pleasure of sexual release.
He gripped her hips, and she tilted her pelvis so that he could drive even deeper into her, welcoming each devastating thrust and whispering a husky plea for him to take her faster, harder. With a groan he obeyed her, the last vestiges of his restraint decimated by her fiery passion. And suddenly Lauren found that she had reached the pinnacle. She had been so intent on giving him pleasure that she was unprepared when the coiling sensation deep inside her snapped, and spasm after spasm of exquisite sensation ripped through her.
Dear heaven, it had been so long since she had experienced such intense pleasure that she had forgotten the sheer wonder of climaxing in Ramon’s arms. She squeezed her eyes shut to prevent her tears from escaping. Ramon must never know that, for her, making love with him was a beautiful and emotional experience. He did not do emotions—for him this was just sex, she accepted, as he gave one final savage thrust and groaned as his big body shook with the power of his release.
The silence in the room was broken by the sound of ragged breathing gradually slowing. Ramon felt strangely reluctant to disengage his body from Lauren’s, but after a few minutes he rolled from her and saw that she was drifting off to sleep.
‘You will be more comfortable under the covers,’ he murmured, settling them both on the pillows and drawing the sheet over them.
‘I must go back to my room,’ Lauren muttered. ‘I can’t keep awake.’
The shock of Guy Hadlow’s assault, followed by her utter capitulation to Ramon’s hungry demands had left her exhausted, and a little voice in her head taunted that it was easier to allow sleep to claim her rather than face up to what she had done.
‘I know!’
His gravelly laughter held a hint of something that sounded almost like tenderness. But she must have imagined it, Lauren told herself sleepily.
‘Stay here with me,’ he bade her firmly.
She was too weary to argue when he drew her into his arms so that her head rested on his chest. The rhythmic thud of his heart beneath her ear seemed to echo through her body, strong and steady, and she gave a sigh as her lashes drifted down.
Ramon smoothed her hair back from her face, switched off the bedside lamp, and could not hold back a satisfied smile in the darkness. Sex with Lauren was even better than he remembered. He hadn’t felt this sated in a long time. The wine bar project would keep him in England for several weeks, and then, although it would be necessary for him to return to Spain, he would keep his London apartment and visit Lauren regularly.
His life had been mapped out from birth, and he accepted the obligations and responsibilities that came with being a duque. But before he settled down to a life of duty he deserved a final fling with this woman who could send his temperature soaring with one look from her cool grey eyes.
With that settled, Ramon fell asleep.
It was still dark when Lauren stirred, but she was instantly awake. Shame, guilt, and a whole host of other emotions were storming through her when she turned her head and saw Ramon sprawled on his back beside her. His face looked softer in sleep, and the thick black lashes fanning his cheeks were a piercingly sweet reminder of Mateo.
What a fool she had been—a weak-willed fool who had allowed the sweet pull of sexual desire to drown out the voice of caution in her head, she thought bitterly. She had spent the night in Ramon’s bed, and now he would think she was willing to be his mistress again.
It would be impossible to keep Matty hidden from him, she realised, panic making her heart pound. She would have to leave PGH, leave London, take Matty away somewhere and pray that Ramon did not try to find her…
She took a shuddering breath. What on earth was she thinking? She could not uproot Matty from his home. She stared at Ramon’s beautifully sculpted face. The shadow of dark stubble on his jaw gave him a strangely vulnerable air. He was not a demon, she reminded herself. He was the man she had fallen in love with—the man who had made love to her last night with tenderness as well as passion.
When she had ended their affair he had told her he would not take her back, yet he had come to find her. Perhaps he had only come because of the fierce sexual chemistry between them, but what mattered was that he was here. She could no longer use the excuse that she did not know where to contact him. She was through with playing God. Ramon had a right to know that he had a son, and as soon as he woke she would tell him.
The sound of her mobile phone made her jump, and she quickly slid out of bed and hurried through to the sitting room, rifling through her handbag to answer it before it disturbed Ramon. She gave a faint smile when she saw that it was her mother calling. She’d warned Frances that Mateo invariably woke at dawn, and not to expect a lie-in.
‘Mum?’ She kept her voice low. ‘Has Matty been awake for long?’
‘Oh, Lauren…’ Frances’s voice shook. ‘Lauren, Matty’s not well.’
‘What do you mean—he’s not well?’ An icy hand of fear gripped Lauren’s heart. ‘What’s wrong with him?’
‘He…he settled fine when I put him in his cot last night, and he slept well. But this morning I woke up when I heard him make a funny noise. It wasn’t a cry…’ Frances’s voice wavered. ‘More a sort of choking sound.’
Dear God! Lauren gripped her phone so hard that her knuckles whitened.
‘Of course I rushed into his room,’ her mother continued. ‘And, well…he seemed to be having some kind of a fit. I called an ambulance immediately, and the medics are here now. They’re going to take him to the hospital.’
‘I’ll go straight there,’ Lauren told her mother urgently, and cut the call. Her dress and underwear were scattered on the carpet—a shameful reminder of how she had become a wanton creature in Ramon’s arms last night. But at this moment she could think of nothing but being with her sick child.
Heart pounding with fear, she dragged the dress over her head and tore out of Ramon’s suite, into the lift. Once back in her own room she changed into jeans and a jumper, snatched up her overnight bag, and minutes later was racing across the hotel’s reception area. She did not allow herself to dwell on what might be wrong with Mateo. Her brain focused exclusively on the necessity to get to the hospital as quickly as possible. Nothing and no one else mattered right now—not even Ramon. She did not spare him a thought.
She cannoned into Alistair Gambrill, who was standing on the hotel steps, holding a set of golf clubs. ‘Lauren, you’re up early.’ He frowned when he saw her tense expression. ‘Is everything all right?’
‘Matty’s ill. I have to go,’ she called over her shoulder as she flew down the steps. There was no time to stop and talk to the senior partner. Her baby was on his way to hospital, and the devil himself would not prevent her from being with him.
Ramon gunned his Porsche along the busy North London streets. It was late on Saturday afternoon, and there was a lot of traffic as he headed in the direction of Lauren’s flat.
‘Lauren left early this morning because her son is unwell.’
Alistair Gambrill’s words played over and over in his head. Her son! Lauren had a child? Dios! His brain could not take it in. Whose child? He wanted, demanded an explanation, but all day her phone had been switched off, and his anger had
