In the Argentine's Bed / Secret Baby, Public Affair. Yvonne LindsayЧитать онлайн книгу.
My son, what is he like?” A beaming smile lit his tanned face as he settled back into his chair.
Amado isn’t the son of Ignacio Alvarez. His mother had an affair.
The reality of the situation chilled her blood. How had Amado reacted? How had his parents reacted? He hadn’t called her with the news, as he’d promised.
“He’s nice,” she stammered. “Very smart.”
Tarrant waved his hand impatiently. “Does he look like me?”
Susannah frowned. “You both have strong features. I can see a resemblance around the nose and cheekbones. He’s darker, though, with dark eyes and hair.”
Tarrant smiled. “Like my son Dominic. I never could resist the allure of a dark young beauty, back then.”
Susannah tried not to recoil. Tarrant’s steady gaze made her uncomfortably conscious of her own dark coloring. She so did not want to think about Tarrant’s sexual exploits of thirty-odd years ago.
It was downright hard to imagine Clara Alvarez being a beauty, dark or otherwise. Didn’t she have blue eyes like Tarrant?
“His mother was such a stunner. Sharp as a cracked whip and with a fire that…” He blew out a breath and shook his head.
“Clara is well and healthy, too.”
“Clara?” Tarrant sipped a clear drink. Martini probably. “Who’s that?”
“Amado’s mother.”
Tarrant put his drink down. “Amado’s mother is dead.”
A chill crept up her spine. “But I met her.”
“Hardly. I was called to identify the body.”
Susannah swallowed hard. Her blood seemed to stop flowing. “But he called her ‘mother.’”
“I don’t know who the heck Clara is, but his real mother was Marisa Alvarez and she died giving birth to her son.” He tapped his cigar. “Tragic. The whole situation was a nightmare.”
Susannah blinked, unable to make sense of it.
Amado very definitely believed himself to be the son of Clara and Ignacio Alvarez. Now he wasn’t related to either of them?
Tarrant studied the end of his cigar. “My son, Amado, will unfortunately not return my calls.”
“How did he learn the news?”
“My daughter Fiona managed to get him on the phone long enough to share the happy news, but he hung up on her. She’s not terribly subtle, but I had hoped that the blood ties would…”
He let out a long sigh. “I’m truly impressed that you managed to coax him into providing a sample.” His eyes narrowed. “You’re a quiet one, and I can tell there’s more to you than meets the eye.”
Susannah shrank into her chair, feeling guilty.
“So I need you to go back to Argentina and bring my son home.”
Icy shock rushed over her. Back to Tierra de Oro? “You want me to bring him to New York?”
“I need to meet him. To show him the business. To welcome him to his place in it.”
A sharp flash of adrenaline stung her muscles at the prospect of seeing Amado again. Then reality set in. Tarrant wanted his son to join the business like his other newfound son Dominic.
Her stomach clenched and she recoiled at the prospect of trying to convince Amado to leave the home he loved so much. No matter how much money was involved, that would be wrong.
“He’ll never leave the estancia.” The words flew from her tongue. “It’s everything to him, his life’s work. He loves it like…” Like a father loves his son.
She held her tongue. Regretted the passion with which she’d spoken.
Tarrant frowned and studied her. “Bring him here just long enough to meet his old man before I die.”
Susannah blinked. No doubt he was confident that once he got Amado in his reaches he could talk him into anything.
Tarrant was such a force of nature it was easy to forget he was dying of cancer. The disease was so advanced that his doctors had advised him to avoid debilitating treatments and to enjoy his last months—or weeks—as best he could. Already he’d outlived their predictions.
Pity trickled through her, despite her misgivings. “I don’t know if he’ll come. It was hard to persuade him to part with the sample.”
“I know you can do it. My assistant has booked you a flight to Santiago this evening. You’ll be back in Mendoza by morning.”
“But I’m supposed to fly to Johannesburg tomorrow.” She had eleven vineyard tours lined up.
His face closed over. “Johannesburg can wait. I can’t. You must bring him here this week. At once.”
Susannah opened her mouth to protest—then closed it again.
This was her boss. Everyone knew the company was his personal fiefdom and if he wanted her to cancel a week’s worth of carefully planned tours to go on a personal errand, she’d better do it.
“Reassure him that the visit will be worth his while.” Tarrant leaned forward, resting a gray-suited elbow on his chair. “Despite my reputation, I’m not such an egotist that I believe everyone on earth knows who I am. Tell him who I am. What I can give him.”
The emotion on his face surprised her. She was seeing another side to Tarrant Hardcastle. Under the brash tycoon exterior was a human being, fragile and insecure like everyone else. A man who wanted to meet the son he fathered before it was too late. Who maybe even craved affection and love that he’d forsaken for so long.
Her heart squeezed. She had to help him.
He grabbed her hand. “I’m a dying man. Don’t be afraid to tug at his heartstrings.” He squeezed, his bony fingertips pressing into her palm. “All men have them, despite what we’d prefer you women to believe.”
Chapter Five
Susannah, exhausted almost to the point of collapse, pulled into the driveway of Tierra de Oro the following afternoon.
She’d rented a larger car with a bigger fuel tank as a measure of self-preservation. But the way she felt right now, if Amado’s huge white dogs wanted to eat her alive, they were quite welcome.
She hadn’t called. Tarrant had been sure the element of surprise was in her favor and she suspected he was right.
She’d jumped a foot into the air every time her phone rang in the last twenty-four hours. But Amado hadn’t called her either, despite his promise.
She parked in front of the house. Inhaled deeply. Then she summoned her last ounce of strength to tug on the door handle, and stepped out into the blinding sun.
The first thing she heard was the high-pitched keening of a woman weeping.
Uh-oh.
She approached the door, wincing at the loud crunch of her shoes on the gravel drive.
Heart pounding, she knocked. Held herself steady as footsteps approached. The tall wood-paneled door flung open.
Amado.
For a second his face was blank with shock. Then his fierce black gaze hit her like a blast from a shotgun. “You.”
She swallowed hard. “Me.”
He was taller and more imposing than she remembered. More handsome, too. His hair hung in his eyes and made him look slightly wild. Uncivilized.
“Look what