Christmas Kisses: The Spanish Billionaire's Christmas Bride / Christmas Bride-To-Be / Christmas Wishes, Mistletoe Kisses. Alison Roberts
daughter’s family.
‘Here she is. She’s teething at the moment—that’s why her cheeks look so pink.’ She heard the love and pride in her own voice as she stood to the side to allow Cristiano a better view.
The sleeping infant looked blissfully peaceful and angelic as Cristiano peered into the cot to gaze at her. With her cap of sable hair, sweet little face and dimpled chin—a definite genetic inheritance from the Cordovas—she was absolutely enchanting. For disturbing seconds his head swam and his heart raced as he remembered another infant—had she lived, she would have been just like her. Then he recalled the fact that this was Ramón’s baby, and that his cousin would never enjoy the privilege of gazing at his beautiful daughter as Cristiano was gazing at her now. Once again, sadness and regret bore down on him like a heavy iron cloak laid across his shoulders.
Glancing up, he solemnly studied the pale, strained features of the girl standing beside him. He could scarcely think of her as a woman at all—she appeared no more than a teenager.
‘She is exquisite,’ he remarked, the corners of his mouth lifting into a smile despite the terrible circumstances that had brought him here.
‘She’s a contented, happy soul. I can sense that about her already.’
Her guard down, Dominique ventured a smile back, and Cristiano thought he had never seen eyes of that vivid heavenly blue before. The mesmerising colour was tempting him to dive down deep into their iridescent crystal depths and lose himself completely. Young or not, there was something about her that affected him deeply, and the leap of hunger that suddenly flared inside him shockingly confirmed it.
‘She must be—what? Around six … seven months old now?’
‘Nearly seven, yes.’
‘She is much changed from the picture you sent with your letter to Ramón.’
‘I’d only just had her then. She was a tiny pink scrunched-up little thing, but she was still the most beautiful creature I’d ever seen!’ Coiling her long honey-brown plait round her fingers, Dominique sighed and let it go again. ‘It’s such a shame that Ramón couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge her. Not for my sake but for Matilde’s. A child deserves to know her father, or at least something about him, don’t you think?’
The statement had a doubly poignant resonance for her. Her own father had left her mother when Dominique was just a baby, and her mother had always refused to talk about him except to run him down. No matter how she personally felt about Ramón, Dominique would never do that to her own child.
Reaching inside the cot, she tenderly ran the tip of her finger across the sleeping baby’s downy cheek. ‘I think she’d make any man proud to be her father.’ Her voice was an emotional whisper as her glistening eyes met Cristiano’s.
‘Yes … she would …’
Suddenly Cristiano realised he was weary right down to his marrow, and not as in charge of his emotions as he would like. Although no stranger to the deadening weight of grief, he had honestly forgotten how enervating it could be. Now tiredness and sorrow was draining him of the capacity to stay clearheaded and in control, and this girl with her flawless blue eyes and stubborn pride was disturbing things in him that he would prefer remained dormant.
His thoughts inevitably turned to his family. He knew that they were waiting anxiously to hear about the success of his trip so that they could make preparations for welcoming Dominique and the baby into their home. Despite Dominique’s reservations about returning to Spain with him, Cristiano had no intention of disappointing them.
‘It is getting late.’ Glancing down at the gold Cartier watch that glinted expensively against his tanned wrist, he deliberately assumed a more businesslike manner to help put things back on an even keel. ‘I need to book into my hotel and get a shower and some dinner. Tomorrow I will send a car for you, and we can meet to discuss the situation further when we are both feeling a little less emotional and overwrought. Do you agree?’
‘I’ll agree for Ramón’s mother’s sake,’ Dominique replied, moving stiffly towards the door. ‘But I’m not promising anything more than that.
Biting back his frustration, Cristiano reached inside his jacket pocket, withdrew his wallet, and then a small embossed card. ‘This is the name and telephone number of where I am staying. If you should think of anything you need before we meet tomorrow … anything at all … I want you to ring me. I will send the car at around ten a.m. Will that suit? The sooner we can talk again the better.’
‘Ten is fine. I’m always up early with Matilde.’
‘So … I will say goodbye for now, and look forward to seeing you again tomorrow, Dominique.’ He extended his hand to her and she took it reluctantly, slipping her palm away from contact with his as soon as she could, as if she was wary of his touch and his promises. Cristiano’s shoulders stiffened. He nodded towards her rather curtly, to show his displeasure at this small act of rebellion, and ruefully made his exit.
Dominique asked for Cristiano at the desk and was stunned by the deferential response she received. No sooner did she mention his name than a smartly suited concierge arrived to whisk her personally up to the top floor in the spacious lift of the glamorous Mayfair hotel. He left her outside the door of his suite with all the respectful attention that any visiting VIP might receive.
Feeling somewhat overwhelmed, Dominique waited until her escort departed before she touched her knuckles to the walnut panelling and knocked. As she did so, she would have sworn that her heartbeat was far louder than the answering echo that seemed to bounce ominously round the wide, softly carpeted corridor. She had never set foot in such a smart, exclusive hotel before, and couldn’t help but feel like an impostor. And the prospect of seeing Cristiano again after the turbulent encounter of last night was growing ever more daunting.
When the shiny black chauffeur-driven Jaguar had arrived to pick her up and bring her here it had sent Dominique’s fears spiralling almost out of control. Now here, in these luxurious, opulent surroundings, her concerns about the power the Cordovas might potentially have over her were frighteningly confirmed. She’d hardly slept a wink for thinking about the Spaniard’s visit. Had Cristiano been telling her the truth when he’d said that Ramón’s family would welcome her and Matilde with open arms? What if it had just been a ruse to get her on Spanish soil where, with their money and power, they could bring the full force of the legal system to bear to ensure that Matilde stayed with them for ever?
‘Dominique.’
Suddenly the man she’d come to visit was in the open doorway before her—a tall, dark clothed figure, lean-hipped and hard-muscled, the suggestion of reined-in power very much evident despite his casual stance. Like a cat ready to pounce at the first hint of danger. Glancing up into his compelling face, she saw that his eyes were as fathomless as a black night studded with stars, and his jet hair gleamed like a dark moonlit sea. Dominique’s mouth seemed to instantly dry up at the sight of him.
‘Where is Matilde?’
‘I left her with my friend for a couple of hours … I thought it would make it easier for us to talk.’
‘That is a shame. I was looking forward to seeing her again.’
Dominique felt both guilty and chastised. ‘I’m not trying to stop you seeing her. I just thought—’
‘It is early yet. Perhaps I can see her later on in the day?’
Cristiano studied her face intently for a moment, as though needing to discern whether he could trust her or not, and Dominique sensed he knew she had not brought Matilde along because her fears about the outcome of this meeting had not yet been allayed.
‘You had better come in.’
The elegant drawing room she entered was decorated in a tasteful quintessentially English style, with antique furniture, inviting luxurious sofas and armchairs, and plush red velvet curtains finished with opulent swags at the windows. There was even a baby