The Brazilian Millionaire's Love-Child

by Anne Mather

  Isobel gasped in disbelief, smacking his hand away. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she protested. His fingers looked so alien against the white linen. ‘Don’t do that! What if someone came in?’

  Alejandro’s mouth took on a decidedly sensual curve, but he obediently shifted his hands to the narrow bones of her shoulders. ‘And that is the only reason you want me to stop?’ he queried, those curious amber eyes burning with a golden fire. ‘Muito bem.’

  Isobel found she was actually trembling, and it infuriated her. For heaven’s sake, what was wrong with her? Even when she and David had first got together she’d never felt quite so vulnerable. Or so exhilarated, she admitted painfully.

  ‘I think you should let go of me, Mr Cabral,’ she said stiffly. ‘I’m afraid you’ve got the wrong impression.’

  ‘And if I don’t want to?’ he murmured, his thumbs probing inside the neckline of her shirt.

  ‘I don’t think that matters,’ she retorted, refusing to let him see how he was disturbing her. ‘I don’t know what Julia’s told you about me, but I’m not interested in casual sex.’

  That shocked him. She saw the sudden darkening of his eyes, the way the amber gave way to a much more sombre colour. But he still didn’t release her. ‘Nor am I,’ he informed her flatly. ‘And Julia has told me nothing about you. As surprising as that might seem.’

  Isobel coloured. ‘I just meant…’

  ‘I know what you meant, querida.’ His eyes impaled her. ‘But somehow I do not think you are a virgin, nao?’

  His fingers tightened a little and Isobel caught her breath. ‘I’m divorced,’ she told him shortly. ‘Now, please—I’d like you to let me go.’

  ‘Because I have offended you?’ His scowl was absurdly attractive. ‘That was not my intention.’

  ‘No?’ Isobel thought she knew exactly what he had intended. But right now she was more concerned with putting some breathing space between them. With his warm breath against her temple, and his fingers digging into her flesh, she was far too vulnerable. ‘Well, whatever you meant, I’m not interested in massaging your ego.’

  ‘My ego?’ he sounded amused. ‘So you think you know what kind of man I am?’

  Isobel shifted in his grasp. ‘I think you’re too sure of yourself,’ she declared stiffly. ‘And, whatever you say, I doubt if you’re a virgin either.’

  He grinned then, white teeth showing between the sensual contours of his lips. ‘Esta certo,’ he said. ‘You are so right, cara. I have slept with women, sim. Would you like to know how many?’

  ‘No.’ She looked horrified now, and he gave a low laugh.

  ‘I did not think so,’ he said smugly, and, before she had an inkling of what he intended to do, he bent his head and caught the corner of her lower lip between his teeth.

  He bit into the soft flesh, but the experience was more of a pleasure than a pain. His tongue stroked across her mouth, a sensuous exploration, and then his mouth covered hers and his tongue surged between her teeth.

  One hand circled her neck, and she felt his fingers loosening the knot that bound her hair. She’d swept it up earlier, but she now realised how precarious it had become. Silky strands tumbled down about her ears and his knuckles, and his groan of satisfaction said it all.

  Her muffled protest was only a half-hearted thing, the complete unexpectedness of what he was doing leaving her with an odd feeling of unreality. This couldn’t be happening, she thought. Not to someone like her. David had always said she was frigid, but in Alejandro’s arms the hot blood was fairly burning through her veins.

  He moved so that she was pressed back against the counter, the hard strength of his body virtually moulded to hers. The kiss deepened and lengthened, and his hands sought her hips, bringing her fully against him, so that all thought of denying his love-making faded rapidly away…

  ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

  Isobel heard the angry exclamation as if from a distance. But its significance didn’t register until sharp nails dug into her arm and she was wrenched away from Alejandro.

  Then she saw Julia, and the look on her friend’s face brought a damning feeling of shame. It took the place of what she described to herself later as utter euphoria; she was certain she must have been out of her mind.

  ‘Julia,’ she said, turning towards her. ‘I—it’s not what you think.’

  ‘Isn’t it?’ Julia wasn’t convinced. ‘My God, is that blood on your shirt?’

  Isobel half-wished it was, then she could claim that Alejandro had only been comforting her. But she doubted Julia would believe that either. ‘It’s beer,’ she admitted ruefully. ‘I spilled it all over me.’

  ‘That’s not all that’s been all over you.’ Julia was bitter. ‘I thought we were friends, Issy.’

  ‘We are—’

  ‘So are you drunk or what? God, aren’t there enough men here for you to choose from without hitting on my date?’

  ‘Julia—’

  ‘Se fez favor. Excuse me.’ Alejandro had been silently listening to their exchange, but now he intervened. ‘I came to the party alone, Julia,’ he told her coldly. ‘I may be many things, but I am not your date.’

  ‘Oh, please—’

  Isobel tried again, her gaze barely glancing off Alejandro’s scowling face. She didn’t dare look at him properly, didn’t dare acknowledge something to him that she dared not acknowledge to herself.

  Nevertheless, she registered his stillness, the fact that he’d pushed those long-fingered hands into the back pockets of his jeans. She could still feel those hands caressing her, she thought fancifully, but his expression didn’t match her thoughts.

  ‘We were together earlier!’ Julia exclaimed, looking at Alejandro. ‘You wouldn’t be here at all if it wasn’t for me.’

  ‘I did not know your invitation came with—how do you say?—strings attached,’ he retorted icily. ‘You forget yourself, Julia. I do not need your permission to speak with Ms Jameson.’

  ‘To speak with her?’ Julia scoffed. ‘Is that what you call it? When I came in, you had your tongue halfway down her throat.’

  ‘And that concerns you how?’ His accent was thickening, Isobel noticed. ‘I suggest you leave us, Julia. We are not innocents who require you as a—a chaperon, nao?’

  ‘Um—perhaps Mr Cabral should leave,’ Isobel ventured, not looking at him as she spoke. ‘It is getting very late.’

  She heard his sudden intake of breath at her words. ‘You do not mean this!’ he exclaimed harshly, but before she could respond Julia intervened.

  ‘She does,’ she said, her expression triumphant. ‘Bye bye, Alex. I’ll see you next week.’

  Isobel’s gaze darted from Julia’s face to Alejandro’s. What was that supposed to mean? But he was already striding towards the door, and for a moment she thought he was going to leave without speaking again.

  However he halted on the threshold, gripping the frame of the door with one hand, the other pushing back the tumbled darkness of his hair. ‘This is not over, Isobel,’ he informed her softly, and she didn’t know whether that was a threat or a promise. ‘Volto mais tarde.’ And what did that mean? ‘Boa noite, senhoras. Goodnight.’

  CHAPTER TWO

  AFTER Alejandro had gone, there was an uncomfortable silence. Then Julia said, ‘That was fun, wasn’t it?’

  Isobel pressed her lips together. ‘Yes, well, I’d rather not talk about it, if you don’t mind.’ She glanced down at her wristwatch, noticing the way her shirt was clinging to her, and cringing at the image she presented. ‘It’s late, as I said. Perhaps it would be a good idea if we wrapped things up now. It’s after one, and—’

  ‘You’re not serious?’ Julia’s jaw dropped in disbelief. ‘Issy, you can’t. Things are just beginning to heat up.’ She made an impatient gesture. ‘Just because you got a little tight and made a pass at Alex, I’m not going to throw a wobbly. We’ve been friends too long to let a man—’

  Isobel lifte
d a hand to silence her. ‘How do you know him anyway? And what did you mean when you said you’d see him next week?’

  ‘Oh.’ Julia looked coy now. ‘Didn’t he tell you? Well, I don’t suppose he had the chance, did he? We—that is, the agency—are doing some work for his company. Cabral Leisure is pretty big in South America. They’re wanting to break into the European market, and our agency was the one they picked to promote them here.’

  ‘Oh.’ Isobel nodded. ‘Oh, I see.’

  ‘Yeah. Our Alex belongs in the big league, Issy. That was why I was so upset when I saw you two together.’

  ‘Really?’

  Isobel wasn’t prepared to believe that, but Julia hurried on. ‘I mean it, Issy. No one was more surprised than me when he accepted my invitation. I guess he must have been bored, yeah? Guys like him don’t come slumming very often.’

  Isobel turned away, gathering up the empty cans strewn about the worktops and dropping them into the waste bin. She was tempted to say that her apartment was certainly not a slum, but she didn’t want to give Julia another excuse to patronise her. Besides, if he was as wealthy as Julia was implying, the other girl was probably right. At least, about him not mixing with the common herd every day.

  ‘Anyway, just because he’s walked out doesn’t mean we have to ruin the party,’ Julia continued when Isobel didn’t bite. ‘Another hour, Issy. Pretty please? Then I’ll get the gang out of here, I promise.’

  Alejandro walked back to his hotel.

  It was a fairly warm night for London in November, which was just as well, because in his haste he’d left his leather jacket at Isobel’s apartment.

  It hadn’t been a deliberate choice, he assured himself. He’d just been so angry when she’d asked him to leave that he hadn’t thought about anything but getting out of there.

  Now, the idea of seeing Isobel again intrigued him. As his temper cooled, he remembered her sweetness before Julia had interrupted them—the softness of her skin, the unexpected provocation of her mouth.

  Isobel, he mused. Isobella. She’d certainly been different from the other girls at the party. Her almost shy manner reminded him of the girls back home, though he guessed Isobel had never had a chaperon breathing down her neck.

  Except Julia…

  His lips twisted. When she’d invited him to the party, he’d intended to decline. Although he’d been working with the agency, he wasn’t in the habit of mixing business with pleasure. But she’d been so insistent, he’d eventually given in. After all, despite the wishes of his parents, he had no serious commitments elsewhere.

  He scowled. He didn’t want to think about Miranda at this moment. Not when thoughts of Isobel were foremost in his mind. She’d felt so good in his arms, warm, soft and sexy. He wondered how old she was. His own age, he guessed, but she looked younger. It was unbelievable that she’d been married and divorced. She seemed so innocent somehow. He knew he wanted to see her again. But would she want to see him?

  Disappointingly, she wasn’t at home when he called at her apartment the next morning. Instead, a garrulous old woman came out of the adjoining apartment and accosted him.

  ‘Are you looking for Mrs Jameson?’ she demanded, and Alejandro, who wasn’t used to being spoken to in such a manner, felt his hackles rising. ‘Anyway, she’s not here,’ the woman went on fussily, apparently unaware of giving any offence. ‘She went out first thing this morning, though how she expects to do a day’s work when none of us got a wink of sleep last night is beyond me.’

  ‘Ah.’ Alejandro was beginning to understand her reaction.

  ‘Were you at the party?’ she asked. Then, answering her own question, ‘No, I don’t suppose you were, or you’d not have expected her to be up yet.’

  Alejandro didn’t bother to correct her. ‘You said Mrs Jameson, senhora. I understood the lady was divorced, nao?’

  The woman’s eyes widened suspiciously, as if she’d just realised he wasn’t English, but she answered him anyway. ‘She is,’ she confirmed. ‘Or that’s what she told the landlord when she moved into the apartment.’

  ‘I see.’ Alejandro didn’t allow his relief to show. ‘Muito bem; I will have to return later, perhaps, when Mrs Jameson is at home.’

  The woman frowned at him through her thick-framed lenses. ‘Are you a friend of hers?’ she queried, and once again Alejandro had to tamp down his impatience. She pursed her lips. ‘Who shall I say has called?’

  Alejandro was fairly sure the question was purely curiosity now, and he was tempted not to reply. But the last thing he wanted was for Isobel to think he’d been snooping around. ‘My name is Cabral,’ he said shortly. Then, with a slight bow of his head, ‘Thank you for your time, Mrs—Mrs—?’

  ‘Lytton-Smythe,’ she said at once. She paused for a moment and then ventured casually, ‘Do you work for her uncle too?’

  Alejandro hesitated. ‘Her uncle?’ he echoed, unable to prevent himself, and the woman nodded.

  ‘Samuel Armstrong,’ she said. ‘He publishes magazines or something. Mrs Jameson is always on the go, interviewing famous people and writing articles about them for him.’

  ‘Is she?’ Alejandro was impressed.

  ‘Yes.’ There was reluctance in the woman’s tone now, as if she regretted being so frank. ‘I suppose she must be quite clever, really, even if it is only her uncle she works for.’

  Damned with faint praise, thought Alejandro drily, but he was grateful for the information nonetheless. If only so he knew there was an alternative source to contact to get his jacket back, he assured himself. But that didn’t alter the fact that he still wanted to see Isobel again.

  Isobel was exhausted when she got back to her apartment. She’d managed to finish the piece on the celebrity make-up artist after the party was over, but it had been a good two hours after Alejandro Cabral had departed that she’d ushered the last of Julia’s guests out of the door. Julia, herself, had left at least half an hour earlier, giggling with her bearded escort, fluttering fingers at Isobel and showing no remorse at leaving her friend to clear the place up.

  In consequence, when Isobel did get home that afternoon, she still had to face the debris of the previous night’s festivities. She had dumped the remains of the cold buffet into the sink-disposal before she’d gone to bed, but she’d been too tired then to start picking up the rest of the mess.

  The first thing she did now was open all the windows. The smell of stale cigarette smoke and spilled beer was disgusting, and she leaned on the sill for a moment, taking in deep breaths of cool air.

  There were scuff marks on the floor, she noticed, and cigarette burns on the arm of one of the chairs. But no irretrievable damage had been done. It could have been much worse, she assured herself.

  Nevertheless, it took her a good half-hour to collect all the empty cans and bottles and drop them in refuse sacks for collection. Then, feeling she deserved it, she made herself a fresh pot of coffee.

  Carrying her cup into the living room, she looked critically about her. The floor needed waxing and the rugs needed vacuuming, but the worst was over. For now, she was grateful just to sit down on the sofa and close her eyes. She grimaced. The truth was, she wasn’t used to such late nights.

  When the doorbell rang, she was tempted to ignore it. She suspected it might be Mrs Lytton-Smythe, come to complain again about the disturbance she’d suffered the night before. Isobel had already had to apologise to the two doctors downstairs, whom she’d met on her way to the office. Thankfully, they’d been understanding, but her next-door neighbour was another matter.

  Putting her coffee cup down on the low table beside the sofa, she got wearily to her feet. She’d kicked off her shoes when she came in, and she couldn’t be bothered to look for them right now. Instead, she trod barefoot to the door.

  It wasn’t Mrs Lytton-Smythe.

  But she had no difficulty at all in identifying the man whose shoulder was propped so casually against the wall outside. He was still as tall, dark an
d disturbingly good-looking as she remembered, even with a night’s growth of beard. And a tremor of awareness feathered her spine.

  ‘Oh,’ she said, momentarily unnerved by his appearance. Her stomach hollowed and she pressed a hand to her midriff, trying to ground her scattered emotions. ‘Hello.’

  ‘Ola,’ he greeted her softly, his voice as dark and sensual as molasses, with that distinctive accent that made everything he said sound like a caress. He straightened, dark brows lifting as he noticed her confusion. ‘Am I disturbing you?’

  Only totally, thought Isobel, swallowing to ease the dryness in her throat. ‘Um—no. I just got in, actually.’ She glanced behind her at the untidy living room. She couldn’t invite him in. She just couldn’t. ‘Would you like to come in?’

  Alejandro doubted she would appreciate his reaction at the moment. Going into her apartment had definite attractions—but taking her by the shoulders, crushing that tempting mouth beneath his own, pulling her close against his aroused body and letting her feel the response he seemed incapable of controlling was far more appealing.

  He shook his head. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Okay, he’d been attracted to her the night before, but he hadn’t intended to pursue it. He’d wanted to see her again, yes, but not to feel this overwhelming need to touch her. For goodness’ sake, what was wrong with him? His family would be appalled if they knew what he was doing.

  However, Isobel had taken that rueful shake of his head at face value. ‘Okay, then,’ she said a little stiffly, misunderstanding him completely. ‘How can I help you?’

  ‘Nao!’ Alejandro couldn’t help himself. He spread his hands apologetically. ‘I did not mean—isto e—I would very much like to come in.’

  ‘Oh!’ She was disconcerted now, but too polite to refuse. ‘Okay.’ She moved aside to allow him to enter, her hand fluttering towards the living room. ‘I’m sure you remember the way.’

  Alejandro stepped into the small entry, immediately dwarfing the hall. What had possessed her to do this? Isobel was asking herself. After what had happened the night before, she must be crazy. In the narrow confines of the hall, she was much too aware of him. As well as his size, which was intimidating, he was so disturbingly male.