Latin Lovers: Passionate Spaniards: The Spaniard's Marriage Demand / Kept by the Spanish Billionaire / The Spanish Doctor's Convenient Bride. Maggie CoxЧитать онлайн книгу.
his sable lashes with a mixture of curiosity and wariness.
‘He’s hungry,’ Isabella declared tightly as she walked back across the room and out into the kitchen. Retrieving a bottle of milk formula from the fridge, she opened the microwave, tapped in the correct heating time and switched it on. As the plate inside started to rotate with the bottle of milk, she turned round to find Leandro framed in the doorway, his expression bordering on accusatory as his gaze met hers across the distance between them. ‘You are not feeding our son yourself?’
For a second or two Isabella froze. Then as another guilty wave immersed her, she bit back the angrily defensive retort that she’d been about to let loose. Instead she started to pat Raphael comfortingly on the back as, sensing her discomfort, he began to struggle in her arms.
‘No …I’m not. I breastfed him for three months but it was difficult.’ Leandro’s steady gaze held hers in thrall and for a tense, troubling moment Isabella could not break free from the spell. Feeling his scrutiny and judgement intensely, she started to rock rhythmically from side to side in a bid to comfort her increasingly restless baby son. It was clear to her that Raphael could absolutely sense her unease and the effect this ‘strange’ man was having upon his mother’s usual calm. ‘I was suffering with post-natal depression for a while and my milk just seemed to—to dry up,’ she continued with her explanation.
The words seemed as insubstantial as cotton wool—as though she were merely making unconvincing excuses for what Leandro must see as her complete lack of determination in the matter. Isabella could have cried with the deep unfairness of his perceived judgement. It had not been easy being pregnant and having to cope with the prospect and reality of bringing a child into the world on her own. Apart from the physical aspects, emotionally Isabella had not known what had hit her. And when she hadn’t even been able to contact Leandro to let him know what had happened after their night together, she had experienced overwhelming fear and the most devastating vulnerability too. Swallowing hard, she jiggled Raphael some more to get him to settle but he would not be comforted. He was as mesmerised by Leandro as she was and kept straining to look at him over her shoulder.
‘You should have had proper help so that you could continue. In Spain we would have done things properly.’
The accusation in his voice no longer open to speculation but just about as obvious as it could get, Leandro walked towards her and held out his arms. ‘Give him to me,’ he ordered quietly. Wanting to resist but somehow unable to, Isabella relented, and surprisingly Raphael immediately quieted. Her heartbeat slowed to an astonished thud inside her chest. Jerking his head a little towards the microwave, then looking straight at her, Leandro positioned his hands securely around his baby son and held him tenderly to his chest. ‘See to the milk. I will take Raphael into the living room and we will wait for you.’ Breathing out with some force as they left the room, Isabella heard the timely ‘ping’ from the microwave and, opening the door, reached inside in a daze to retrieve the now-warmed milk …
‘Soy su padre, mi hijo.’ I am your father, my son …The rest of the world retreated into oblivion as Leandro spoke to his child alone for the first time and he was completely content just to let it. The concerns that had lately been so prevalent and that had seemed to tirelessly dominate his thinking—his father’s death, his mother’s melancholy, the unsatisfactory script for the new film, even his increasing desire to see Isabella again—all stole into a silent void as he willingly lost himself in the wide grey innocent eyes that solemnly gazed up at him. The one thought that did consume him was that in the instant he had glanced back into that curious and innocent glance Leandro knew that he had become the fiercely protective custodian of this beautiful innocent life he held in his arms. He would willingly die before he let harm touch so much as one hair of his son’s head. That being the case, Isabella had no choice but to return to Spain with him and their son. Any arguments she put to him to dispute that choice, Leandro would ruthlessly knock down as easily as a pack of cards. But he would get his way …he had to get his way. He owed it not just to himself, but to the memory of his beloved father who had longed for the miracle Leandro held in his arms right now. Raphael …his perfect little son …
‘Let me take him.’
Suddenly Isabella was there, regarding Leandro with apprehension and concern in her dark-eyed glance as she approached him—clearly oblivious to anything else but the beautiful child he held in his arms.
‘I can feed him.’
He held out his hand for the bottle of milk she had brought and felt a flash of irritation ricochet through his insides when she seemed to hesitate. ‘Do you not think I know how to handle a little one like this? Give me the milk and you can go and take a bath or do whatever it is you need to do to help you relax after work.’
Surprised to say the least by his apparent consideration of her own possible needs, Isabella handed Leandro the bottle and watched him position the teat in Raphael’s eager little mouth—her son clearly displaying no protest at having his father feed him instead of his mother. They looked quite at home, the pair of them—as though this were a ritual they shared on a nightly basis instead of it being the very first time …Isabella couldn’t deny the odd mix of confusion and yet delight that was generated inside her at the touching sight.
‘I’m famished and I was going to get something ready for dinner …You’re welcome to join me if you haven’t eaten yet.’ He’d probably refuse, she told herself. And it would be nothing less than idiotic to feel rejected if he did. But right now no amount of sensible advice she could offer herself was likely to help. Not when her feelings about this man were all tangled up with her quite tangible fears about her own and her baby’s future.
‘How could I possibly refuse such a lovingly extended invitation?’ he responded mockingly. To Isabella’s intense alarm, Leandro glanced up at her with the kind of taunting, devilish sparkle in his striking gaze that could make a woman lose the power of speech and she recalled just how receptive she’d been to those scorching little glances when he’d first employed them and she had ended up in bed with him. That never-to-be-forgotten event that had resulted in the adorably sweet child he now cradled in his arms.
‘I was only going to make a simple rice dish so don’t get your hopes up. I’ll feed Raphael his meal first, then I’ll bath him and put him to bed. After that we can eat and talk …That is if you’re not in a hurry to go anywhere else for a while?’
‘Is it likely that I would be in a hurry to go somewhere else tonight, Isabella?’
The smile that had touched his lips and caused such mayhem vanished, and the look he levelled at Isabella instead was as devoid of humour as a judge at the Old Bailey presiding over a murder trial. Immediately she mourned for his smile.
‘We need to talk and discuss our plans for the future. I am not going anywhere until we have those firmly in place …and I am warning you now that I will not be taking no for an answer when it comes to the matter of you and Raphael coming to live in Madrid with me.’
‘You can’t make a contentious statement like that and expect me to—’
‘I am afraid I can …but before you say anything else there is something I have to ask you.’
‘What’s that?’ Forced to curtail her annoyance and not happy about it one iota, Isabella crossed her arms over her chest and inwardly seethed.
‘Your family …do they know that I am Raphael’s father?’
The question completely took the wind out of Isabella’s sails. It was a great sadness to her that she had not been able to share her child’s father’s identity with anyone …not even her own mother. How many times, when people had expressed admiration for her beautiful son’s ‘amazing’ eyes or stunning face, had she had to suppress her longing to say, Yes, he is so like his father. His name is Leandro Reyes and he is amazing too.
Emilia had done her best, of course, to try and get her to confess the identity of Raphael’s father, but Isabella instinctively knew the potential danger of such a confession to a woman as ambitious