora. That was not my intention. We will continue our conversation at another time, nao?’
Isobel wanted to say that she had nothing to discuss with him, but this was not the time to start an argument, and she managed a polite smile in return.
‘I’ll look forward to it, senhor,’ she said, refusing to let him see that he had rattled her. But she was overwhelmingly relieved when the maid who’d escorted her to the terrace appeared to escort her back again.
The food when it arrived didn’t interest her. Isobel felt sick, disorientated, totally confused as to why she was here. Was she really expected to write an article about Anita? Or was that just a ruse to get her there? But, if that were so, what did Alejandro hope to gain by it? It all came back to Emma and she was scared.
It was still dark when Alejandro parked his SUV above the dunes that backed onto Anita’s villa. He’d driven home after a rather strained dinner with his mother-in-law, rejecting her offer to stay over. But he hadn’t gone home to bed. He didn’t sleep well these days anyway, and after last night’s little fiasco he hadn’t attempted to undress. He was determined to see Isobel, to talk to her. And if that meant treading on Anita’s toes, then so be it.
Running a careless hand over the growth of stubble on his jawline, he thrust open his door and got haltingly out of the vehicle. Despite the hour, the air was still warm, though there was a delicious breeze blowing up off the ocean. The scent of salt was stimulating, and he thought that in other circumstances he might have been considering taking his yacht out for a sail today.
The villa seemed all in darkness. Anita would still be sleeping; she rarely rose before eleven. Sometimes it was midday before she summoned Sancha to deliver the strong black coffee she drank so liberally. That, together with a narrow, black cheroot, was all she had for breakfast.
Which was why Alejandro occasionally chose this time to walk on the beach. His own property was a dozen miles from here, over a precipitous route that wound up into the hills above the villa. He didn’t visit the villa every time he drove down here, but since he’d known Isobel was coming he’d begun to haunt the place.
It was hard, incredibly hard, to remain calm when he wanted to howl his outrage at the unfairness of fate. He hadn’t realised it would be so difficult, seeing Isobel again. And, while his situation had changed so dramatically, she seemed infuriatingly the same.
Except that she had had a baby …
The shadows lightened, highlighting a piece of driftwood in his path. Kicking it aside, he was grateful to avoid it. It would have been easy to mistake it for a clump of seaweed thrown up by the incoming tide.
Then, as he straightened, he saw her. It was still barely light, but there was no mistaking the slim figure etched against a sky lemon-tinged by the rising sun. His teeth clenched, and for a moment he wondered if she was just a figment of his imagination. But, no, she was there, her feet ankle-deep in the frothing water.
She wasn’t aware that she was no longer alone. He’d allowed the SUV to coast the last few yards to where he parked, and the dunes muffled everything but the roar of the ocean. In shorts and a sleeveless vest, she was evidently not expecting to meet anyone. Perfect, he thought firmly. He’d wanted to catch her unprepared.
‘Hi,’ he said when he was near enough to speak without raising his voice, but she started anyway. ‘Thinking of going for a swim?’
Isobel’s hands came together at her waist. ‘No,’ she said quickly, glancing back towards the villa. Then, as if the thought had just occurred to her, ‘Do you live here?’
Alejandro’s lips twisted. ‘No.’
‘So did you stay the night?’
‘Oh, please.’ He swept back his hair with a careless hand, regarding her incredulously. ‘Anita is my mother-in-law, not my lover.’
‘Are you sure she feels the same way?’
The words were out before Isobel could prevent them, and she felt a moment’s panic when his hands clenched into fists at his sides. What did she know about this man really? Despite that distant intimacy, he was as much a stranger to her now as Anita.
And yet …
‘Does it matter?’ His words arrested her troubled thoughts. Amber eyes darkened perceptibly. ‘Are you jealous, cara?’ His mouth took on a sensual curve. ‘I must admit, it is an eventuality I had not considered.’
‘In your dreams!’
Isobel’s face flushed with colour and her eyes flashed in indignation. And Alejandro felt a frustrating twinge of guilt for making fun of her that way.
With the sun clearing the horizon, he thought how absurdly innocent she looked, her face free of any make-up, her lips parted and trembling. She was wearing pink this morning, and the clinging fabric of her vest exposed her nipples in minute detail. He doubted she was wearing a bra. In fact, he was sure she wasn’t. And against his will—much against his will, he told himself grimly—he felt an unfamiliar hardening between his legs.
She turned now, evidently intent on putting some space between them, but he couldn’t let her go like this. ‘Wait,’ he said, his fingers circling her upper arm as she would have hurried away. ‘We need to talk, Isobella. Or are you going to continue with this pretence that you and I had never met before last evening?’
‘I didn’t start the pretence. You did,’ Isobel countered, looking pointedly at his hand gripping her arm, and then up again into his dark face.
Alejandro frowned. He had to concede that she was right. He had made no attempt to tell Anita about that distant affair, and, although he’d been prepared for their meeting the night before, he hadn’t taken into account how he would really feel when he saw her again.
‘Esta bem,’ he said shortly. ‘All right. But would you have rather brought up the subject of our daughter’s paternity with Anita looking on? I think not. I think you were—how do they say?—shocked out of your mind when you saw me. And not just because of my changed appearance.’
‘You’re wrong!’
Isobel could feel the panic rising inside her. And she didn’t honestly know why. Except that Alejandro’s words threatened to expose her weakness. But Emma was her daughter, not his.
‘Am I?’ Patently he didn’t believe her, and she hastened on.
‘Naturally I was surprised to see you. I had no idea you and Senhora Silveira were related.’
Alejandro’s mouth compressed. ‘Now, that I can believe.’
‘It’s true.’
Isobel drew an unsteady breath. She wasn’t handling this at all well, and it didn’t help that the disturbing contrast between the dark fingers gripping her arm and her pale flesh was causing goose bumps down her spine.
If only she wasn’t so aware of him. If only being this