The Mills & Boon Stars Collection

‘I haven’t told him any lies!’ she defended.

He gave a short laugh. ‘You just ran away instead. Well, I’m afraid that it won’t do, Bella!’

She stiffened. ‘What do you mean, it won’t do? It’ll do if I say it will!’

‘Not if I decide to tell him myself,’ he said silkily.

‘You wouldn’t do that!’

‘Oh, wouldn’t I?’ he questioned softly, but a note of steel had entered his voice. ‘Believe me, I would do whatever I felt necessary to guarantee the well-being of you and your baby.’

‘Even if it was contrary to what I wanted?’

‘Your wants are of no particular concern to me!’ he snapped. ‘Your needs are far more relevant! Have you stopped to think about the things that could go wrong?’

Her golden eyes widened in alarm. ‘Such as what?’

He drew in a deep breath. He didn’t want to put the fear of God into her—but that did not mean she could bury her head in the sand, either. ‘You’re young and fit and healthy—but pregnancy carries its own risks. You’re an intelligent woman, Bella—you know that. Your father needs to know about the baby.’

He did not want to spell it out, that if some calamity befell her during labour…He gripped the hairbrush so hard that his knuckles whitened. ‘That doesn’t mean you have to tell him who the father is,’ he added gently. Not yet, anyway.

He hoped that she wasn’t about to get a rude awakening and that her airy assurance that she would feel herself after the birth proved to be the case. He wondered how she would cope if she fell foul of the baby blues. Or how he would cope…

He picked up the hairdryer and blasted the thick, dark mass with warm air until her hair hung in a shimmering sheet all the way down to her waist. ‘Let’s see what the doctor says first,’ he said evenly.

She met his eyes in alarm, realising that whatever she said he would blithely ignore it, if he thought that it was in her best interests to do so.

She thought about arguing with him, but instinct told her that it would be a waste of time. And besides, deep down she knew he was right. ‘OK,’ she sighed.

He carefully caught up the great weight of hair and tied it at the base of her neck with a saffron-coloured ribbon which matched her dress. ‘I think I like it when you’re acquiescent,’ he murmured.

She met his eyes in the mirror. ‘Don’t hold your breath!’

The doctor’s suite of rooms was in an upmarket patch of Knightsbridge, and Isabella wondered how much this was all costing. But when she tentatively broached the subject of cost with Paulo, she was silenced by an arrogant wave of his hand.

The doctor insisted on conducting the entire examination in Portuguese, despite all Isabella’s protestations that her English was fluent.

‘But it is the mother-tongue.’ The doctor smiled sentimentally. ‘And particularly appropriate for the mother-to-be. Do you want Paulo to stay with you?’ he added.

Isabella shot Paulo a look of pure horror.

‘No, I won’t be staying,’ answered Paulo smoothly, answering her furious query with an unconcerned smile. ‘Isabella is by nature a traditionalist, aren’t you, querida? She knows how easily men faint!’

She didn’t trust herself to reply, just gave him a frozen smile before the nurse popped the thermometer into her mouth.

The doctor was ruthlessly thorough, making little clicking noises as he listened to the baby’s heartbeat with an old-fashioned trumpet, as well as the most high-tech equipment she had ever seen.

She dressed again and sat down in front of the doctor and Isabella didn’t realise how nervous she was until he looked at her over the top of his spectacles and gave her a look which managed to be both reassuring and alarming.

‘Everything is fine—but there is room for improvement! You have not been resting enough!’ he announced sternly. ‘And you are a little underweight. You must look after yourself, do you understand?’

‘Yes, Doctor,’ she answered meekly.

Paulo was ushered back into the room and the doctor spread out some shiny black and white ultrasound photos on the desk.

‘See what a beautiful baby you have.’ He smiled at them both.

Isabella swallowed as she looked down at the tiny limbs. So perfect. A lump rose in her throat and when she looked up it was to see Paulo’s eyes on her—the dark gaze oddly soft and luminous.

‘A very beautiful baby,’ agreed Paulo softly, giving her such a blindingly brilliant smile that she felt quite dizzy—so dizzy in fact, that she couldn’t make out a word the doctor was saying to him.

In fact, the nurse was busy chattering herself. She wanted to know everything. Which part of Brazil did Isabella come from?

‘From Bahia.’

‘Very beautiful,’ the nurse replied. ‘The Land of Happiness.’ It seemed that she had taken holidays there as a child. She glanced down at one of the ultrasound photos Isabella was clutching, and smiled. How long had she known Paulo for?

‘Oh, most of my life,’ Isabella replied automatically.

‘That long?’ The nurse gave a dreamy sort of sigh.

‘Mmm. Obviously, I was a child for a lot of that time.’

‘Ah, of course! He is a handsome man—a very handsome man,’ whispered the nurse, though Isabella wasn’t sure whether this was at all professional. ‘Gato,’ she finished huskily, with an admiring look at Paulo’s hips.

‘What was the nurse saying to you?’ Paulo asked her, as they walked out of the clinic towards the car.

‘Oh, nothing much,’ replied Isabella vaguely. She certainly wasn’t going to boost his ego by telling him that the nurse had unerringly hit on his Brazilian nickname. ‘What was the doctor saying to you?’ she asked him suspiciously.

He hesitated, and waited until she was safely strapped into the low, deep blue car before he told her.

‘He said that between the two of us, we had created a fine Latino baby!’

She felt a pang of something approaching wistfulness. ‘Oh, Paulo, he didn’t!’

‘Yes, querida—he did. I suppose it was a natural enough assumption to make under the circumstances.’

‘So why didn’t you explain that you weren’t the father?’

‘And what would you have me tell him instead?’ he questioned, his voice chilly now. ‘That you’re refusing to say who the father is?’

‘That is my prerogative.’

‘Though maybe you don’t even know yourself?’ he challenged insultingly.

Isabella felt the blood rush to her face. Is that what he thought of her? That any number of men could qualify for paternity? ‘Of course I know who the father is!’

A look of triumph flared darkly in his eyes and she realised too late that she had walked into some kind of trap.

Paulo’s voice was deceptively soft. ‘But he doesn’t know about the baby either, does he? You haven’t told him, have you, Isabella?’

Her lips trembled, but she could not afford to break down. Not now, when she had nursed her secret so carefully and for so long. ‘No, I haven’t.’ She found herself imprisoned in the searchlight of his keen, dark gaze.

‘Why not?’

She had kept the identity of her baby’s father secret from everyone. Because the moment she gave a name to either Paulo—or Papa—she could just imagine the outcome. Somehow they would track Roberto down, demand that he take an active role in her child’s life. Isabella shuddered. Never! ‘I don’t have to answer that,’ she said.

‘No, of course you don’t. But don’t you think that he—as the father—has a right to know? And not just a right—a responsibility to share in the child’s upbringing.’

‘No! Because it’s over! There’s no point in telling him!’

But even as she spoke she felt guilt descend on her like a dark cloud. She wasn’t being fair to Paulo—allowing him to pay for everything and allowing him to care for her, too. He had rescued her. Given her sanctuary. A sanctuary she hadn’t realised she had needed, until it had been forced upon her. And maybe that gave him some rights.

Paulo turned the key in the ignition with an angry jerk, wondering why he almost preferred to think that she didn’t know who the father was. As if it was somehow more acceptable to imagine her having some regrettable one-night stand with far-reaching consequences, than the alternative. Had she loved the man responsible? Did she love him still?

Perhaps her statement that it was over was just a ruse. She could be using the baby as a way to lever herself back into the man’s life. Planning to just turn up and present a child who crooned so sweetly in her arms. Some proud, dark lover, maybe, who would be swayed by the sudden production of his own flesh and blood. It wouldn’t be the first time it had happened.

Isabella sneaked a look at the forbidding set of his jaw, and her heart sank even more. To Paulo, it must seem as though she was letting her child’s father get off scot-free. Yet it was not quite as simple as that. The situation was bad enough—but if she tried imagining a future which involved Roberto—it made her feel quite ill. A man she didn’t love and who didn’t love her. What effect could he have on her life, other than disaster?

‘Paulo?’ she asked tentatively, but he smacked the flat of his hand down on the steering wheel in frustration.

‘I never had you down for such a coward!’ he stormed. ‘What do you think is going to happen after the birth?’

‘I don’t know!’ she answered back, and right then she didn’t care—even that he had called her a coward—because a band of steel had tightened and stretched across her abdomen, and she felt her face distort with discomfort.

One look at her white face and Paulo’s rage instantly evaporated. ‘It’s not the baby, is it?’ he demanded.

She panted shallowly, the way she had been taught. ‘No, I don’t think so.’

He changed down a gear. ‘Sure?’

She nodded. ‘It’s just one of these—’ She struggled to remember the English for the unfamiliar medical term. ‘Braxton-Hicks contractions—nature’s rehearsal for the real thing.’ She pressed her hot face onto the cool of the car window and gulped, hoping that Paulo wouldn’t notice she was precariously close to tears.

But he did. He noticed most things. And as a way of bringing his interrogation to a close, her threatened tears proved extremely effective. He felt an impotent kind of rage and anger slowly unfurling in the pit of his stomach, and he was longing to take it out on someone. Or something.

If she hadn’t been pregnant he might just have pulled into a layby and treated her to the kind of kiss he felt she deserved, and they both needed. He felt the first warm lick of desire and wondered grimly what masochistic tendency had pushed him towards that line of thinking.

If he had been on his own, he might have taken the car to the nearest motorway and driven it as fast as was safe. As it was, he didn’t dare—one bump and her face might take on that white, strained look again. He slowed right down and negotiated the roads back to the house with exaggerated care.

Isabella had recovered her equilibrium by the time they got back to the house, but Paulo was busy treating her like an invalid. He made her eat an omelette and salad, then insisted that she lie down for a rest.

‘But I’m not tired!’

‘Really?’ He cocked a disbelieving eyebrow at her.

‘I’m fine,’ she insisted, even while she allowed him to crouch down by her feet to slip her shoes off. ‘Honestly.’

‘Well, you don’t look fine.’ He propelled her gently back against the stack of pillows. ‘You look worn out.’

Isabella wriggled her head back against the pillow, and stared up into the glittering black eyes. ‘Anyway, you promised Eduardo we could buy toys today—he was looking forward to it.’

‘And we can. But only if you sleep first,’ he ordered firmly. He brushed a damp lock of the bronze-black hair away from her cheek and carefully extracted the photos of the baby from where they lay clutched tightly between her fingers.

‘That’s bribery,’ she objected muzzily.

‘So what if it is?’ came the soft rejoinder. ‘Remember what the doctor told you.’

He glanced in on her more than once, telling himself that he was just making certain that the pains had been a false alarm.

But if he was being truthful he enjoyed watching her as she lay sleeping. And, if he examined his conscience, wasn’t it erotic? The steady rise and fall of her breasts, so full and ripe and hard. The way the dark fringes of her eyelashes brushed over the flushed curve of her cheeks. The firm swell of the child as it grew within her. Look but don’t touch. Of course it was erotic.

When Isabella awoke she felt much better. She slapped cold water on her face and brushed her teeth and went to find Paulo and his son sitting at the dining-room table, playing Scrabble.

Paulo looked up and gave her a long, searching stare, then nodded his head as if satisfied. ‘That’s better,’ he murmured.

‘Bella!’ exclaimed Eddie, his face lighting up. ‘Papa said I wasn’t to wake you! He said that you needed your sleep.’

‘And he was right.’ Her cheeks were flushed as she bit back a yawn. ‘I did.’

‘See how tolerant I can be, Bella,’ Paulo said softly. ‘When some people might find the urge to say, “I told you so”!’

‘Very tolerant,’ she agreed gravely, relieved that his black mood of earlier seemed to have subsided.

‘And he says we can go and choose toys for the baby if you’re well enough. Are you, Bella?’

Paulo was on his feet. ‘Shush, Eddie,’ he murmured. ‘Bella has already had a trip to the doctor’s this morning. We might have to put the toys on hold until another day.’ Night-dark eyes captured her gaze. ‘How do you feel?’

‘Absolutely fine. I’m looking forward to it.’

‘Very well. We will have a leisurely afternoon in the toy-shop.’ He rose to his feet like some sleek, black panther. ‘On the condition that you take it easy if I tell you to.’

She opened her mouth to point out that he wasn’t her personal physician, but the warning gleam in his eyes made her change her mind. ‘Very well,’ she agreed demurely. ‘I’ll go and get ready.’

He chose one of the capital’s biggest children’s stores, where he seemed hell-bent on buying the place up and it was Isabella who had to restrain him.

Having rather distractedly looked round the place at baby paraphernalia which still seemed so alien to her, she placed her hand restrainingly on his arm. ‘I just need a small pram that can double as a carry-cot, Paulo—nothing more for the time being.’

He stared down at the slim, ringless fingers as they rested on the dark blue wool of his overcoat. ‘What about a crib? And a high-chair?’

She shook her head before he could recite the entire contents of the shop to her. ‘No, none of those. Not yet. They take up too much room and the baby can sleep in the pram until…’ Her voice tailed off.

His eyes narrowed. ‘Until you fly home to Brazil?’

She tried to imagine it, and couldn’t. Tried to imagine staying here with Paulo—and that was even harder. ‘I guess so. Oh, look—the assistant is coming over.’

His mouth flattened with irritation as the sales assistant fluttered to dance attention on his every word.

Isabella let him buy a baby-seat for the car, a drift of cashmere blankets and a tape of ‘mood-music’ to play to the baby.

She was caught between delight and protest. ‘It isn’t necessary,’ she began, but the look of determination on his face made her give up.

At last they went to find Eduardo, who was totally engrossed in a train set in the toy department. He looked up as they approached, and his face fell. ‘Oh! Can’t I stay here for a bit longer, Papa?’

‘Sure you can,’ grinned his father. ‘Come on, Isabella—let’s wander round and see what the fashionable baby is playing with these days!’

She’d planned to say yes to only the simplest and most inexpensive of the toys, deliberately telling herself that manufacturers were making a fortune out of bits of plastic. But, even so, they were surprisingly seductive and her attention was caught by a pyramid of stuffed animals in pale shades of pastel.

‘And all colour co-ordinated—especially for the nursery,’ said Paulo. He held up two teddy-bears, one pink and one blue, and waggled them like semaphores, managing to attract looks of interest from most of the women in the shop. ‘So what are you hoping for, Bella—a boy or a girl?’

It was an innocent question which every mother-to-be in the world was asked. But no one had ever asked Bella before. Maybe they had been too embarrassed. Perhaps people thought that an unplanned pregnancy for a single girl meant that you didn’t have the normal hopes and fears for your baby. But Paulo’s words sparked some complex and primitive chain of emotions which included hope and despair and a terrible feeling of regret. As if they were a normal, expectant couple and Paulo really was her baby’s father.

Oh, if only, she thought longingly as her field of vision dissolved into a helpless blur of longing. If only.

‘Isabella?’ His voice seemed to come from a long way off. She tried to say something, but her stilted words came out as nothing more than a jerky wobble. ‘Isabella? What is this?’

‘N-nothing.’

He saw the bright glare of tears which had turned her eyes into liquid gold. Her mouth began to tremble and he acted purely on instinct. They were standing beside a large red play-tent, and he simply flicked the flaps back and pulled her inside, where it was mercifully empty. Into their own private world, and into his arms where she burrowed through the warmth of his coat, letting her tears fall like raindrops onto his silk shirt.

He could feel her warm breath shuddering against his chest as she drooped her hands softly over his shoulders, and he felt an overpowering urge to tightly cradle her.

It was a surreal setting. They were bathed in a soft red light which made the inside of the tent almost womblike. ‘W-we can’t stay here,’ she husked, a hint of quiet hysteria breaking through the blur of her tears.

‘We can stay anywhere we damned well please!’ he contradicted on a silken whisper. ‘But quietly. Quietly, Bella. Do not excite yourself…or the baby.’ Or me, he thought, with a sudden guilty realisation.

Her huge belly was pushing against him, so close that he could feel the baby as it moved inside her. But instead of acting as a natural deterent he found the action one of unbearable intimacy. It was comfort he intended to give her. Not this…this…powering of his heart so that it pounded hotly inside his head and his groin.

He deliberately made the gesture more avuncular, smoothing the flat of his hand down over her hair, fluidly stroking her head as if she were a Siamese cat, while the tears continued to soak through his shirt and onto his shoulder.

And it wasn’t until the flow had abated and he had traced one last glimmering teardrop away with the tip of his finger, that he used that same finger to lift her chin, imprisoning her in the sweet, dark fire from his eyes.

‘Want to talk about it?’ he murmured.

What—and tell him that she wished he was the man who had caused life to spring within her? Little could terrify a man who didn’t ‘do’ serious, more than that. She shook her head. ‘I’m overwrought,’ she said. ‘It’s a very—’ and she gulped ‘—emotional time.’

‘You’re telling me,’ he said grimly.

‘Oh, Paulo!’

‘I know.’ He tightened his grip. She felt so warm and trembling and vulnerable in his arms. So small. Tiny, almost. What else could he do but carry on holding her like this? This was a hug she needed, he realised. That he seemed to need it too was what troubled him. ‘What is it?’ he asked her in her own language, feeling her breath warm his chest as she attempted to speak.

‘I’m s-so s-sorry!’

He frowned, as he wiped a tear-soaked lock of hair away from her forehead. ‘You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.’

‘I got pr-pregnant, didn’t I?’

His stare was laser-sharp. His need to know momentarily overrode his desire to be gentle with her. ‘Deliberately?’ he questioned. ‘Was it a gamble you took, Bella? As a way of keeping a man who perhaps didn’t love you as much as you loved him?’

She gazed at him, shocked. ‘No, of course not!’ But by a man I didn’t love. And she couldn’t tell him that, could she? Because if she admitted that, then it would make the consequences of her act even harder to bear. At least love would have justified the whole wretched mess.

His eyes narrowed with alarming perception. ‘Even if you do regret the act, Bella, you must learn to accept the consequences. Otherwise you will suffer, and so will the baby. Here.’ And he smoothed away the last strand of hair, which had escaped from its confining bow. ‘Come on, now—we’re going home.’

He demanded that Eduardo make sure she stayed sitting on one of the carved wooden benches which adorned the shop’s lavish entrance hall, while he brought the car round to the front of the building.

In her weakened state, she watched him. Watched his muscular grace and confident stride. He seemed quite oblivious to the fact that he could stop the traffic. Literally.

He arrogantly stepped in front of the traffic and no one dared not to obey him as he raised an imperious hand in command. But several cars had slowed down so much that they were almost stationary anyway—eager, no doubt to watch the spectacular-looking man with the brooding features as he helped the pale and pregnant woman into the car.