Fierce Passion

by Phoebe Conn

  “So you’re about to have a baby with a man you’d rather not know?”

  “Thanks for putting it so succinctly.”

  “You forgot to mention the accident that’s left you suffering from post-traumatic stress. That has to be a factor.”

  “Thank you again. When we reach the restaurant, you ought to make notes for future reference.”

  He was quiet the rest of the way. “Here we are. The reviews are all good. Have you been here?”

  She looked out at the sign above the door showing a buxom farm girl carrying a heaping basket of vegetables. “No, but it looks promising.”

  The restaurant was as dimly lit as Alejandro had promised, and the warm, crusty bread had the most appetizing aroma. She buttered a thick slice while reading the menu. “The scrambled eggs with asparagus sounds good.”

  “It does, but I’m going with the mushroom zucchini pasta. We’ll want to begin with soup.”

  “I’m not really that hungry.”

  He picked up the nearly empty breadbasket. “Some of this was supposed to be for me, but I’ll order more.”

  She laid her knife on her bread plate. “I’m sorry…”

  “Don’t be. You’re supposed to be hungry.”

  “Please don’t remind me.”

  He added gazpacho to their order, and the waiter brought them a second basket of bread. He took a slice. “This is good. They probably churn the butter here.”

  He had polished manners and was an exemplary companion in most respects. None of it mattered now. “Alejandro, what would you have done, if you’d been the one in the accident, and I’d told you we were married, when we weren’t?” His eyes narrowed, and she knew exactly what had crossed his mind. “You’d believe I’d posed as your wife for your money, wouldn’t you? You were furious when you discovered I’ve hidden my identity, and you’d never forgive me for lying about a marriage.”

  The restaurant was busy but quiet, and he responded with a lazy whisper, “But you wouldn’t have said you were my wife to stay with me, would you?”

  “Your father would have beaten me to the hospital, and I wouldn’t have had the opportunity. But I would have been there for you.”

  “Thank you, but let’s hope neither of us is in another accident.”

  That wasn’t the way she’d hoped the conversation would go. She’d wanted him to understand why she couldn’t forgive him, but he’d slipped right out of the question. There was no reason to press the issue now.

  The gazpacho was filled with crisp green pepper chunks, and she paused to savor the mix of flavors. “This tastes as though it were made in the last ten minutes.”

  “It probably was. When I was a kid, asparagus was the only vegetable I liked, and I’d eat it with my fingers when my mother wasn’t looking. Finally you’re smiling. Did you do that too?”

  “Of course, and green beans.” She concentrated on her chilled soup rather than her handsome companion, but she could feel him watching her. “What?”

  “You’re a very beautiful Goth girl.”

  “Thank you. The scar gives me a steampunk edge.”

  “The scar isn’t noticeable, Ana.”

  Their entrées were served before she could argue. Her savory dish was sprinkled with paprika for color and tasted as delicious as it looked. Living in the moment had many advantages, but each time she glanced up, he was still admiring her, although his food was disappearing more rapidly than hers.

  “You might as well tell me what it is you want in exchange for your silence. Isn’t it the reason we came here tonight?”

  “We’re here because I wanted to see you, and the subject is too important to discuss on the phone.”

  She laid her fork on her plate and knotted her hands in her lap. “You have a sly twinkle in your eye, so it can’t be good.”

  “Ana, really. I wouldn’t suggest anything mean. All I want is to come with you on your doctor visits so I’ll know everything is going well.”

  She pressed her nails into the backs of her hands to remain calm and was only partly successful. “I won’t be treated like your broodmare.”

  He shoved away his empty plate. “Then marry me so you won’t mistrust my motives.”

  “I’ve no idea what your motives are, but I still mistrust them.” He’d never said he loved her, and it suddenly struck her as a damning omission. It was clear he wanted her and the baby as though they were treasures he could order from a high-end catalog. He was definitely his father’s son, even if he failed to recognize and acknowledge it.

  “What did you do with your wedding ring?” he asked.

  “Isn’t that off the subject? I put it in my jewelry box. I might need it for a shoot someday if I’m reduced to being a hand model in a detergent ad.”

  A teasing smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “That’s not why you saved it.”

  “It isn’t?” She picked up her fork for a bite of asparagus.

  “No, you kept it because it means something to you. Even if you were my wife for only a week, it was the best week of my life.”

  She’d loved it too and had to swallow hard to force back tears. She spoke in an anguished whisper. “That’s why your underhanded trick hurt me so badly, and you can’t undo it.”

  “Why not? Let’s go back to the first dinner we had together. You were in your Goth disguise, and we were getting to know each other. I already had your purple bra draped over the lamp beside my bed, but you disappeared in a cab rather than let me take you home.”

  She remembered that night well. “Even if I didn’t take you there, I didn’t lie about my condo.”

  “No, but it struck me as odd you’d sleep with me if you didn’t want me to know where you lived.”

  Rather than defend herself with a lame excuse, she picked up an olive and ate it slowly while she struggled for something believable. “I’m not sorry I slept with you that afternoon. Goth Girl is far more daring than I am.”

  “I like you both. Let’s go back to your condo and finish the ice cream.”

  Only a smear of scrambled eggs was left on her plate, the breadbasket was empty, and yet nothing had been settled. “If you’ll agree to just talk.”

  “Of course. All night if I have to.”

  The damn twinkle was back in his eyes, and she didn’t trust herself now.

  He seated her at the dining table, made coffee and served the ice cream. “Let’s get back to the appointments with your doctor. Could you consider me a concerned friend rather than a despicable, conniving bastard who wanted to spy on you?”

  She twirled her spoon in her ice cream. “I’ve never thought of you as despicable.”

  “Thank you, that’s a point in my favor. I’ll go in the backdoor and meet you at the doctor’s office so we couldn’t be photographed together on the street. Would that help?”

  She sat back in her chair, took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “We’re avoiding the most obvious solution—we don’t have to have a baby we didn’t plan.”

  He’d finished his ice cream and set the bowl aside. “I would never have suggested it, but since you have, I’ll tell you again that I want him or her. What’s your real worry, that having a child will ruin your spectacular figure, or the bother of a baby will keep you from working as much as you’d like?”

  Deeply insulted by his softly voiced accusations, her expression turned fierce. “I’m really fond of these dishes, or I’d hurl my bowl at you. I’ve not once thought about my figure or modeling. My only concern is having you as the father.”

  “But I’m not despicable at least. My father set such a poor example, I know what a good father ought to be. If I’m responsible enough to run a shipping line, you can count on me to handle whatever responsibilities you want to send my way. There’s no question about my ability to pay for whatever our child needs.”

  “Your multitude of assets isn’t the issue, Alejandro. We were so close, and none of it was real. I don’t want to be fooled like that ever again. It
hurt much too badly.”

  His voice turned soothing. “What if my attorney handled the child support, and a nanny came to pick up our child and returned him or her to you so you never had to see me?”

  She regarded him with a skeptical glance. “You’d agree to that?”

  “I suggested it, so yes, but it isn’t what I want for us, Ana. You’ve only known about the baby for a day. Please take more time to consider what you really want to do.”

  When she looked at him, sweet memories betrayed her, and she could scarcely think at all. “My mother wanted more children, but my father died young, and she didn’t meet Claude until she was in her forties and thought it too late to begin another family. It would be easier for us both not to have a child. This might be my only chance though, and my mother would love to have a grandbaby.”

  “My mother would too. I meant to call her when we were in Greece, then had nothing to say.” He reached for her hand. “If we’re going to have a child together, we ought to get married. We could agree to separate later. It would make everything so much easier, not only for us, but for our baby too.”

  She pulled her hand free. “Now we’re back to why you wanted to marry me on board the Siren.”

  “I thought you were a wonderful wife, all I’ve ever wanted in a woman. I’d never really expected to meet anyone like you, and suddenly, there you were.”

  Until she’d discovered his lies, she’d have said he was all she wanted in a man. She wouldn’t let her mind stray in that sorry direction ever again. “We haven’t known each other for two months yet. Let’s not rush things.”

  He stood to scoop her into his arms and shifted her to his lap. “We’ve already rushed things, so there’s no reason to slow down. We could marry in France, or have your parents come here. My mother is so involved with her second husband she might not be able to attend, but I’d like to ask her. Her husband does huge modern paintings based on Greek myths. At least that’s what he says, but they look like big splashes of color to me.”

  She stiffened her posture rather than lean into his embrace, although his warmth nearly melted her bones. “Maybe he’s catching the emotion of the myth.”

  “That’s exactly what he says. People see different things when they look at his work. He might use shades of blue to depict a tragedy, while viewers see a peaceful, restful scene. Look, Ana, we’re talking to each other without either of us wanting to scream. That’s progress.”

  “For you perhaps.”

  He raised her fingertips to his lips. “Only for me? I want you to be happy so we can laugh together the way we used to.”

  She made the mistake of looking into his smoky gaze, and he took it as an invitation. His kiss tasted of chocolate, and his lazy affection made her crave more. Ignoring the stern warnings of her conscience, she wrapped her arms around his neck. Her life in free fall, she clung to him, all the while knowing she shouldn’t.

  He broke away to catch his breath. “We need to declare a truce.”

  “This tastes like one.” She shut out everything except how good it felt to be with him again. He kissed her as though he adored her, and she believed it just for tonight. When he carried her into her bedroom and placed her on the bed, she leaned back on her elbows while he yanked off her single boot. She hadn’t had a drop of wine, but desire alone made her woozy. When he pulled her sheath over her head, he looked startled by her new jet-black lingerie.

  “I may wear nothing but black from now on. Don’t you like it?”

  He ran a fingertip along the lacy edge of her bra. “I expected something more colorful, rather than a sexy widow’s bra and thong.”

  “Please don’t use the word widow,” she begged. “Let’s not tempt fate.” She straightened up to unbutton his shirt.

  He caught her hands. “That’s another reason for us to marry. If a crane toppled and flattened me on the docks, you’d be a very rich widow.”

  “Don’t joke,” she begged. “Let’s imagine we’ll live well into our nineties.”

  “Together?” He shook off his shirt and sat beside her to remove his shoes. “Imagine it, at least.”

  “Let’s stay in the here and now.” When his sleek body looked so good, she couldn’t focus on problems. He joined her on the bed with a single stretch. He kept his neck shaved so his beard looked handsome rather than scruffy, but when he raked his cheek up her thigh, it tickled. “Is it impolite for a woman to laugh at the man in her bed?” she asked.

  He kissed her knee. “It all depends on why she’s laughing.” He placed a sloppy wet kiss in her navel to make her giggle.

  She ran her fingers through his hair. She longed to stay with him, but her mind raced, searching for the next rude shock. A truce was wonderful, and she pressed her whole body against his to enjoy it, but she felt as though she were making love to a ticking bomb. She gulped in a breath of air.

  “What’s wrong? No, don’t tell me,” he urged. “I don’t want to hear anything other than grateful moans.”

  He tossed away her thong and used his mouth to pleasure her, and her worries drifted away on breathy sighs. He tilted her bottom so he could go deeper, and she clutched his inky hair to press him close. He teased her, made her hover on the edge of release and float down still wanting more. When he at last pushed her into a throbbing orgasm, she moaned his name and lay limp in his arms.

  “You’re the one who’s in danger of being widowed,” she murmured when she could finally speak.

  His warm breath brushed her shoulder. “Not if you don’t marry me.”

  “They might have to carry me into the church on a stretcher.”

  “A white satin stretcher with trailing ribbons,” he added. He hugged her close and nibbled her earlobe.

  She glowed in the lingering bliss. Sex might not be everything in a marriage, but when it was this good, did anything else matter? Undecided, she ran her hand down his flat belly to encircle his rock-hard cock. She’d not removed her wig and stared up at him with a sultry Goth-Girl gaze. “I’m so slippery wet, you won’t hurt me if you bury yourself deep.”

  “Tell me if I do.” He shifted over her, and she bent her left knee to welcome him. He caressed her slit with an easy thrust, dipped into her and withdrew. His calculated moves became a passionate dance, and when he had to give in, he carried her along with him into a shuddering ecstasy that left them both too sated to move apart.

  “I’ve missed you,” he whispered against her cheek.

  “Hmm.” She knew he’d want more, and so would she, but for now, she wished she could purr as loudly as Romeo.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The tantalizing aroma of freshly brewed coffee woke Ana Tuesday morning. Alejandro’s scent lingered in her bed, and she rolled herself in the sheets to soak him up. When he didn’t bring her a mug, she rose. She’d removed the wig before dawn, and her hair streamed about her head in wild disarray, perfectly suiting her mood. She donned her white satin robe and hopped into the kitchen. When she found Fatima rather than Alejandro, she forced a smile to hide her disappointment. “Good morning.”

  Fatima nodded toward the dining room table. “Your visitor left a note. I won’t offer an opinion on the company you keep, but I’m sorely tempted.”

  Ana turned and found a beautiful drawing of the cats curled around each other. Alejandro had used paper from her printer, written they’d all missed her and signed with a fancy A that could have come from the cover of a Gothic novel. She hopped by her housekeeper into her office and added it to a folder to be filed later.

  She wouldn’t justify how she’d spent her night to Fatima or anyone else and promptly changed the subject. “I haven’t decided what to wear this afternoon. Do you have a suggestion?” she asked.

  Fatima poured a mug of coffee and carried it to the dining table for her. “You don’t really do ruffles and frills, but you have a floral dress that would do.”

  “You’re right. That is pretty.” She took her chair at the dining room table and glanced t
hrough the paper. She suspected the editors of printing the same sad stories every day and just moving them around so readers would mistakenly believe the reports were current. She enjoyed working the crossword puzzles; those were always new.

  “Are you in the mood for another poached egg?” Fatima asked.

  “No, thank you, fresh fruit will do.”

  Fatima removed berries and melon from the refrigerator. “I’ve been thinking of baking some little creampuffs for this afternoon. It won’t take me long to make a custard filling. Dusted with powdered sugar, they’d go nicely with what’s left of the nut bread sandwiches.”

  “What’s left?” She hadn’t told Alejandro about the tea, and it tickled her to think he’d taken a handful on his way out. “I must have eaten more than I thought.”

  “Apparently so, but it can swiftly be replaced.” She brought a serving of fruit to the table in a crystal bowl.

  “Thank you, Fatima. I don’t thank you often enough.” She opened the paper to the crossword puzzle and ate her fruit slowly as she worked it.

  Alejandro shoved away from the desk and stood to watch the activity along the docks. The view had fascinated him as a child when it had all been a game with a thousand moving parts. What he felt now was the burden to keep everything moving where it should. The Mediterranean Queen was in port that week, and he couldn’t look at her without wishing the voyage he’d planned on the Siren had gone his way. He rubbed his neck, stretched, and had to admit he really needed to get more sleep than he’d had last night. He hoped Ana didn’t have plans for the day so she could stay in bed, but he wished he could have remained with her until Fatima had yanked the covers off the bed and insisted they get up.

  The tea was more fun than Ana had thought possible. Fatima put on a black dress and white apron to serve, and the ladies had dressed in their finest for the party. Ana had little in common with the four widows she’d invited other than a home address, but they told such entertaining stories she was sorry she hadn’t gotten to know them sooner. Vivien had married a childhood sweetheart. Ingrid had eloped with her father’s business partner. Judith and Helen had married men their families had encouraged them to wed, but only Judith had been happy.