One Night in... Rio: The Brazilian Millionaire's Love-Child / Virgin Mistress, Scandalous Love-Child / The Surgeon's Runaway Bride

But she was so confused.

She’d spent the whole of the previous day waiting for Senhora Silveira to send for her, but it hadn’t happened. Oh, Ricardo Vincente had taken her on a tour of the villa, as promised, and she’d duly admired the rich, if rather oppressive, opulence of its appointments.

But there’d been no sign of her hostess, or of Alejandro. Either the woman had changed her mind about the interview, or she was allowing her guest a little time to get over her jet lag.

As for Alejandro …

Isobel sighed.

As far as Anita was concerned, she couldn’t quite believe she was that considerate. So what? Had Alejandro told his mother-in-law the truth? And, if so, had she pulled the plug on the interview? So why had Ricardo behaved as if she might be interested in Anita’s background? When was anybody going to tell her what was going on?

The previous day had passed incredibly slowly. Although Isobel had her laptop with her, and she’d been able to edit an earlier article she’d written for the magazine, her heart hadn’t been in it. Several times she’d gone into the bedroom and considered packing her suitcase, but pride wouldn’t let her. She was here to do a job and, if she was permitted, that was what she had to do.

By the time she’d a shower and one of the maids had brought her breakfast, she was feeling a little better. Not optimistic, exactly, but prepared to face whatever was ahead. It was time that she showed some initiative. If Anita didn’t know about Emma, there was no reason why she should change her mind about the interview.

Bearing in mind what Ricardo had said about Anita sleeping late, she delayed leaving her apartment until after eleven o’clock. But then, dressed in black-cropped capris that buttoned at the knee, a cream gauze-smock over a black vest, wedge-heeled sandals, and carrying a bag containing her recording equipment and laptop, she walked along the veranda and entered the hall of the villa.

It was already hot outside. Isobel could feel the beads of perspiration on the back of her neck. But the hall was cool and airy.

Two maids were using a power cleaner, polishing the mosaic-tiled floor. Her heels clattered on the tiles and attracted their attention. Isobel was about to try out her phrasebook Portuguese and ask where Senhora Silveira was, when a man appeared in the arched doorway across the wide expanse of the floor.

Tall and dark, with broad shoulders tapering to lean hips, the man’s face was in shadow. But, even backlit by the sun pouring in through the windows of the room behind him, Isobel had no hesitation in identifying who it was.

Alejandro.

For a moment, her legs almost buckled. She hadn’t forgotten the way they’d parted the previous day. But then, remembering her determination not to be intimidated, Isobel walked stiffly towards him.

‘Senhor,’ she said, using his title for the maids’ benefit. ‘I didn’t expect to find you here.’

‘Now, that I can believe,’ remarked Alejandro drily, allowing her to make all the running. He leant his shoulder against the marble pillar that supported the lintel. ‘How are you this morning, Ms Jameson?’

Isobel had to clear her throat before replying. ‘I—I’m very well, thank you, senhor,’ she said, halting a few feet from him. ‘Eager to get started on the interview.’ She hesitated and then continued, ‘Do you know if Senhora Silveira is up?’

It was another of those ambiguous questions, and Alejandro’s mouth took on a cynical curve. ‘How would I know that?’ he asked. ‘I am not my mother-in-law’s keeper. But, if you want to know why she did not send for you yesterday, I can tell you she was—what do you say?—indisposed?’

Isobel listened to what he was saying, but it wasn’t easy. His nearness was too acute. Despite the fact that the scar on his cheek that had previously been obscured by shadow was now starkly visible, she was intimately aware of him. The power of his sexuality overwhelmed her, made a mockery of her intention to remain detached.

But, ‘Indisposed?’ she managed after a moment, and Alejandro inclined his head.

‘She had a headache,’ he said flatly. ‘Anita’s headaches are legendary. They appear at the most convenient times.’

Isobel concentrated on the neckline of his shirt, trying not appear interested in his explanation. ‘Don’t you mean inconvenient times?’ she questioned, and his lips curled with momentary amusement.

‘I mean what I said,’ he retorted drily. ‘As you will find out in time, querida.’

Isobel shivered.

He was wearing a black shirt that clung to his torso this morning, smudged with sweat in places as if he’d been exerting himself in the heat outside. Black trousers clung to long, powerful legs, tight and revealing, the cuffs pushed into ankle-high suede boots.

‘And do you think she’ll be well enough to see me this morning?’ she got out eventually, and sensed rather than saw the indifferent shrug that marked his response.

‘She seemed all right yesterday evening,’ Alejandro declared carelessly. ‘But I doubt she will want to see you before noon.’

Isobel chanced a look at him. ‘You were here yesterday evening?’

‘No.’ Alejandro spoke tolerantly. ‘I spoke to her by telefone only.’ There was a moment’s silence, and then he added softly, ‘I have been waiting for you, cara. I knew that sooner or later you would appear.’

Isobel expelled a breath. ‘I thought we said all that needed to be said yesterday morning,’ she declared, shifting her bag from one hand to the other. She glanced about her. ‘Despite the senhora’s absence, perhaps you could tell me where the interview is likely to take place.’

Alejandro straightened from his lounging position. ‘It is not going to work, you know,’ he said mildly, and Isobel felt the sense of panic she’d experienced when she’d first seen him engulfing her again. He hesitated, evidently choosing his words with care. ‘But by all means take some time to consider the situation. I suggest we spend a little time together.’ His brows lifted sardonically. ‘You liked me once. I realise I have changed.’ A rueful hand brushed his scarred cheek. ‘Even so, perhaps I can persuade you I am not an unreasonable man.’

Isobel took an involuntary backward step. ‘I—I didn’t come here to spend time with you,’ she protested, hoping the maids, who had abandoned their floor-buffing in favour of polishing the panelling, couldn’t understand English.

‘I know that.’ Alejandro’s lips twisted. ‘But you don’t have to be afraid of me. I may look like an ogre but, I assure you, I am still depressingly human.’

Isobel’s eyes widened. She realised he had mistaken her panic for something else. ‘You don’t understand,’ she said, her eyes darting towards his and then away again. ‘I just meant I was asked to interview Senhora Silveira, and—’

‘I understand what you meant very well, Isobella,’ Alejandro retorted drily. ‘And I also know why you were invited to come here. But surely it is not unreasonable in the circumstances to expect a little understanding on your part?’

Isobel’s knees were trembling with the effort to maintain her composure. ‘Are—are you saying there is to be no interview?’ she asked. ‘Because if that’s the case—’

‘Listen to me!’ A muscle jerking in Alejandro’s cheek betrayed his agitation. ‘The interview is not at stake here. Do you understand me? Your association with Anita is your concern, not mine. What I would like to do is have a serious conversation with you about our daughter. I had planned to show you my estancia this morning, but—’

Isobel was distracted. ‘Your estancia?’ she echoed, and Alejandro sighed.

‘Sim. My estancia,’ he agreed, noticing she hadn’t contradicted his other statement. ‘My ranch, if you like. As well as my work for Cabral Leisure, I breed polo ponies.’

‘Polo ponies?’

A faintly mocking smile tugged at the corners of his thin lips. ‘Sim, polo ponies. My manager does all the hard work, I am afraid. I just share in the rewards. It is my—como se diz?—my escape from the city, nao? You will like it, I am sure. But it is some miles from here, and since Anita was indisposed yesterday …’

His words reminded her of the situation, and she realised she’d allowed him to divert her with his talk of estancias and polo ponies. She also realised how little she knew about this man. Despite the comfort of her upbringing, she certainly wasn’t used to the kind of wealth Alejandro seemed to take for granted. Perhaps he thought it would influence her.

But he was wrong.

‘And did your wife like staying at the estancia, senhor?’ she asked, deliberately bringing Miranda into the equation. ‘I imagine she must have. Were you married as soon as you returned to Brazil?’

Alejandro’s pale eyes hardened. ‘Why would this interest you?’ he demanded. ‘Unless what you really want to know is why the accident occurred.’ His mouth curled. ‘Ah, you think Miranda would not have married me if it had happened before our wedding, hmm? You are suggesting that she must have regretted it? That that is why she overdosed on heroin within a year of taking her vows?’

‘No!’ Isobel was horrified at the emotions she’d inadvertently unearthed. She hadn’t even known how his wife had died. ‘That wasn’t what I meant at all.’

‘But I notice you do not deny that you find me repulsive,’ retorted Alejandro bitterly. ‘Still, I do not care what you think of me, cara—so long as you do not interfere with what I want.’

Isobel moistened her lips. ‘Which is?’

‘You know,’ Alejandro told her heavily. ‘I intend to get to know my daughter. To be a part of her life from now on.’

Isobel’s stomach hollowed. It was what she’d been afraid of ever since meeting him again and realising the kind of man he was. A man used to having his own way, she hazarded. A man whose wealth and power would allow nothing to stand in his way.

Which was why she said desperately, ‘I told you—Emma isn’t your daughter.’

‘But I know she is.’ He was inflexible. ‘I have proof.’ Then, ‘Be silent!’ he commanded, when she would have protested again. Hard hands reached for her shoulders, forcing her to face him. And, although she glanced behind her, hoping the maids might come and help her, the two girls had slipped silently away.

‘I had hoped we might deal with this as two adults,’ he went on grimly, the hard pads of his fingers digging through to the bone. ‘But clearly that is not to be the case. And that is all right with me also. I can be patient, Isobella.’

She winced then, and he wondered if he was hurting her. Alejandro acknowledged that he wanted to. Anger and frustration vied for dominance, and it was difficult to remain calm when so much was at stake.

For her part, Isobel was stunned by his assertion. What proof could he have? For God’s sake, did anyone else know about this? This was an Alejandro she hadn’t anticipated, and something told her he wasn’t about to be put off with a futile denial.

She glanced up into his dark face, and then wished she hadn’t. Glittering amber eyes caught and held hers with a riveting gaze. She couldn’t look away, and unknowingly her lips parted. Her tongue appeared again to moisten their dryness, its pink tip giving her face a delicate vulnerability.

It wasn’t meant to be provocative. Alejandro knew that. But, as he continued to hold her, his earlier emotions were giving way to something else—something insistent, and infinitely less controllable. An unwilling awareness reared its ugly head.

As on the previous morning at the beach, the memory of how she’d felt in his arms overwhelmed his reason. He still wanted her, he admitted incredulously. Wanted her with an urgency that bordered on madness, his own needs making a mockery of everything else.

When he jerked her towards him, she had no chance of resisting him. She was caught off-guard, off-key and off-balance. With a little gasp of alarm, she stumbled against him, her case dropping helplessly from her fingers as she tried to save herself.

But all she succeeded in doing was in fisting a handful of his shirt to right herself. And, before she could draw back, he’d bent his head towards her and captured her mouth with his. The overnight stubble on his jaw only added to his sexuality, and his hand at her nape sent crazy shivers racing down her spine.

She sank against him, too bemused by the intimacy of his actions to offer further resistance. The heat of his kiss, the sensual possession of his hands, the clean, male scent of his body were seducing her to a state where mindless emotion was her only response.

He murmured to her in his own language, hoarse, unsteady words and phrases that she didn’t understand. But their meaning was clear, and they only added to the sense of unreality that was gripping her, seducing her will and making her moan with pleasure.

His hands caressed her, sliding beneath her smock and her vest, spreading against the warm skin of her spine. She arched against him when his fingers traced the hollow above her bottom. And she felt the unmistakeable pressure of his manhood throbbing against her abdomen.

Alejandro felt his erection too. Felt his trousers tighten around him and the undeniable rush of blood to his groin. And knew a helpless sense of frustration at his body’s weakness.

But the yielding softness of her hips against his was so good, so arousing. And the idea of burying his aching shaft inside her was a powerful thing. He remembered how tight she’d been, how satisfying it had felt to feel her muscles contracting around him. He’d never experienced such a sensation, like an explosion of his senses, of his will …

But no!

With a determination born of obduracy, Alejandro forced himself to lift his head and stare down at her. Her eyes were closed, and he briefly closed his own against the sensuous temptation she represented.

Her mouth was swollen, and there were marks on her cheek where the roughness of his chin had burned her. And, before he released her, he couldn’t resist rubbing a possessive thumb across the abrasion on her skin. He wanted to do more—a lot more, he acknowledged with a certain amount of self-contempt. But time and their surroundings were against him. Besides, he had no intention of allowing her to think this gave her the upper hand.

That wasn’t going to happen, he assured himself grimly. Forcing himself to put some space between them, he tried to quell the bulge between his legs with a slightly unsteady hand. Calm down, he told himself, grasping the pillar behind him. However you feel, you’ve got to stay in control.

His injured leg provided a distraction—albeit an unwelcome one. Standing for any length of time was unwise, and the muscles in his jaw tightened as a shaft of pain arrowed down his thigh.

Still, it reminded him of how unpredictable life could be. How unpredictable his own life had been to this point. Meu Deus, did he want her to think he was still attracted to her? She provoked him, that was all. To the point of madness at times.

Meanwhile Isobel had no idea what he was thinking. She’d opened her eyes to find him regarding her with an unmistakeable look of contempt on his face. Her face flamed instinctively, at the thought of her own stupidity, if nothing else.

She could console herself with the thought that the confusion he’d created in her mind over Emma had clouded her reason. But for a moment, while he’d been kissing her, she’d had to admit all her inhibitions about him and his intentions had scattered to the winds.

‘Are you all right?’

The coldness of his voice was an added push towards sobriety and Isobel took a steadying breath. Then, bending to rescue the case containing her laptop, she said tersely, ‘I will be. When I get out of here.’ And, because it was the uppermost thought in her mind, she added, ‘And please don’t think I believe your lies. Or that by throwing your wealth in my face I’ll be so overwhelmed with admiration that I’ll submit to any suggestion you make.’ She squared her shoulders. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me?’

‘Tomorrow,’ said Alejandro, as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘We will go to Montevista tomorrow. I will pick you up at eight o’clock.’

Isobel blinked. ‘Montevista?’ she said, realising she was back to repeating everything he said. ‘What the hell is—?’ She broke off, annoyed that she had shown any interest. ‘Well, whatever it is, or wherever it is, I’m not going anywhere.’

‘Montevista is my estancia,’ said Alejandro with infuriating calmness. ‘As I said earlier, before you fell so conveniently into my arms …’

‘I didn’t fall into your arms.’

‘You will like it. It is very beautiful. Very remote.’ He paused. ‘Please do not let me down, Isobella. I am not a wise man to cross.’

‘Is that a threat, senhor?’

Isobel tried to sound defiant, but she could hear the tremor in her voice.

‘It is my advice, cara. Eight o’clock, sim?’

‘And if I refuse?’ Isobel forced herself to meet his gaze. ‘Will you force me, senhor?’

Alejandro’s pale eyes hardened. ‘I suggest you grow up, Isobella,’ he said, his voice harsh with feeling. ‘I realise my appearance is a deterrent, but you will get used to it. I can promise you that.’

‘You really don’t understand.’ Isobel stared at him helplessly. ‘Your appearance has nothing to do with it.’ Then, because she was sure he didn’t believe her, ‘And pretending you can prove that Emma is your daughter—’

‘I can.’

‘No.’

‘Yes.’

‘What is going on here?’

The imperious voice was both a relief and a frustration. Isobel sighed and turned to find Anita Silveira crossing the hall towards them. She was trailing the ties of a chiffon wrap that was open over a matching negligee, and Isobel had to acknowledge that only a woman of her arrogance and stature could manage to look elegant in such an unsuitable outfit.

‘Alex!’ she exclaimed, her eyes flickering over Isobel and then returning to him. ‘Why are you here? I did not know you were coming. Come, we can have brunch together.’

‘I am not hungry, Anita,’ said Alejandro coolly, apparently not at all perturbed by his mother-in-law’s appearance. ‘As a matter of fact, I was just leaving.’

Anita’s brows drew together. ‘But you have been talking to Ms Jameson!’ she protested.

‘In your absence, that is all, querida,’ Alejandro lied without apparent conscience. ‘I was merely telling her about the estancia, nao?’ He turned back to Isobel. ‘Adeus, Ms Jameson. It has been a pleasure. Adeus, Anita. We will talk tomorrow, talvez?’

‘Wait!’ Anita turned irritably to Isobel herself. ‘You may go, Ms Jameson. I will send for you when I am ready.’

‘But—’

Isobel started to speak, but one look at Alejandro’s dark face and she thought better of it.

‘Very well,’ she said tightly, wishing she didn’t feel so helpless. She would ring Uncle Sam, she decided firmly. No interview was worth what she being forced to endure.

CHAPTER NINE

ISOBEL spent the next half hour pacing about her sitting room, undecided as to what she ought to do.

Although the idea of ringing Sam had seemed fairly reasonable in the heat of the moment, now she wasn’t so sure. Besides, she couldn’t deny she was apprehensive about Alejandro’s part in all of this. The last thing she needed was her uncle wading in in her defence and making things even worse.

If only she could be sure Alejandro had been lying when he’d said he could prove Emma was his daughter. And what if he hadn’t? What then?

She had no idea how he’d found out about Emma in the first place. But instead of arguing with him—and the rest, she shivered—she should have behaved like the professional journalist she’d always believed herself to be and asked him.

He might not have answered her, of course. But at least she would have had the satisfaction of knowing she’d tried. The whole situation had changed so much since that first night when she’d arrived at the villa, when all she’d had to worry about was seeing Alejandro again. Now she had so much more to lose.

Someone knocked at her door and she stiffened. But it wouldn’t be Alejandro, she assured herself, impatient at the anxiety that just the thought of him could summon at will.

Still, she was relieved when she opened the door to Ricardo Vincente. Did this mean she was still employed? Or had Anita seen something in the hall that had made her change her mind?

‘You will come with me, senhora,’ Ricardo said with his usual air of officiousness. ‘Senhora Silveira is ready for you.’

Isobel swallowed. ‘Are you sure?’ she ventured, ignoring the fact that she had gone in search of her hostess earlier.

‘The senhora wishes to begin the interview immediately,’ declared Ricardo a little impatiently. ‘Come. I will show you to her apartments.’

As she crossed the hall again, Isobel saw that the maids had resumed their polishing. How discreet, she thought, not without a trace of bitterness. Did everybody dance to Alejandro’s tune?

They took the stairs this time, ascending to a galleried landing that overlooked the hall below. Here, angled windows cast light on heavily patterned carpets, bronze urns and marbled statuary giving the corridor that led away from the landing an imposing ostentation.

At the end of the corridor, double doors signalled their destination. Ricardo tapped once, and after evidently hearing some response he flung the doors wide in a dramatic gesture.

‘Ms Jameson, senhora,’ he said, almost as if Anita was royalty. He gestured Isobel forward. ‘Va em frente. Go ahead.’

Isobel entered slowly, her eyes registering that this was not the office she’d expected. Slatted blinds at the windows revealed a spacious sitting-room, overstuffed sofas and chairs forming various seating arrangements about the floor.

A large square-patterned rug covered most of the area. An ornate stone-fireplace occupied a prominent position, faced by a tapestry screen. There were austere portraits on the antique-finished walls, and more of the self-conscious bric-a-brac decorating every available surface.

Anita was seated on a chaise longue in the window embrasure. And, just like her son-in-law downstairs, she’d positioned herself so her face was obscured by the brightness behind her. But as Isobel came in she rose to greet her, and the younger woman realised Anita was still wearing the filmy garments she’d been wearing earlier.

‘Ms Jameson,’ she said, her expression enigmatic. ‘Do sit down, will you not? Ricardo, ask Sancha to arrange for some coffee.’

‘Sim, senhora.’

Ricardo bowed and withdrew, and Isobel glanced a little nervously about her. ‘Where would you like me to sit, senhora?’ she asked, aware that her palms were sweating. And, because she was half-afraid she might drop her briefcase, she gathered it rather protectively against her chest.

Anita regarded her for a long, disturbing moment, and then she indicated the chair set at right angles to the chaise. ‘Here, I think,’ she said with a thin-lipped smile. Then, nodding towards the bag Isobel was clutching so protectively, ‘You will not need that today, senhora. I hope you agree we need to get to know one another first, nao e?’

Isobel hesitated. ‘Oh, but—’

‘You have some objection, senhora?’

Anita arched imperious brows and Isobel realised she didn’t have any choice if she wanted to do what she’d actually come here for. ‘No. No,’ she said putting down her briefcase and subsiding onto the chair Anita had suggested. ‘But I’m not very interesting, Senhora Silveira. I’d really rather talk about you.’

Anita seated herself on the chaise again, stretching out her legs and spreading the folds of chiffon about her. Then, regarding her guest with an intensity Isobel found unnerving, she said, ‘My son-in-law tells me you met in London some years ago.’