Carrying the Spaniard's Child Page 6

  “Your father is a duke? An actual duke?...What’s he like?”

  “I wouldn’t know. We’ve never met.”

  That was one thing Santiago and Belle had in common, then. All she had of her father was an old picture of him, beaming into the camera as he held her as a swaddled baby, sleeping in his arms.

  If Santiago had never even met his father, that explained a lot. But why did they have different last names? If his father was still alive, why had the two men never met?

  Then she was distracted by a more urgent question. Biting her lip, Belle looked down at her belly, prominent in the red dress. She looked at the dress, at the luxurious toiletries, the costly, well-made shoes.

  Why was Santiago suddenly being so kind to her?

  She couldn’t trust it, that was for sure. She’d learned that from their night together. He could be warm and tender when he wanted her, then ruthlessly toss her out of his life like garbage.

  There could be only one reason. He’d realized he couldn’t bully her into marriage, so he was going to try to seduce her into it.

  She wouldn’t let him.

  She wouldn’t.

  Belle was willing to share custody of their baby. But she wouldn’t share her life, her heart and certainly not her body. She would never be Santiago Velazquez’s plaything again, and definitely not his wife.

  Now she just had to convince him of that, so he’d let her go home.

  At five minutes past eight, as Belle walked through the enormous, sprawling ranch house, down the darkened hallways, she felt strangely nervous of how he’d react.

  Opening the sliding doors, she went outside onto the terrace that stretched out toward the lake. Fairy lights hung from a large pergola, covered with flowers of pink bougainvillea. The lights twinkled against the twilight as soft music came from invisible speakers.

  And she saw him.

  Santiago stood at the terrace railing, looking out pensively toward dark water painted red by sunset. Then he turned, devastatingly handsome, tall and broad-shouldered in his tuxedo. And he smiled.

  “Welcome,” he said in his low, husky voice. Their eyes locked, and held.

  And Belle suddenly knew the real reason for her fear. Her heart had known it all along, and so had her body. Her brain had refused to accept it. Now she saw the truth. She hadn’t been afraid of Santiago’s reaction.

  She was afraid of her own. Because when she’d given him her body all those months ago, she’d unwillingly given him part of her heart. And now, as he smiled at her, his eyes twinkling beneath the lights, she caught her breath.

  “You’re beautiful.” Coming closer, he held out a champagne glass. His dark eyes caressed her as he whispered, “Brighter than the stars.”

  As she took the champagne glass, their fingers brushed. She saw the intention in his eyes, and it rocked her to her core.

  Santiago intended to conquer her, just as he’d conquered the world. He intended to win her, as he’d won his billion-dollar fortune. He intended to rule her, as he ruled this isolated Texas ranch, big enough to be its own kingdom.

  He intended to possess her as his wife. And he would not be denied.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  HE’D BEEN WRONG about her. All wrong.

  When he’d left New York in pursuit of Belle, he’d been certain she was a gold digger, a cunning, cold-hearted actress, who’d ruthlessly lied in order to conceive his child for her own selfish financial gain.

  But that afternoon, at the medical center in Houston, he’d learned otherwise.

  Standing in the hallway outside the examination room as he waited for Belle, he’d stared at the doctor in disbelief. “Is this a joke?”

  She’d smiled. “I never joke about medical matters.”

  “What do you mean, she was telling the truth?”

  “Miss Langtry had good reason to think she could never conceive a child,” the doctor had said. “I just received her medical records from the hospital in Bluebell. Seven years ago, she had a procedure to make pregnancy impossible. Bilateral tubal ligation.” She hesitated. “I shouldn’t be discussing this with you, but...”

  But she was, and they both knew why. Santiago spent many millions of dollars each year supporting her clinic, so uninsured patients could get world-class care without worrying about payment. He still remembered his first winter in New York, at eighteen, when he’d been sick for months but hadn’t gone to a doctor because he’d feared the cost.

  Now, he said incredulously, “Belle deliberately had surgery to make sure she’d never get pregnant? Why?”

  “You’d have to ask her.”

  “But she was only twenty-one—and a virgin! What crackpot doctor would perform such a procedure?”

  “Interestingly, that doctor retired a month later. It turned out he’d been suffering from the early stages of dementia.”

  “So if she had that surgery seven years ago, how can she be pregnant?” Santiago said.

  The doctor hesitated. “Miss Langtry is young...”

  “So?”

  “There is a risk of healing after that type of procedure. It’s rare, but it does happen. The body finds a way. It’s even more likely when the patient is young.”

  Santiago glared at her. “She honestly believed she couldn’t get pregnant.”

  “Yes. Either the procedure wasn’t done correctly, or her body healed over the last seven years.”

  It had been like a punch in the gut.

  Everything Santiago had believed about Belle was wrong. She wasn’t a greedy climber. She was innocent. She’d been telling the truth all along.

  After they left the medical center, as their helicopter flew south from Houston, Belle had refused to meet his gaze, but he hadn’t been able to look away from her. Her beautiful face, her lush body, pregnant with his child. Remembering their night together, he’d felt aware of her every movement. He’d thought of nothing but how she’d felt in his arms that night. How she’d gasped with ecstasy. How afterward, she’d cuddled against him so sweetly.

  “You feel so good to me,” she’d whispered. “I’m glad you’re here. I couldn’t bear to be alone tonight. You saved me...”

  Santiago had left her that night because he’d known his life would change, with her in it. And he hadn’t wanted it to change.

  But his life had changed without his consent. In spite of incredible odds, she was pregnant.

  Now there was someone else to think about. His child. Having his paternity confirmed, seeing his daughter pictured on the ultrasound screen in Houston, the idea of a baby had felt truly real to him for the first time. A daughter. An innocent child. She hadn’t asked to be conceived, but now it was possible, through no fault of her own, she could be born without a name. Without a father’s protection or love.

  He couldn’t let that happen.

  He couldn’t let his child be split between parents, and have the same childhood he’d endured, ignored and rejected by his biological father, watching his mother so desperate to be loved that she married man after man, each less worthy than the last.

  No. His daughter’s life would be different.

  She would have a stable home. Married parents. Financial security. His daughter would have a happy childhood, filled with love.

  When they’d arrived at the ranch that afternoon, Santiago had already made up his mind. He’d taken Belle straight to the morning room, intending to force an engagement ring on her hand, to blackmail or threaten her into it, if he had to. But something stopped him.

  The thought of their daughter.

  After the way he’d treated Belle from the moment they’d slept together that cold winter’s night, she’d had good reason to despise him. He’d abandoned her. Ignored her phone messages. Treated her badly when she’d actually come to his h
ouse to tell him about the baby.

  Standing in the morning room, he’d known he could force Belle to marry him, if he chose.

  He suddenly didn’t want to.

  He didn’t want to be her enemy. For their daughter’s sake, they needed a better foundation for their marriage, for a happy home, than resentment and hatred.

  So Santiago had abruptly changed tactics.

  Instead of giving Belle his ultimatum in the morning room, he’d given her time to rest, to regroup, to be refreshed. And he’d taken time to plan his own strategy. He’d organized this dinner with the help of his staff. The dress had already been purchased in nearby Alford, by Mrs. Carlson, but he’d still lacked one thing: a show-stopping engagement ring.

  Fortunately, he’d thought with grim amusement, he happened to have one, gathering dust these past years in his safe. The diamond ring was tucked in his tuxedo pocket now, glinting, sparkling, obscene.

  He’d tried to give this ring to a different woman, long ago; one he’d loved so much he’d built his billion-dollar fortune in the attempt to win her. Santiago still felt acid in his gut at the memory of the day he’d proposed to Nadia with this very ring, as promised so many years before, only to discover she hadn’t waited for him. And the man she’d chosen—

  Santiago’s shoulders went tight. In the past. All in the past. Starting today, he would treat Belle, the mother of his unborn child, with respect and care. Once he did, she would see reason. She would not refuse his marriage proposal.

  The sun was falling into the lake, a red ball of fire burning through the low haze of twilight, when Santiago heard Belle come out through the sliding doors onto the terrace. Turning from the railing, he looked at her.

  And was dazzled.

  He’d never seen such rampant beauty, all lush curves in that red dress, her dark hair tumbling over her shoulders, her lips invitingly red, black eyelashes trembling over big brown eyes.

  “You’re beautiful,” he breathed, holding out a champagne glass. “Brighter than the stars.”

  She took the glass. From this close, her skin looked delectably soft. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to pick her up like a caveman and carry her to bed, to rip off the red dress that clung to every curve, and make love to her until he felt her quiver and shake, until he heard her cry out with pleasure.

  She looked up at him, her eyes regretful. “I can’t drink champagne.”

  “It’s sparkling juice.”

  “Juice?” Taking the glass, she gave him a nervous smile. “I can’t imagine you drinking anything except black coffee and maybe Scotch.”

  “We’re celebrating.”

  “We are?”

  “And if you can’t drink champagne, neither will I.”

  Her forehead furrowed in the twilight, beneath the fairy lights of the pergola.

  “I think I know why you’re being so nice to me,” she said slowly.

  “Because I know I was wrong,” he said quietly. “And I’m sorry.”

  She could have no idea, he thought, how long it had been since he’d said those last two words to anyone. Years? Decades?

  “Sorry?” She frowned. “About what?”

  “You truly thought you couldn’t get pregnant.”

  Her expression changed. “Why do you believe me now?”

  “Dr. Hill told me about your medical procedure.”

  “She shouldn’t have.” She stiffened. “That’s my private business.”

  “Not anymore. Anything that relates to you or the baby is my business now.” Moving closer, his body thrummed with awareness as his gaze fell to her red lips, then further down still. Her thick dark hair fell in waves over her bare clavicle, over her shoulders, almost to her full breasts straining the red knit fabric of her dress. His body suddenly raged to pull her into his arms, tip her back against the table and ravage her right here and now. He took a deep breath to control himself.

  “Won’t you join me?”

  Turning toward a large stone table nearby, he showed her the dishes, interspersed with big vases of flowers.

  “What is it?” she said doubtfully.

  “Dinner.” He lifted a silver lid off the largest platter. Frowning, she peeked over his shoulder. When she saw the food, she burst into a full-bodied, incredulous laugh that he felt down to his toes.

  “Blueberries? Licorice whips? I thought you’d try to serve me something nasty, like caviar!”

  “I have only your favorites.” He lifted another silver lid, and grinned as he heard her gasp.

  “Ham and pineapple pizza!” she exclaimed. “Are you kidding me?”

  “With the ranch and hot sauce you like, for dipping,” he said smugly. “And for dessert...” He opened a third silver lid to reveal strawberry shortcake, thick sweet cakes covered with plump, juicy strawberries and thick dollops of whipped cream. Now, she looked at him almost in awe.

  “How did you know?” she breathed.

  “Magic.”

  “No, seriously.”

  “I called Letty and asked her what you liked best.” He lifted an eyebrow. “She didn’t sound particularly shocked to hear from me, by the way.”

  Her cheeks colored. “She’s the only one I told about you. I knew she wouldn’t tell anyone you were my baby’s father. Not after what she went through with Darius.” Tentatively, she touched the crust. “The pizza is still hot!”

  “I told you.” He waved a hand airily. “Magic.”

  She looked at him skeptically.

  He rolled his eyes. “There’s a hot plate beneath the tray. If you make me explain, it takes the magic away. All that’s left is cheap tricks.” He started to add, just like romance, but stopped himself, since he didn’t think it would help his cause. Pulling out a chair, he gave her a sensual smile. “Have a seat.”

  As they ate together, enjoying fruit, pizza, sparkling water and finally dessert, the sun gradually disappeared beneath the horizon, turning the sky a soft pink against the black lake.

  He enjoyed watching her eat. He took pleasure in her appetite. As she started her third piece of strawberry shortcake, he leaned forward and brushed his fingertips against the corner of her mouth.

  “Missed some whipped cream,” he said, and then licked it off his fingertips. Belle’s eyes went wide, and he heard her intake of breath. He almost kissed her then. Instead, he leaned back in his chair to look at her.

  “So why did you do it, Belle?” he asked quietly. “Why did you deliberately have surgery at twenty-one, to prevent pregnancy? Knowing you as I do, it doesn’t make sense.”

  For a moment he thought she might not answer. Then she set down her spoon.

  “My dad died when I was a baby,” she said haltingly. “My mother remarried a few years later, and had my brothers...”

  “I know.”

  Belle looked surprised. “You know?” She glanced down as his hand enfolded her own, then said with a tinge of bitterness, “Of course you know. Your private investigator told you, right?” She gave a humorless laugh. “So you know my mother died when I was twelve and my stepfather six years later. I couldn’t let my brothers be sent to foster care. So I gave up my dream of college and stayed home to raise them.”

  Santiago tried to think of a time he’d made a sacrifice that big for anyone. He couldn’t.

  “It wasn’t easy,” she continued in a low voice. “They were angry teenagers. Sometimes I wasn’t sure I could make it. Then I met Justin.” She blinked fast. “He was so strong and sure. He said he loved me. Even when I told him I was old-fashioned and wished to wait until marriage to have sex, he still wanted me...”

  Santiago gave an incredulous laugh. “No sex until marriage?”

  “I know.” She smiled wistfully. “Crazy, right? But he’d just gotten divorced. His wife’d had an awful misc
arriage that broke them up. Justin was ten years older than me, but he said that didn’t matter. He was even willing to help me raise my brothers, who desperately needed a male role model.”

  “Did they?” he said evenly, remembering all the times his own mother had married so-called “male role models” who hadn’t been worth much and hadn’t lasted more than a year.

  “It seemed like the perfect solution for everyone to be happy. There was just one catch.” Her voice was small. “Justin couldn’t go through losing a baby again. So he only agreed to marry me if I...he and I...made sure to never have a baby of our own. Ever.” She looked down at her lap. “So a few weeks before our wedding, I did it. It seemed like the only way to make everyone happy.”

  “What about you? Did it make you happy?”

  A strangled laugh escaped her lips, and she looked away. “Not exactly.”

  The final light of the setting sun streaked across her pale, troubled face. He said grimly, “What happened?”

  “He left me. Right before our wedding.” She gave him a small smile. “He’d had a hard time waiting for sex and ran into his ex-wife at a bar. One thing led to another, and she became pregnant. After that, he wanted to give their relationship another try. He told me he’d never stopped loving her.”

  He gave a low, heartfelt curse in Spanish.

  “It’s all right,” she said quietly. “They’re happy now. They’re married, living in El Paso. Last I heard, they have a big rambling house and five children.”

  Santiago fell silent, his jaw tight.

  “I know what you’re thinking.” She looked up, her eyes suddenly shining with unshed tears. “Go ahead. Tell me how stupid I was, to sacrifice my own dreams for the sake of love.”

  Rising moonlight frosted the dark lake, and he heard the plaintive call of unseen birds. He looked at her beauty, at the way her dark eyelashes trembled against her cheeks.

  Rising to his feet, he took her hand. “Dance with me.”

  “No, I...”

  “Why?” He gave her a wicked smile. “Are you afraid?”