To Love, Honour and Betray Page 12

  He’d been ruthless for a reason. But when Callie had wept with grief in the pool today, something had snapped inside him, and he couldn’t do it anymore—even though he knew all hell would break loose when she spoke with her parents and put two and two together. It was remotely possible for the mail service to misplace a letter, but not scores of them. Callie would soon figure out who’d had means and motive to suppress them.

  Eduardo stared bleakly at the bedroom ceiling.

  He should tell her himself what he’d done, rather than letting her figure it out. Rather than—say—letting Brandon McLinn be the one to tell her. His jaw tightened. He was sick of feeling the ghost of McLinn always at his back. Tired of waiting for the moment when Callie would finally be disgusted by Eduardo’s flawed soul and leave. Tired of feeling Brandon McLinn always waiting in the shadows, ready to take Callie away the instant he made a mistake.

  Was this that final mistake?

  His arms tightened around Callie.

  Her parents and sister were already somewhere over the Atlantic, but his investigator was having trouble tracking down Brandon McLinn. He believed the young farmer might be on his way, even now, to southern Spain, since he’d discovered their villa’s location from Callie’s family.

  Eduardo allowed himself a grim smile. By the time he arrived here, Callie would be in Morocco.

  The smile faded as he looked at Callie’s slumbering, trusting face. He should pull his private investigator off Brandon McLinn, along with Walter, Jane and Sami Woodville. He should stop going through his wife’s mail or screening her calls at the villa. He should just take a deep breath, and trust her. Trust everyone.

  But he couldn’t. It would mean flying blind. If Eduardo didn’t know the future, how could he prevent catastrophe? How could he keep his family safe? How could he make sure she would never leave, never break his heart; never break Marisol’s?

  Listening to her quiet, even breathing, he squeezed his eyes shut. His whole body was tense, and sleep danced away from him, mocking him.

  Wearily sitting up, Eduardo watched the gray light of dawn through the windows, and heard the faint call of morning birds above the roar of the ocean. He put his head in his hands. He wanted to deserve her. He wanted to trust her.

  He wanted to love her.

  “Eduardo?”

  He felt a gentle hand on his back. He turned, and saw Callie looking up at him with luminous eyes. “What is it?”

  He looked down at her. She was naked, and beautiful, and unafraid. He said in a low voice, “I had a dream that you left me.”

  Her eyes went wide. She sat up, shaking her head. “No.” Reaching for him, she pulled him back into the soft comfort of her arms. “That will never happen. Never.”

  Reaching out, he twined his fingers in her hair. “My parents loved each other once,” he said. “They wanted a child. They built a home. Then they grew apart, twisted by secrets and lies. My mother met a new man, and my father was destroyed by it. Everything ended.”

  Callie took both his hands in her own. “That won’t happen to us.”

  Blinking fast, he looked out at the gray dawn. “I had a dream.”

  Callie stared at him, suddenly frowning.

  “But you don’t sleep,” she said slowly. “You don’t dream.”

  Eduardo turned to her. She was so beautiful, his wife. So gentle and kind. She believed the best of everyone, even when they didn’t deserve it. He took a deep, shuddering breath.

  “I do now,” he whispered.

  CHAPTER NINE

  CALLIE’S hands and feet bounced rhythmically against the interior of their four-wheel drive as they drove from the Marrakech airport. Eduardo, who was driving beside her, reached out and stilled her knee with his hand.

  “Sorry.” She looked up at him with an apologetic smile. “I’m excited.”

  “Yes.” He smiled back at her, his dark eyes warm. “I know.” Then a troubled shadow crossed his expression, and he turned away to focus on the road, gripping the wheel.

  Business negotiations usually didn’t faze Eduardo. Callie wondered why he seemed so tense. He generally relished a good fight. Shrugging it off, she cooed at their baby in her car seat behind them. Through the back window she saw the other vehicle following with their staff and bodyguards as they drove past the twelfth-century ramparts of the medina to the vast sprawling palm desert beyond. The sky was blue above the distant, snowcapped Atlas Mountains.

  She turned back to her dark, impossibly handsome husband beside her. He was wearing a business suit, but his dark coloring and black hair made him look like a sheikh. In her own long purple caftan, with the window rolled down and the warm Moroccan wind blowing through her hair, she felt like a cosseted Arabian princess at his side.

  It was officially the happiest day of her life. After today, she’d have no reason to ever be sad again.

  “Thank you,” she said for the millionth time.

  Eduardo gave her a sideways glance. “Stop.”

  “You don’t know what this means to me—”

  “I mean it.” His jaw was tight as he turned off the main road to a guardhouse. Pulling up to a heavily scrolled metal gate, Eduardo spoke in French to a security guard, who with a very deep bow, swung open the gate. Eduardo drove up a long sweeping driveway with the other car behind them.

  Callie looked up through the front windshield, her eyes wide when she saw the enormous Moroccan riad, two stories tall and surrounded by gardens. Willowy palm trees graced the edges of large swimming pool that sparkled a brilliant blue in the sun. The grand house itself was the combination of traditional Moroccan architecture and old French glamour. Craning her head, Callie looked up with awe at the home’s soaring curves and the exquisitely detailed scrollwork. “What is this place?”

  “In the 1920s it was a hotel. Now it belongs to Kasimir Xendzov, who loaned it for our visit.”

  “He’s not staying here?”

  “No.”

  She turned to Eduardo in shock. “Why would he leave a place like this?”

  He shook his head. “He is in the city as little as possible. He prefers to live like a nomad in the desert.” His lips curved. “Like those sheikhs, in the romance novels you love.”

  “But he’s Russian?”

  “The local people call him the Tsar of the Desert.”

  “Oh.” The romantic phrase made her shiver. “What’s he like?”

  “Kasimir? As cold and heartless as his brother. You remember Vladimir Xendzov?”

  She tilted her head. “Prince Vladimir? The man who stole the Yukon deal from us?”

  “He’s not really a prince, no matter what he says. But yes. They’re brothers. They’ve spent the last ten years trying to destroy each other.”

  Callie stared at him, aghast. “That’s awful!”

  Eduardo smiled with satisfaction. “A fact that will help me get what I want.”

  “Prince Vladimir was vicious,” she said, troubled. “Corrupt. Definitely unsafe.”

  “And not a prince.”

  She pressed her lips together. “Is it smart to make a deal with his brother?”

  “Don’t worry. We are safe here. Kasimir is our host. His honor is at stake.” Pulling the car up to the front of the house, he turned off the engine. Getting out, he handed the keys to a waiting servant. Callie stepped out behind him with her seven-month-old baby in her arms, and heard the soft water of a fountain. She looked at the huge house beneath the hard blue sky of the desert, and saw a shadow move in the window.

  “Are they here?” she whispered.

  Eduardo gave her a single, silent nod, and an involuntary shiver went through her. She walked towards the riad, her baby against her hip, her husband and bodyguards following behind them.

  The house seemed Moorish in design, with a flat roof and intricate tile work. They walked through the soaring arches to the door. Inside, the walls were decorated with floral and geometric motifs, intertwined flowers and vines in green, red and gold
-leaf paint all the way to the ceiling. Past the foyer was a cloister, an outdoor walkway built around a lush courtyard garden. Callie took a deep breath of the fresh air, listening to the sound of a burbling fountain mingling with birdsong.

  Then she heard a woman’s scream.

  Whirling around, Carrie instinctively held up her arm, protecting her baby from the unseen danger.

  But there was no danger, just her sister, racing at her full blast!

  “Sami,” Callie cried then she looked behind her and saw the smiling eyes of her parents. “Mom! Dad!”

  “Callie.” Her mother was openly weeping as she pulled her into her arms. “And is this your baby? My grandchild?”

  “Yes, it’s Marisol,” Callie choked out. Her mother sobbed, wrapping Marisol and Callie into a hug with Sami. Her father wrapped his large form around the whole family and she saw to her shock that he, too, was weeping—something she’d never seen in her whole life.

  “I missed you all so much,” Callie whispered. She glanced at Eduardo out of the corner of her eye. He was standing back, watching them from the shadows.

  “It’s my fault.” Pulling off his John Deere cap, her father rubbed his gray head with the heel of his hand. “I never should have written that nasty letter, chewing you out. It was just your Mom kept weeping, and you know I can’t think straight when she’s crying. I don’t blame you for the silent treatment.” His voice caught. “I wouldn’t have written me back, either …”

  Callie had no idea what he was talking about, but it felt so good to be with her family and have them clearly happy to see her and the baby. Marisol, looking at all the crying adults around her, gave a little worried whimper, looking up at Callie for reassurance. “It’s all right,” she told her, smiling. “It’s finally all right.”

  As Jane Woodville held out her arms, tears were streaming down her plump cheeks and she looked like a slightly more wrinkled version of her granddaughter. “Can I hold her?”

  The baby looked uncertain at first, but within sixty seconds, Jane had won her trust. Ten minutes later, Sami and then Grandpa Walter held her, and they heard Marisol’s sweet baby giggle. Callie looked at her family, and could hardly believe that she’d been apart from them for seven months. They were the best, kindest people in the world.

  Except for her husband. She looked at Eduardo adoringly, but he remained back in the shadows across the room.

  “Mari-Marisol?” her father asked uncertainly.

  Callie turned back, smiling through her tears. “Marisol Samantha Cruz.”

  “You named her after me?” Sami blurted out, her face screwed up with tears. “How could you forgive me? I was so selfish. I told myself calling your old boss was the right thing to do, but the truth is I didn’t want you to marry Brandon.” She sniffled. “How can you stand to look at me?”

  “It was the right thing,” Callie said through her tears. “Eduardo and I were meant to be together, and thanks to you we are. We’re happy. Really happy …”

  Callie looked back at Eduardo. He was still standing by the door, his arms folded as he watched the family reunion. Why didn’t he come over to join them? It was strange. Any normal person would have come over to be part of the group. But Eduardo chose to be standoffish, to watch from a distance.

  Her mother, standing beside her, followed her gaze.

  “He loves you,” Jane said softly.

  Callie looked at her wistfully. “How can you tell?”

  Jane smiled. “I see it in the way he looks at you. Like his heart’s nigh about to break.” Reaching out, she squeezed her daughter’s hand. “I still can’t believe we’re in Morocco. I always told your father that someday we’d travel and see the world. He said he’d do it as soon as it was free.” She chuckled mischievously. “Eduardo’s jet was the answer to my prayer.”

  The two women laughed, hugging each other, and for the rest of the afternoon, the family talked and giggled as Kasimir Xendzov’s well-trained servants served refreshments and drinks. Eduardo continued to remain out of the circle, out of the group, until he finally disappeared all afternoon with his assistants to work on the deal. His behavior bewildered Callie. Was he just trying to give her some space with her family? But didn’t he realize that he, too, was part of the family now?

  After a delicious dinner of couscous and lamb, Callie said good-night to her jet-lagged parents and sister as they turned in to their luxurious bedrooms. After giving Marisol a bottle, she tucked her into a crib next door to their own large bedroom on the other side of the riad from the rest of her family. For the first time all day, Callie was alone. She looked at the large bed, covered with dark blue pillows. Fading sunlight fell upon the blanket in a pattern from the carved lattice window. She touched the bed. The mattress felt soft.

  She heard a noise behind her. Jumping, she turned around.

  Eduardo stood in the doorway. His eyes were dark, his expression set, as if braced for bad news.

  “There you are,” she said, furrowing her brow. “Where have you been? Why didn’t you come talk to my family?”

  “I didn’t want to intrude.”

  Callie frowned, feeling puzzled by the strangeness of his tone. She shook her head. “But you’re part of our family now.”

  The door closed behind him as he came toward her in the bedroom. His voice was stilted. “Your family isn’t rich.”

  She drew back, confused at the turn in conversation. “No. Especially not these days. My parents’ farm has had a rough couple years….”

  He came closer, something strangely intense in his dark eyes. “But you all still love each other.”

  “Of course we do,” she said, bewildered. “Like you said—we’re family.”

  His jaw twitched as he rubbed his wrist. In the shadowy bedroom, she saw the flash of his platinum watch. “Growing up, I thought money made a family. That it made people actually love each other enough to stay.”

  Callie’s breath suddenly caught in her throat. “Money has nothing to do with it. Don’t you know that?”

  Eduardo gave her a tight smile.

  “I’m glad you spent time with your family today. I have work to do before I meet with Xendzov tomorrow. Get some rest.”

  As he turned away, Callie stared after him, shocked. It was the first night she could remember when he hadn’t wanted to accompany her to bed at night, to make love to her, to hold her until she slept.

  He stopped at the door. “We need to talk,” he said heavily. “Tomorrow. Then we’ll see.” He took a deep breath. “Afterward, I hope you will still …”

  His voice trailed off. For a long moment, he stared at her, his eyes glittering in the shadows. Then he turned away, closing the bedroom door between them.

  Callie was hardly able to sleep that night without him beside her. In the morning, she hurried down for breakfast, but he never appeared. She found out he’d left at dawn with his team of administrators and lawyers to work on the business deal with their invisible host, the mysterious Kasimir Xendzov. She thought it was strange, because Eduardo had seemed so determined to talk to her. About what?

  And then she knew.

  Was Eduardo finally going to tell her he loved her?

  Joy filled her, followed by certainty. What else could it be? She was filled with happiness, counting down the moments until she’d see him again. She spent an enjoyable morning with her baby and family, sharing breakfast in the courtyard garden, walking around the estate, swimming in the pool. After lunch, as her parents took an afternoon nap with their grandbaby, Callie and Sami decided to explore the souks of Marrakech.

  As the two sisters wandered the narrow, mazelike streets of the medina, Callie’s heart was light. They walked through the outdoor markets, investigating booth after booth of copper lanterns, terra-cotta pots, embroidered jellabas and coral beads. She constantly checked her new cell phone in her handbag, just to make sure Eduardo hadn’t called for her, but in the meantime, she was happy. Wearing a floppy pink hat, a billowy blou
se and long skirt, with her wide-eyed sister at her side, Callie felt almost like a child again, when she and Sami went on “expeditions” across the wide fields and brooks of their family farm.

  She suddenly froze in the middle of the outdoor market. Feeling prickles on her neck, as if someone was watching her, she whirled around.

  But she only saw her bodyguard, Sergio Garcia, following at a discreet distance through the crowded medina. Eduardo never let her go anywhere without a bodyguard, and often more than one. Still, even as the afternoon passed and the hot Moroccan sun lowered to the west, the cold prickles on her neck didn’t go away.

  “So you really forgive me?” Sami asked softly.

  Kneeling as she looked through a selection of copper lanterns, Callie smiled up at her sister. “I forgave you long ago—the day I named my daughter.”

  Sami’s young face was dubious. “But if you forgave me, why didn’t you write back?”

  Callie straightened, frowning. “You wrote? When?”

  “Lots of times! I even sent flowers! But other than the day Marisol was born, when you called us, we never heard a word. Not me, not Brandon, not even Mom and Dad!”

  Callie gaped at her. “I wrote you letters every week! I sent hundreds of pictures!”

  “We never got anything.”

  A shiver of ice went down Callie’s spine. “Strange,” she said faintly then tried to push it away with a smile. “But it doesn’t matter anymore, does it?”

  “We were worried about you,” Sami said softly, clawing back her hair. “I’m glad you at least called us from the hospital when Marisol was born. Brandon arrived two days later and was so upset. He made it sound as if you’d been, well—” she bit her lip “—kidnapped.”

  Callie looked at her. “Have you been spending a lot of time with Brandon?”

  Sami’s cheeks turned pink. “Yeah.”

  “You’re in love with him.” It was a statement, not a question.

  Sami stared at her then burst into tears. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, wiping her eyes. “I’ve loved him for years.” She tried to smile. “All the time that he loved you.”