One Night: Latin Heat: Uncovering Her Nine Month Secret / One Night With The Enemy / One Night with Morelli

“Me? No.” She blinked, and her expression abruptly changed. “Oh, my dear. Is that what’s been happening to you?”

I felt the color drain from my cheeks. “No, I...”

“Oh, you poor child.” Her plump, wrinkled face was sympathetic, her blue eyes kind. She reached over and patted my hand. “Don’t worry. You’ll triumph over all the ugly, silly words that people can say. Alejandro loves you. And you love him. That’s what matters.”

Now my cheeks went hot. “Uh...”

“And I’m so happy you’re part of our family.” She gave my hand a little squeeze, then chuckled. “I was a little worried. You should have seen the women he dated before you. He didn’t bring a single one home. For good reason. He knew I’d skewer them.”

“I’m the first woman he ever brought home?” I said faintly.

She nodded. Her gaze became shadowed as she looked at Alejandro farther down the table. “I was starting to think he’d never let any woman into his heart. That he’d never let anyone know who he truly is.” She gave me a sudden sharp look. “But you know. Don’t you?”

I furrowed my brow. Was she talking about a biblical knowing? Otherwise I didn’t really understand. “Um, yes?”

She stared at me, then releasing my hand, abruptly turned away. “How did you like the rose garden?”

I shivered in spite of myself. “It is...very beautiful,” I managed. “Like paradise. But what were you saying about Alejandro...?”

Maurine’s eyes shadowed. She bit her lip. “I can’t believe you don’t know. But if you don’t, he has to be the one to...”

“Querida,” I heard Alejandro say behind me. “It is time for bed.”

Seriously? He was announcing this in front of his grandmother and the whole table? I turned with a scowl, then saw him holding up our sleepy-eyed son. Oh. He meant Miguel. With dinner served so late in Spain, it was past our baby’s bedtime, and he was yawning in Alejandro’s arms, causing dimples in his fat little cheeks. “Right.” I held out my arms. “I need to give him a bath first....”

But Alejandro shook his head. He wasn’t letting me escape so easily. “I’ll help you. It’s time I learned to do these things as well, don’t you think?”

The gleam in his black eyes told me he knew I was scrambling to think of a way to avoid being alone with him tonight. Wondering if I could find a door with a lock. Surely there had to be one in this castle, with its choice of approximately five million rooms. I shook my head with an awkward laugh. “You don’t want to learn how to give a baby his bath and put him to bed, Your Excellency!”

He snorted at that last bit. “A man needs to know how to take care of his own son.” He lifted a dark eyebrow. “Don’t you agree?”

“Yes,” I grumbled.

“Such a good father,” Maurine sighed.

I narrowed my eyes, then gave him a smile. “I’ll show you how to change his diaper, too,” I said sweetly.

He gave me a crooked grin. “Excelente.”

A moment later, we were walking down the dark hallways, the noise of the happy dinner party receding behind us, beneath the thick inner walls of the castle.

“This way,” he said, placing his fingertips innocently on the base of my spine to guide me. I trembled.

Tonight, you will be in my bed.

Tonight, you will be my wife.

“Our bedroom is in the new wing....”

“New wing?”

“This castle might have been home to this family for four hundred years, but antiques are—how shall I say this?—not my style.”

Going up another flight of stairs, still holding our baby protectively with his muscled arm, he pushed open the door at the end of that hall. I followed him inside, and saw an enormous, high-ceilinged room with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a balcony. Modern, masculine, stark. With only one real piece of furniture.

An enormous bed.

I stopped. “But where’s the crib?”

“I’ve had the room next door turned into a nursery.” To my relief, Alejandro didn’t even glance at the big bed, but just kept walking straight into the connecting door that led to the nursery, and its en-suite bathroom.

The bathroom connected to the nursery was as severe and cold as the master bedroom had been, all white marble and gleaming chrome. But it did have an amazing view. Wide windows overlooked the dark vistas of his estate, lit only by moonlight and distant twinkling lights on the horizon.

He stopped, frowning at the marble bathtub. “On second thought, I don’t think this is going to work,” he said tersely, looking from the enormous tub to the baby in his arms. “He’s too small. We need to get a special baby-size tub....”

It was endearing, really, to see how worried he was. “Tomorrow, if you like, we can go get one. For today, it’s no problem.” Smiling, I took Miguel in my arms. “Since he can’t sit up on his own yet, we’ll just hold him up. And be careful.” Leaning over, I turned on the water. “Having an extra pair of hands will help.”

His eyes met mine. “So you don’t...mind that I’m helping you?”

“No,” I said softly, “I’m glad.”

His expression changed. He started to speak, then turned away, sticking his hand in the water. When the temperature was Goldilocks-acceptable—neither too hot nor too cold—he plugged the drain so the bathtub could fill.

Sitting the baby on the marble counter, I started to pull off his clothes and the clean diaper beneath. “Can you grab his baby shampoo? It’s in my bag. Oh.” I turned. “It’s still in the car—”

With a grin, Alejandro held up the baby shampoo from a nearby drawer, along with a white, fluffy towel. “You mean this?”

“Oh,” I said. My cheeks went hot. “It was nice of your staff to unpack everything for me, but...”

“But?”

“It’s just strange to have someone going through my stuff.”

“You’ll get used to it. You’ll never have to lift a finger again, unless you want to. Especially with Abuela to oversee everything. She enjoys cooking, cleaning, shopping...” He paused, suddenly looking uncertain. “That is, if you wish that.”

I lifted my eyebrows. “If I?”

Alejandro came closer to me.

“You are the duchess now,” he said. “As far as the castillo is concerned, your rule is now law.”

My cheeks went hot. I licked my lips, tried to laugh as I sat on the edge of the bathtub and checked the water with my elbow. “So you mean I could fire everyone, throw out your tenants, buy Maurine a condo in Barcelona, get rid of all the furniture and paint the walls pink?”

But he didn’t laugh.

“If you like,” he said in a low voice. “Though I’d prefer we keep the staff and tenants. If you decided otherwise, I would need to take care of them some other way.”

“Give them all houses and jobs in Madrid?”

“Something like that.”

This kind of thinking surprised me. Most of the high-powered CEO types I’d seen in New York and London seemed to constantly need to resole their expensive shoes, due to the wear caused by stepping on all the little people. I looked at Alejandro curiously. “You really feel responsible for them, don’t you?”

“Of course. They—” Tightening his jaw, he looked away. “They’re my people.”

“Oh.” I bit my lip. “Maybe you’re not entirely the bastard I thought you were.”

“But I am,” he said in a low voice. He lifted his gaze to mine. “I can’t change who I am.”

Something about the expression of the chiseled lines of his handsome face made me feel all confused and jumbled inside. For a moment, the only sound between us was the water running into the bathtub, and the soft yawns of our baby.

“All right, fine. The staff can stay.” I sighed. “It would probably be easier to just get rid of me, then.”

His lips quirked upward. “Never. Sorry.”

“Miguel is your responsibility. Not me,” I pointed out. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’m not...one of your people.” I looked away. “I can support myself. Just so you know.”

“I do know. I’ve seen your paintings.”

I stiffened. Edward had often patronized my little hobby. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I think you’re talented,” he said softly. He pointed toward the nursery. “Or didn’t you notice?”

Frowning, I went to the door. And I sucked in my breath as I looked around the dark nursery, at the paintings lining the walls.

“You brought them,” I whispered. “All the paintings from Mexico...all the pictures I did of Miguel since he was born.”

“I wanted them here. With him.” He looked at me. “With us.”

A shiver went through me from deep inside.

“You are welcome to paint, or do any work you want,” he said gravely, “but only if it nourishes your soul. And any money you make is exclusively your own.”

“But that’s not right. I don’t expect you to support me, to support all of us—”

“That is my job,” he said firmly, “to financially support you and Miguel and, God willing, other children.”

Other children!

I swallowed, breathing hard. It was as if he were offering me everything I’d never dreamed I could ask for. After growing up an only child, an orphan, I’d always secretly yearned to have a large family. Now Alejandro didn’t just want to be a father for Miguel. He wasn’t offering just financial stability for us both. He wanted to give me more children, too.

And create those children inside me....

No! I had to get ahold of myself. No matter how Alejandro looked at me in the shadows, or how the husky sound of his voice made me tremble. No matter if he seemed to be offering me my dreams. Without love, without honesty, it wouldn’t work.

I shook my head. “You don’t need to do these things out of duty.”

“Not duty.” His hand cupped my cheek. “It is my honor. And more.” His eyes met mine as he said huskily, “It is my pleasure.”

My cheeks flamed with heat. Sparks of need crackled down my body from that single point of contact. My lips went dry, and tension coiled hot, deep inside.

Nervously, I pulled away, looking down at the enormous marble bathtub. “Water’s ready.”

I carried Miguel to the tub, and Alejandro was suddenly beside me, rolling up his long sleeves to reveal his powerful forearms, dusted with dark hair. “Allow me.”

Together, we propped him up to sit in the few inches of water. Alejandro held him upright as I lathered up Miguel’s soft, wispy dark hair. The baby was already yawning as we toweled him off, and got him into his blue footsie pajamas decorated with baby animals. He was half-asleep as I took him into the nursery, to cuddle him in a rocking chair and feed him before bed. Alejandro sat beside us in a cushioned window seat. His face was in silhouette as he watched us, with the wide view of the moon-swept valley and the distant lights of Seville.

I cuddled our baby close, until his eyes were heavy and his mouth fell off the nipple, though his plump mouth still pursed, drinking imaginary milk as he slept sweet baby dreams.

I finally rose to my feet.

“Can I put him to bed?” Alejandro said. “At least try....”

“Sure,” I said softly. I handed him the burping cloth, then the fuzzy cuddle blanket. “But you’ll need to burp him first.”

“Um...I’m not so sure that’s a...”

“You’ll be fine.” I lifted a sleepy Miguel against his shoulder, over the burping cloth, and showed him how to gently pat his small back. Hesitantly, Alejandro followed suit, until our baby came up with a huge burp, before he softly sighed, and his eyes became heavy again.

Alejandro flashed me a look of triumph. “Ha!”

Seeing him that way, this handsome, ruthless, broad-shouldered man holding his tiny sleeping son—our son—my heart twisted. I smiled, and hoped the dim light of the nursery wouldn’t let him see how I was fighting tears.

Against everything I’d once believed, everything I’d once feared, Alejandro was an amazing father. I knew he would take care of Miguel and love him and always be there to catch him if he fell.

“Now what?” he whispered.

“Tuck him into the crib, on his back,” I answered over the lump in my throat.

Alejandro moved slowly, careful not to wake Miguel, careful to hold his head. He looked as if he were sweating bullets, like a man under the pressure of disarming a nuclear weapon, as he gently set our baby down into his crib. Leaning over beside him, I placed Miguel’s favorite baby blanket, the fuzzy one decorated with elephants, softly by his cheek.

For a long moment, we stood over the crib, watching our son slumber, listening to his quiet, even breathing. Then Alejandro lifted his head to look at me.

Our eyes locked. And what I saw in his face left me shivering beneath the open weight of his hunger. Wordlessly, he pulled me from the room, closing the door behind us.

We were alone. In his bedroom.

I stared at him, my heart pounding. “You have to know—what happened in the garden today was a mistake.”

“Sí,” he agreed. “It was.”

He was taking it a lot better than I’d thought he would. I exhaled. “So we won’t...”

My voice trailed off as, for the first time, I realized someone had been in this bedroom while we’d been bathing Miguel. My eyes went wide.

A fire now crackled in the fireplace. Candles glowed from the marble mantle. And...no, surely it couldn’t be...

Going toward the king-size bed at the center of the room, I picked up one of the scarlet, fragrant petals that had been scattered over the white bedspread.

“Rose petals?” I said dumbly. Turning, I held it up. “I don’t understand....”

He gave a low, sensual smile. “Don’t you?”

I exhaled. “You arranged this.”

“Yes.”

“But you just agreed that our kiss was a mistake—”

“It shouldn’t have happened in the garden. Or the kiss in the coatroom in Madrid, either. I wanted you. I lost control. That was the mistake.” Coming close to me, he shook his head. “But this won’t be.”

“Don’t look at me like that,” I whispered.

“Like what?”

“Like...” I licked my lips. “Like it’s all you can do to keep yourself from ripping off my clothes and sliding me beneath you...”

“Because, querida,” he said, cupping my face, “it is. I’ve dreamed of you for so long....”

“You dreamed of me?” I breathed, remembering all the nights I’d yearned for him, in hot dreams that had made me ache, only to wake up bereft and cold in the morning.

“Yes. But tonight, querida, tonight,” he whispered, lowering his head toward mine, “my dreams come true. Not for duty. Not for convenience. But for pleasure. For need.” He slowly traced his hand down the side of my body. “There’s been no one for me since you, Lena. Did you know that? No other woman I’ve wanted in my bed. Just you. And now you are mine at last—as I am yours....”

As the fire crackled in the fireplace, I saw the shadows of red and orange move across the hard edges and planes of his handsome, saturnine face.

“It can’t be true.”

He pulled me into his arms.

“Tonight,” he said softly, “will be the first night of forever.”

Trembling, I looked up into his dark eyes. I tried to think of something, anything, to send him away from me. I tried to make my body move away, to run. But it was no longer obeying me. My body knew what it wanted. What it had always wanted.

I felt his hands tighten on my back, over the fabric of my blouse, as he pulled me close.

And he lowered his head to mine. I felt the warmth of his breath against my skin. A hard, reckless shiver went up and down my body. Of need. Of desire so great it made me shake.

Because what I wanted now, though beautiful as flowers, could poison my soul, and kill my heart. Just like the oleander...

“Please,” I breathed as I felt the roughness of his jawline brush against my cheek. It was all I could do, to keep from leaning into him, kissing him, pulling him hard and tight against me. I wanted him so badly, I could almost have wept from it.

He traced his fingertip very gently from my earlobe, along my cheek, to my full, aching lower lip. “Please?”

“Please...” I tried to remember what I wanted. Please kiss me. Please don’t.

But he didn’t give me time to gather my senses. Lowering his mouth to my ear, he whispered, “You are mine. Forever and always. My pleasure. My duchess. My wife. My lover...”

“No,” I whispered. “I can’t be....”

“I forgot.” He drew back, his eyebrows an amused slash over his heavy-lidded eyes. “You said you do not want me.”

“I don’t,” I said, praying he would believe such a lie.

“I see.” He ran his hand down the bare skin to my throat. “So you feel nothing when I do this....”

Trembling, I shook my head.

“And this...” His large hand cupped my breast over my blouse, the tip of his thumb rubbing over my nipple, which pebbled, aching and taut beneath the fabric.

I couldn’t speak. I looked up at him, my lips parted, my heart pounding.

“Give in. To me.”

“But I don’t love you,” I choked out, but what that really meant was Don’t make me love you.

“I do not ask for your heart. But your body—sí. Tonight...your body will be mine.”

And he lowered his mouth to mine.

His lips were gentle, even tender. One touch, and I was proved a liar. Of course I wanted him. Of course I did.

I sighed, as his kiss deepened, became demanding, hungry. My arms wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him close.

He slowly lowered me back against the enormous bed covered with rose petals. I gloried in the heavy weight of his body over mine, pressing me deep into the soft mattress.

He pulled off my blouse, kissing down my body as each opened button revealed more of my skin. He lifted me against him, to pull off my shirt. I felt the warmth of his fingertips trailing down my naked arms, down my back. With expert precision, he unlatched my bra with a single flick of his fingers, and my breasts hung free, full and heavy and aching for his touch.

I heard the hoarseness of his breath as he pushed me back against the bed. Cupping my breasts with his hands, he nuzzled between them, lowering his head to one taut nipple, then the other, pulling it gently into his mouth as I gasped with pleasure.

“Wait,” I choked out. “I want to feel you—”

Reaching for his shirt, I yanked it hard from his body. I was definitely not as careful as he’d been about the buttons. At least one ripped off entirely and scattered noisily against the floor in my desperation to feel the warmth of his skin. I exhaled when I could at last run my hands over his naked chest, feeling his hard sculpted muscles beneath the light dusting of dark hair. A low groan came from his lips, and he fell against me on the bed, ravishing my lips with his own.

Ohhhh... Deeper, deeper. The pleasure of his tongue against mine, his lips hard and so sweet, made me burn all over, made me lose my mind....

He kissed slowly down my bare skin, working his way to my belly button, which he flicked with his tongue. Unbuttoning my jeans, he rolled them with my panties down my hips, peeling the fabric inch by inch down my legs, kissing and licking and nibbling as he went, until I was naked and gasping for breath.

He kissed the hollow of my foot, then gently pushed my legs wide. From the base of the bed, he looked up at me, spread-eagled across the bed, naked for his pleasure. I quivered with need. If he tried to leave me now—my lips parted. In that moment, I would have done anything—begged, even—to get him to stay.

But no begging was necessary. With a low growl, he removed his own trousers and then fell hard and naked upon me. I felt the length of him, like steel, pressing between my legs. Looking up at his face in the flickering shadows of the firelight, I realized that he wasn’t in nearly as much control of himself as I’d imagined. In fact, he was barely keeping himself in check.

“You don’t have to hold back,” I choked out, pulling him down against me, my hips lifting of their own volition against his. “Please...”

And this time, there was no question what I wanted. But he would not let me control him or set the pace. Shrugging off my grasp, he slid down my body, then parted my legs with his shoulders at my knees. I felt the heat of his breath against my inner thighs. I gasped, reaching my hands out to grip the white comforter beneath me.

Pressing his large hands against my thighs, he spread me wide. He lowered his head and took a long, languorous taste.

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