by Anne Mather
‘Oh, please…’ Dominic counted to five before continuing, ‘This isn’t going to go away, Cleo. Your grandfather has terminal cancer. Do you want him to go to his grave knowing his only granddaughter was too stubborn—or too proud—to admit that she might be wrong?’
Cleo met his gaze defiantly for a moment, and then she looked away. ‘No,’ she mumbled reluctantly.
‘So what’s it to be?’
‘What do you mean?’ She was wary.
‘Your place, a bar, or the hotel? It’s your call.’ Dominic glanced about him. ‘Make up your mind. I’m getting wet.’
Cleo hesitated.
If she took him back to the apartment, there was a risk that Norah might come home early. And so far she hadn’t had a chance to tell her friend about his visit the night before.
But equally, she had no desire to go to his hotel room. What if Serena wasn’t there? That troubled her, too, more than she wanted to admit.
‘Um—perhaps we could have a drink,’ she murmured at last, and Dominic breathed a sigh of relief.
‘OK,’ he said, ‘where? Is there somewhere near here?’
‘No, not here,’ said Cleo quickly, and Dominic arched a quizzical brow.
‘No?’
‘You wouldn’t like any of the pubs around here,’ Cleo assured him firmly, looping the strap of her bag over her shoulder again, almost poking him in the eye with her umbrella as she did so.
But she didn’t want to have to explain to any of her colleagues, who might be lurking in the saloon bar of the King’s Head, what she was doing having a drink with a—well, sexy stranger, who was evidently far out of her usual sphere of escorts.
‘Where, then?’
He sounded impatient and Cleo licked dry lips before saying awkwardly, ‘There’s a hotel at the next crossroads. Could we go there?’
‘You tell me.’ Dominic swung open the passenger-side door. ‘D’you want to get in?’
‘Oh—yes. Thanks.’ Cleo closed her umbrella without causing any more damage and climbed into the front of the car.
It smelled deliciously of warmth and leather, and when Dominic got in beside her she detected his shaving lotion also. It wasn’t obvious; just pleasantly subtle. But it created an intimacy around them that caused Cleo to shift a little nervously in her seat.
‘Is something wrong?’
Dominic had noticed and was looking her way now. Cleo managed a convulsive shake of her head.
‘Just getting comfortable,’ she murmured, far too aware of the taut fabric moulding his thigh just inches from her own.
She endeavoured to concentrate on the vehicle. It was superbly sprung, superbly comfortable, and Cleo was half sorry she was only going to enjoy it for such a short time. But perhaps it was just as well. She was far too aware of the man beside her.
Her brother!
But no. There had to be some other explanation. A surreptitious glance in Dominic’s direction assured her that they were nothing alike. They were both dark-haired, of course, but so were at least a third of the population. And he owed the colour of his skin to the heat of a Caribbean sun, whereas she—
‘Is this the place you meant?’
She’d hardly been aware of them moving, let alone that he’d driven in the right direction and was now slowing for the turn into the grounds of the hotel she’d mentioned.
‘Oh—yes,’ she said, recovering herself with an effort. ‘I—er—I can’t stay long. I’ve got a lot of marking to do tonight.’
Dominic didn’t make any comment. Instead, he pulled into a parking bay, shoved open his door again and thrust long legs out of the car. Cleo hurriedly followed suit and he slammed her door behind her, pressing the fob to lock the vehicle.
Cleo had only been in the hotel once before and that had been on the occasion of a friend’s wedding. The reception had been held in the conference room and she remembered lots of seafood, vol-au-vents and cheap champagne.
On reflection, she thought perhaps it hadn’t been the wisest place to bring a man like Dominic Montoya. He was bound to think it was seedy and not up to his usual standard.
In fact, the lobby was encouraging. Someone had placed a large tub of late chrysanthemums on a table in the middle of the floor, and the signs indicating the various public rooms of the hotel were well-lit.
‘Shall we go into the cocktail bar?’ she asked, with a confidence she was far from feeling. ‘I imagine we can get tea or coffee in there.’
‘Tea or coffee?’ Dominic’s lips twitched. ‘Well, yeah, if that’s what you want.’
‘It is.’ Cleo spoke firmly. ‘I don’t drink, Mr Montoya.’
She started across the floor and to her relief he accompanied her. But she couldn’t help being aware of the speculative glances they were attracting from female staff and patrons alike. They were probably wondering what a hunk like him was doing with someone like her, she thought ruefully.
Even in casual clothes, Dominic Montoya exuded an air of power and authority that was hard to ignore. Whereas she, in a dark green sweater, khaki trousers and an orange parka jacket felt—and probably looked—as if she was out of her depth.
Thankfully, the cocktail bar was almost empty at this hour of the afternoon. They had their choice of tables and Cleo chose one that was both clearly visible from the bar and near the exit.
A waitress came at once to take their order, not turning a hair when Dominic requested coffee for two.
‘Is that OK with you?’ he asked, taking the armchair opposite. ‘I can’t say I’m a great fan of tea myself.’
‘Coffee’s fine,’ agreed Cleo tensely. ‘Thank you.’
‘Hey, no problem,’ he responded, picking up a coaster and flicking it absently between his fingers. Long brown fingers, Cleo noticed unwillingly. ‘So…’ He arched his brows enquiringly. ‘Have you thought any more about what I told you?’
Cleo hunched her shoulders. ‘Yes, I’ve thought about it,’ she admitted. She’d literally thought about little else, unfortunately.
‘And?’
‘And I don’t see how what you say can be true,’ she offered carefully.
‘Why not?’
‘Um—’ She moistened dry lips before continuing, ‘If you and I are supposed to be—brother and sister, we don’t look much alike, do we?’
Now, why had she chosen that particular item out of all the things he and his aunt had told her to question first? She was pathetic!
‘Well, that’s easily explained.’ Dominic lay back in his chair, steepling his fingers and regarding her over them with lazy green eyes. ‘I was adopted. Your father’s wife couldn’t have any children.’
‘Will you stop calling him my father?’ exclaimed Cleo fiercely, even while the relief she felt was zinging through her veins.
He wasn’t her brother.
But then, what did it matter? She probably wasn’t his adopted sister either.
Probably?
The waitress arrived with the coffee and the few minutes she took unloading her tray gave Cleo time to think. What was she supposed to make of his answer? That his wife’s inability to give him a child was why Robert Montoya had had an affair with Celeste Dubois?
It annoyed her that the woman’s name sprang so easily to mind. She’d only heard it mentioned a couple of times and yet it felt as if it was emblazoned on her soul.
The waitress poured the coffee, and offered cream and sugar. Cleo accepted, but her companion declined. Then the young woman departed again, but not without a calculated backward glance at Dominic. Which he didn’t return, Cleo noted, annoyed at herself for doing so.
Dominic tasted his coffee and then pulled a face. ‘When will the English learn to brew a decent cup?’ he demanded, shaking his head. He intercepted the look she cast him and gave a rueful grin. ‘I bet you could do better than this.’
‘I doubt it.’ Cleo wasn’t prepared to be cajoled into an invitation. She put down her cup. ‘Why don’t you tell me why you think the Novaks aren�
��t my real parents?’
Chapter Three
‘IN OTHER words, why don’t I cut to the chase?’ suggested Dominic drily, and Cleo nodded.
Serena had been right, he thought resignedly. Ms Novak was one tough lady. And she wasn’t going to be distracted by a few compliments, even if her face had betrayed a very different reaction when she’d discovered they weren’t related after all.
Dominic wasn’t a conceited man, but he hadn’t lived for thirty years without becoming aware that women liked him. And Cleo Novak liked him as a man—if not as her nemesis. He’d bet his life on it.
But that didn’t even figure in the present situation. There were enough women in his life already, and he had no intention of doing to her what his father had done to her mother. Lily Montoya was going to find this very hard as it was without him showing a quite inappropriate interest in the girl.
Nevertheless, she was very attractive…
He expelled an impatient breath and said crisply, ‘OK, why don’t you tell me about yourself? Before we get into the heavy stuff, I’d like to hear about your life with the Novaks.’
‘With my parents, you mean?’
Cleo was stubborn, but he already knew that.
‘Right,’ he agreed. ‘With your parents.’ He paused. ‘What did Henry—what did your father do for a living?’
Cleo hesitated. ‘He did a lot of jobs. He was a taxi driver for a time, and a postman. When he and my mother died, they were working for an old lady in Islington. She let them occupy the basement of her house in exchange for gardening and—well, household duties.’
‘Really?’
Dominic frowned. So what had happened to the not inconsiderable sum of money his father had given them? Evidently Cleo had had a good education, so that was something. But it sounded as if her adoptive father hadn’t stuck at any job for very long.
Still, that wasn’t his concern. ‘But you didn’t live with them?’ he prompted and, after a moment, Cleo fixed him with a defiant look.
‘Is this important?’ she demanded. ‘Why do you want to know so much about me? I thought you had all the answers.’
‘Hardly.’ Dominic’s tone was rueful. ‘Well, OK, we’ll leave it there for now—’
‘For now?’
‘Yeah, for now,’ he said, his tone hardening. He paused. ‘I suppose I should tell you how you came to be living with the Novaks, shouldn’t I?’
Cleo gave a dismissive shrug. ‘If you must.’
‘Oh, I must,’ he told her a little harshly. ‘Because whatever spin you choose to put upon it, you are Robert Montoya’s daughter, and I can prove it.’
‘How?’
Cleo sounded suspicious now and Dominic decided that was better than indifferent. She was regarding him with dark, enquiring eyes and, for the first time, he saw a trace of his father in her cold defiance.
Putting a hand into his inner pocket, he pulled out a folded sheet of worn parchment and handed it to her. Half guessing what it might be, Cleo opened it out with trembling fingers.
And found herself looking at a birth certificate, with Robert Montoya’s name securely in the place where a father’s name should be.
Without bothering to check the mother’s name, or the identity of the infant concerned, she thrust the sheet back at him. ‘This isn’t mine,’ she declared tremulously. ‘My birth certificate is with the papers my parents left.’
‘Your second birth certificate,’ Dominic amended flatly. ‘My father bribed the authorities in San Clemente to produce another certificate with the Novaks’ name on it.’ He patted the paper he was holding with the back of his hand. ‘But this is the original, believe me.’
Cleo felt as if she couldn’t breathe. ‘You’re lying!’
‘I don’t lie,’ said Dominic bleakly. ‘Unlike your father, I’m afraid.’
Cleo shook her head. ‘How do I know that’s not the so-called second certificate?’ she protested. ‘Perhaps your father lied to you, too.’
Dominic didn’t argue with her. He just looked at her from beneath lowered lids, thick black lashes providing a stunning frame for his clear green eyes.
And for the first time, Cleo began to worry about the consequences of her actions. What if he and his aunt were telling the truth? If they were, it followed that the Novaks had lied to her all these years. And that scenario was very hard to stomach.
Then he said quietly, ‘There is such a thing as DNA, you know.’
‘I don’t know what to say,’ she muttered at last, and saw a trace of compassion in his face.
‘Why don’t you take a proper look at this?’ Dominic suggested, handing her the birth certificate again. ‘Celeste insisted on having you registered before she died.’
Cleo swallowed and reluctantly looked at the sheet of parchment he’d given her. There was Robert Montoya’s name, and her own, Cleopatra. She had been born in San Clemente, but her birth had been registered in Nassau, New Providence, both islands in the Bahamas.
Smoothing the sheet with quivering fingers, she said, ‘If this is real, why did your father send me away?’
‘It’s—complicated.’ Dominic sighed. ‘Initially, I don’t suppose he intended to. Celeste would never have let him take you away. But…’ He paused. ‘Celeste died, and that changed everything. And there was no way Robert Montoya could have claimed you as his when his own wife was incapable of having children.’
‘But she adopted you,’ protested Cleo painfully, and Dominic felt a useless pang of anger towards the man who’d raised him.
‘I was—different.’
‘Not black, you mean?’
Cleo was very touchy and Dominic couldn’t say he blamed her.
‘No,’ he said at last, although her mother’s identity had played an important part in Robert’s decision. He sighed. ‘Celeste Dubois had worked for my father. She was an extremely efficient housekeeper and when she discovered she was pregnant—’
‘Yes, I get the picture.’ Cleo’s lips were trembling now. She made a gesture of contempt. ‘It wouldn’t do for the household staff to get above themselves. What a delightful family you have, Mr Montoya.’
‘They’re your family, too,’ he said wryly. ‘And my name is Dominic. It’s a little foolish to call me Mr Montoya in the circumstances, don’t you think?’
‘I don’t know what to think,’ said Cleo wearily. ‘I just wish—’ She shook her head. ‘I just wish it would all go away.’
‘Well, I’m afraid that’s not going to happen.’
‘Why? Because my grandfather is dying?’ She sniffed back a sob. ‘Why should I do anything for a man who didn’t even acknowledge my existence for the first twenty-two years of my life?’
‘You don’t actually know how he felt.’ Dominic had noticed the way she’d said ‘my’ grandfather and not ‘your’. ‘It wasn’t the old man’s decision to send you to London with the Novaks.’
‘But he apparently went along with it.’
‘Mmm.’ Dominic conceded the point. ‘But what’s done is done. It’s too late to worry about it now.’
Cleo sniffed again. ‘Is that supposed to console me?’
‘It’s a fact.’ Dominic spoke without emphasis. ‘It may please you to know that he’s going to get quite a shock when he sees you.’
‘Why? He knows who my parents were.’
Dominic groaned. ‘Will you stop beating yourself up over who your parents were? They don’t matter. Well, only indirectly. I meant—’ He broke off and then continued doggedly, ‘You’re a beautiful woman, Cleo. I’m sure many men have told you that. But I doubt if the old man has considered the effect you’re going to have on island society.’
Cleo gave him a disbelieving look. ‘You don’t mean that.’
‘Don’t I?’
She hesitated. ‘So—are you saying I have that effect on you, too?’ she asked tightly, a faint trace of mockery in her voice.
Dominic sighed. ‘I guess I’m as susceptible to beauty as the next
man,’ he conceded wryly. ‘But I don’t think your grandfather would approve of any relationship between us.’ He grimaced. ‘He doesn’t approve of the way I live my life as it is.’
Cleo bent her head, suddenly despairing. She had never felt more gauche or so completely out of her depth in her life.
She should have known he wouldn’t find her attractive. Despite what he’d said, she was convinced he was only being polite. Besides, a man like him was almost bound to have a girlfriend—girlfriends! He was far too charismatic for it not to be so.
But she couldn’t help wondering what kind of woman he liked.
One thing was certain, she thought a little bitterly. He wouldn’t choose someone like her, someone who hadn’t even known who their real parents were until today.
‘So—do you believe me?’
Cleo didn’t lift her head. ‘About what?’
He blew out a breath. ‘Don’t mess with me, Cleo. You know what I’m talking about.’ He paused. ‘I want to know how you feel.’
‘Like you care,’ she muttered, and Dominic had to stifle an oath.
‘I care,’ he said roughly. ‘I know this has been tough on you. But believe me, there was no other way to deal with it.’
She moved her head in a gesture of denial. Then, unable to hide the break in her voice, she mumbled, ‘I still can’t believe it. Someone should have told me before now.’
‘I agree.’
She cast a fleeting glance up at him. ‘But you didn’t think it was your place to do it?’
‘Hey, I didn’t know myself until a couple of weeks ago!’ exclaimed Dominic defensively. ‘Nor did Serena. She is seriously—peeved, believe me.’
Cleo sensed the word he’d intended to use was not as polite as ‘peeved’ but he controlled his anger.
‘Are you seriously—peeved?’ she asked, again without looking at him, and Dominic wondered what she expected him to say.
‘Only with the situation,’ he assured her, aware of a feeling of frustration that had nothing to do with her. ‘I guess the Novaks had been told to keep your identity a secret. Maybe they would have told you—eventually. But they didn’t get a chance.’
Cleo heaved a sigh, and when she turned her face up to his he saw the sparkle of tears overspilling her beautiful eyes.
