England referred me to a clinic in London. Obviously that’s not much good here.’
He turned away from her, striding towards the panoramic windows. His hands were on his hips and his back moved with the increased pace of his breathing.
‘I have many cars. You are welcome to drive any of them.’
She frowned, following the thread of conversation. His cars were all fast, expensive, sleek and powerful. She shook her head gently. ‘I’d prefer to buy something myself, something that’s not got the horsepower of a wild beast beneath the bonnet. Except I don’t even know where to do that.’
He turned to face her, his expression grim. ‘Fine. We’ll buy you a new car.’
‘I can buy myself a new car,’ she chided softly. ‘I just need your help to...do that.’
‘Fine.’ Frustration zapped in the air between them, like lightning hitting a river.
‘Thank you.’ She cleared her throat and tried to break the silence with a smile. It felt strange on her lips—she hadn’t smiled in a long time. Not since leaving England?
His eyes flashed in warning. ‘Don’t thank me for this, Amelia. I should have thought of it. I am truly sorry I overlooked all these practicalities—it’s not like me to overlook anything. You must have felt like my prisoner here, after all.’
‘It’s fine. I’ve been reading, and swimming, and...’ Her words petered out as he took a step closer, and then her breath grew heavy and her eyes swept shut.
‘It is not fine,’ he said simply, his accent thick. ‘Please accept my apology.’
What she would have preferred was an apology for his absence.
‘Fine, apology accepted,’ she agreed unevenly. ‘Now, about the appointment. I’ve been searching online and I think I’ve found a good obstetrics clinic.’ She held her phone out to him and he took it, but his eyes remained locked to hers.
The air between them was charged and yet she was powerless to look away. Her eyes were held to his by an invisible magnetism, too strong to ignore. ‘I just can’t read the reviews,’ she said, the words husky.
He held her phone but didn’t look at it. ‘How are you feeling?’ The question was husky, drawn from the depths of his soul.
She blinked, but didn’t shift her gaze.
‘I...’ Of their own accord, her hands lifted to her stomach and, as always, her heart lifted at the thought of the life that was growing there. ‘Good.’
Now their eyes parted as his moved briefly to her gesture, and then his free hand was lifting like hers, moving over her stomach slowly.
Surprise was in his eyes, surprise and wonderment. He curved his palm over the very faint hint of roundness, and when he spoke it was with a voice thickened by emotion. ‘Are you well?’
Inexplicable tears formed in Amelia’s eyes. She tried to blink them back, but one escaped unbidden and slid down her cheek.
Irritated by it, she grimaced. It was just that she’d been so lonely, and seeing him now, feeling him touch her stomach and feel the life that was growing there—how could she not be affected?
‘I’m fine.’ The words were slightly uneven.
He nodded slowly, then dropped his hand and, finally, the spell was broken. He turned to her phone, scanning the page she’d shown him, and nodding curtly. ‘It looks fine. I will make enquiries in the morning and organise an appointment.’
‘Thank you.’ She turned on her heel, ready to leave the room, her brain unable to supply anything else to say.
But he forestalled her with a softly voiced, ‘Would you like something to drink? A cup of tea?’
Her eyes swept shut and she was glad she had her back to him, so that he wouldn’t see the complex knot of emotions that passed over her face.
‘I haven’t eaten,’ he said. ‘Join me.’
It was a simple invitation, spontaneously given, but it set off a cascade effect in Amelia. She’d missed him. Not him, per se, so much as a person to speak to, and laugh with. Or maybe it was all him—Antonio Herrera, the man who seemed to breathe life into her dreams and torment her sleeping body with memories of his touch.
Temptation was the devil and she knew she needed to fight it. To fight the desire to lean into him and ask him to hold her tight, to have him smile at her as he had that first night—even if she knew it would be a lie.
‘I’m tired,’ she said, turning to face him for a brief moment, heat warming her body, memories making her ache for the past. ‘I... I think I’ll just go to bed.’
* * *
She had looked tired, he admitted to himself, staring out at the shimmering surface of the pool, Scotch cradled in the palm of his hand. The moon was high overhead, casting a silver light over the water.
He’d spent the last three weeks holed up in his office, working late, yes, but also actively avoiding his wife.
Avoiding her enormous blue eyes that showed him the galaxy, avoiding the softness of her body, the addictive properties of her smile. He’d been avoiding her and tonight he fully understood why.
One look at her and he knew he’d run in front of a freight train to protect her and the baby that was growing inside her. One word from her and he was at risk of turning his back on everything he’d worked towards.
One word and he could almost genuinely forget his hatred for her family. It wasn’t personal. It had nothing to do with Amelia. It was the baby; that was all. Some ancient, ingrained primal instinct was firing inside him, demanding he fulfil his duty and keep her and the baby safe and well. Even if that made him willing to surrender his own needs.
Weakness was foreign to him, and it sure as hell wasn’t welcome. She wore his ring; she carried his baby, but she was still a diSalvo—and he couldn’t forget that.
He shut his eyes and tried not to think of his wife. He forced his mind to erase her image momentarily, and replace it with the image of his father. He brought to mind painful memories that he generally chose to disregard, memories of his father’s stress and grief and the first time Antonio had confronted Carlo with what he’d done, and Carlo had laughed in Antonio’s face. Carlo had made an enemy that day—and Antonio knew he’d never be able to forget that.
Forgiveness might have been divine, but it was nowhere on Antonio’s radar.
* * *
‘Seriously, though, was the helicopter really necessary?’ Amelia asked as the chief of the obstetrics wing of the Hospital Internacional de Madrid exited the exam room for a moment.
The room was dark, the lights off, a heavy blackout curtain blotting out all of Spain’s sunshine. Medical devices surrounded them, casting a very soft glow—one that was almost eerie.
He tilted her a sardonic glance. ‘Of course. I wanted to see how long it would take to get here in an emergency.’
