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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another breath, she said stiffly, ‘I came here to do a job, that’s all. My uncle was delighted when Senhora Silveira’s agent contacted him and offered the magazine this interview. He—Apparently he’d interviewed her many years ago, when her first book was published.’
‘So why is he not here?’
‘Because—’ The dawning explanation stunned her. ‘Because Senhora Silveira has supposedly read some of my work. Oh God!’ Her eyes widened in disbelief. ‘You arranged this, didn’t you?’
Alejandro’s mocking gaze neither confirmed nor denied it. Instead, he said, ‘Did it never occur to either of you to question Anita’s decision? She’s a very private person, as your uncle certainly knows. And why, out of all the quality publications in the world, should she choose your uncle’s magazine in which to break her silence?’
Isobel swallowed, trying to come to terms with what he was saying. ‘Um, Sam thought she must have liked the piece he did about her before,’ she said flatly.
‘Que nada!’Alejandro’s harsh exclamation revealed his contempt. ‘I doubt if Anita even remembers what your uncle wrote about her.’ He shook his head. ‘No man in his position should be that naive!’
‘He’s not naive.’ Isobel was indignant. ‘Too honest, perhaps,’ she added. ‘Something I doubt you know anything about.’
‘And why is that?’
Alejandro’s fingers tightened round her arm, and she had to steel herself not to show any reaction. Did he know he was hurting her? Somehow she doubted it.
‘You set up a totally bogus assignment and then ask me to explain?’ Isobel chose her words carefully. ‘I don’t know what all this is about, but I shall make arrangements to return to London today.’
‘Nao.’
Alejandro’s response was very definite and her nerves tingled apprehensively. He was such a big man, strong and powerful. And, because of her unwilling awareness of him, he was a danger to her in so many ways.
Despite his scar, and the injury that caused him to drag his leg at times, he was still an overwhelmingly attractive man. It wasn’t just his looks, though the muscles that swelled beneath his black tee-shirt and the corded length of his legs in black cargo pants were impressive. It was the hard-edged masculinity he exuded as he spoke to her. He knew what he was doing, and he was on his home ground.
Unknowingly, her eyes had strayed lower than she’d intended, and she unwittingly remembered the tight buttocks she’d once squeezed between her fingers.
Not that she should be thinking of such things now, she chided herself fiercely, refusing to acknowledge the unmistakeable bulge between his legs. But some things couldn’t be forgotten, not when the reality was in front of her.
Oh, God!
He was waiting for her response, and she knew she had to keep her head here. He thought he held all the cards, but she had a few of her own.
‘I wonder what your wife—or your fiancée—would have thought if she’d known what you were doing while you were in London,’ she blurted defensively. ‘I doubt if you told her, or your mother-in-law, that you were sleeping with someone else.’
‘I did not have to.’ Alejandro’s face darkened. ‘But we are not talking about Miranda, querida. This is all about our daughter. The daughter I did not even know I had.’
‘How do you know she is your daughter?’
The words were out before Isobel could prevent them, and for a moment she saw she’d stunned him too. His fingers relaxed, and, taking advantage of the moment, she tugged away from him. And then, picking up her heels, she ran crazily towards the villa.
It was only as she was walking breathlessly across the formal gardens, where a lily-strewn reflecting pool lay between sprinkler-fresh lawns, that she glanced apprehensively behind her.
Her legs were wobbly, not just from the unaccustomed exertion, and she knew that if he’d followed her she wouldn’t have the strength to repeat her escape.
But to her surprise, and relief, Alejandro was still standing where she’d left him. And she guessed that the reason he hadn’t chased her was because he couldn’t …
CHAPTER SEVEN
EVEN after taking a shower, Isobel didn’t feel a whole lot better.
What was she going to do?
It was ironic, really. She’d spent half the night wondering what Alejandro was doing in this part of the country, and now that seemed the least of her worries.
Yet when she’d known him—if she had ever really known him!—he’d told her he lived in Rio, hadn’t he? Perhaps it had been Julia who’d divulged that particular piece of information, when she’d been warning her that Alejandro had only been slumming at the party.
She should have listened to her friend, she mused unhappily. Julia had always been more streetwise than she was. Julia would never have let a man make love to her without using any protection. Even if Alejandro had probably assumed that, as she’d been married already, she knew how to take care of herself.
But that was just making excuses for him, something she’d done a lot of when she’d first discovered she was pregnant. Or had she just been finding reasons why she should have the baby? Even without her aunt and uncle’s offer of support, she’d known she’d find some way to keep her child.
And now, it seemed, he was living in Porto Verde. Or if not here, exactly, then not too far away. Near enough for him to have contrived their meeting that morning. She should have asked him where his house was, she thought ruefully. But, right then, she’d had too many other things on her mind.
Not least what she was going to tell her uncle. He was going to be so disappointed when he learned that there was to be no interview after all. She dreaded having to tell him. He’d been so excited at the prospect of a possible scoop.
Wrapping herself in the pristine-white bathrobe hanging on the bathroom door, she returned to the living room. And found that in her absence someone had delivered a tray of fruit, rolls and coffee. The table had been set with porcelain flatware and silver cutlery, a napkin-wrapped basket keeping the bread warm.
Despite the appetising aroma of the coffee, Isobel looked about her rather apprehensively. She was sure she’d locked the door before going for her shower. But evidently certain members of Senhora Silveira’s staff had keys. Did Alejandro have a key? She didn’t even want to consider that.
When a knock came at her door, she started nervously. Now what? she wondered. Was this Anita’s housekeeper, telling her she wasn’t needed any more? But the fear that whoever it was might also have a key forced her to answer it. Putting down her coffee, she walked unwillingly to the door.
To her surprise, a young man was standing outside. Of medium height and build with handsome Latin features, he seemed very sure of himself. And, unlike the other servants, he was wearing a well-tailored grey suit, shirt and a matching tie.
‘Ms Jameson?’ he said expectantly, and Isobel wondered who else he thought she could be. But it did remind her that she was still wearing the bathrobe, and faint colour entered her cheeks at his frank appraisal. ‘I am Ricardo Vincente, senhora—Senhora Silveira’s personal assistant.’
‘Oh.’ Isobel was a little taken aback when he offered her his hand in greeting. ‘Um, how do you do?’ She hesitated, taking a surreptitious glance at the watch on his wrist. It was still barely eight o’clock. ‘What do you—I mean, what can I do for you?’
She’d been about to say ‘what do you want?’, but she managed to bite the words back. However, after her encounter with Alejandro, she wasn’t under any illusions as to why she was here.
‘Ah. I am to escort you