still friends?’
‘I suppose so,’ he answered reluctantly. Because that was what Judy had wanted. She’d settled for ‘friendship’ once she realised he’d meant it when he told her it was over. But he knew deep down that they could never be true friends—she still wanted him too badly for that. ‘We’re not supposed to be discussing my love-life, Isabella.’
‘Well, I don’t want to discuss mine,’ she said quietly.
‘Does that mean you aren’t going to tell who who the father of your baby is?’
Isabella flinched. ‘That’s right.’
‘Do I know him?’
‘What makes you think I would tell you, if even you did?’
He found her misplaced loyalty both exasperating and admirable. ‘And what if I made you tell me?’ he challenged.
The streetlights flickered strange shadows over his face and Isabella felt suddenly uncertain. ‘You couldn’t.’
‘Want to bet?’
‘I n-never bet.’
‘I’m not sure that I believe you,’ he said softly. ‘When you are living, walking proof that you took a huge gamble.’ And lost, he thought—though he didn’t say it. The look on her face told him he didn’t have to. The car came to stop at some traffic lights and he shifted in his seat to get a better look at her.
And Isabella forgot the baby. Forgot everything. Through the dim light, all she could see in that moment were his eyes. Dark, like chocolate, and rich like chocolate, and sexy like chocolate. And chocolate was what Isabella had been craving for the past eight months. ‘Paulo—’
But he’d turned his attention back to the road ahead. ‘We’re here,’ he said grimly.
She heaved a sigh of relief as he pulled up outside an Italian pasta bar. Heaven only knew what she’d been about to blurt out when she had whispered his name like that. At least the activity of eating might distract him from his interrogation—and maybe she was hungrier than she had previously thought. It would certainly make a change to have a meal cooked for her.
The restaurant was small and lit by candles, and almost full—and Isabella was certain that they would be turned away. But no. It seemed that here they knew him well. Paulo asked for, and got, a table in one of the recesses of the room—well away from the other customers.
She glanced down at the menu she’d been given, at the meaningless swirl of words there. And when she looked up again, it was to find him studying her intently.
‘Do you know what you want?’
She shook her head. ‘No.’
He jabbed a finger halfway down his menu. ‘Why don’t you try some spinach lasagne?’ he suggested. ‘Lots of nutrients to build you up. And you, querida, could certainly do with some building up.’
She nodded obediently. ‘All right.’
He wasn’t used to such passivity—not from Isabella—and thought how wan her face looked as the waiter came over to their table. ‘Drink some tomato juice,’ he instructed, almost roughly. ‘You like that, don’t you?’
‘Thanks. I will.’ She shook out her napkin and smoothed it out carefully on her lap as he gave their order.
‘So.’ He traced a thoughtful finger on the crisp, white cloth and leaned across the table towards her. ‘We—or rather you—have a few big decisions to make.’
‘I’m not going home!
‘No. So you said.’ His mouth hardened. ‘Anyway, your objection is academic, isn’t it, Bella? No airline will allow you to fly in such an advanced stage of pregnancy.’ He paused, his dark gaze on her belly, as if he could estimate the gestation just by looking. ‘And you’re…how many weeks?’
She hesitated. ‘Thirty-seven.’
‘Only three weeks to go,’ he observed, his eyes burning into her. ‘So when did you conceive?’
Isabella blushed. ‘I don’t have to answer that.’
‘No, you don’t,’ he agreed. ‘But I can work it out for myself in any case.’ His eyes shuttered to dark slits as he did a few rapid sums in his head, then flickered open to stare at her with astonishment. ‘That takes us back to just around Carnival time.’
‘Paulo, must you?’
He ignored her objection, still frowning. ‘That means you must have become pregnant just after I left.’
She supposed that there was no point in denying it. ‘Yes.’
‘Or maybe it was during my visit?’ he suggested, unprepared for the lightning-bolt of jealousy.
‘No!’ she shot back.
He frowned again, not seeming to care that the waiter was depositing their food and wine before them. ‘So who is it? I don’t remember seeing you with anyone. No ardent lover hanging around the place. I don’t remember you rushing off every minute to be with someone.’
Quite the opposite, in fact. She had been at his side most minutes of the day. Her father had even made a joke about it. She has become your little shadow, Paulo, the older man had laughed and Isabella had aimed a mock-punch at her father’s stomach while Paulo had watched the movement of her lush breasts with hungry eyes and a guilty heart. And been very sure that if his host knew what was going on in his mind, then he would have kicked him off the ranch there and then.
‘So who is it?’ he asked again, only this time his voice sounded brittle.
Isabella mechanically ate a mouthful of pasta, forcing herself to meet his eyes. ‘Is my coming to stay with you conditional on me telling you who the father is?’
‘I don’t need to know his name. I’m certainly not going to try to wring it out of you.’ There was a long and dangerous pause. ‘But if he turns up, demanding to see you—’
‘He won’t,’ she put in hurriedly. ‘It won’t happen. I give you my word, Paulo.’
‘You sound very sure,’ he observed. He looked over the rim of his wineglass, fixing her with a dark gaze which was as intense as his next soft question. ‘Does that mean that the affair is definitely over?’
The affair? If only he knew! ‘Yes.’ Isabella swallowed. She owed him the truth. Or as much of the truth as she dared give without earning making herself sound like the biggest fool who ever walked the earth. ‘It’s over. It never really got off the ground, if you must know.’ Her eyes glittered with a defiant kind of pride as she stared at the man she had idolised for as long as she could remember.
‘But I can’t come to stay with you, not even for a minute—not if you despise me for what I’ve done, Paulo.’
‘Despise you?’ He looked across the table, saw the stubborn little tilt of her chin, and felt a wave of anger wash over him. What a way to have a first baby, he thought bitterly.
