The Illegitimate Tycoon. Janette Kenny
I am tired of us being apart and waiting to start a family,” he said. “I want a wife who lives with me again. I want a home and children.”
He heard her clear her throat, felt another tremor skitter through her. “God knows I’ve missed you. But what you are asking me to give up right now is unreasonable.”
“No, I am speaking from experience,” he reasoned softly. “I lived with a mother who worked all her life, not one but two jobs. I know what it is like to be alone, and I will not put our child through the same.”
Before she could answer, a couple’s low laughter intruded on them, followed by a barbed comment from a man. He glanced at the sound, noting with irritation that two couples were coming their way, all close to being lost to drink, he’d guess.
“Let’s return to our suite,” he said, pulling Leila away from the approaching group.
“Gladly.”
By the time they’d wended their way through the crowd and into their hotel in brittle silence, Rafael’s emotions were stretched to breaking point. At this rate any further conversation about children would likely end in an argument. Yet how could he rest until he knew what had changed Leila’s mind?
Dammit, they’d made these plans long ago. Had he simply deluded himself into thinking their marriage and their love was strong?
“It is clear to me that you need to decide what you want,” he said, his voice sounding suddenly cold. “A family with me. Or your career.”
“Perhaps it is fate’s choice to make and not mine.”
There was something in her tone that chilled him. Something heart-wrenching in the shadows lurking in her eyes.
Without another word, she slipped into the bedroom. Instead of following, he stood there alone, dreading that there was far more to her prophetic comment than he would like.
Leila jolted awake at the tinny ring of the alarm. She fumbled to turn it off, then sprawled in bed, staring at the ceiling.
The short hours of sleep had left her horribly disoriented. But events of the past day quickly came back in a tumble of bruised memories.
She turned her head and stared at the empty place beside her. The bedclothes were rumpled, the pillow still holding the indentation of his head.
Rafael had joined her in bed, but had stayed on his side. He’d deprived her of his comforting arms.
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