The Notorious Gabriel DiazRuthless Tycoon, Inexperienced Mistress

by Cathy Williams

  She had to constantly remind herself that the voice which had guided her away from accepting something that should never be offered without love was the voice that should be heeded, because Cesar was on the charm offensive. He phoned her, helped her sort out the rental of her cottage, single-handedly made sure that every stick she wanted to take with her was duly transported. She had no idea what havoc this was wreaking with his precious work life but when she tried to ask he waved aside her questions as though they were an irrelevance. In the end, Jude gave up. She accepted his presence and kept to herself just how pleasurable she found it being in his company, especially like this, when they weren’t arguing.

  They also weren’t in any way touching.

  He greeted her with a careful peck on the cheek and said goodbye in the same way. It made Jude feel like an inanimate object, one which he was duty-bound to protect, though not so treasured that he was inclined to caress.

  He had pressed the fast forward button on the physical attraction part of their relationship and arrived at that place which she had foreseen slightly further down the line. Instead of feeling more justified in knowing that she had done the right thing in turning him down, she just felt horribly hollow and empty.

  A week after she’d moved in, she gave in to the perverse desire to put this to the test.

  Cesar had phoned her earlier in the day and told her that he would be taking her out to dinner. Dinner with Cesar invariably involved a very expensive restaurant. Making do with what happened to be lying about in the kitchen was no more than a fond memory of two days snatched in her cottage when a lack of choice had seen him play at domesticity.

  He showed up at the house promptly at seven. He must have quit work at a ridiculous hour, especially considering it was Friday, the day before the rest of the world rested, when he was inclined to work long into the night on anything that couldn’t survive a weekend break. He was, tellingly, no longer in his work gear. The weather had improved steadily over the weeks and he was in a pair of jeans that lovingly moulded his muscular legs and a navy-blue jumper, the cost of which was only apparent in the very small logo on one side.

  ‘I’ve decided to cook something,’ Jude said, leading him through to the sitting room, into which she had brought all her mementoes from the cottage, but retained the furniture that had been left there.

  ‘I can smell it. Why?’

  ‘Don’t you ever get tired of eating out?’

  ‘It’s a lifestyle that’s grown on me over the years. Have you seen my brother recently? He is beginning to look like a married man.’

  This was the Cesar he had become, someone who could charmingly talk about anything and everything, but without the passion that had driven him in their past fraught encounters. Over the meal she had prepared, he chatted amicably about Freddy and the jazz club, which was due for its big opening night in three months. Already the signs were that it wouldn’t take long to break even and then would prove to have been a profitable investment.

  Cesar, typically, was not averse to some self-promotion on this front but laughed when she gave him a knowing look from under her lashes.

  ‘Okay!’ He raised his hands in mock surrender. ‘You can’t shoot a guy for trying.’

  Jude started to clear the table and said casually, ‘Do you think that I’m beginning to look fat?’ She offered her profile for his inspection, knowing that her bump was there but still small, although her breasts had grown.

  After his sarcastic remark about her very practical dungarees, she had put them aside for a while and was in a pair of black fitted trousers and a black long-sleeved jersey top with tiny buttons halfway down the front.

  She was also not wearing a bra, having grown out of her old ones but not wanting to commit to unnecessary expenditure when she might well get bigger.

  Cesar drew in his breath sharply.

  The past few weeks had seen him taking his time with her, behaving in a manner that was alien to him when it came to women, particularly considering he had slept with this woman and she still haunted his mind, tantalising him with the memory of her body, which was filling out now, her breasts enlarging, her once flat stomach showing signs of the baby she was carrying.

  But she didn’t want him, or at least not enough, and he wasn’t going to rock the boat by throwing her back on the defensive. Knowing that she would probably involuntarily respond to him if he touched her was worthless knowledge. He wanted her mind to respond as well as her body because her mind would not want to sweep the physical attraction between them under the carpet where it could lie out of sight and out of mind.

  ‘A pregnant woman cannot be classified as fat,’ he said neutrally. Of course he knew that she wasn’t wearing a bra. He had known it the minute he had stepped through the door. It was also pretty obvious that her breasts had expanded as well. They would now be a full handful. And her nipples, he guessed, would also have swelled with the pregnancy, swelled and darkened. He didn’t want to look at that sideways view being innocently offered for his inspection, he didn’t want to see the outline of those nipples with their little firm buds pressing against the fabric of her top.

  ‘I feel fat,’ Jude said lightly, running her hands over her stomach. ‘I think it’s because I’ve always been so skinny and everywhere’s bigger now. Not just my stomach.’

  Cesar, invited to see what those other bits were, reluctantly looked at her breasts. ‘To be expected.’ He was surprised to hear his voice sounding so normal. ‘I guess you’ll have to start investing in bigger clothes. It goes without saying that any purchases will be put on the credit card I gave you.’

  Jude sighed with a mixture of frustration and resignation. Point proved. If she ripped off her clothes now he would probably warn her about the dangers of catching cold in her fragile state. Had he even noticed that she had dumped the bra?

  ‘Have you used that card at all?’ Cesar took refuge in the sheer boredom of talking about spending and credit cards. If she only knew the effect she had on him, she would run a mile.

  ‘Of course I haven’t!’ Jude snapped. The house came with a dishwasher but she preferred the cathartic process of washing the dishes herself, which she now began to do with great vigour. ‘I am still working, still earning my own money and, in fact, in a month’s time I’ll be getting a rental income from the cottage so my finances are looking healthy. No need to dip into the vast Caretti reserves just yet!’

  ‘You throw that in my face as though it’s an insult to have it at your disposal!’

  Jude could think of something else that was a lot more insulting, namely the way he had politely looked at her body and then told her that weight gain was to be expected. It was the sort of thing her doctor might tell her before giving her a lecture on making sure to eat well and avoid alcohol.

  She did quite like the idea of arguing with him because an argument would mean heat and passion of a sort, but pregnancy had mellowed her, so instead she made her peace and carried on making her peace for the remainder of the evening, which was pleasantly spent until he was ready to leave at a little after eleven.

  He was going to be away for a few days from next Monday, he told her as he lounged against the door frame on his way out. Would she be able to manage?

  ‘Of course I’ll be able to manage,’ Jude told him irritably. ‘I keep telling you that you don’t have to watch over me like a mother hen.’

  ‘Great comparison. Guaranteed to make a man feel so virile.’

  ‘I don’t have to tell you that you’re virile,’ she said even more irritably. ‘You know you are.’

  ‘Oh, yes. So I am.’ He reached out and touched her stomach, keeping his hand flat on the small mound, then rubbing it gently, which sent shivers of inappropriate excitement racing up and down her spine. She wondered what he would do if she grabbed his hand and pushed it under her T-shirt.

  ‘I’ve bought one of those pregnancy books,’ he admitted, removing his hand and sticking it into the pocket of his trouse
rs.

  ‘You’ve bought a pregnancy book?’ Jude laughed. ‘You never said. Is it your bedtime reading? I thought you went to bed with important reports and your laptop computer!’

  ‘I’ve only dipped into it,’ Cesar told her gruffly. ‘And I would seriously advise you against reading one of those things. They’re full of horror stories.’

  ‘That’s probably because you’re squeamish.’ Jude was still laughing at the thought of this big, dominant male reading a pregnancy manual and feeling queasy.

  ‘You’re talking to one of the least squeamish men to walk the earth. I am also incredibly robust, never a day’s illness.’

  ‘That’s because you’re so bossy that germs can’t be bothered to attack you.’

  ‘Things are good between us, aren’t they, Jude? Admit it. We can talk like this, laugh… Tell me why you find it so damned difficult to commit to me! I was supposed to be the commitment-phobe.’

  ‘Don’t spoil the night, Cesar.’

  And, besides…what was he committing to? Fulfilling his obligations as a prospective parent? Being a superb financial provider? Having an amicable relationship with her, one in which they would be able to behave in a civilised fashion for the sake of the child?

  He would see all that as the greatest sacrifice but he didn’t love her and from all appearances was no longer even physically attracted to her, which meant that he could throw out that word commitment as much as he liked. In the end it all amounted to him wanting to put in place a marriage of convenience because it suited him. The most dangerous mistake she could ever make would be to think that there wasn’t a fist of steel within the velvet glove.

  Cesar reined in his patience with difficulty.

  ‘No. No, I wouldn’t want to do that,’ he said curtly. He looked away, then back down at her. ‘You have all my numbers. Call me, okay?’

  Jude had no intention of calling Cesar. She could recognise that there was a thin line between what she saw as making the best of her situation and digging a hole for herself. It could become far too easy to develop a dependency on a Cesar who was pushing the boat out with his friendly charm.

  In fact, she looked forward to having some time to herself. She would really focus on her work; there were a couple of projects which needed to be completed. She would also visit Freddy and Imogen and remind herself of what a union between two people should be like because she couldn’t afford to be lulled into thinking that what she and Cesar shared was a viable basis for anything more than a couple who would be sharing the upbringing of a child.

  What Jude hadn’t expected was to return to the house the following Thursday afternoon and have to deal with the unthinkable, the one thing which neither she nor Cesar had factored into the equation.

  It was only a couple of spots of blood but at that point in time the bottom seemed to drop out of her world.

  Outside, it was a glorious day. She had enjoyed her meeting with the young couple who had been impressed with her designs and she had driven back to the house in an upbeat mood, already looking forward to the distraction of loads of work after the baby was born, which would keep her mind preoccupied. She had concluded that a preoccupied mind was a sure-fire remedy to the daunting prospect of dealing with Cesar.

  She could feel the slow swell of panic rising inside her like a destructive tide.

  Should she remain where she was? Sit very still and hope that the bleeding stopped? She tried to remember what she had read about unexpected bleeding during pregnancy but her thoughts were all over the place. She was scared to check and terrified by the sickening possibility that she might lose the baby.

  And she didn’t want to call Cesar.

  Her words were stumbling over one another when she eventually mustered all her courage and phoned her doctor. It was probably nothing to worry about, he said…nothing to worry about!…but, to be on the safe side, she should go to the hospital…he would phone ahead so that they knew to expect her… Safe side? Hospital?

  Every word sounded like a death knell to the child growing inside her.

  Jude wasn’t sure how she managed to have sufficient wits about her to call a taxi to take her to the hospital, or how she managed to circumnavigate the endless signposted corridors leading to the hundreds of different specialised wards, arriving at the right one, and all this done without breaking down and sobbing.

  At some point during the anxious, convoluted journey, she had phoned Imogen and told her what was happening but keeping it light and repeating the doctor’s refrain, not a single word of which she actually believed.

  ‘No need to worry Cesar,’ she said. ‘He’s only just back in the country. Very busy. Silly to get him worried for nothing…’

  She had given herself stern lectures, had done her damnedest to protect herself from the heartache of being with the man she loved who did not return her love, had laid down the ground rules for dealing with his presence in her life for years to come. She had envisaged a time when he might tell her that he was involved with someone else, had fallen in love against all odds, had finally put the ghost of his wife to rest because he had met someone to whom he was willing to give his heart. And that, unlike all those conveniences the vast reserves of Caretti money could buy, was priceless.

  All told, she had recreated a thousand scenarios in her head and all of them had been based on the assumption that they would be sharing a child.

  She hadn’t imagined a future without Cesar’s child. She was young, her pregnancy had been straightforward. Not once had she worried about the technicalities of her body doing what it was supposed to do and taking this pregnancy to full term.

  Now she was having to contemplate another future and it was one in which Cesar would have nothing to do with her because there would be no need, no duty to fulfil. He wouldn’t need to be friendly, witty, attentive. He wouldn’t want to have her in a house that was conveniently located so that he could have quick access to her.

  True to his word, her doctor had telephoned the hospital in advance of her arrival and she was shown immediately to a bed in the maternity unit to await a scan.

  As before, the usual soothing platitudes were rolled out. Jude nodded and pretended to believe them.

  She underwent an examination, ignored what her consultant said about not worrying and was taken to have an ultrasound scan.

  She wished that Cesar was with her. Then she imagined his face if everything started going wrong and realised that it was a blessing that he wasn’t. For the first time it was brought home to her with remorseless clarity just how fragile their relationship was and just how weak she had been in allowing him to take over her life.

  Her heart was beating like a hammer as she lay on the narrow bed in the darkened scan room and watched the monitor as the sonographer studied her baby. She was mesmerised by the detail she could see moving. Everything, she was told soothingly, was fine.

  Jude realised that nothing was fine. This scare had been gifted to her as a learning curve. She had become complacent. She had fallen victim to her own fanciful notions. What was the point in giving yourself stern lectures and then going out and doing just the opposite? She had allowed herself to set up home in a bubble, won over by a few smiles and kindly gestures.

  Besides, the doctors said that everything looked fine. They had also told her that she needed complete bed rest and had been vague when quizzed about worst-case scenarios, telling her that she shouldn’t fill her head with nonsense but that she should just take it easy.

  With her imagination now doing a merry jig in her head, however, Jude was managing to convince herself that the baby she was so desperate to have, the baby she had foolishly taken for granted, was a vulnerable life held in the balance, its future out of her control.

  Changes would have to be made. What she and Cesar shared was a business arrangement and she had stupidly allowed herself to forget that.

  Put aside the rose-tinted specs for a minute, she thought relentlessly, and what did she see? Some
one keeping her sweet for the time being because it suited him.

  What had he been doing, for instance, while he had been away? Cesar Caretti wasn’t the average male. He was the stupendously sexy, immensely rich and powerful head of an empire. A man who was well aware of his sex appeal and had never dated anyone who hadn’t resembled a model from a glossy magazine. In fact, he had probably dated a fair few models from glossy magazines. So was it really likely that he had been to New York and contented himself with business dinners and work? With no play on the side? Especially when he was no longer interested in her from a sexual point of view?

  Unanswered questions grew in her head, proliferating and twisting themselves around her mind like ivy.

  Of course, she would have to see him some time, probably when she was released from the hospital, where she had been advised to stay overnight so that they could monitor her vitals. The bleeding had stopped and, while her level of panic was now receding, her head seemed to have cleared.

  She was feeling quite pleased with herself when she finally drifted off to sleep to the sound of trolleys being wheeled outside the little room into which she had been put.

  She woke up to the sound of someone in her room, the quiet pad of footsteps and then the scraping of a chair as it was pulled close to the bed.

  Jude knew who it was without opening her eyes. It seemed that something about Cesar could send her antennae onto full alert even when she wasn’t actually looking at him.

  ‘How did you know I was here?’ She reluctantly opened her eyes and was startled to find him sitting closer to her than she had thought.

  ‘Imogen told me. Why the hell didn’t you call me yourself?’

  ‘I didn’t see the need.’

  Cesar controlled the temptation to explode. He had already had a word with her consultant and been told that everything appeared to be fine but that she should take it easy, at least for the next few weeks. Shouting was just going to stress her out.