The Cost Of Claiming His Heir (The Delgado Inheritance, Book 2)

by Michelle Smart

  ‘Maybe you should tell him,’ she suggested softly. ‘Put the past to bed once and for all.’

  He rubbed the nape of his neck more vigorously. It was one thing admitting his blind stupidity to Becky but to do the same with Damián? ‘What good will it do to rehash the past?’

  ‘To stop the same mistakes being made in the future. From what you’ve told me, the pair of you are trying to rebuild your relationship after a lifetime of mutual hatred that your mother instigated. I don’t see how you can do that properly if the past still has a hold on you.’

  ‘It doesn’t.’

  ‘Doesn’t it?’

  The scepticism in her voice rankled.

  ‘No,’ he stated firmly. ‘It doesn’t. I have reached that greatly revered state of acceptance. I accept my birth father died before I could talk. I accept my adoptive father hated me. I accept that my mother is a psychopath. And I accept that my issues with my brother, although fed by our mother, were all caused by my jealousy. I know the mistakes I made and I will not repeat them. I never do. I learn from them and then I move on.’ He lifted his head and flashed his teeth. ‘Just as I did learn something from my time at the Delgado Group other than to never trust anyone.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘I learned how to play the stock markets. The minute they kicked me out I put that new knowledge into action. That’s what I meant when I told you I used the first ten million to get the business rolling. I invested it. In one month that ten million became fifty million. Everything grew from there.’

  The buzzing in Becky’s head started up again as she thought about the assets he had: the homes, the jets, the art galleries, the world-class stables across the world, the exorbitant costs of running a polo team that travelled en masse with the seasons, never mind his racing and dressage horses... Until that moment, it had never occurred to her that the lifestyle he led and the outrageously high overheads his businesses incurred could not be funded with the income from winning races and competitions and stud fees.

  But his Midas touch for creating money wasn’t the cause of the buzzing in her head. It was the reiteration of his unwillingness to trust people and, for one long moment, she felt a real stab of hatred for Adriana. Ten years ago she hadn’t just stolen money from Emiliano. The knock-on effect had stolen his ability to love and trust.

  And it was in that moment that the truth Becky had been denying to herself slapped her in the face.

  She loved Emiliano. That was what stopped her from agreeing to marriage. She loved him.

  All the protections she’d believed she’d placed around her heart to stop him from having the power to break it had been an illusion. She’d given him her heart the night he’d sought sanctuary from his demons with her.

  ‘Becky?’

  He was staring down at her, brow furrowed. She hadn’t noticed him get to his feet.

  ‘Sorry,’ she murmured. ‘I was miles away.’

  Unconvinced, he put a hand on her forehead. ‘Are you not feeling well?’

  ‘I’m fine. Just a little tired.’ She managed a smile. ‘Probably hormones. I’ll have a nap and then I’ll be rested for the party.’

  He studied her with the beautiful clear eyes she’d come to love. ‘Shall I bring you something up? Food? Mint tea?’

  His evident concern was enough to make her want to weep. ‘I’ll get something later. But thank you.’

  And as she climbed the stairs, aware of his penetrating stare still upon her, her hatred for the faceless Adriana and the whole rotten Delgado family filled her throat with bile.

  Between them, they hadn’t just stolen Emiliano’s money and his ability to love and trust. They’d stolen Becky’s future. Because she saw no way she could have forever with him now.

  Emiliano finished his lunch, answered some emails, checked that the caterers who’d set up near the marquee were on schedule, then headed up to check on Becky. He was worried about her. She’d been fine one minute, then her face had drained of colour, almost as if she’d had a shock. He supposed that was how pregnancy worked. It must take up a lot of a woman’s energy.

  The curtains were drawn, darkening the room to a sepia hue. Becky was curled up under the covers, fast asleep.

  He sat on the bed and gently stroked her hair. How damn beautiful was this woman. Every time he looked at her he saw something new that made his heart clench. This time it was a tiny mole on her eyelid, and he resisted the urge to press a kiss to it.

  When, he wondered, would his desire for her fade? Would he ever reach the stage where he could walk into a room and see her there and not be filled with the compulsion to devour her whole?

  She stirred and mumbled something. He wished he could see her dreams. Read her thoughts. Wished he could use telepathy to input thoughts into her beautiful head that proved he would do his damned best to be a good father and a good husband. Make her take that leap of faith.

  Her eyes opened. They locked onto his, an emotion he didn’t recognise ringing from them, but one that pierced straight into his chest.

  She unfurled a naked arm from under the sheets and hooked it round his neck with a sigh. Their lips met in a kiss so relaxed and soft it felt as if he were drugged. Slowly, the sweet warmth of her breath seeped into his airways, rousing the last of his senses not already awoken to her, and he gently tugged the bedding off her so he could lie beside her.

  With the same unhurried energy, together they stripped his clothes off him, kissing and stroking each other with a tender desire that burned his heart as much as his loins.

  Their eyes stayed locked together when he entered her, fingers tightly entwined, lips brushing.

  He would never get over the sensation of making love to Becky or be able to put into words how different it felt, a difference that couldn’t be accounted for by the absence of a condom. Although his desire scorched him, making love to her was far more than about sexual release. It was fundamental, as necessary to him as breathing, the need to touch her and be touched by her.

  When they were finally spent, Becky’s head on his chest, her body pressed against him, Emiliano closed his eyes and took a deep breath to counter the rising trepidation that she still hadn’t given him an answer to his latest proposal.

  As alien as patience was to him, he must find some. He’d only told her to wait until after the party to answer him to prove he wasn’t the bulldozer she kept accusing him of being. He hadn’t actually expected her to make him wait that long. Every hour that passed without her answer felt longer than the last.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  THE THREE-ACRE PRIVATE back garden of Emiliano’s ranch had been transformed into a spring wonderland. Music pumped from the huge marquee taking centre-stage, tables and chairs beneath the canvas and sprawled across the lawn. The scent of barbecuing meat filled the air. One thing Becky had learned during her time in Argentina was that every day was a potential barbecue day.

  The back doors of the ranch had been left open too, Emiliano being a generous host who never stood on ceremony when it came to entertaining. For those with children—every employee was invited to bring their family—beds were available if naps or downtime was needed, and specially employed babysitters were on site so the parents could continue partying. Those who didn’t live in the staff quarters, including his polo team and all their staff, were welcome to stay the night.

  Within two hours of it all starting, Becky had decided this was the best party she’d ever been to. It wasn’t just the copious amounts of food available or the even more copious amount of drink—she, of course, stuck to soft drinks—keeping everyone refreshed and in high spirits, but the atmosphere in general. She was determined not to let her aching heart spoil things for Emiliano or anyone. The Delgado team and all the supporting staff had earned this night.

  Seeing people she normally only saw in jodhpurs or jeans strutting around in pretty dresse
s and tieless suits made her glad Emiliano had talked her into buying a proper party outfit. Being on the receiving end of many admiring looks, she felt herself blossom like the pink Chinese flowers imprinted on her white dress. She was glad too that he’d convinced her to buy a pair of dusky pink heels to complement it. Compared to some of the women tottering around on heels that should really be called stilts, hers were nothing, but the extra two inches made her feel more elegant than she’d ever felt in her life. Now all she had to do was learn to walk in them!

  Even the weather was holding. There were some pretty ominous-looking clouds in the distance, but to her untrained eye they seemed far enough away that they wouldn’t disrupt the party any time soon.

  ‘Coming to dance?’ Louise asked as she joined her, clutching a cocktail.

  Becky laughed. ‘I can’t dance.’

  ‘Nor can anyone else.’ Sliding her arm through Becky’s, Louise bore her off as if they were friends. Which, Becky thought with a little burst of happiness, perhaps they were.

  About to enter the marquee, she caught sight of Emiliano impressing a group of small children with his juggling skills. It impressed Becky too. She couldn’t juggle one ball never mind three.

  He caught her eye, winked and magically produced a fourth ball to juggle with. The children clapped manically.

  Emiliano’s impromptu performance finished with, he bowed to his audience and followed Becky into the marquee, promising the children trailing after him that he would perform again after he’d had a break.

  Helping himself to a beer from the bar inside the marquee, he propped himself on a stool and watched Becky dance while he drank and tried not to laugh at her enthusiastic if graceless movements. Tempting though it was to join her, he knew perfectly well that should he press his body close to hers he would feel compelled to drag her off to the bedroom for an hour. He thought it best to wait a while longer for that particular selfish delight.

  Moments later, she kicked her shoes off with a shout of laughter and her movements became a little less robotic.

  Shoes on or off, dance moves graceful or not, nothing could dim her beauty. Tonight she shone and, from the reactions that had followed her every move since the revellers had arrived, he was far from the only man to have noticed.

  For only the second time since he’d met her, she’d abandoned her stock uniform of jeans and a shirt, in their place a beautiful white Bardot dress that exposed her slender shoulders and flared out at her waist to fall just above her knees. The beautiful chestnut hair had been set free from its usual ponytail to fall in tumbling waves over her shoulders and down her back. Subtle make-up and hooped silver earrings completed the feminine package. His heart throbbed every time he looked at her. Every part of him throbbed.

  As if she could feel his gaze upon her, her eyes darted to meet his. There was a moment of stillness before the most beautiful smile lit her face. Spellbound, he continued to stare, the beats of his thumping heart the only sound he could hear, but then the spell was broken when Juan, his stable manager, swayed over to her, took hold of her hips and began to dance suggestively with her.

  For the breath of a moment, the world seemed to go off-kilter. Thick heat filled his head while a nasty rancid taste filled his mouth.

  Juan leaned forward to whisper in her ear. She smiled, shook her head and took a subtle step back, and Emiliano’s world resettled...which was the moment when a pair of arms suddenly flew around his neck and a pair of pumped-up rouged lips parked an enormous kiss on his mouth.

  ‘There you are,’ Jacinda purred into his face. ‘I’ve been looking everywhere for you.’

  Concealing a groan, Emiliano disentangled her arms from his neck. Jacinda, a glamorously beautiful model, had married one of his team mates, Facundo, a year ago. At their wedding she’d trapped Emiliano in a corridor of the hotel the reception was being held in and come on to him like a rash. He’d firmly told her to sober up, to which she’d laughed and said she and Facundo had agreed to an open marriage. That hadn’t particularly shocked him—he knew plenty of couples who enjoyed open marriages, but on her own wedding night? That just smacked of disrespect.

  He’d done his best to give her a wide berth since then but she was like a fox hound, always sniffing him out, always trying to tempt him. Before, he’d always resisted out of loyalty to Facundo. Now, he found there was nothing to resist. Even if she hadn’t been married to a man he considered a friend as well as an employee, he would have felt nothing apart from irritation that she was distracting him from watching Becky.

  Fixing a smile to his face, he let her pull a stool against his and chatter away while trying to keep one eye on the dance floor. When she put her hand on his thigh he removed it without comment. When she did it a third time, his patience finally snapped.

  ‘I think your husband’s looking for you,’ he said pointedly before getting off the stool and walking away.

  He’d lost sight of Becky on the now crowded dance floor and had to crane his neck before he spotted a flash of chestnut hair.

  To hell with it, he thought. There was no one else he wanted to spend time with. Why not dance with Becky? If they needed to slip off for a quick bout of lovemaking then so what? It was his party. They could do what they liked.

  Before he could reach her, though, his polo team appeared with shot glasses. Together they drank to a successful season then drank again for luck to the new season, and then Nicky, his newest signing, waylaid him further by enthusiastically telling him about a young mare with exceptional potential he’d heard about that morning.

  By the time Emiliano had extracted himself and reached the dance floor, Becky had gone.

  Becky danced until her feet cried for mercy. And then she danced some more. She did not want to leave this dance floor. She didn’t want to step outside and deal with the emotions she’d tried so hard to squash but were now threatening to erupt. This was a party. She needed to keep it together.

  But it was getting harder to breathe. The air had become suffocating.

  Not bothering to hunt for her shoes, last seen pilfered by a group of small children prancing around in them, she pushed her way through the heaving crowd and out onto the lawn.

  She didn’t know if she’d overheated from all the dancing but it felt even more stifling outside. She looked up and saw the thick clouds had finally reached them. The vast skies usually filled with twinkling stars had closed in on her too.

  ‘Becky!’

  Turning wildly, she found a handful of the grooms sitting on a wooden table drinking an enormous jug of cocktail through straws. She raised a hand in a wave then set off in the other direction, away from the crowds and noise. From the splashes and squeals echoing in the distance, a group of partygoers had decided now was the perfect time for a swim and, as she thought that, she remembered Emiliano saying he’d employed lifeguards for that very reason and increased her pace.

  She didn’t want to think of Emiliano. She didn’t want to think of anything. All she wanted was a few minutes alone to breathe, pull herself together and then return to the party and carry on pretending that nothing was wrong.

  She walked aimlessly, lost in thoughts she wished she could hide from until she found herself at the stables.

  Usually a hub of activity by day, at night the stables were peaceful, allowing the horses to rest. She knew a couple of grooms had been unfortunate enough to draw the short straw to do the evening’s night shift, just as she knew they would be given a substantial bonus by Emiliano for having to miss out on the fun.

  She could scream. No matter where she went, there was always something that made her think of him.

  Why hadn’t she trusted her instincts and returned to England when she was supposed to? She could have spent the rest of her life in relatively happy denial.

  Instead, she’d stayed and given her love for him air to breathe and now she was consign
ing herself to a life following in her mother’s footsteps.

  One day she was going to look at Emiliano and hate him, not as her mum had come to hate her dad for being the wrong husband but for breaking her heart. Because, marriage or not, Emiliano was going to break her heart.

  And one day he would look at her and hate her too for forcing a promise of fidelity he would never have made if he hadn’t wanted their child so badly.

  A gentle neigh filled the air and Bertie poked his head out of the open part of his stable door. Walking to him, she stroked his kind head and was gratified when he nuzzled into her hand.

  What wonderful creatures horses were. And how intuitive. But then she saw Bertie’s stablemate, Don Giovanni, lying on the clean floor, barely bothering to conceal his disinterest at her presence, and stifled a laugh that could easily have turned into a wail if a large raindrop hadn’t landed on her nose.

  She looked up again at the dark, heavy clouds, and this time she did let out a wail.

  More fat raindrops fell on her. Just as she was thinking she should take shelter in one of the empty stables, lights appeared in the distance. To her relief, they were headlights, and they were coming her way.

  The pickup truck stopped feet away from her. She shielded her eyes from the glare of its lights and so couldn’t see who was driving until it was too late and Emiliano jumped out.

  ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ he demanded as he strode towards her. ‘I’ve been looking everywhere for you.’

  She shrank away from the fury etched on his face and hugged herself.

  ‘Everyone’s looking for you!’

  She wiped off another splatter of rain from her face. ‘What for?’

  Spitting out a curse, he pulled his phone out of his pocket, pressed the buttons quickly and put it to his ear. Eyes not leaving her face, he spoke rapidly into it.