Alejandro had steadfastly refused. Apparently Juan had decided to step up the campaign. The timing could not have been worse.
Alejandro’s first thought had been to go after Rebecca. But she’d had a head start and he’d had no idea where she’d gone. His calls to her mobile phone had gone unanswered. Two days later she’d finally picked up. From London. She’d been cool and aloof, and he’d lost his temper. How dared she expect an explanation? All she’d needed was to accept that what he told her was the truth: he was not engaged.
Not surprisingly, she hadn’t believed him. He’d realized later that his alleged engagement was merely a convenient excuse for her to do what she’d always intended to do. The next day Roger Cahill had told him they were backing Layton International instead.
Rebecca had said she loved him, but she’d lied. He wasn’t good enough for her and never would be in her eyes.
You weren’t important enough.
It had pricked his pride, sliced a wound in his soul, the knowledge that this woman he’d cared about had used him. He’d vowed never again to believe protestations of love from any female. So he’d agreed to marry Caridad. Why not? Her breeding and social standing were impeccable. She would be the perfect hostess, the perfect tycoon’s wife, the perfect mother to his children.
He’d certainly been mistaken on that point. He could not have chosen a colder, more unfeeling woman for his wife if he’d tried.
Alejandro swallowed a mouthful of alcohol, welcomed the burn as it slid down his throat. Who could have guessed how much pain he would have to endure before his marriage was over? He’d never known such despair, such aching emptiness. Everything that had happened to him, everything that had sliced his soul to shreds and left him hollow inside, could be traced to that moment when Rebecca Layton had left him. If not for her, it would have turned out so differently.
He’d vowed long ago that every ounce of pain she’d ever dealt him would be returned to her before he was through. That was what he wanted from her.
Rebecca had no real destination as she wandered through Alejandro’s darkened house. It was after ten, and everything was quiet. A small lamp burned on the desk in the home office she’d first seen him in yesterday. She went inside, thinking to find a book to read since she wasn’t sleeping so well.
She studied the titles lining the bookshelves with interest. What did Alejandro like to read? It surprised her to realize she hadn’t known before. Hadn’t known much about him, in fact, if she thought about it. He’d come far indeed in the five years since she’d last seen him.
But his fury and hatred stunned her. Clearly he believed she had ruined his deal with the Cahill Group. But even if it were true, which it was not, why would that be enough to make him hate her so much? The business world was often unfair. Life was unfair. Sometimes it was downright cruel. Plenty of times in the last few months she’d wanted to bury her head in her hands and scream at the unfairness that had left her in charge of Layton International so soon. The monstrous bad luck that had her father climbing on a tiny plane in Thailand so he could tour the resorts he’d just acquired.
But she hadn’t. She’d picked herself up and dusted herself off and got back to work. There had been no other choice.
Most of the books were in Spanish. Don Quixote, naturally. The Count of Monte Cristo in English. Interesting. She started to reach for Dumas’s tale of wrongful imprisonment and revenge, but another book caught her eye. This one had the word “Photos” emblazoned on the spine.
What sort of photos would a man like Alejandro find important enough to paste into an album? Bullfighting ones, no doubt. Curious, she pulled the book from the shelf and placed it on the desk in front of her.
She opened the cover and sank into Alejandro’s chair, her knees no longer strong enough to hold her upright. A little girl smiled back at her. A beautiful black-haired child, with gray eyes and a smile so familiar it hurt to see it.
But to see it in a toddler?
His child. Without a doubt this girl was Alejandro’s child. She had his smile, his eyes, the stubborn tilt of his chin. When he appeared in a picture with her, the resemblance was unmistakable. Tears sprang to Rebecca’s eyes. Why? She wiped at them furiously, flipping pages until she came to a photo that made her heart stop. Alejandro holding the little girl on a beach. He was healthy and tanned, his smile glowing as he gazed at his daughter. The girl stared at whoever took the photo, a finger in her mouth, her eyes wide.
Rebecca chewed absently on a knuckle. He’d had a child after she’d gone back to America. He’d married the woman and had a beautiful little girl with her. Jealousy speared Rebecca like a poisoned barb. You have no right, she told herself. You left.
But she’d had to go. He’d been engaged.
He said he wasn’t, a voice whispered. You gave him no chance to prove it to you.
She shook her head. If he hadn’t been engaged, why had he gone through with it? You didn’t marry someone and have a child with her if you weren’t committed somehow.
Rebecca forced herself to flip more pages. It was mostly the little girl, though her mother appeared in a couple. Never smiling, that woman. Never looking anything other than irritated.
A nanny, perhaps?
But, no, the little girl had her mother’s bone structure. Rebecca turned the pages faster. She could almost be glad that Alejandro had had a sour-faced wife if not for the little girl who was probably tugged between divorced parents even now. No child deserved to have parents who disliked each other.
At least her own parents had been in love, even if her father had never been home long enough to pay any attention to a disappointing girl-child who’d craved his affection and approval. Her mother, who’d been addicted to shopping and socializing, had often left Rebecca in the care of a nanny. She’d been a lonely, lonely child.
Who’d grown into a lonely adult. She swiped a hand beneath her nose, sniffed back her tears. Get over it.
On the last page of the album was an official-looking document, but it was in Spanish and she couldn’t read it. Certificado de defunción. What did that mean?
“What are you doing in here?”
Rebecca’s head whipped up at the angry demand. She’d been so focused she hadn’t heard him come in. She slapped the album closed a little too hard—a guilty reaction at being caught going through his personal things.
Alejandro strode into the room and snatched the album from the desk. “You are never to touch this again, comprende?” He spun from her and disappeared through the door.
She sat in stunned silence. Whatever she’d expected, that hadn’t been it. Why was he so upset with her? It didn’t matter; she had to get out and get back to her room before he returned—before he confronted her with whatever nastiness was on his mind.
But she waited too long to move. Before she reached the door, Alejandro was back, looming in the entry, anger rolling off him in waves.
“You dare to go through my things? After what you did the last time?”
“I’m sorry,” she said. Because she had, in fact, violated his privacy. She hadn’t meant to, but when she’d seen the album she’d simply been too curious to stop. “Your daughter is very pretty, Alejandro. I’m sorry if I upset you by looking at her photos.”
He passed a hand over his face, swore under his breath while shaking his head. It made no sense to her, but when his hand dropped away what she saw on his face twisted her heart. Pain like nothing she’d ever experienced. Longing and regret.
Loneliness.
He pulled in a ragged breath. “Sí, Anya was very pretty. She was the best thing I have ever done.”
Was? Rebecca’s heart squeezed, hard. Oh, dear God. The official document at the end was a death certificate. Defunción—death. How had she blundered so badly?
She swallowed the knot clogging her throat. “I’m sorry,” she said again.
“Get out of my sight.” The words fell like empty bullets onto the floor. Hollow, dull. He sounded
suddenly very tired, very worn. Very unlike the vibrant man she knew.
She came out from behind the desk and walked to the door. He flinched when she put her hand on his arm. The movement saddened her. Once he would have welcomed her touch. No longer. “I’m sorry for your loss, Alejandro.”
She truly, truly was. No one should have to endure such a thing. The experience had changed him. She could see that. It had made him harder, colder, less sympathetic than he’d once been. It explained so much and made her ache for him.
His hand closed over hers before she could pull it away, held it there as his pain-filled eyes raked her.
“You think I am like the lion with the thorn in his paw, yes? You think if you pull it out I will be forever in your debt?” As much as he tried, the malice was missing.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
She swallowed. “No one should lose a child. I can’t know your pain, but I’m sorry for it.” She knew what it was like to lose a parent unexpectedly, but her father had at least had a life first. Alejandro’s little girl never got the chance.
His fingers tightened. “You would offer to comfort me, perhaps? Take me to bed and make me forget?”
Rebecca couldn’t speak. She watched him, her breath tight in her chest, her eyes filling with unshed tears. A part of her was ready to hold him, to let him take whatever he wanted from her. Another part—the angry, betrayed part—wanted to hold on to her fury at him. She was paralyzed by opposite urges.
Alejandro was not. “You can keep your pity and comfort to yourself, Rebecca Layton. I do not need it.”
He let go of her hand.
“I’m sorry,” she said again. Because there was nothing else to say.
“Go.”
For once, she obeyed without question.
By the time Rebecca stood at the pool’s edge and considered taking off her robe and underwear and going for a swim, it was nearly three in the morning. She’d tried to sleep. She’d turned on the television and watched a Spanish movie—not that she’d understood a word—and hoped it would bore her enough.
It hadn’t. But was it jet lag or Alejandro that kept her awake?
She swirled a toe in the water and thought of the look on his face when he’d told her his child was gone forever. A hand drifted over her abdomen almost without conscious thought. Once she’d thought she would be the mother of Alejandro’s children.
Her heart swelled with sorrow. His poor, poor wife. Rebecca had never spared any good will for the woman who’d crushed her dreams with her mere existence, but she hurt for the former Señora Ramirez now. Had their child’s death torn their marriage apart?
Alejandro had been so angry earlier, so defeated. Not at all the man she knew. She’d had no idea what to say to him, no words to breach the barrier of anger and mistrust between them. She’d been so focused on her own problems since arriving; the shock of realizing he was very much as human and vulnerable as anyone else was hard to reconcile with the brutal tycoon who wanted to destroy her life.
His loneliness had reached out to her and she’d been almost powerless to resist it. In spite of the hurt, in spite of all he’d done to humiliate and control her, she’d felt in that instant like they shared a connection. A very, very dangerous feeling.
Rebecca blew out a breath. The night air was warm, the pool inviting. She hadn’t come out here with the intention of swimming—if she had, she’d have worn her swimsuit—but the temptation to do so was strong. Or maybe she’d just slip her clothes off and sit on the terraced stone steps beneath the waterline.
What had happened to little Anya? She’d been such a beautiful child, so sweet-looking. Then again, weren’t all babies sweet-looking? She didn’t know much about babies, really. Tears threatened, lodging in her throat, a ball of pain she couldn’t swallow. Damn it, she had to stop thinking about this, about him.
Rebecca slipped her robe off and tossed it onto a chaise. A second later her camisole and panties followed, and she hurried down the steps before she could change her mind. Goose bumps rose on her skin the lower she sank into the water. Though the air was warm, the pool was slightly cooler than she’d expected after dipping her toe in. She almost turned around and went back, but she forged on until she could sink onto the lowest step, the water right below her naked breasts.
Water lapped at her nipples and she sucked in her breath as they budded tight. It had been so long since anyone had touched them. She was tormented with sadness and hurt, yet she threaded one hand up her torso, her heart thudding, and softly pinched one of the peaks between her thumb and forefinger. Was it wrong to want to feel good again, even if only for a moment?
A sound from the direction of the arbor lodged her heart into her throat. She craned her head to try and see, her heart shooting into overdrive. Did Madrid have wild animals inside the city limits? Did burglars dare to rob someone as wealthy and powerful as Alejandro?
Maybe she should run into the house—but her feet refused to move. What if it was nothing? She strained to hear any odd noises against the backdrop of ordinary night sounds, but the blood was so loud in her ears she couldn’t separate any one sound from the others.
Until something scraped.
“Who’s there?” she said, and immediately felt ridiculous. An animal wouldn’t answer, and neither would an intruder.
She stared hard at the arbor, her heart skipping a beat as a shape unfolded itself from the darkness, growing bigger as the light caressed its shadow. A lifetime later, it resolved into the shape of a man.
A tall man, with dark hair and the body of a god, dressed in jeans and a dark T-shirt. Her heart went out to him.
“You are enjoying yourself, no?”
Rebecca pulled her knees to her chin to hide her nakedness, her skin flushing. “You scared me half to death, Alejandro. How long have you been there?”
“Long enough.”
She nibbled her lip between her teeth, wanting to ask him if he was all right and yet sensing he would not welcome the question. “You could have announced yourself,” she said instead.
And saved her the embarrassment sizzling through her now. It didn’t matter that he’d seen her naked in the past, that he’d probably kissed every inch of her skin and shown her things no man ever had. To think he’d watched her the whole time—even when she’d let her hand trail up her body …
“I’d like you to go,” she said, with as much dignity as she could muster. Please, please go.
His smirk told her he would do nothing of the sort. He settled into a chair, crossing one leg casually. An arm draped over the side, fingers rubbing back and forth against the chair’s edge. “Why would I want to leave, Señorita Layton? It is my house, is it not? And I was here first.”
“Then I’ll leave. Would you hand me my robe, please?”
“No.”
Frustration hummed beneath the surface. “Alejandro, please. What is the point in this?”
His eyes narrowed. “Are you uncomfortable?”
“I think you know the answer.”
“Then perhaps that is the point.”
Rebecca swallowed. “I’m sorry I looked at the photos. I didn’t know it would upset you.”
He made a rough noise. “You may apologize, but this does not explain why you thought it acceptable to go through my things in the first place. Looking for information you could use against me, Rebecca? Something you could sell to the press, perhaps? I assure you that you will not find anything.”
“What? No!” She hugged herself tighter. It was disconcerting to argue with him while she sat here without a stitch of clothing. He lounged in the chair so casually, like there weren’t oceans of pain between them. She had a sudden urge to be completely truthful with him, to try and bridge the gap somehow. “I want a chance to redeem Layton International, yes. If you would let me repurchase the stock, I’d be grateful. I’m not trying to hurt your business. I only want my company back.”
He
didn’t say anything for a long moment. “How grateful?”
She couldn’t tell by his tone how he meant the question. Was he baiting her? Making fun of her? Heat prickled her nerve endings. “Um, well, I think we could work out some profit-sharing. Perhaps even a partnership or two?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he got to his feet, tugged at the waist of his T-shirt with one hand. A moment later it fell to the tile deck. Rebecca’s pulse skipped. “What are you doing?”
“Considering your proposal.” He unsnapped his jeans, shrugged them down his lean hips in a graceful movement that had her blood pounding in her ears. When he stood at the edge of the pool in nothing but his briefs, Rebecca had to remind herself to breathe. She’d dreamt of that body for five years. Dear heaven, she remembered at the most inopportune moments what his flesh felt like pressed to hers, moving inside her. She’d even called her ex-boyfriend Alejandro once during sex. No wonder she’d been alone for the past year and a half.
Her mouth went dry at the sight of all that hard muscle and tan skin. “Wh-what proposal? What are you talking about?” And why did her head feel as if it were stuffed with cotton wool?
“How grateful would you be, querida?”
She cast her mind back over the conversation, tried to piece together what exactly he meant. And then her brain shut down and her jaw slipped open as the last of Alejandro’s clothing fell away.
A second later he was in the water.
CHAPTER FOUR
ALEJANDRO swam toward her, idly wondering if she would shoot up the steps and into the house. If she did, then perhaps she wasn’t as calculating as he thought. Perhaps she really hadn’t known he was beneath the arbor, watching her.
Hot Nights with a Spaniard (Mills & Boon M&B) (Mills & Boon Special Releases) Page 37
