The Secret Sanchez Heir

“Marriage, Abigail. Like it or not, there’s no other way.”

Leandro Sanchez never forgot the beautiful virgin who lit a fire in him like no other—then betrayed him. When Abigail Christie appears on his doorstep, Leandro decides one last explosive night is the only way to get her out of his system. But Abigail has a secret...their son!

Leandro’s discovery of the true consequence of their steamy nights leaves Abigail completely at the billionaire’s mercy. The Spanish tycoon always gets what he wants, and now he’s determined to legitimize his heir...by seducing Abigail into wearing his ring!

‘We have a child. A son.’

Their eyes tangled. A son. There was no way that Leandro was going to cave in and believe Abby but…fatherhood. It was something he had never considered. Never wanted! He’d seen from his own unstable childhood that the production of children was something that could go horribly wrong. He’d not only learned from his own experience but he’d learned from his sister’s. He’d never wished to reproduce and take a chance on being a father. It wasn’t in his make-up.

What if she was telling the truth? Faced with that possibility, Leandro suddenly knew what it felt like for one’s world to fall apart. He’d sought order all his life, to combat the lack of order that had marked his formative years, and there could be nothing more disastrous and explosive when it came to destroying all that hard-fought-for order than the arrival of a child.

But, no, he wasn’t going to think like that.

He was a cool, rational man. He forced his thoughts away from possibilities. Possibilities counted for nothing.

‘Where?’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘You tell me that I’m a father. Then let me see my son.’

CATHY WILLIAMS can remember reading Mills & Boon books as a teenager, and now that she is writing them she remains an avid fan. For her, there is nothing like creating romantic stories and engaging plots, and each and every book is a new adventure. Cathy lives in London. Her three daughters—Charlotte, Olivia and Emma—have always been, and continue to be, the greatest inspirations in her life.

Books by Cathy Williams

Mills & Boon Modern Romance

Bought to Wear the Billionaire’s Ring

Snowbound with His Innocent Temptation

A Virgin for Vasquez

Seduced into Her Boss’s Service

The Wedding Night Debt

A Pawn in the Playboy’s Game

At Her Boss’s Pleasure

The Real Romero

The Uncompromising Italian

The Argentinian’s Demand

Secrets of a Ruthless Tycoon

Enthralled by Moretti

His Temporary Mistress

The Italian Titans

Wearing the De Angelis Ring

The Surprise De Angelis Baby

One Night With Consequences

Bound by the Billionaire’s Baby

Seven Sexy Sins

To Sin with the Tycoon

Visit the Author Profile page at

millsandboon.co.uk for more titles.

The Secret Sanchez Heir

Cathy Williams

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

THROUGH THE WINDOWS of the airy den tucked away in the west wing of his sprawling country mansion, Leandro Sanchez had a bird’s eye view of what could only be called the inevitable end of his six-month relationship with Rosalind Duval.

Only fitting, he thought, that a high-maintenance, spoiled diva should exit on a cloud of over-the-top drama.

It was a little after six in the evening and the last of the trucks that only that morning had delivered food, decorations—including a ridiculous ice sculpture for display in his hall—and several dozen staff was now departing. The specially bought Chinese-style lanterns that lined the long, private avenue leading up to his estate twinkled and glittered in the lightly falling snow and illuminated the dark shapes of the vehicles slowly wending their way away from his estate.

Sensual mouth compressed into a thin line of distaste, Leandro replayed in his mind the events of the last three hours. He had returned from his business trip to New York, fresh off the red eye, to pick up a barrage of text messages from Rosalind that he was to come immediately to his country house where he would find a surprise waiting for him.

Leandro loathed surprises. He was especially put out because, during the past week while he had been in New York, he had decided that his relationship with the very eligible Lady Rosalind Duval had reached the end of its course.

On paper, she had ticked all the boxes. She was beautiful, well-bred and independently wealthy. Her parents, whilst not nearly on the same level as him financially, formed the bedrock of that dying breed known as the British aristocracy. As a bonus, she was friendly with his sister Cecilia, who, indeed, had engineered the initial meeting between them.

Leandro was not in the market for love but he had been...restless and Rosalind had stepped into that uncustomary void with the promise of something different. It was not to be.

Her background had filled her with high expectations that every single one of her demands would be met with complete subservience. As a privileged only child, she was accustomed to getting her own way, and the fact that she was in her early thirties proved no barrier to her stamping her feet and throwing temper tantrums if things didn’t go as she decreed. She had always been the centre of attention and had seen no reason why he, Leandro, shouldn’t fall in line and continue the tradition.

She’d demanded his constant attention, phoning him sometimes several times a day and, having had full use of his credit card, had seen absolutely nothing wrong with buying whatever she’d happened to fancy on a whim. From jewellery, to clothes, to an outrageously expensive sports car, finally to an engagement ring which, he had discovered to his horror, had been the surprise waiting for him when he had returned from New York.

‘Special delivery!’ She had beamed as hordes of people came and went, fetching, carrying and getting everything in place for the accompanying engagement party which had been arranged for the following day. ‘It should arrive at just the right time for us to pop a cork and celebrate before dinner. It’s time we made this official, Leandro. Mummy and Daddy are simply desperate for a grandchild and I don’t see the point of delaying any longer. We’re both in our thirties and it’s time to take the next step. Darling, I know you’re a typical man and wouldn’t dream of doing anything about it, so I thought I’d do the necessary!’

He watched the tail end of the last van disappear from view then, flexing his lean muscles, he strolled out towards the kitchen, taking in the detritus left behind in the wake of everyone’s hasty departure.

In the hall, the ridiculous ice sculpture of a couple entwined was still perfectly intact and would require removal the following day. He would have to enlist a team of cleaners to return his country house to its ‘before’ state.

Right now, all he wanted was something strong to drink. The wretched engagement ring was on its way. Another hasty departure would have to be effected, although he was debating whether he would keep the ring or not. It had cost a small fortune. Quite a flawless diamond, he had seen from the receipt that had been flung at him by an incandescent Rosalind. Maybe he would gift it to her. She had, after all, been responsible for sourcing the priceless gem even if it had been purchased on his credit card.

He grimaced and thought that there was a better than even chance that the gesture would not be met with warm approval.

For once, his thoughts assumed an introspective nature. In the kitchen, Julie, his housekeeper, was busy trying to eradicate all evidence of the blighted party preparations. He dismissed her while he poured himself a drink.

‘One more delivery due,’ he said absently, swirling the amber liquid in the glass and staring down at it for a few seconds before glancing across to the middle-aged woman who had been responsible for looking after his country mansion for the past five years, ever since he had bought it. ‘I will need to dispatch this one personally. I’ll be in my office. When the courier arrives, let me know, Julie. They shouldn’t be on the premises for longer than ten minutes and then you can leave for the evening. You’ll need the usual team here in the morning to finish clearing up this...mess.’

It annoyed him that he was still unable to rein in his wandering mind, because he was a man who had little or no time for pointless raking over the past. Yet now, as he strolled back towards his office, closing his curtains against a view of snow that was falling thicker and faster, he couldn’t stop himself from thinking.

Thinking about Rosalind and the chain of events that had brought her into his life and contrived to keep her there, even though, almost from the very start, he had seen the cracks begin to appear.

His sister, Cecilia, had been instrumental in bringing about their meeting and he knew, in a vague way, she’d been instrumental in making him hesitate before doing what had to be done. He sighed, already predicting what his sister’s reaction would be when she received the inevitable phone call from Rosalind, who would surely speak to Cecilia before he had had time to fill her in himself.

He swallowed back the remainder of the whisky in his glass, sat down, pushing the chair away from the big, old-fashioned mahogany desk, and thought back...back to events of eighteen months previously and to another woman who had swept into his life for a matter of weeks and wreaked havoc.

Gold-digger...liar...thief...

He had had a narrow escape, had walked away from her without looking back, and it infuriated him to know that, however far and fast he walked, she was still there like a thorn in his side, making itself felt at the slightest opportunity. He hadn’t been able to escape her and, in ways he couldn’t put his finger on but knew existed, she had been responsible for that lethal restlessness that had made him question the direction his life had been taking. Questions which had subsequently lowered his defences when it had come to contemplating something of a more permanent nature with a woman who’d actually appeared to fit the bill.

His jaw clenched and he swung back to his computer, blanking out his memories of the golden-haired, green-eyed witch who had made him take his eye off the ball. There was no point in resurrecting the past. It was over and done with. Once he had sent the courier delivering the ring on his way back down to London, his chapter with Rosalind would be at an end and life, as always, would carry on.

On that note, he did what he did best—buried himself in work—and, within ten minutes, thoughts of the past were where they should be: locked away and incapable of jumping out at him, at least for the moment.

* * *

Abigail Christie was running late. The driver, a trusted employee of Vanessa—Abigail’s boss, who had saved her, in a manner of speaking, and who owned the exquisite, upmarket jeweller’s from which Lady Rosalind Duval had purchased the diamond—had been under strict instructions to make it to Greyling Manor no later than five, under penalty of death. Unfortunately, those instructions had allowed no leeway for the twin assault of vile weather and the accompanying stop-start traffic. They had left an overcast London bang on time but had run into problems the second they had hit Oxford and, from there on, it had been a frustrating race against the clock.

Abigail had not been able to contact Lady Rosalind to advise her of the delay because she hadn’t been picking up.

The only silver lining was the fact that, although they were now over two hours behind schedule, they had finally left most of the traffic behind and, whilst the country lanes leading to Greyling Manor might be dark, twisty and frankly treacherous given the weather conditions, their destination was at last within touching distance.

She would thrust the ring at Lady Rosalind, get her signature as fast as she could and leave without further ado.

Doubtless, Rosalind Duval would be waiting with bated breath for them to arrive and would be as keen to see the back of them as they would be to see the back of Greyling Manor, which was buried deep in the heart of the Cotswolds.

No sticking around to gather themselves before embarking on the return journey. No polite conversation with the lord of the manor and no having to contend with whatever arrogant, Hooray Henry types had gathered in preparation for tomorrow’s Big Reveal and would want to have a preview of the magnificent engagement ring. Not now that they were running so late. And that afforded Abigail a great deal of relief because the prospect of dipping her toes back into the waters of that rarefied world of the super-rich was something that made her feel physically sick.

It had revived all the worst memories she had of just how unscrupulous the people who inhabited that world could be. She had had her disastrous brush with how the other half lived and she was in no hurry for a return visit.

Indeed, she had done her best to get out of delivering this ring, not least because she hadn’t handled the sale. She had only seen Rosalind in passing, but the timing had been bad for Vanessa and typical of a young, rich woman who snapped her fingers and expected all her wishes to be met instantly, Rosalind had set a date for the delivery and had refused to budge.

And there were other reasons why Abigail intended to tell Hal, the driver, to keep the engine running while she flew in, did what was necessary and flew back out.

For the fourth time in under an hour, she checked her phone for any communication from her friend Claire, but a reliable network service had died pretty much as soon as they had hit the first winding country lane and it hadn’t got any better the deeper into the heart of the Cotswolds they had travelled.

With a sigh of frustration, Abigail leant back and watched the dark scenery drift past her. There was something eerie about the veil of snow falling steadily into the inky-black landscape, settling over the open fields. She was accustomed to light pollution and the constant sounds of a city. Out here, she felt as though she could have been on another planet, and she didn’t like that because it made her think of Sam, her ten-month-old son back in London, and the fact that he would be fast asleep by the time she made it back to her house, even if the turnaround here was faster than the speed of light.

And then, hard on the heels of that, she started to think about the weather, started to wonder whether she was imagining it or whether the snow was getting thicker. It was so hard to tell in the darkness. What if these little lanes became impassable? Right now, they seemed fine, but what if she couldn’t make it back to London? She would have to find a bed and breakfast somewhere, and that would entail an overnight stay, and she had never spent a night away from Sam. She couldn’t imagine not waking up in the morning to the sound of his gurgling and little complaining cries that went on until she scooped him up for his morning bottle.

Lost in thought, she surfaced when the vehicle slowed, turned through impressive wrought-iron gates and headed up a long, tree-lined drive that was lit by a series of lanterns. It was beautifully romantic and it was only as they approached the Georgian mansion that she felt the first stirrings of unease.

The place looked deserted, aside from a couple of cars in the circular courtyard. Most of the house was in darkness and she made Hal double check to make sure he had got the address right.

‘You’d better come in with me,’ she said dubiously and Hal, killing the engine, turned round and looked at her, his cheerful face serious.

‘If this is an engagement party,’ he said in his usual direct fashion, ‘then I’ll eat my hat.’ He waved the woollen hat lying on the seat next to him and grinned. ‘I’ve seen more life in a graveyard.’

‘Don’t say that. I have a ring to deliver. Vanessa will be distraught if for some reason the sale falls through.’

‘It won’t, love.’ He smiled kindly at her. ‘You’ll probably find that the action will kick off tomorrow. That’s when the party’s due to take place, isn’t it? The happy couple are probably just relaxing and enjoying some peace before the big day ahead.’

Ten minutes later, Abigail discovered that that couldn’t have been further from the truth.

* * *

Leandro had thoroughly cleared his head of the catastrophic mess that had awaited him when he had arrived back from New York. That was the joy of work. It put everything into perspective. It was a world in which everything was clear cut and everything had a solution. Now, as Julie popped her head round the door to inform him that the last link in the ‘belly up’ chain had arrived, bearing the ill-fated ring, Leandro was obliged to face the final annoying hurdle in putting this matter to rest.

He was, fortunately, in a better frame of mind. Rosalind had shouted and screamed, furious that for the first time in her life someone had scuppered her plans. She had threatened social exclusion, at which point Leandro had made the mistake of laughing, and she had been apoplectic when he had suggested that she was far better off without him, because he simply didn’t have the reserves of energy or patience to give her the sort of attention she required. Nor, he had added, had he the slightest interest in having children. In fact, he could think of nothing worse. So the pitter-patter of tiny feet would have remained an unfulfilled ambition.

Rosalind had got the worst out of her system and he felt that, when she eventually descended from her rage, she would find blessed relief in gossiping about him behind his back and painting whatever picture it took for her to emerge smelling of roses.

For his part, burying himself in work had put everything in perspective.

He had no idea what had driven him to imagine that anything could be more important. His abiding memory of his parents was of two spoiled and wealthy people caught up in a hedonistic whirl, incapable of growing up and certainly incapable of looking after the child they had accidentally conceived. Even less had they been able to deal with the arrival of Cecilia years later, another accident. The task of taking care of his much younger sister had fallen to him and, from a young age, Leandro had worked out that the tumult of emotion and the chaos it was capable of engendering was not for him. A healthy aversion to chaos, disorder and unpredictability had been ingrained in him from a tender age.

As a teenager, he had lost himself in his studies, only surfacing to make sure his sister was okay. As an adult, work had replaced the studies, and when his parents had died, victims of their wild, irresponsible lifestyle—speedboat racing at night in the Caribbean—work had become even more imperative because he had had to rescue what was left of the family finances. There had been no time to kick back and relax. Work was and always would be the most important driving force of Leandro’s life. Rosalind’s hysterics had clarified that for him.

He had told Julie to show the courier into the smallest of the sitting rooms, the one which bore the least evidence of the party that wasn’t going to be taking place. He now made his way there, mind half on the business proposal he had been reading before he had been interrupted.

* * *

On tenterhooks, because whatever was wrong was very, very wrong and the fast exit she had been hoping for now seemed out of the question, Abigail was sitting upright in a chair in the room into which she had been delivered like an unwanted parcel.

Rosalind was, she was given to understand, not there. Hal was to wait in the kitchen where he would be given something to eat and she was to wait for the master of the house in the sitting room where, she hoped, he would take delivery of the ring.

She heard the approach of footsteps on the marble floor and was already rising to her feet, having rehearsed what she needed to say about getting back to London urgently before the weather took a turn for the worse.

Whatever the heck was going on, it wasn’t her problem. She had already reached that conclusion. She’d done her job and, if the loved-up couple had had a tiff, then that was nothing to do with her.

She didn’t know who or what to expect. Stiff with tension, with the metal box containing the ring clutched to her chest, for a few seconds Abigail almost thought that her nerves had brought on a hallucinatory attack.

Because there was no way that those footsteps she had heard could possibly have heralded the arrival of a six-foot-two specimen of pure, hard-edged masculinity. There was no way that those achingly familiar tawny eyes, fringed by eyelashes she had once teased could have been the envy of any woman, could now be staring at her. It just wasn’t possible. Leandro Sanchez could not be lounging in the doorway of this sitting room, larger than life.

She couldn’t tear her eyes away from him. He was her very worst nightmare and her very deepest, darkest, most forbidden fantasy come to life and she blinked, desperately hoping that the vision would disappear. It didn’t. He remained just where he was, an alpha male of such sinful beauty that he took her breath away. He had taken her breath away the first time she had seen him a year and a half ago. Over the weeks of their torrid and doomed love affair, that impact had never lessened.

He was the sort of guy women dreamed about. Olive-skinned, tawny-eyed and with an electrifying, ruthless sex appeal. He was long, lean and muscular, and Abigail thought that she could remember each and every muscle and sinew of that fabulous body.

She had never thought that she’d see him again, not after everything, and as the full horror of this accidental encounter hit home the room began to swim. She felt nausea rise in a tide up her throat, and she swallowed back the bile, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself from swaying. She felt her legs give way and knew that she was going to pass out before she hit the ground.

* * *

She came to on one of the low, cream sofas facing the arched window through which she had been absently gazing only seconds before and struggled up to find that Leandro had dragged a chair over by the sofa and was sitting, watching her.

‘Drink this.’ He pressed a glass with some brandy into her hand and forced her to take a sip. His eyes were cool and guarded, his hand was steady, his voice controlled.

Not a single thing conveyed his utter shock at walking into the room and coming face to face with the only woman who had got under his skin and refused to budge—and, as if that wasn’t sufficiently appalling, it galled him to realise that his ability to recall had been spot-on because she was just as exquisite as he remembered.