The Billionaire's Desire
Page 9
“You used to play professionally before you became a doctor?”
“Yes, I played professionally until I was twenty-six and I had to retire due to severe knee injuries. I spent three agonizing months lying on my back and I knew I was never going to play again, but I prayed every day I could walk again. When I recovered, I made the decision to become a sports doctor and rehabilitate injured players.”
“What a story of determination.”
“It made sense. I knew first-hand the brutal toll the game takes on your body with time. Not to mention, I’m a fighter. I don’t know how to give up.” He smiles.
“I’m the same way. When I have a goal in mind, I’ll move mountains to make it happen.”
“Yes, you do look like the type.”
We both laugh.
“You look so fit on that photo. I mean you still are.”
“Thank you. It’s thanks to the grueling hours of intense training required to keep in shape as a professional athlete.”
“Your hair…”
“Yes. My crazy hair. I used to wear it long. The curls drove the girls wild and I enjoyed the attention. When I played matches, I sleeked my mane back and tied it up with an elastic, but the second the game was over, I’d let my hair loose and the girls would scream their heads off.”
I can imagine the mayhem. “You still are quite handsome with shorter hair.”
“Thank you for the compliment.” He smiles, sleeking back his hair. “When I entered medical school, I felt it was inappropriate to continue wearing my hair long, so I chopped off the curls.”
“The girls must have been crushed.”
“I didn’t care too much about the girls, but I did care deeply about the woman I was in love with back then. She adored my longer hair and she was devastated when I told her of my decision.”
“Hmmm. My hair is also a characteristic people remember me by. I’ll be honest, I’ve never met a man with such beautiful long hair before. I can understand how the woman you loved reacted with sadness.”
“Ah, your hair. I do remember how long it was on that photo on the cover of that British paper.”
I unconsciously bring my hand up to my bun. “It’s still all there. I’ve tied it up. It’s less distracting when people first meet me.”
“Luckily for me, this isn’t the first time we’ve met.”
Huh? No way. Surely I’d remember meeting him. I look at him, stunned.
“Do you remember when you came to Barcelona for the first time at sixteen with your mother?”
What? “I do. How do you know I visited the city when I was a teenager?”
“She came here to visit a friend, right?”
“Yes, I do remember, but I can’t recall who her friend was.”
“I’m the friend.”
“Oh, now this makes a lot more sense. It was driving me crazy because since you opened the door, I’ve had the sneaking feeling I had met you before, but I couldn’t quite figure out when and where,” I say, relieved. “It’s so funny because when I arrived in Barcelona, I was reminiscing about that trip and I was wondering if my mom had kept contact with her Spanish friend.”
“She has,” he says, curling up the left side of his lips.
Something about his confidence makes me uncomfortable. Mom has never talked about this guy since our trip together. I’m surprised to hear she kept such close contact with him.
“Listen, Ciara, I brought you here under false pretenses.”
Huh? Okay, this is starting to feel creepy. “What do you mean?”
“I’m a doctor and I do own real estate here, in Madrid, New York City and the Cayman Islands, but lighting is not the real reason why you’re here.”
“I’m confused.”
“I had a long spiel ready I rehearsed at least one thousand times, but seeing so much of me in you is much more powerful than I expected.”
What is this guy talking about?
“I’ve waited your entire life to meet you as an adult. Throughout the years, I’ve been able to meet you here and there to witness your transformation from an adorable toddler to a gorgeous and sophisticated woman. Your mother kept me well informed of your progress in life, but nothing could truly prepare me for this moment.”
“What does my mother have to do with this?”
“I promised Julia I’d allow you time to get used to the idea, but I see myself in you…”
“What do you mean you see yourself in me?” I nearly shout. Is this guy crazy?
“Ciara, Emilio Herrera is the man who’s done a spectacular job raising you, but I’m the one who brought you into the world.”
My heart stops. His lips are still moving, but my mind goes blank.
“Your mother and I were in love…”
What the fuck?
My world is spinning out of control as I absorb his words.
“Stop it,” I yell as I jump to my feet. “Just stop it right now.”
“Please let me explain. Maybe I didn’t use the right words,” he says, approaching me.
“Stay back.”
“Ciara…”
“I said to stop talking. I don’t know what kind of twisted game you’re playing, mister, but my father is in New York and so is my mother. My parents have always been in love with each other. You’re implying my mother had an affair? What kind of drugs are you on?” I spit, as I try to move away from him. I have to get the hell out of here. I grab my handbag with trembling hands and run to the door.
“I know this is not the conversation you expected, but take a good look at me, Ciara, and tell me you don’t see yourself in me—your olive complexion, your beautiful crazy black hair, your statuesque height, your high cheekbones and your feisty personality. It’s all me,” he shouts over my shoulder, following me into the hallway.
I ignore the elevator and head towards the stairs.
“You’re crazy,” I yell, desperate to get out of this building.
“From what your mother has told me, you’ve inherited my mother’s, your grandmother’s, gift for cooking.”
His words stop me dead in my tracks. How on earth does he know about my passion for cooking?
“I’ve heard enough.” I run down the stairs, my eyes filled with tears.
Who is this guy and why is he torturing me this way?
TO BE CONTINUED…
***
The story continues in The Seduction Factor—Book 3 Broken.
Discover The Real Identity Of Dr. Echevarria.
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