Pregnant at Acosta's Demand

by Maya Blake

  ‘You’re overreacting.’

  He stepped closer, bringing more of that irritated, hard-packed body into her personal space. ‘Am I?’ he enquired softly, his gaze raking her face before it locked on her mouth.

  ‘Yes, you are,’ she said. And then because she lived with the same fear every single second, she cleared her throat. ‘But I have it on good authority, they will be done before the end of the week, so they will be out of your hair.’

  His eyes didn’t move from her mouth. ‘Bene. I will not have to tear my hair out after all.’

  Her gaze tracked to his full head of vibrant hair. ‘You can spare a few, I’m sure. And seeing as I’ve saved your mane, maybe you will start wearing a shirt?’ she asked, hoping her tone was less pleading and more irritated.

  Green eyes flicked up to meet hers. Then a low deep laugh rumbled up from his throat. Unfettered. Sexy. Spellbinding. The sound, rarely heard and not at all recently, wrapped around her. It only lasted a handful of seconds but every cell in her body lifted, strained towards the incredible sound.

  ‘You agree to no more carrying heavy stuff around and I’ll think about it,’ he replied.

  ‘Okay, fine. I agree.’

  He muttered something Spanish under his breath before resuming his stride down the hallway. When they reached the salon, he held the door open for her. The sun-drenched beauty of the room never failed to soothe her. She walked around, trailing her fingers over priceless antique furniture steeped in history.

  Ramon stayed at the entrance of the salon, leaning against the door frame and studying her for a long moment. When his scrutiny got too much, she dropped her hand from the bronze bust she’d been examining. ‘Is there any reason you’re staring at me like that?’

  ‘I’ve started working on the first piece he made me promise to do for you,’ he said, his voice containing a solemn tone that made her heart kick.

  ‘He...you mean Luis?’

  Ramon nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’re sculpting and painting again.’

  His face was unreadable. ‘Sí, it seems I am.’

  Suki wanted to ask how...when...why? Too scared of the answer, she ventured softly instead, ‘I...am I allowed to know what it is?’

  ‘It’s a sculpture. But I haven’t decided what it’ll be yet. I sketched out a few ideas. But I need a live representation. I choose you.’

  Shock slayed her. ‘Me?’

  ‘To be the subject, sí.’

  A shiver went through her. There was something viscerally exposing about what he was asking. ‘I’m not...are you—?’

  ‘Don’t think up excuses.’

  ‘I wasn’t. I was just going to ask if you were sure.’

  He shrugged. ‘I have tried several inanimate objects. They’re not working. You are the most convenient living test subject.’

  ‘Wow, suddenly I don’t feel so special,’ she muttered.

  A heavy and bleak expression fleeted through his eyes. ‘You were special to him. I should’ve considered you first and saved myself much wasted time.’

  Her hurt abated a little even though she knew she would need a scalpel to dig out the precious meaning hidden in his words.

  ‘Will you do it?’ he rasped.

  It would be a gift from her best friend from beyond the grave. One she could cherish for ever. ‘Yes, of course I will.’

  He gestured her forward. ‘Good. Let’s go.’

  She looked down at the white cotton, short-sleeved tunic she’d thrown on hastily this morning to meet the restorers. Beneath it, she wore the canary-yellow bikini that had fast become her favourite swimsuit. ‘Do I need to change?’

  He conducted a long scrutiny from loose hair to sandalled feet. ‘No, you’re fine as you are.’

  They left the villa by way of a little-used hallway at the back of the villa. Like everywhere in the villa and on the grounds, the winding stone path dissecting the back garden and leading to Ramon’s brick and glass studio was immaculately kept. He punched in a code and the sturdy double doors sprang ajar.

  Her preconceived idea of what Ramon’s artist’s studio would look like was smashed to smithereens the second she walked in. He’d cleaned up the carnage, obviously, but still, expecting the stereotypical, paint-splattered chaos of a passionate artist’s creative space, she froze to a halt at what confronted her.

  On either side of the whitewashed walls, rows of tall and short objects were covered with black cloth. And on the long bench that held dozens of pots of paint and brushes, each one was laid out at a precise angle.

  The floor beneath her feet had been painted a pristine white too, the light pouring in from the windows giving the space an almost other-worldly dimension.

  A dimension where everything was set in its place. Almost chastely so.

  Everything except the raised platform at the end of the space and the single black armchair that served as an observation point for the platform. On the floor next to the chair, a half-empty bottle of dark rum stood next to a crystal tumbler containing dregs of amber liquid.

  As if that weren’t awe-inspiring enough, her gaze rose higher, her eyes widening as she walked further forward to better see the untouched slab of solid black granite suspended from the ceiling.

  Against the white walls and floor, the platform and the piece that would form a stunning sculpture one day was wildly hypnotic, commanding and receiving attention. Suki stopped behind the chair, unable to take her eyes off it.

  The mental vision of Ramon watching that piece of stone, sketching, viscerally connecting with his subject...his muse...breathing life into the piece was so visually mesmerising, she didn’t hear him speak above the growing buzzing in her blood.

  ‘Suki?’

  She snatched a quick, restorative breath and faced him. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Are you okay?’

  She nodded quickly, dragging her gaze from the spectacle before her. ‘I’m fine. Umm...why is everything covered?’ she asked, hoping to cover her flustered senses.

  ‘I don’t like distractions when I work.’

  Distractions or reminders?

  Unbidden, the memory of how Ramon and Svetlana had met rose to her mind. According to Luis, he’d seen her on a catwalk in Milan and had been so struck with her, he’d asked to paint her. Within days they were lovers. Before their first month was over, he’d asked her to marry him.

  Emotion she recognised as naked jealousy spiked through her blood. ‘Do you have other studios?’ she blurted before she could stop herself.

  The unexpected question drew a frown. ‘No, this is my only one. Why?’

  So he’d brought Svetlana here. Painted and sculpted her here. Suki shook her head, swallowing down the sick feeling that surged high. ‘I’m just...curious.’

  He continued to stare at her for probing seconds. Unable to stand it, she turned around, walked closer to the steps leading up to the platform. This time the noise in her ears was the creaky churning of her heart. And again she didn’t hear him when he addressed her.

  ‘I’m sorry, what did you say?’

  He prowled to the edge of the platform, stared down at her with narrowed eyes. ‘I said, take off your dress.’

  Her heart skidded, then jumped into her throat as heat engulfed her. ‘I...what?

  ‘The dress, Suki. Take it off. Then lie down on there.’ He indicated behind her with his chin.

  Turning, she saw that the slab had somehow been lowered to hip level. From where she stood it looked like a narrow bed. A bed from which would be hewn a magnificent piece of art from Ramon’s hands. The same hands that had thrilled her so thoroughly when they’d made love.

  Sizzling heat flowed over her body, singeing the apex of her thighs and tightening her nipples in remembered torment. Crossing her arms in fr
ont of her to hide her body’s weakness, she slipped off her thongs and climbed up the three shallow steps of the platform. Behind her, Ramon tracked her movements, towering over her as she slowly reached out to touch the stone.

  There was no give in the chains holding it in place.

  ‘Don’t be concerned—it will hold your weight.’

  She wanted to say that wasn’t her concern. She wanted to say she didn’t want to lie down because she was afraid of what she would reveal from being this close to something so powerful. Of what he’d see when she was exposed to him.

  And she would be. Ramon had been right when he recounted Luis’s imitation of her the one time they visited Piedra Galleries in London. Every single one of Ramon’s pieces of work had held her in thrall. Touching his pieces had been like touching the man himself.

  And that was even before she’d shared his bed, taken him into her body. Been impregnated with his child. Now the sensation was ten times more potent. Because all those feelings were beginning to take a certain shape, make a terrifying kind of sense.

  Sensing her prevarication, he stepped closer.

  ‘Now, Suki,’ he commanded huskily from behind her.

  She wanted to refuse. But, of course, she didn’t. Because the slavish compulsion to give him what he wanted also made a terrifying kind of sense.

  She caught the hem of her tunic, her hands efficiently tugging the flimsy material over her head.

  His harsh exhalation echoed through the space as he caught the dress from her weak fingers and flung it away.

  ‘Now the rest,’ he instructed thickly.

  Her breath strangled in her lungs but refusal never crossed her mind. Fingers shaking, she tugged the strings of the bikini top and bottom free until they fell away, until she stood naked, her head bowed, her tumbling hair flowing over her shoulders.

  Slowly, she sensed him circling her, tracking her every shiver, her every breath.

  When he stopped directly in front of her, she raised her head, met his gaze straight on.

  Saw for herself that he too was affected.

  Hectic colour tinged taut cheekbones, his bare chest rising and falling in ragged breathing. Both hands came up and wrapped around the chains securing the slab, his knuckles showing white as his red-hot gaze flew over her body.

  ‘Lie down, Suki.’ Again the instruction was thick, his voice barely discernible.

  Two short steps brought her to the raw ingredient that would form his masterpiece. Reaching out, she touched it, familiarised herself with its texture. Lowering herself onto it, she stretched out on her back. The heat of her body meeting the cold drew a shiver and a gasp from her.

  Ramon stared down at her, her feet a scant inch from his powerful thighs and the potent reaction to her that currently bulged behind his zipper. Suki wasn’t sure whether it was the fire from his gaze or the blaze from her body that soon warmed the stone beneath her.

  Ferocious need clamouring through her, she couldn’t stop the sinuous movement of her body or the hand that slid over her midriff to rest on her belly.

  Although she’d gained weight in the last several weeks, her stomach had remained flat. And yet she felt different, her not-yet-visible pregnancy powering a change she felt from head to toe.

  Now, as Ramon’s eyes lingered at the place where their child grew, a tumult of emotions wove over his face.

  ‘Dios mio,’ he breathed as his gaze raked over her, absorbed the subtle changes in her body.

  After a long minute, he lurched away from the slab. Going to the long workbench, he grabbed a large sketchpad and a thin wedge of grey charcoal. Returning, he threw himself into the chair, poured a finger of rum and knocked it back.

  Then his hand began to fly over the surface of the pad.

  Time sped up. Or slowed to a crawl. She lost the ability to judge as she was caught up in a singularly transcendental experience.

  When Ramon instructed her, she turned this way and that, making sure not to jar her body. Finally, he set the pad down and poured himself another drink.

  Eyes gone almost black with unfathomable emotions regarded her as he rolled the tumbler between his palms.

  Had she not lived through his effortless rejection of her these past few weeks, or known that everything he did was in pursuit of his heir, Suki’s heart would’ve soared high.

  But the knowledge was inescapable. And with it came an agony that drew a rough sound from her throat. Probing eyes that saw way too much shifted from where they were stalled on the rise and fall of her stomach to snag her own.

  Tossing the drink back, he stood and came up the platform, caught her hand and helped her upright. ‘Are you okay?’ he rasped.

  Attempting to speak past the sensation clogging her throat was hard, but she barely managed. ‘Did you get what you needed?’

  For some reason the question made him tense.

  One by one, the emotions disappeared from his face and he brought himself under rigid, effortless control. Resolutely, he stepped back and left the platform, once again rejecting her. ‘Yes. You can get dressed now.’

  As Suki slid off the slab, retied her bikini and pulled on her tunic, her heart finally accepted the truth and tumbled into deep mourning. But even the monumental knowledge of what had happened didn’t stop her from caressing the granite one last time.

  Because whether or not Ramon used the sketches he’d made of her, she would associate this studio, this platform, this piece of stone with the moment she’d accepted that her stupid crush had turned into something much, much bigger for ever.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ‘I THINK WE need a change of scene.’

  ‘A change of scene to where?’ Suki asked without turning around from where she was basking in the spectacular sunset. In the two weeks since he’d taken the sketches of her, she’d barely seen Ramon. Each morning after breakfast, he disappeared into his studio.

  His presence at lunch and dinner had been replaced by an extra attentive Teresa, who had even attempted to learn a few English phrases in order to engage her in conversation.

  As much as Suki appreciated the housekeeper’s efforts her appetite had been reduced to forcing food down merely to maintain a healthy pregnancy.

  She was in love with Ramon Acosta.

  He was only interested in the baby she carried.

  No matter how many times she told herself the latter to mitigate any further pain, her heart lurched harder, the pain growing more acute. Her hand tightened around the metal banister that edged the villa’s flat roof terrace.

  Suki had taken to escaping up here when the worst of the day’s heat abated to enjoy the sunset, and the cast-iron bench seats with plump cushions set beneath a simple ivy-covered gazebo were the perfect place to retreat. Either with a book or with the thoughts that were determined not to leave her be.

  Hearing the clatter of crockery behind her, she turned to see one of Teresa’s minions was heading their way holding a tray. Suki had stopped wondering how the housekeeper knew when to strike with her snacks but then discovered there was actually a twenty-four-hour roster in the kitchen ensuring the endless supply of food.

  The unexpected appearance and steady approach of the man who dominated those thoughts sent a skitter of alarm over her skin.

  And equally punishing, he was once again shirtless.

  She couldn’t hide her reaction to the electrifying stimulus or stop the breath that caught dangerously in her midriff, all of which Ramon clocked with perceptive eyes.

  ‘Come and sit down.’ He indicated the chairs, murmuring an order to the maid before relieving her of the tray of refreshing drinks and a plate of yemitas.

  Leaving the balcony, she took a seat on the sofa, numbly accepting a cup of decaf coffee she had no interest in drinking and a small platter of past
ries.

  Ramon helped himself to an espresso before he snagged one pastry for himself. Sitting back, he chewed and swallowed, his inscrutable eyes on her. ‘My art foundation holds a month-long talent-sourcing contest for Cuban artists every September. It’s open to twenty-five entrants. The final selection is made in mid-October and we showcase ten of them at my galleries over a two-week period.’

  The unexpected subject that had nothing to do with food or vitamins piqued her interest. ‘Here in Cuba?’

  He nodded. ‘Initially, but also in other Piedra Galleries. Teresa tells me you’ve stopped eating and are a whisper away from going stir crazy. Now your mother is back in London undergoing the second stage of her treatment, I think we should visit the galleries together. We can stop in London to see your mother after Madrid.’

  She didn’t clock the middle part of his statement immediately because she was too busy being giddy at the thought of time spent on something else other than her tormenting thoughts. Even if that time involved seeing Ramon’s work again. ‘That would be—wait, you’ve been having Teresa spy on me?’ Her voice rose almost comically.

  He gave an unapologetic shrug. ‘She’s just as invested in your welfare as I am. And I’m hoping we’ll get you out of here before that situation fully blooms.’

  ‘I’m not going stir—’ She stopped as the maid returned, holding something in her hand. Rising fluidly to his feet, Ramon took it from her and returned tugging a dark sea-green T-shirt over his chest. Absurdly, even though her senses screamed at the torture of being subjected to the breathtaking masterpiece of his body, she mourned its disappearance once he covered himself up. It was probably why she was still staring at him as he returned, sat down and drained his coffee.

  Setting his mug on the tray, he cocked an eyebrow at her. ‘Are you happy now, belleza?’ he drawled.

  Tuning off her observation of the amazing things the colour did to his eyes, she finished her own decaf coffee. ‘It’s a good start,’ she declared briskly.

  Her senses were too jumpy to ascertain whether she caught a trace of laughter before he inclined his head. ‘The first exhibition is this Friday. My assistant will put together an itinerary and put the medical team on standby.’