Bad Blood Collection

by Various Authors

  And at home he had to embrace the role of father.

  She’d peeled the skin back and exposed his deepest fears. Could he trust that she was right? That having one bad parent didn’t mean those vile traits would turn up in him.

  He was willing to trust her judgment. To open himself up to having a close relationship with his children. To be the parent he’d envied other children having.

  But right now the only need pounding in him was for his wife. The urge to hold her, kiss her, make love with her, built inside him as he sped along the rolling highway toward his fazenda, toward Leila. Because of her past health issues, and her high-risk pregnancy, he’d held her at arm’s length when he longed to do more.

  As he’d promised before, there would be no more long separations. He was home to stay for the next few months.

  He spared a passing glance at the coffee trees that covered the vast hills. Of the sugarcane fields that came into view.

  It was all beautiful. All worth a great deal. But his family was his most cherished possession.

  Family. He still wasn’t accustomed to thinking in those terms. To know this time when he returned home she’d be there waiting for him.

  The thick gray clouds drifting over his fazenda left him more anxious. It wasn’t cold, but there was a chill in the air and his concern turned to Leila. Perhaps a few weeks spent in Rio would be welcome right how, for the winters there were much milder than in the Ribeirão Preto highlands.

  By the time he sped up the driveway toward his casa, he was shaking with the need to find Leila and assure himself she was all right. The last thing he expected to see was a minivan parked in front of the house. He frowned, not recognizing it. A closer look revealed a sticker in the rear window that proclaimed it was a rental vehicle.

  He could not guess who was visiting his wife, but a niggling thought in the back of his mind told him he wouldn’t like it. Even if this was a welcome guest, their presence annoyed him for he wouldn’t be able to have Leila to himself now.

  The moment he strode in the door, his gaze sought out the housekeeper. His question to her regarding Leila’s whereabouts withered on his tongue as he stared into the salon.

  A woman who was a stranger to him was barking out orders like a general to the half dozen people rushing around doing various jobs. Their role instantly became clear.

  His salon had been transformed into a set.

  He moved forward on stiff legs, anger pulsing through him the closer he got. Auxiliary lights cast a warm glow over a cleared spot in the corner. To the left two plush chairs were angled slightly toward each other. One was empty. Leila sat in the other looking regal but weary.

  “Let’s try this again and get it right this time,” the woman said.

  Leila glanced up, her gaze locking on Rafael’s. She immediately came to her feet. His tense gaze flicked over the pale blue dress that conformed to her full breasts and well-rounded belly.

  The change in her pregnancy was nearly as startling as her defiance. How dare she bring a crew into their home! How dare she tire herself with work!

  He set across the salon only to find the way blocked by camera cases and various accessories. “Is this the offer you promised you would refuse?”

  “I’ll explain later.”

  Leila moved onto the impromptu set, looking gorgeous and skittish and so damned determined that he knew he was in for a battle with her. A battle he certainly didn’t wish to engage in considering her condition and the strangers watching and listening to their every word.

  But he couldn’t let things ride either. “You went against my wishes.”

  The color drained from her beautiful face.

  “Please, Rafael. Not now.”

  “I’m getting a shadow on the set,” the photographer complained, his voice an irritating intrusion.

  A touch on Rafael’s arm had his dark gaze swinging to the manager who stood at his elbow. “If you’d just step back, sir.”

  The roar of tense silence finally penetrated his anger. He gave the room a scathing glance, his cheeks heating uncomfortably to realize that all eyes were on him. As if he were the intruder in his own home!

  “Of course,” he said, moving out of the way when that was the last thing he wanted to do.

  One by one the crew returned to their tasks and a low din resumed in the room. His gaze stayed on Leila, but she refused to look at him now.

  He willed her to glance his way, and when that failed he willed his thoughts to penetrate her stubborn mind. Why did you do this? Does your career mean more to you than us? Than our babies?

  “Mr. da Souza, I presume?” asked a woman. He glanced down at the lady dressed in a tailored suit standing by his elbow. He noted the small writing pad clutched in her hand and swore silently.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t give impromptu interviews to the paparazzi.” Especially those who invaded his privacy!

  The woman smiled. “I thoroughly understand. But I’m a staff writer with the magazine, not a roving reporter. Your wife gave us a wonderful interview on her shift in priorities now that she’ll be a parent. It’s sure to resonate with our readers who are working mothers and must juggle both.”

  He chose his words with care. “I’ve no doubt that people are eager to hear her opinion.”

  “Exactly. Of course she’s in a position to set demands—but knowing she places her family first and will only take choice contracts is admirable. She’s a role model for many of us,” she said. “Anyway, I just wanted to add my congratulations to you on your impending parenthood.”

  He inclined his head. “Thank you.”

  Her compliment had the effect of dousing cold water on his raging anger. But his stance hadn’t changed regarding his wife working in her present condition.

  Down deep he was worried that he and Leila would slip back into the grueling routine that had kept them apart for a year, that they’d slowly drift apart. That he’d lose not only his wife but his children. He couldn’t let that happen, which is why he’d insisted she retire.

  But looking at her now in their home, poised and gorgeous in her pregnancy, made him realize that he’d destroy what they had if he did force her hand. He’d destroy her if he succeeded in bending her to his will.

  It was a chilling realization for him to face.

  For the first time in a long time he looked at Leila—really looked at her as a professional. Not his lover. Not his wife. Certainly not the mother of his children.

  Yes, she seemed a bit weary. But it was also clear that she was in control, that in her world people rushed to do her bidding—not his. That he was simply the husband of supermodel Leila Santiago.

  “Corbin, I need you to loosen up,” the photographer said. “You’re portraying the adoring father here, so let’s get into character. Slide your arms around Leila and rest your hands on her stomach.”

  A tall lean man he’d not noticed before stepped from the shadows and moved to Leila. He did as the photographer asked but the action looked as strained as Leila’s smile.

  “You’re still too tight,” the photographer said. “Leila, maybe if you leaned into him.”

  She gave a brief nod and stepped back into the man’s arms.

  “Okay now, relax,” the photographer said as he quickly snapped shots, moving to capture different angles. “Bow your head a bit as you come closer to her. A little more. More.”

  The man was now close enough to kiss her nape, and Rafael stood without breathing, watching. Hating the jealousy that coursed through him like poison.

  “That should be it,” the photographer said, and the man promptly dropped his hands from Leila and stepped back from her.

  Rafael drew air into his starved lungs, calling himself a fool for enduring this particular torture. Though he was well aware she had posed with men many times in her career, often with little clothes on, this stretched his patience to the max.

  The whole thing seemed to take an eternity when in fact it was over in a few mi
nutes. But to watch some man lay his damned hands on his wife—on their babies!—was too much for him to tolerate.

  He turned to leave, knowing if he stayed he’d likely make a fool of himself.

  “Corbin’s expression is wrong again and the body language was stilted,” the manager said in a clearly perturbed tone that chaffed along Rafael’s already frayed nerves. “I’m sorry, Leila, but we’ll have to shoot this over.”

  Rafael turned back in time to see her shoulders droop, to hear her sigh eddy toward him. To feel her frustration reach out to him.

  “If she’d relax I wouldn’t feel so tense,” Corbin said.

  How dared this man place the blame on Leila?

  “Come on, let’s do it again and do it right this time,” the photographer said. “We have a plane to catch in two hours.”

  Rafael took in the set again, jaw clenched so tightly he was sure he’d shatter bone. He was surely better off not being around to watch, and he would have left if he hadn’t caught the belligerent glower the male model fixed on Leila.

  That snapped the frail thread on his patience. Muttering curses in Portuguese and English, he stormed onto the set.

  “What the hell are you doing?” the manager snapped.

  “What I should have done earlier.” Rafael shot Corbin a look that warned him to back off, which he readily did.

  Leila laid a hand on his arm. “Calm down, Rafael.”

  “I am perfectly calm,” he said in a near roar. “They want a picture of you with your husband’s hands on your babies, then I will show them how it should be done.”

  Ignoring the dropped jaws of the manager and photographer, Rafael did what he’d ached to do since he’d walked in the door. He slipped his arms around his beautiful wife and splayed his fingers over her very round belly.

  His wife. His children. His life.

  In that instant he knew that he could lose all his earthly possessions, his company, his millions. He’d be a rich man as long as he had Leila. As long as he still had her love.

  His throat felt thick, his eyes burned. “Meu amor,” he murmured as he pulled her flush against his front, groaning as her firm bottom pressed against his groin.

  Her light flower scent was divine. She felt like heaven in his arms.

  He bent his head and nuzzled her nape, dropping a featherlight kiss on her silken skin. A moan tore from her to mingle with his own husky groan.

  She leaned against him, her fingers curling around his wrists in a slow sensual caress that stroked him clear to his soul. He felt the tension escape her and heaved a great shuttering breath as his followed suit.

  “That’s it,” the photographer said. “Keep it up.”

  But Rafael had no intention of stopping.

  This was no act. This was very real.

  He’d waited five long days to hold his wife again and he wasn’t going to cut this short.

  He dropped kisses along the shell-like curve of her ear, the slender column of her neck and then along the gentle slope of her shoulder. He marveled at the change in her body, anxious to see more. To touch, and taste, and lose himself in her.

  Dimly he heard the photographer say, “That’s a wrap.”

  Leila turned in his embrace, her face lifted to his. His mouth came down on hers, hungry, demanding.

  Her kiss was just as greedy. She threaded her fingers through his hair and held his head still, kissing him in kind. They pulled apart at last, both gasping for breath. Her chin rested on his chest. His forehead was pressed to hers.

  The only sound in the room was their mingled breaths and the rapid thud of his heart. A glance at the salon confirmed the others had left. For good, he hoped.

  “I am glad that is over,” he said after long moments passed and their breathing returned to normal.

  She stiffened in his arms, and he knew before he looked down at her face that he’d said the wrong thing to her. “So am I,” she said with a good degree of heat. “I am shocked that even you would do something so brazenly arrogant as to storm onto a set and take it over.”

  It was, by his own admission, beyond bold. But he’d made his point. He’d gotten Leila where he wanted her—in his arms. And he’d gotten the crew out of his house.

  But she was clearly not seeing it that way.

  She pushed free of him, chest heaving so hard he was sure her ripe breasts would spill from her dress. And just realizing that had him stepping closer, his hands itching to capture them. To help them free of the silky halter constraining them.

  To kiss her and hold her and silence this fight before it escalated out of control. “Querida, don’t you see that I am simply worried about your health and our babies?”

  She shook her head, and two fats tears slipped from her eyes. “Yes,” she said in a choked voice. “But I can’t live like a bird in a cage, waiting patiently here for you to set me free for a day. To pay me any attention while you go on with your life.”

  He drove his fingers through his hair and swore. Of course she was right. She wasn’t his trophy to keep hidden away. Today confirmed that more than ever, yet how could he let her return to a career that would take her from him?

  He couldn’t.

  Unbidden came the memory of him when he was very young, of catching a small hare in the alley outside their cottage in Wolfestone. Of him begging his mother to let him keep it.

  “I’ll take care of it,” he’d promised with all the sincerity a boy of eight could manage. “I’ll feed it and love it and keep it safe.”

  “Rafael, what life will it be for the rabbit who has only known freedom?” his mother had asked.

  He’d shrugged, not knowing the answer. Only thinking of what he wanted.

  “But I love it,” he’d said, near tears for he’d wanted a pet so badly. Wanted a pet to love.

  His mother, wise and patient, had merely smiled. “If you love something, set it free. If it doesn’t return, it was never meant to be. Remember that in all things, Rafael.”

  It was a lesson he’d forgotten until now.

  Leila was his wife, not his possession. To hold her prisoner here would only make her hate him one day.

  “You’re right,” he said, hiding his frustration and anger and longing behind a bland mask. “I have no right to forbid you to return to work. To force you to stay here. But I won’t let us return to the hellish life we led a year ago. My children will know me, Leila. Know us!”

  She pressed her palms to her head. “Rafael, I have no intention of working full-time, and I certainly don’t want to live apart from you again. I had a fabulous year professionally, but on a personal level it was the worse year of my life. I lost our first child. I was terrified I’d lose you too.”

  “But you still want to work,” he said, still worried that it would consume her again, that what he had in his grasp would slip through his fingers.

  “Only when it’s a worthy campaign. When it won’t interfere with our family.” She stepped forward, pressing a hand over his heart that was beating far too fast and too hard. “I want us to escape the pasts that haunt us. Our children deserve a mother who is healthy in mind and body. They deserve a father who is there for them as well. Who’ll play with them. Teach them. Who’ll love them unconditionally.”

  “And you think I don’t want all of that as well?”

  “I thought you did, but of late you’ve held everything inside,” she said, earning a scowl from him. “You only let me see a small part of you and it isn’t enough. I want you beside me. The man I can discuss my dreams and fears and wants with. My protector. My lover. But most of all, I want you to love me as I love you.”

  “You think …” But he couldn’t finish for she’d already accused him of holding his emotions inside.

  She’d admitted she loved him. Admitted that she feared it was one-sided. How to answer that!

  He did hold his thoughts and emotions close, for he had never completely felt certain of their depth before. But now he couldn’t continue ignoring
the truth.

  “Come. I will show you how I feel.” He clasped her hand and pulled her down the hall.

  “You think sex solves everything?” she cried out, trying to break free, but he merely tightened his hold.

  “There is almost nothing I enjoy more than making love with you,” he said, “but that isn’t my intention right now.”

  “Wonder of wonders,” she said, her tone holding a peevish edge. “You could just tell me how you feel.”

  He ignored her and walked straight past his office to the next room that she’d assumed was for storage. With a twist of the knob, he pushed the door open and hauled her inside.

  “There is a saying my mother favors,” he said. “A picture is worth a thousand words.”

  The retort Leila had been poised to voice withered on her tongue as he pulled her into the large airy room. The light tan walls were covered with framed pictures of her. Magazine covers. Layouts. Stills that she’d forgotten she’d even had taken.

  She turned in a circle, certain these depicted the past five years of her marriage and a few before she’d even met Rafael. Yet not one showed them together. Just her.

  It was like a shrine. The supermodel. The star shining brightly all alone.

  “Why?” she asked, unable to wrap her brain around what this display meant.

  “I refurbished this house with great plans to bring you here. To make this our home. But your career took another megaboost that made that impossible.” He stared down at their clasped hands, looking far too tense. Too sad. “I have never been as alone as I was then. When a box of your pictures was delivered to the penthouse, I went through them. Just seeing you made me feel alive.”

  She swallowed hard, unsure if she should be flattered or concerned. She stared at her images on the walls, at Rafael, whose dark eyes glittered with some emotion she’d never seen before but that made her want to go to him, comfort him. Love him. As if she’d ever stopped doing that!

  “Oh, Rafael, I wish you would have told me about this house, your plans.”