Kitabı oku: «The Mills & Boon Stars Collection», sayfa 45
CHAPTER SEVEN
ISABELLA swallowed. ‘His name is R-Roberto.’
Paulo’s eyes grew stony as he heard her voice tremble over the name. He shook his head. ‘Not good enough. I need more than that.’
It didn’t even occur to her to object to that snapped demand. She was in too deep now to deny him anything. ‘His name is Roberto Bonino and he—’
‘Who is he?’
This was the difficult bit. ‘I knew him at university.’ She swallowed.
Paulo’s stiffened as he recognised evasion on a mega-scale. ‘Another student, you mean?’
She felt her neck grow hot. ‘No.’
‘Tell me, Bella.’
Something in his voice compelled her to look up at him and she knew that her pink, guilty cheeks gave her away at once. ‘He…he was one of the lecturers, actually.’
There was a long, dangerous pause. ‘One of the lecturers?’
‘Y-yes.’
Somehow he had been expecting the worst, but the truth was no less devasting in its delivery. He felt the cold, dead taste of disappointment in his mouth. And the slow burn of anger. ‘But that’s a complete abuse of power!’ he snarled.
‘He was only temporary—’
‘And you think that makes what he did acceptable?’
She shook her head, its weight pressing down like a heavy rock on her neck. ‘No. Of course I don’t.’
The anger inside him gathered and grew into bitter accusation. ‘So was it love, Bella? True love? The kind that fairy-tales are made of? Eyes across a crowded room and wham-bam—’ his black eyes glittered ‘—you’re in so deep you can’t think straight?’
She heard the cynicism which stained his words, and shook her head. There had only ever been one man who had had that effect on her and he was sitting within touching distance. ‘No.’
He wanted to grab hold of her and lever her up into his arms, but he forced himself to stay sitting. ‘What, then? What exactly was the relationship between you? Tell me what happened!’
Still she couldn’t look him in the eye—unable to face his condemnation and scorn when she told him what lay behind her ugly seduction. That it had been Paulo who had set her senses on fire. Paulo who had set in place a fevered longing that meant she hadn’t been able to think straight. It had been Paulo who had planted the rampant seeds of desire—but had left just before the inevitable harvest…
‘I used to go to his psychology lectures,’ she explained painfully.
‘Psychology? Oh, great!’ He felt like punching his fist through the wall. ‘Do you think he’d ever thought about studying his own behaviour?’
She carried on as if he hadn’t interrupted, a slight desperation touching her words now. ‘He was more a friend than anything. At least—that’s what I thought. We used to go out in a big group sometimes—’
‘Didn’t he have any friends his own age?’ he asked sarcastically.
‘Actually, he wasn’t much older than most of the people he used to teach, so he fitted in.’
‘Yeah, he sure did,’ he agreed pointedly, then found her answering blush too painful to contemplate. ‘And?’ he prompted, but the harsh note of accusation had all but gone.
Isabella looked at him—at the carved perfection of his face with its intriguing blend of light and shade. A proud, beautiful face which now wore an icy-cold mask of disapproval. ‘I guess I was all mixed up.’ That much was true. She had been longing for Paulo—obsessed by his memory.
‘And randy?’ he questioned cruelly. ‘Surely you’re not forgetting that?’
She swallowed down a lump of distaste. ‘Let’s just say I wasn’t completely indifferent—’ She saw him jerk his head back as if she had struck him, and tried to be as honest with him as possible. ‘We’d both had a few drinks and…’ Her voice tailed off, too embarrassed to continue.
Paulo seethed with a terrible kind of rage. He bit the words out as if they were bitter poison while his fist itched to connect with her tutor’s pretty, young face. ‘You mean he got you drunk?’
‘No, of course he didn’t!’ She nearly asked him what he took her for, but she didn’t dare. He might just tell her. ‘I had a couple of glasses of wine on an empty stomach and I’m not used to alcohol.’ She looked him straight in the eye then, challenging him to condemn her. ‘So go on, Paulo—call me a tramp! Call me whatever names you want, if it makes you feel better.’
Impossibly, and appallingly, he thought of what would make him feel better—and it had something to do with covering the soft, rosy tremble of her mouth with his. Covering it so that the memory of Roberto’s kiss would be as stale as ashes in her mind. He shook his head. ‘You’re no tramp, Bella,’ he said softly. She had told him most of what he needed to know—so why the defensive tightening of her shoulders? ‘But there’s still something you’re not telling me, isn’t there?’
She bit her lip and looked away. ‘There’s quite a lot, actually. But I didn’t think you’d want to know.’
His mouth hardened, unprepared for the sudden blitz of bitterness. ‘I don’t mean every sordid detail of your night with this…this…’ He stopped himself from spitting out the only word which was halfway suitable, and one which he would never use in front of a woman. Especially about the man who had fathered her child.
‘Were you a virgin?’ he asked suddenly, though deep-down he knew what her answer would be.
‘I…Yes.’ She hung her head as he made a sound as though she had hit him. ‘Yes, I was.’
Swallowing down the taste of bitter jealousy, he let his hand reach out to cup her face, his dark eyes luminous with a kind of poignant sadness.
‘It should have been me,’ he said softly.
Meeting his gaze, she was already close to tears, but she held them at bay for long enough to whisper, ‘Wh-what should?’
He let his hand fall, so that it was on a level with her belly and then, intimately, shockingly—he reached out a finger and drew it meticulously down over the drum-tight swell of the baby and Bella gasped aloud as he touched her.
‘This. This baby of yours. It could have been me, couldn’t it?’ he questioned huskily, beginning to stroke a tiny circle around her navel. ‘This.’ And his finger undulated over her belly as the baby moved beneath it. ‘Mine.’
‘Yours? How could it possibly be yours?’
‘How do you think? By the traditional method of fathering children, of course. I should have made love to you,’ he whispered, but he saw that beneath the fine olive complexion, her face looked almost bloodless in response. He let the anger go for a moment and let regret take its place—a bitter, lasting regret that he hadn’t felt since his wife had died.
He could barely bring himself to acknowledge the precious gift he had refused—only to have someone else step in and steal it in his place. ‘If only I hadn’t listened to my crazy, stupid conscience!’ he groaned aloud.
She stared at him in confusion. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Oh, Bella—you know what I’m talking about!’ His words sounded urgent and bitter, but his hand felt unbelievably gentle and she let him leave it right where it was, splayed almost possessively over the bump of the baby. ‘You wanted me as much as I wanted you, didn’t you?’ he questioned softly.
She couldn’t escape the question burning from his black eyes, even if she had wanted to. And she was through with evasion and half-truths. She would not tell him a lie. She couldn’t. Not now, not after everything he had done for her. Was doing for her. Even now. ‘Yes,’ she said quietly.
‘So subdued,’ he murmured. ‘So unlike the Bella I know.’
She wondered if the Bella he knew existed any more, but by then the moment for sensible debate had vanished and the unbelievable was happening instead. Paulo was pulling her to her to her feet and into the warm circle of his arms and the thoughtful look on his face gave her the courage to ask, ‘So why didn’t you?’
It was almost scary that he knew exactly what she meant. ‘Make love to you?’ He stroked her thickened waist reflectively. ‘How many reasons would you like? Because you were only twenty and I suspected that you were innocent, as well as being the daughter of my host?’ Or because he recognised the danger she represented, as well as the excitement? A danger to his well-ordered life and its carefully compartmentalised emotions.
‘Of course,’ and he paused—a slow, dangerous beat. ‘None of those obstacles have any relevance any more, do they?’
With a thundering heart Isabella stared at the darkening of his eyes and the deepening colour which highlighted the broad sweep of his cheekbones. And just for that moment it was easy to pretend that he really was her lover.
‘Paulo!’ she gasped, because the baby chose just that moment to kick her very hard beneath her heart, or maybe that was just the effect he had on her.
‘What is it, querida?’ His voice was gentle but he didn’t wait for an answer, just bent his head and began to kiss her. And all sane thoughts dissolved as Isabella was left with the sensation of a long-awaited dream being fulfilled.
This had been too long in coming, Paulo thought with an edge of desperation as he lowered his mouth onto hers. He could not recall a hunger of such keen, bright intensity. Nor kissing a woman so heavily pregnant with such raw passion before. For a brief, heady moment he allowed himself the sensation of melting, of their mouths moulding together as though they had always been joined with such perfect chemistry.
But this was Bella he was kissing. Sweet, stubborn Bella. And a very pregnant Bella, too. He reached his hand out—supposedly to push her away—but the hand somehow connected with enchanting accuracy over the heavy swell of her breast. And he gave into temptation. Cupped it. Kneaded it. Fondled it until he felt it peak like iron against his fingertips and he heard her half-moaned response.
Bella felt her knees threaten to give way. Her heart was fluttering and so was the baby—while all the time she could feel the heavy pulsing of desire as it began its slow inexorable throb. She clung onto his broad shoulders and kissed him back as though her life depended on it. And maybe it did.
He dragged his mouth away from hers with an effort and gazed down into her flushed, dazed face. He could barely speak, he was so aroused—so much for his reputation as the cool, controlled lover! ‘We have to stop this right now, Bella,’ he told her huskily. ‘Jessie will be back soon.’ And so, he remembered in horror, so would his son.
‘And Eddie!’ She echoed his thoughts as she frantically smoothed the palms of her hands over her hot cheeks, aware that her hair must be mussed up, her lips stained dark by the pressure of his mouth. ‘I’d better go and…tidy myself up,’ she gulped.
She made to move away, but he caught hold of her hand, his eyes boring into her as he understood one more reason why she had borne her secret for so long. ‘That’s why you couldn’t bring yourself to tell your father about the baby, isn’t it? Because this man—Roberto—abused his position.’
She nodded, causing even more disarray to her hair. ‘That’s how Papa would see it, yes. He would create a big scene. Can you imagine? He might even attempt to prosecute, and then it would be in all the papers. Can’t you understand why I ran to England, Paulo?’
‘Yes, I can.’ He nodded his head slowly. ‘But you’ve compromised me now, haven’t you, querida? Your father is convinced that I have sired your baby. And to tell him otherwise would risk the kind of commotion you’re so anxious to avoid—even if you were willing to do so.’
‘So what do I do?’
His eyes glittered as he considered her question, the memory of her kiss still sweet on his mouth. ‘You stay here. With me. And Eduardo. And after the baby is born, well, then…’ He shrugged as he gave his rare and sexy smile—thinking that she could work that one out for herself.
The arrogance and complacency of that smile brought Isabella crashing back into the real world. ‘Then what?’ she questioned slowly. ‘What exactly are you suggesting?’
‘Why, then we could enjoy our mutual passion, Bella,’ he purred, seeing the darkening in her eyes and feeling his body’s answering leap in response. ‘After all, why should I take all of the responsibility of impending paternity, but with none of the corresponding pleasure? Live here. With me. And we will become lovers.’
Lovers.
There was silence in the room, save for the ominous ticking of a clock she had never noticed before. And, while he must know how much she wanted him, something held her back.
Because she’d already made one big mistake in her life—she certainly did not intend making another. And if she allowed herself to fall eagerly into his bed on the strength of that coolly impassive suggestion, then how would he ever have any other image of her than that of a passive sensualist, all vulnerable and needy where men were concerned?
‘And just how long did you have in mind?’ she questioned acidly. ‘Until you’ve taken your fill of me, I suppose?’
He stared deep into the amber eyes, respecting the guts it must have taken to ask that question. A trace of the old Isabella, he thought—her spirit remarkably uncrushed, despite what fate had thrown at her.
‘Who can say, querida? Until it is spent. All burned out. Until you decide where you want to settle with your baby. Who knows for how long? I certainly can’t tell you.’ He paused, watching carefully for her reaction. ‘But of course there are alternatives open to you if the idea doesn’t appeal.’
She opened her mouth to speak, but the ringing of the front doorbell shattered the spell and he moved away from her. Her eyes followed him as he moved across the room.
He was wearing only a simple sweater with a pair of faded denims. The washed-out green of the sweater only drew attention to the spectacular darkness of his Latin American colouring, while the jeans were moulded to buttocks and thighs so powerful that…She found herself imagining seeing him, every bit of him, naked and warm in the act of loving.
‘Oh, yes.’ He nodded, his voice deepening as he observed her flushed reaction and her darkening eyes. ‘I can see that it does appeal.’
Pride made her tilt her chin to stare at him, but pride also made her speak from the heart. ‘I can’t deny the attraction between us either,’ she said slowly. ‘But soon I’ll have a baby to think about, as well as myself. I can’t just leap into an affair with you. I might feel differently after the birth.’
‘You might not,’ he objected.
Her eyes mocked him. ‘Well, you’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you, Paulo?’
It was not what he had wanted to hear. Nor expected to hear. Isabella could tell that much from the frozen look of disbelief which briefly hardened his outrageously gorgeous face.
But she kept watching him, waiting for the inevitable thaw—and when it came the frustration had been replaced by an emotion he used to swamp her with, but one which had been absent just lately.
It was called respect.
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘WHAT’S the matter?’ Paulo flicked off the television programme he had been half-heartedly trying to watch and stared instead at Isabella, who’d been shifting her position rather distractedly on the sofa, distracting him in the bargain, despite all his good intentions.
She’d told him that he would have to wait and see and he was going to abide by her decision. Even if the effort half-killed him.
Isabella stifled a yawn as she met the soft question in his eyes, aware that he’d been sitting watching her for the best part of an hour while pretending to watch TV. She’d spent the early part of the evening having Eddie teach her a computer game and now she was paying the price for having sat upright in front of a small screen for over an hour. She shifted around on the sofa again. ‘Nothing.’
‘Something,’ he contradicted, thinking how pale her face looked and wondering if her nights had been as short of sleep as his had. Probably not. She probably slept smug and sound in her bed, knowing that she had him right where she wanted him—dangling on the end of a string.
He sighed, realising that he’d forgotten the last time a woman had said no to him, and the last person he’d ever imagined it would be was Isabella—not after the way she’d come to such swift, passionate life in his arms. ‘Come on, Bella,’ he urged softly. ‘I can tell you’re uncomfortable.’
‘Her back hurts,’ explained Eddie, who chose that moment to wander into the room in his pyjamas to say goodnight. ‘It always does at this time of the night, doesn’t it, Bella? ’Specially if she sits still.’
‘Oh, really?’ Paulo shot her a look which bordered on the accusing before rising to his feet to take his son to bed to read him a story. And when he came back he found that she had changed position on the sofa, but still with that same faint frown creasing her brow.
He sat down beside her, registering the way her body tensed as his weight sank onto the sofa beside her and he slowly and deliberately stretched his long legs in front of him, smug himself now to realise she wasn’t entirely immune to him. ‘So how come my son knows more about your current state of health than I do?’
She shrugged her shoulders uncomfortably, aware of the arrogantly muscular thrust of his thighs. Was he lying in that provocative position on purpose? she wondered agitatedly. ‘He heard me telling Jessie that I get backache.’
Paulo frowned, badly wanting to reach out and trace the sweet, curving outline of her lips. ‘And is that unusual?’ he asked huskily.
‘No, it’s perfectly normal. They told us to expect it.’
‘Who are “they”?’ he asked softly.
‘The childbirth classes I went to when I was au pairing. And the books say so, too.’
‘Maybe I should read them, too,’ he mused, before asking. ‘Is there any known cure?’
Not for the ache in her heart, no. Backache was an altogether simpler matter. A smile hovered on her mouth in spite of the fact that her whole world seemed to be a maelstrom of swirling emotions. ‘Massage,’ she told him stolidly. ‘It helps but it doesn’t cure.’
‘Hmm.’ He shifted in his seat. ‘Turn around, then.’
Oh, sure—having Paulo caressing her skin was exactly what she didn’t need. ‘No, honestly—’
‘Turn around,’ he repeated quietly. Because at least if she turned away she wouldn’t be able to read the hunger in his eyes.
With difficulty she did as he said, wondering if he had noticed the slow flush of colour which had risen in her cheeks.
He moved his thumbs into the hollow at the base of the spine and heard her expel a soft breath as he began to press away some of the tension.
It was crazy—more than crazy—but this innocent act of kneading her flesh felt like the most indecent act he had ever performed. ‘Is that—’ his voice deepened ‘—good?’
Any minute now and her thundering heart would burst right out of her chest. ‘It’s…fine,’ she managed.
Paulo’s nerves were stretched to the breaking point in an exquisite state of frustration. He wondered what she would do if he slid his hands round to cup her breasts, then sighed. Because he was essentially a man of hon-our. And that, he thought, would be taking advantage. Definitely.
‘Better?’ he murmured.
‘Mmm. A hundred times.’ She was torn between longing for him to continue and yearning for him to stop.
‘Get yourself to bed then, and I’ll bring you something warm to drink.’
She shook her head. ‘I’m not thirsty.’
‘It’s a very expensive, very delicious chocolatey drink which I went out of my way to buy you when I was coming back from work,’ he coaxed, and injected a stern note into his voice. ‘Because chocolate is what you told me you’d been craving, Miss Fernandes—and because I notice you just pushed your supper around your plate this evening.’
‘Does nothing escape your notice?’ she teased.
Very little, he thought as he steadied her on his arm. And nothing whatsoever to do with her. She looked like a different woman since coming to live with him. Pregnancy had made her hair shine like mahogany and her skin gleam with radiant, glowing health.
In her bedroom, Isabella struggled out of her clothes and into the nightshirt which made her look like a vast, white tent, and was sitting up in bed when Paulo brought her a cup of chocolate.
He sat leaning moodily on the window-ledge while he looked around the room—noticing that she must have been out into the garden and picked a selection of berried twigs and brightly coloured pieces of foliage and placed them in a tall, silver vase. Jessie never did that kind of stuff. And he liked it, he realised…He liked it a lot.
In the corner of the room stood her bag, all packed for hospital, and beside it a small pile of Babygros as well as a yellow teddy-bear which he had picked up personally after they had had to cut short their visit to the toy-shop.
‘You’re all ready, then?’ he asked.
She followed the direction of his gaze and nodded, not missing the warm approval in his voice. ‘More than I was before.’
‘You were heavily into denial,’ he observed slowly, remembering how she hadn’t brought a single baby thing back with her that day he had picked her up at the Staffords’. ‘So what changed all that?’
‘Telling my father, I guess.’ She sighed, and knew that once again she owed him her gratitude. Did being indebted to the man mean she could never be his equal? she wondered. ‘You were right to push me into it, Paulo. I feel such a fool now for not having the courage to do so in the first place.’
‘We’re all allowed to be cowards sometimes, Bella,’ he said softly, thinking that if she had done that then she would never have arrived here, seeking his help. Would never have slotted into his life like this—disrupting it, yes, undoubtedly, but making it seem more alive than it had done for a long time. And he realised too, that her life had not been easy since she had found out about the baby. Not easy at all.
He kept his voice casual. ‘How would you like to catch a taxi into the city, and meet me after work tomorrow night? I could show you my office—we could maybe grab a bite to eat.’
She looked down at her bump, horrified. ‘Like this?’
He smiled and shrugged. ‘Why not?’
‘What will your colleagues think?’
He gave the smile of a man who had never pandered to other people’s opinions. ‘Who cares what they think?’ He raised his dark brows. ‘So, would you?’
‘Well, I would,’ she admitted, almost shyly.
In the end, she took Eddie along with her because having Paulo’s son accompany her seemed to legitimise her presence. She met most of Paulo’s frankly curious colleagues, seeing from their expressions just what deductions they were making about her role in their director’s life.
While Eddie was busy changing the screensaver on his father’s computer, she took Paulo aside and hissed into his ear, ‘You do know what everyone’s thinking?’
‘That I’m such a super-stud?’ he mocked.
Her eyes widened and she met the look in his eyes and started to giggle. Well, if Paulo didn’t care, then she certainly wasn’t going to waste her time worrying about what was, in fact, her private fantasy!
So she settled back and allowed herself to be steered through the building with all the exaggerated courtesy which would naturally be afforded to a rich man’s pregnant mistress.
They toured the impressive glass-fronted skyscraper, and then the three of them got a cab to Covent Garden for hamburgers and milkshakes—or rather Paulo and Eddie ate the hamburgers while Isabella indulged herself with a very thick strawberry milkshake.
On the way home, Paulo turned to her in the taxi. ‘Tired?’
She shook her head. ‘Not a bit.’
‘Back hurting?’
She smiled. ‘My back is fine.’
He tapped the connecting glass and asked the driver to drive down around by the Houses of Parliament so that they could see the historic buildings lit up by night.
Eddie turned to Isabella. ‘What an amazing night!’ he exclaimed. ‘It’s just like being on holiday!’
Yes, it was. But holidays always came to an end, she reminded herself.
The following evening—just by way of saying thank you—she had a martini waiting for Paulo when he arrived back from work, and if he was unsettled by the distinctly wifely gesture, he didn’t say so.
He sipped it with pleasure and regarded her with thoughtful eyes. ‘Oh, by the way, a letter arrived for you from Brazil this morning,’ he said, putting his drink down on the table and fishing a flimsy blue air-mail envelope from the breast pocket of his suit jacket.
Isabella stared at it. ‘It’s from my father.’
‘I know it is. Why don’t you e-mail each other? Eddie says he gave you a crash-course the other day.’
‘I told you. Papa hates technology. He’d use pigeon-post if it was reliable enough.’
He smiled. ‘Oh.’
She held it in her hand for a moment. She had had several conversations with her father since the one when he had slammed the paternity accusation at Paulo. She had been expecting his anger to be ongoing, but there had been none. More a kind of quiet resignation. Most unlike her father, she thought.
‘Well, go on, then—open it.’
He watched while she ripped the envelope open with suddenly nervous fingers and quickly scanned the page, relief lightening her face as her eyes skated over the main portion.
‘Good news?’ he queried.
‘Kind of,’ she answered cautiously, but then she began to study it in more detail and her colour heightened.
Paulo was watching her closely. ‘Want to read it out loud?’
‘Not really.’
‘Bella,’ he said warningly. ‘I thought we were through with secrets?’
She made one last helpless attempt at evasion. Or was it pride? ‘A woman should always keep a little something back—didn’t you know?’
He held his hand out for the letter. ‘Please.’
She handed it over.
Paulo scanned the sheet for the source of what had obviously made her react like that and it didn’t take him long to find it.
Obviously, I would have preferred for this to happen in a more conventional manner, but I cannot pretend that I am displeased. Paulo is a fine man and a fine father. I could not have wished for a better husband for you, Bella—so cherish him well.
Paulo looked up to find her attention firmly fixed on the glass of mango juice she had poured herself.
‘Bella? Look at me!’
‘I don’t want to discuss it,’ she said fiercely, but she raised her head to meet the accusation sparking from his eyes.
‘Well, I do! Perhaps you’ve already booked the church and arranged the venue?’
‘I have not!’
‘But we’re getting married—apparently—so don’t you think the prospective groom should be informed?’
‘Do you honestly think I told my father we were getting married?’
‘How should I know?’ he questioned arrogantly, thinking that he would like to untie that velvet ribbon in her hair and have it tumble all the way down her back. Her naked back. ‘Now where are you going?’
She jerked the chair back from the table, her breath coming in short little gasps. ‘As far away from you as possible!’
He was on his feet in seconds, standing in front of her and forming a very effective barrier. ‘Stop it and calm down.’
‘I do not feel like calming down!’ she told him distractedly. ‘I feel like…like…Ow, ow, ouch!’
‘Is it the baby?’ he demanded immediately.
It felt like someone tightening a piece of string around her middle and then tightening it again. Her hands reached up and she clutched onto his shoulders, her nails digging into him. ‘I don’t think so!’
‘I’m going to call the doctor—’
‘No! No. Wait a minute!’ She panted and paused. ‘No, that’s OK. I think it’s gone.’
He dipped his head so that their eyes were on a level. ‘Sure?’
Her heart seemed to suspend its beating. She was still, she realised, gripping tightly onto his shoulders. And through the thin shirt she could feel the silken yield of his flesh to the hard bone beneath. ‘Qu-quite sure.’
She let her hands fall away, and Paulo forced himself not to grab them back. She was about to have a baby, for God’s sake—and here he was wanting to feel her in his arms again.
‘Maybe I’d better call the doctor?’
She shook her head. ‘To say what?’
‘That you had a pain—’
‘Paulo, it was more of a twinge than a pain. And it’s gone now.’
‘Sure?’ he demanded.
‘Positive.’
‘I just don’t want to take any chances.’
‘Who’s taking any chances? The pain has gone.’ She spread her arms out as if to demonstrate. ‘See? All gone. I don’t want to be one of those neurotic women who calls out the doctor ten times—and every time it’s a false alarm. Now go away. Don’t you have any work to do?’
Paulo shrugged unenthusiastically. He wanted to stay. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to do a lot more besides. Maybe it was better if he did clear off. ‘I’ve always got work to do.’
‘Then go away and do it,’ she shooed.
‘And what will you do?’
‘I’m not planning on going far. You don’t have to worry.’
‘I’m not worrying.’ But that was a lie, he thought, as he headed off to his study. He was—and, oddly enough, his worries were not the ones he would have imagined at all. It didn’t bother him one iota that most of the world imagined that he was the father of her unborn child. In fact, wasn’t that a supposition he had deliberately flaunted by inviting her into his office last night?
No. He found himself wondering what on earth would happen when the baby arrived. He had told Bella that she had a home for as long as she wanted one and now it suddenly occurred to him that she might not want a home at all. Or to be his lover.
As she had said herself, she might feel differently after the birth. Because now that her father knew and seemed to be coming round to the idea—and bearing in mind that she could usually twist him round her little finger—then what was to stop her going back to Brazil as an unmarried mother?
