His kiss was demanding more, and she clung to him, burning for his touch, his possession, demanding the same.
Distantly she heard the birds in the trees. Felt the warm sea-tinged breeze sweep over them. Then a foreign sound intruded. Loud. Jarring. Breaking the mood.
“Damn,” he said as he pulled his phone from his pocket and glared at the display. But she knew what it was before he spoke. Knew and resented that her career had intruded on their privacy. “Your next session starts in less than an hour. We’d better catch the next ferry or you will be late.”
Two hours later Leila was running on pure adrenaline and willpower. The photographer had struggled to find just the right mix of sunlight and breeze to capture his effect and that had cost time. But the monotony of doing the shoot over and over was draining and, despite a liberal coating of sunscreen, Leila’s skin felt uncomfortably hot.
Even Rafael looked weary with his dark sunglasses shielding his eyes and his stark-white shirt snapping in the increasing wind. He hadn’t said a word the entire time, but his body language bellowed his arrogant vigilance of her with his rigid posture and crossed arms.
That made his presence as unnerving as it was welcome, for while she appreciated his support, she hated that he stood like a guard over her. Just one cross look had some of the crew taking a wide berth of him.
“That’s a wrap for today,” the photographer finally said. “We’ve lost the light.”
And she was fast losing her stamina.
The wind and sun had left her feeling baked. Her legs trembled and her knees were weak from holding a pose for so long. Her face ached from holding a sultry look.
But once she’d got over the annoyance of having her private time with Rafael ruined, she’d channeled her energy to the job at hand. In truth she did enjoy working with this photographer, for the emotions he could coax from her were always cutting edge.
Right now those feelings came across easily, for her nerves were still humming with the memory of their amorous picnic on Île Sainte-Marguerite.
She longed to return to their suite and finish what they’d started in that secluded cove, even though it wouldn’t be long enough. The premiere of Bare Souls was tonight, followed by another lavish party by the client on board another yacht.
As the model for that scent, she had to be there. She had to be “on,” pretending that all was perfect in her career and her marriage.
“Fabulous shoot, Leila. You are always a pleasure to work with,” Siobhan said. “The white bikini you’re wearing and accompanying wrap are compliments of the designer.”
“Please thank them for me,” Leila said.
She accepted the floral cover-up the assistant handed her and quickly donned it. Like most of the clothes given her, she’d donate it to the charity auction she sponsored, with the money going to fund educations for impoverished young girls in Brazil.
“Tomorrow’s shoot is in a vineyard near Nice,” Siobhan said. “The limo will be waiting for you in the morning.”
She managed a nod and mumbled her thanks. If she stayed up late tonight, she’d be dragging in the morning. That was a laugh! She was exhausted now.
Leila wet her dry lips and took a dizzying step toward the cabana, her thoughts spinning as wildly as the lights strung between the tents. The intensity of the sun seemed far more brutal even though the temperatures were on the warm pleasant side now.
Her legs trembled with each step, as if she was moving in slow motion. Not so for Rafael.
He came toward her with surprising speed. “Leila, what’s wrong?”
She blinked, but the yellow and black spots continued to dance in front of her eyes. “I don’t know.”
“Maldição!” Strong arms swept her up and carried her inside the cool confines of the cabana.
She felt him lower her onto the plush cushions, felt the breeze whisper over her body as the punishing glare of the sun was blotted out.
Something cool was pressed to her forehead, her throat, and she moaned her pleasure. She forced open her eyes, blinking rapidly as the blur of colors slowly cleared.
A moment of uncertainty hit her before she remembered what had happened. She’d fainted. She never fainted.
To do so was too close to the collapse she’d had as a teenager when her body had refused to continue down the destructive course she’d taken.
Her vision narrowed, focusing on Rafael alone. The stark worry striking bold lines around his eyes and mouth scared her more than her bout of dizziness.
“I’m fine,” she said, and made to rise.
He pressed her shoulders back on the chaise. “You are not fine, querida.”
He was right. She was tired. Exhausted. And the festival was just getting under way.
“Excuse me,” a stocky man said gruffly as he pushed his way through the crew gathered on the perimeter. “I am Dr. Dubois. How are you feeling?”
“Tired,” she said, as he opened a small black case.
“Hmm.” He pressed a stethoscope to her chest, listening, his features bland. “Have you been hydrating yourself?”
“Yes,” she said. “But this session was longer than most and the sun was brutal.”
The doctor gave her a superficial exam. “You should relax and get some more fluids in you. If the dizziness persists, see a doctor immediately. Oui?”
“Yes, we will,” Rafael said.
“I will be fine,” she insisted twenty minutes later, more for her benefit than his when they returned to their suite.
“I know you will because I am going to be there to make sure you drink and eat and take care of yourself,” he said, looking every inch the arrogant, demanding male.
She hiked her chin up in challenge, refusing to relinquish control of her life, especially when it came to what she ate and drank. “Do you intend to forgo your plans to shadow me?”
“If I must.”
Such arrogance!
She kicked off her slings and dropped onto the sofa, hoping she projected an aura of elegant relaxation instead of exhaustion. “I just need to take it easy and I’ll be fine.”
He looked at her carefully, his early amorous mood vanishing. “You need to relax for a day at least, likely more.”
“This isn’t a vacation for us,” she said.
“What if it were?”
Her head snapped up, her heart skipping a beat on its own. Them on vacation? Together? Like they’d been on the island?
The temptation to lounge and make love and do nothing but enjoy each other like they had in the early days of their marriage was oh so enticing. So terrifying too, for her own love for her husband gave him the upper hand. And Rafael could be so persuasive when he set his mind to it.
Still, she found herself asking, “Where would you want to go on this vacation?”
“Someplace without phones, without crowds, without distractions.” His hot gaze slid down her torso and took a slow caressing glide back to meet her eyes. “Someplace were we could be alone to do whatever we wanted whenever the mood struck.”
Her breath caught at that, for there had been many times of late when the same idea had seemed so enticing. The escape she needed—yet she didn’t kid herself into thinking she’d get a lot of rest if Rafael was with her! Just thinking back to their picnic today proved how they’d likely spend their time.
And wouldn’t that be a dream come true, to have him alone without distractions, without plans encroaching on their idyll?
“You’d grow bored without your gadgets,” she said, struggling for a light tone.
“Not if you were there with me,” he said. “I want my wife back in my life full-time.”
The thought was so tempting. To be Rafael’s wife and lover as she longed to be. To go to sleep each night in his arms. To wake with him beside her each morning.
Yet he’d made it clear that he wanted more. “You want a child. You want me to give up my career to be a mother.”
His gaze caught and held hers. “Ther
e was a time when we both dreamed of the day we’d have a family. Were those lies to appease me at the time?”
“No, it’s not that at all.” She pressed her fingers to her temples, her eyes suddenly burning with tears, her heart aching for what she’d lost. What she could still lose.
Tell him! Trust him to understand!
“My God, I want to have your baby more than anything,” she said, her voice cracking with emotion now. “But I’m afraid, Rafael. I’m afraid I’ll suffer another miscarriage, or worse.”
Rafael froze, his mind taking in her words, processing her admission. Leila had been pregnant before? She’d lost their baby? And what the hell did she mean by worse? What could be worse than losing their baby?
“Leila, you were pregnant?” he asked, gripping her upper arms and jolting when she nearly collapsed against his chest.
He folded her in his arms, absorbing her tremors. She was scaring the hell out of him now, for this wasn’t like her. This wasn’t the Leila that was always in control.
“I—I didn’t kn-know, Rafael,” she said between gulping sobs, her tears soaking his shirtfront and burning his skin. “I’m s-so sorry. So sorry.”
He pinched his eyes shut and held her, stunned to know they’d conceived once. That the baby he had wanted so much had been created and lost.
No, that they’d lost this precious life, for it was clear Leila was just as heartbroken as he.
A thousand questions bombarded him, but he could only force one from his constricted throat. A question that he was sure he knew the answer to, for he hadn’t touched her this past year until their quick rendezvous in March. “When did this happen?” he asked. She said nothing for the longest time until her sobs gradually eased. Until the tremors that racked her lessened to occasional shivers. “September,” she said.
Eight months ago! He sucked air into his tight lungs, unable to believe she’d kept this from him for so long. That she was only just telling him now.
Anger surged through him, for how could she hide this from him when she knew how much he yearned for a family. “Why didn’t you tell me when this happened?”
Her fingers splayed on his chest, but he gained no comfort from her touch, not when his heart was frozen with shock and grief. “You were away in Brazil when I miscarried, busy with your work, and when you returned I was off on location. I didn’t see you again until March.”
He swore, knowing she hadn’t exaggerated. The past year had been a constant whirl of activity for both of them. It had been the turning point in his career just as her own had taken another upswing to launch her into superstardom.
“I wanted to tell you in March,” she said, “but so much time had passed by then. And we had so little time together. I didn’t want to ruin it by telling you. Please forgive me.”
He was mad as hell that this had happened. Furious with himself for being away, that she’d suffered this loss alone.
That she’d grieved in solitude.
He should have been by her side. Holding her hand. Grieving with her. Instead he had been on location with the film company—a remote location deep in the jungle. His phone connection had been virtually nil.
He tipped his head back and let his anger drift from him like smoke from a spent fire, welcoming the pain of grief that quickly threaded inside him to wrap around his heart. Dammit, this hurt like hell.
His hands moved slowly, tenderly, up Leila’s spine. He should have been with her, and he’d never forgive himself for being away so long.
She was still burrowed against his chest, but her sobs had lessened and her breathing was somewhat normal. Despite her sorrow, he sensed the steel in her spine, that unbreakable, unbendable will that he so admired. That inner strength that had allowed her to delve back into her work and excel.
“You saw a doctor?” he asked, needing to know why their first attempt at a family had turned out so wrong.
“A specialist,” she said, her voice so small he had to bend close to hear her over his thundering heart. “There were more tests. Studies.” She shook her head, looking close to tears. “This was my fault, Rafael.”
Guilt. He understood it. Felt its fangs sink into him as well. His mind latched on to cold graphic reasons why she would be culpable, then he quickly flung them aside in disgust. Leila would never purposely do anything to put a baby at risk. The doctor wouldn’t have looked so stridently for a cause if it had been obvious.
He drew on what little he knew of the chances of conception and miscarriage. “These things are often far from a women’s control.”
She pushed away from him, shaking her head more vigorously now, looking more miserable than he’d ever seen her look in their marriage. “No, I am to blame. The doctor explained it to me. There is a higher incidence of miscarriage when the mother has a history of anorexia. She said that though I was fully recovered from the disease and have been for years, I am still technically underweight.”
The last was said with clear revulsion in her voice. But was she averse to gaining weight because of her history of anorexia? Or was she afraid how added pounds would impact her career?
He’d always accepted that Leila was slighter than the majority of women because of her career. All the top models were lean, without any excess body fat.
He’d come to accept Leila’s thinnest as normal. Now a doctor had told her that her low body weight had a bearing on losing their child?
“Help me understand, Leila,” he said. “If the risk of this happening again can be lessened when you gain weight and remain healthy, then why are you so gripped with fear?”
She wrung her hands, looking miserable. “I’m afraid, Rafael. I’m afraid I won’t be able to cope with the weight I’ll gain when pregnant. That I’ll relapse. That I’ll destroy our baby and myself this time.”
“I won’t let that happen!” he said, taking her in his arms, relieved she didn’t pull away from him this time.
Leila let out a bitter laugh. “That is exactly what I told my friend who went through recovery with me. Who became a model when I did. Who got pregnant a few months before me.”
She bunched his shirtfront in her fists and stared up at him with wide tear-filled eyes. “She worried about gaining weight too, but I encouraged her that everything would be fine. That I’d be there with her. That our babies would grow up to be friends. Yet in that month I was recovering from my miscarriage, she relapsed. She lost too much weight too fast and her heart just stopped.”
He swallowed hard, feeling her fear and desperation clear to his soul. “I am sorry for your friend, but you are stronger than that, Leila. We are stronger together.”
“I know you believe that. And I do want a child. Your child. But now—” Her hand fluttered up and down, much like his hopes for a family were doing. “Please understand. I need to wait.”
Wait. They had waited years already to start a family. How many more before she could cope with her fears? Before she’d trust him to protect her?
He wished he knew. “Of course. You need time to heal.”
Physically and emotionally, he realized, for Leila looked frail and vulnerable.
“The doctor suggested a year. That I gain weight before I attempt conceiving,” she said, a husk of aversion in her voice.
He chose his words carefully. “How do you feel about that?”
“Nervous. But I’ve gained five kilograms in the past few months.” She hugged herself and he caught her frown, a telling gesture that proved she was troubled even by that scant increase. “The change in weight has been hard for me to accept, but I’m trying. I realize I need to feel good at this size before I attempt to gain more.”
Meu Deus! This wasn’t simply a model concerned over the change in her body. Her statement smacked of a deep-seated fear.
For the first time his mind latched on to the real issue for Leila. The hidden one that she’d been hesitant to voice—to face.
Yes, she had every right to fear suffering another miscarriage. I
t was likely a concern of many couples, especially when they’d already lost one baby. But he’d never considered that she could suffer a relapse.
It didn’t seem feasible to him that a strong woman like Leila would fall victim again to the disease she’d beaten before. But if she couldn’t cope with gaining a bit of weight now, what the hell would she do when her belly was swollen with child?
“Perhaps counseling would benefit you again,” he said, for when they’d met, she’d told him of the months of therapy she’d taken before she was able to eat normally, though for a model that was still slight portions.
“After my miscarriage, I saw a psychiatrist for weeks,” she said, and her tone hinted she was not willing to continue that course of therapy.
Yet she was still blaming herself. But at least she was talking to him, now. That was a start, even though it wasn’t what he wanted to hear!
Rafael scrubbed a hand over his mouth and paced the salon.
There were very real and dangerous issues at stake here. He couldn’t arrogantly assume that all would be right just because he wanted it to be. Because in the end nothing could guarantee that Leila could have a healthy, happy pregnancy.
Leila … She was his first order of business. He must find a way to help her cope with the guilt and fear that was eating at her. To make her feel at ease with herself, to know that the scant kilograms she had gained only made her womanly curves more beautiful, more desirable to him and to the world.
“There will be no more long separations in our marriage,” he said, his mind already figuring out a plan where he could spend the majority of his time with Leila. It was clear she needed him as much, if not more, than he needed her in his life on a daily basis.
That would be especially true once she was with child.
The soft bow of her lips trembled into a smile. “Good. I’ve missed you so.”
That simple admission touched him more than any love profession she could voice. It stripped away their wants and fears and honed in on what they had always had. Each other.
He crossed to her, his hands trembling slightly as he gently cupped her face, his eyes adoring her. “We have a beautiful goal to work toward, querida. We have a good future ahead of us. One day we will have a child. A normal family. Trust me.”
Bad Blood Collection Page 88
