hooded and with a permanent look of suspicion etched in them to ever be considered a pin-up, but he had a magnetism that turned those flaws into something mesmerising. He had mesmerised her in more ways than one. Always attuned to others’ emotions, the pain she had sensed in Javier had reached deep into her.
She had spent months longing for a glimpse of him. The times she did—and they were rare times, his involvement with the day-to-day running of the ballet company minimal—her heart would soar. She had known it was a crush that would go nowhere. Javier Casillas was the co-owner of her ballet company, a property magnate with a net worth she could scarcely comprehend, an arrogant, aloof figure who conjured fear and admiration in equal measure. He would never look twice at her.
But he did look twice at Freya.
Freya was her oldest and closest friend, the reason for Sophie being in Madrid dancing for the company that had made Freya a star. Freya was beautiful. Freya was a dancer with the world at her pointe shoes, a dancer who stole the heart of everyone who watched her perform.
Sophie had never shared her feelings for Javier with Freya. It had been too personal and unlikely to share with anyone.
Javier’s marriage proposal and Freya’s acceptance of it had devastated her.
For months she had sat on her despondency, determined to support her oldest friend even if she did have grave misgivings about their forthcoming loveless marriage that had nothing to do with her own breaking heart. She even gamely agreed to be their bridesmaid.
Then, the week before they were due to exchange their vows, Freya had run off with Benjamin Guillem, leaving Javier for dust. A media frenzy had ensued.
Sophie had been trying to do a good deed when she’d gone to Javier’s home. She’d been packing Freya’s stuff for her from the flat they shared and had come across a copy of Freya and Javier’s prenuptial agreement and a file of other pertinent legal documents. Freya didn’t want them, so, not knowing what else to do, Sophie had decided the best thing would be to let Javier decide. She was pretty sure he wouldn’t want the documents to reach the public domain.
The day after Freya and Benjamin married, Sophie had braced herself and set off for Javier’s home.
His house was a secluded villa that more resembled a palace than a home. She’d had to speak into a camera before the electric gates had slowly opened and admitted her into his domain.
She remembered walking the long driveway, sick to her stomach with pain for him. He might not have loved Freya but he must be shattered that she had left him for his oldest friend and in such a public fashion too.
The whole world knew about it and had put the blame squarely on Javier’s shoulders without knowing even a basic fact—even she didn’t know a fact about it, Freya’s only communication being the one asking her to pack her belongings together—and was seeming to revel in portraying him as a monster in disguise. Sophie’s heart had twisted to hear the vile rumours about him.
Expecting a member of his household staff to open the front door for her, she had been surprised to find it opened by Javier himself.
What followed had been even more unexpected.
That was when she’d understood his ruthless reputation had been based on truth.
If he’d even given her a single thought since, he would have known she’d left his ballet company, left Madrid and returned to England. In the vain hope he would seek her out she had left her forwarding address on the company files. He could have found her without any effort if he had wanted to.
He hadn’t even noticed her absence from the stage that night.
She’d used those two months of silence to come to terms with the reality of her situation and get herself in an emotional place where she could face Javier again.
She would seek him out again tomorrow; seek him every single day until he was willing to have the conversation they so desperately needed to have.
Only when she was certain she could get back to her feet without her legs crumpling did she stand up, inhaling deeply.
Concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, Sophie headed back the way she had come. The theatre’s wide corridors were almost deserted now.
When she reached the top of the ornate red-carpeted stairs that led down into the foyer, her heart skipped to see Javier striding up to her, his long legs taking the steps two at a time.
She held tightly onto the gold railing and stared at the emotionless, menacing face fixed on her.
When he reached the top, he inclined his head for her to follow him, leading her to a secluded section of the corridor.
He stopped walking and gazed down at her, breathing heavily through his nose.
‘Why now?’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘Why did you choose tonight of all nights to tell me? Why not approach me in private?’
She kept her gaze steady on him. ‘Because after the way you treated me, I didn’t trust you would agree to see or speak to me.’
He had gone from blazing passion to ice-cold in the whisper of a second.
He had escorted her out of his home.
His face twisted. ‘You are carrying my child?’
How she kept her composure to answer him without bursting into tears she would never know. ‘Yes. We’re going to have a baby.’
HOT DARKNESS FILLED Javier’s head, swimming like a blood-red fog through him.
He’d known the moment Sophie had come into focus why she was there but his already overwhelmed brain had fought to deny it.
He was going to be a father.
But the mother wasn’t the perfect woman he had sought to bear his children but this waif-like creature who had ignited something in him that should never have been allowed to breathe.
He wanted children. He and his treacherous brother had adopted their mother’s surname the moment they could legally dump their father’s and he wanted to carry that name on to the next generation.
He’d waited his entire adult life for the perfect woman to come along and bear him those children.
Freya had been that woman. Beautiful, coldly perfect Freya, who would have given him beautiful, perfect children and who had not elicited the smallest glimmer of desire in him and shown no desire for him either. Perfection in all ways.
Javier knew the danger of passion. His orphaned state was living proof of those dangers.
The dangerous blood that had swirled in his father lived in his own veins too. It pumped hot and strong inside him, a living thing he was reminded of every time he looked in a mirror.
He should never have allowed Sophie, this warm-blooded, sensitive creature, to come anywhere within his orbit.
She sighed and pulled a
