One Night: Latin Heat. Эбби Грин
he was hiding something from me. “Yes-s....”
“We have a child. So we will do what is best for him. We will marry.”
“You didn’t want to marry me in Mexico.”
“That was when I thought you were a liar, a thief and probably a gold digger. Now my opinion of you has improved.”
“Thanks,” I said wryly.
“Why are you fighting me? Unless—” He gave me a sharp, searching gaze. “Are you in love with someone else?”
The image of Edward flashed in front of my eyes. I wondered if Alejandro would still keep his improved opinion of me if he knew I’d been living in another man’s house. It would look sordid, even if the truth had been so innocent. At least—innocent on my side. Swallowing, I looked away.
“I’m not in love with anyone.” My voice was barely audible over the noisy children at play.
His shoulders relaxed imperceptibly. “Then why not marry me?” His tone turned almost playful. “You really should consider it for the jewels alone....”
I gave a rueful laugh, then looked at him. “I’d never fit into your world, Alejandro. If I took you at your word and became your wife, we’d both be miserable.”
“I wouldn’t be.”
I shook my head. “Your expectations of marriage are lower than mine. It would never work. I want—” I looked down as my cheeks turned hot “—to be loved. I want what my parents had.”
Alejandro abruptly stopped. We were in the far back of the playground now, in a quiet overgrown place of bushes and trees. “But what about our son? Doesn’t he have some rights, as well? Doesn’t he deserve a stable home?”
“You mean a cold, drafty castle?”
“It’s neither drafty nor cold.” He set his jaw. “I want my son, my heir, to live in Spain. To know his people. His family.”
I frowned at him. “I thought you had no family.”
“My grandmother who raised me. All the people on my estate. They are like family to me. Don’t you think he deserves to know them, and they should know him? Shouldn’t he know his country? Where else would you take him—back to Mexico?”
“I loved it there!” I said, stung.
“We will buy a vacation house there,” he said impatiently. “But his home is with his land. With his people. With his parents. You of all people,” he said softly, “know what it means to have a happy, settled childhood, surrounded by love.”
I sucked in my breath. I felt myself wavering. Of course I wanted all those things for my son.
“You’ll be a duchess, honored, wealthy beyond imagining.”
“I’d be the poor stupid wife sitting at home in the castle,” I whispered, hardly daring to meet his gaze, “while you were out having a good time with other, more glamorous women....”
His dark eyes narrowed. “I have many faults, but disloyalty is not one of them. Still, I can understand why you’d immediately think of cheating. Tell me—” he moved closer, his sardonic gaze sweeping over me “—did you enjoy having the use of Edward St. Cyr’s house? His jet?”
My eyes went wide. My mouth suddenly went dry.
“How did you find out?” I said weakly.
“Before my jet left Mexico, I told my investigators to dig into the layer of the shell company that owned the house in San Miguel. If it wasn’t Claudie who helped you,” he said grimly, “I intended to find out who it really was.”
Well. That explained why he’d stopped asking. “Why have you pretended all day you didn’t know?”
His handsome face looked chiseled and hard as marble beneath the gray sky. “I wanted to give you the chance to tell me.”
“A test?” I whispered.
“If you like.” His eyes glittered. “Women always find the quality of danger so attractive. Until they find out what danger really means. Tell me. Did you enjoy using St. Cyr’s possessions? His money? His jet? How about his bed? Did you enjoy sharing that?”
“I never shared his bed!” I tried not to remember the husky sound of Edward’s voice. It’s time for you to belong to me. Or the way he’d flinched at my reaction—an incredulous, unwilling laugh. He’d taken a deep breath. You’ll see, he’d whispered, then turned and left. Pushing the memory away, I lifted my chin. “We’ve never even kissed!”
“I see.” Lifting an eyebrow, Alejandro said scornfully, “He helped you out of the goodness of his heart.”
That might be pushing it. I bit my lip. “Um...yes?”
“Is that a statement or a question?”
“He’s a friend to me,” I whispered. “Just a friend.”
Alejandro looked at me more closely. “But he wants more, doesn’t he?” The sweep of his dark lashes left a shadow against his olive skin, his taut cheekbones, as he looked down at our baby in his arms. After all this time, he still carried Miguel as if he were no weight at all. He said in a low voice, “I won’t let my son keep such company. Because I, at least, have clear eyes about what danger means.”
“And I understand at last,” I choked out, “why you suddenly want to marry me.”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “Lena—”
“You say he is dangerous? Maybe he is. But if it weren’t for Edward St. Cyr, I don’t think I could have survived the darkness and fear of the past year. He was there for me when you deserted me. When you left me pregnant and alone and afraid.”
His face turned white, then red. “If you’d given me the chance—”
“I did give you a chance. You never called me back.” I took a deep breath. “I know now you weren’t the monster I thought you were. But I’ll never be able to trust you like I did. It’s lost. Along with the way I loved you.”
Silence fell, the only sound the children playing on the other side of the trees. I heard their shrieks of joy.
When Alejandro spoke, his voice was low, even grim. “Love me or not, trust me or not, but you will marry me. Miguel will have a stable family. A real home.”
I shook my head. He moved closer.
“You promised to come to Spain, Lena,” he said. “You gave your word.”
I threw him a panicked glance. “That was when—”
“Ah. You hoped you could break your promise, didn’t you? Perhaps with St. Cyr’s help?”
My silence spoke volumes. His dark eyes hardened. “You gave me your word that if I brought you to London, you would come with me to Spain.”
He was right. I had. Now, I felt so alone and forlorn. Alejandro was starting to wear me down. To break my will. To remind me of a promise I’d never wanted to keep.
“It will only lead to misery,” I whispered.
“Wherever it leads,” he said softly, “whatever we’d once planned for our lives...you are part of my family now.”
“Your family. You mean your grandmother?” I shivered, imagining a coldly imperious grande dame in pearls and head-to-toe vintage Chanel. A little like my own grandmother, in fact. “She will hate me. She’ll never think I’m good enough.”
He gave a low laugh. “You think you know what to expect? A cold, proud dowager in a cold, drafty castle?”
“Am I wrong?”
“My grandmother was born in the United States. In Idaho. The daughter of Basque