Now, the afternoon sun lowered behind the swaying palm trees as Callie sat beside the gorgeous infinity pool back at their villa. She turned her face toward the blue sky. Taking a drink of cold, lemon-flavored water, she closed her eyes, stretching out on the lounge chair, relishing the warm Spanish sun on her cheeks.
Seven months of marriage and she still wasn’t pregnant. But Eduardo never seemed to tire of trying. He wanted her pregnant. Each night, after they made love, he held her till she slept before he slipped away to the nearest guest room to sleep alone. She hated waking up alone. But that was a tiny thing, nothing really, compared to the multitude of joys in her life, with her baby and husband she loved.
But she still missed the family she’d left behind in North Dakota. It was a heartache that never quite went away.
Her letters hadn’t worked, in spite of her best efforts. Her eyes flew open and she stared up at the blue sky. Maybe it was time to do something drastic.
“Callie.”
She heard her husband’s voice across the pool. Lifting her head, she smiled as she watched him walk toward her, wearing only swimming trunks that showed off his tanned, magnificent body. She could not look away from his hard-muscled torso, powerful arms and strong thighs. The sensual way he moved seduced her—without him even trying!
“I like seeing you by the pool,” he said appreciatively. Lifting a dark eyebrow, he looked over her pale body in her tiny bikini. “You look hot, in all those clothes.”
She giggled. “You always say that. You told me I looked hot when it was pouring rain in London in January. I was shivering like a drowned rat and you started taking off my clothes!”
“I’m always available to help take off your clothes.” Taking her hand in his own, he said innocently, “Care for a nice refreshing swim?”
Eduardo had a look in his dark eyes that made her suspect their “nice refreshing swim” would soon lead to rampant nakedness for them both. The heat in his gaze left her breathless. Her husband didn’t seem to see any flaws in her post-pregnancy figure. He called her beautiful, gorgeous, and irresistible, and once she was naked in his arms, he told her so with his body.
“All right.” Smiling, Callie let him pull her to her feet and lead her into the pool. The bobbing water felt cool against her bikini and sun-warmed skin. Once in the deep end of the pool, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
His lips felt hot and hard against hers. She clung to him as he kissed her, relishing the feel of his hard, muscled body towering over her petite frame. She loved him so much. And though he hadn’t spoken those three words back to her, she was convinced it was just a matter of time …
He pulled back with a shiver. “Oh, querida,” he said hoarsely. “I’m going to miss you.”
“Miss me?” She blinked. “Where are you going?”
As they held each other in the pool, the water bobbing against her breasts, he stroked her cheek with a scowl. “Marrakech. To complete a business deal.”
“Morocco? For how long?”
“Hard to say. The man is unpredictable. The negotiations might last a day—or a week.”
“A week? A full week at the villa without you? I can’t face it.”
“I’ll miss you, too.”
She took a deep breath. “But it might be the perfect time for me to visit my parents. I’ll just take the other jet while you’re gone …”
He frowned. “What?”
She met his eyes. “I’ve been writing my family every week for four months. It’s not working. I need to go see them.”
Eduardo stared at her. Was it just her imagination, or did some of the color disappear behind his tan? “Absolutely not.”
“Why?” She tilted her head, folding her arms. She’d expected a fight and was ready for it. “You won’t exactly miss us. You’ll be in Morocco.”
“Maybe I’d like you and Marisol to come with me. Marrakech is beautiful in April.”
“That wasn’t your plan a minute ago.”
“Plans change.”
As the cool water of the pool bobbed around them, they glared at each other. Above them, the wind blew through the palm trees, and she could hear the roar of the distant ocean as seabirds cried out mournfully across the cloudless blue sky.
And Callie broke. “I miss them, Eduardo.” She unfolded her arms, blinking back tears. “I don’t know what else to do. I miss them.”
He set his jaw. “I thought you were happy here—”
“I am. But I miss them. Every hour. Every day. It’s like a hole in my heart.” She put her hand over his chest. “Right here.” Tears streamed down her cheeks as she looked up at him. “I can’t stand the silence. I feel lost without them.”
Eduardo stared at her for a long moment. Then, closing his eyes, he exhaled.
“All right,” he said in a low voice.
“All right?”
He looked down at her. “Not McLinn. But your parents and your sister—yes.”
“I can go see them in North Dakota?” she breathed, hardly able to believe it.
“But I don’t want you and Marisol so far away from me. And I need to be in Marrakech tomorrow …”
Her heart, which had been rising, suddenly pinched. She said dully, “So I should put off my visit.”
“No.” Taking her in his arms, he gently lifted her chin. “I will charter a jet to collect your family. If they agree, they will meet us in Marrakech tomorrow. How about that?”
She stared at him, shocked.
“You will see them. And they will get a chance to meet me.” His jaw clenched as he looked away. “Not just as the CEO who owns the oilfields outside your town, but as your husband. As Marisol’s father.” He looked back at her, his darkly handsome face suddenly uncertain. “Is … is that satisfactory?”
“Satisfactory!” she cried. She threw her arms around him in the pool and kissed him, over and over, kissed his cheeks, his forehead, his chin. “Oh, Eduardo, I love you so much. Thank you, my darling, thank you!”
He straightened in the pool. His hard-muscled body dazzled her. Droplets of water cascaded down his tanned skin, sparkling in the sun as he lifted her up, wrapping her legs around his waist.
“This time,” he whispered, “I’ll let you thank me.”
And he kissed her, long and hard, beneath the waving palm trees and the hot Spanish sun.
Many hours later, Eduardo looked down at his naked wife, sleeping in his arms in the darkness of the bedroom. It was past midnight. And he wanted to sleep with her.
Not just make love to her. Making love was easy. Callie was damn beautiful. A man would have to be dead not to want her constantly. Especially when she was happy, as she’d been today.
She’d been so thrilled to speak with her parents on the phone that afternoon. She hadn’t noticed how shocked her parents were to hear from her, and learn she was in Spain. But after tears on both sides, the Woodvilles had agreed to take his chartered jet and join them in Morocco, after a quick stop at the American consulate to get their very first passports.
Later that evening, as Eduardo discussed necessary travel arrangements with his assistant, Callie had bounced off the walls with excitement and joy. After dinner, they’d played with the baby, given Marisol a bath and put her to bed, and then Callie had grabbed his hand and pulled him to bed, too. Even after making love for hours, for the second time that day, it had still taken unusually long for Callie to fall asleep in his arms: a full ten minutes.
That was hours ago. Eduardo looked bleakly across the luxurious master bedroom of the villa. God knew he’d tried to make himself sleep. But it was always the same. After they made love, he would hold her, his body relaxed, his soul in perfect, blissful peace. He would cherish her in his arms, so soft and willing and warm. But the instant he closed his eyes, sleep disappeared. He tried to relax, but his muscles became tight until beads of sweat broke out on his forehead.
He’d never slept with any of the women he bedded. But he’d never wanted
to. He’d thought it would be different with Callie. But even with her, he still couldn’t let down his guard completely. Eduardo exhaled, knowing he wasn’t going to be able to sleep tonight, either. He should get up and go to the guest room to sleep, like usual.
Yet he wanted to sleep with his wife.
He wanted to deserve her.
Since the day they’d wed, Eduardo had done everything he could to keep his family safe and happy. He’d supported Callie in every way.
Except one. None of her letters to her family had ever left the house. And she’d never gotten any of their mail, forwarded from New York. When Sami Woodville had tried to phone his office, he’d instructed his secretary to block her calls. When she’d called his cell phone, he’d changed his number.
A cold chill went through his body. Would Callie ever forgive him when she discovered what he’d done? Would she understand that he’d done it for one reason: to protect their family?
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.
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