baby? Whose baby? Are you saying …?’
She broke off sharply as realisation dawned, her hand going to her mouth in shock. Raul’s savage silent nod seemed to confirm her fears but still she had to say the words to make sure they were the truth.
‘Lo—Lori was pregnant?’
Again came that curt, cold nod that was somehow far more terrifying than if he had lost his temper and raged at her. The fearful control he was imposing on himself to remain so silent, so still after that one violent gesture with the phone spoke more eloquently of the way he was feeling than any words could possibly do.
‘But how …?’
A savage, burning glare from those molten eyes told her just how stupid he thought that question. And that was something she didn’t need telling. Of course she hadn’t needed to ask. There was only one person who could have fathered Lorena’s baby.
‘Chris … How far gone was she?’
‘Almost two months, they said.’
‘I didn’t know.’
Once more those dark eyes flashed in her direction, warning her that he didn’t believe her. ‘I didn’t know!’
There was a long, terrible silence. A silence that tugged and twisted painfully on Alannah’s nerves, and then at last, just when she had given up all hope of it, Raul slowly nodded.
‘No, I don’t think you did. You would have told me if you knew when—when you told me all the rest.’
‘Yes, I would.’ Alannah’s tone was soft. ‘And if it helps any, I think she was planning on telling you—or at least her father—very soon. They said they had a secret but that I’d have to wait to find out.’
She’d thought it was that they were going to get engaged. But perhaps they had planned on that too. The tears burned like acid at the backs of her eyes but surprisingly none of them fell. For the first time in days she felt as if she was all cried out, no tears possible to moisten her dry, aching eyes.
‘Though I suspect that my mother knew.’
Only now, looking back, did she see this as some further explanation of just why her mother had reacted so very badly to the news of Chris’s death. Now, at last, she understood the way that Helena had kept muttering about the way that her future had been taken from her as well as her son. At the time it had only made partial sense.
‘That would explain why she’s so very desolate about this. If she’s lost not just my brother but her dream of a grandchild too then it’s no wonder she’s so desperately low. Nothing seems to even get through to her. Which would be understandable if they told her before they left.’
‘While I have still to tell my father. I have to tell him how when your brother died he not only took my father’s daughter, my sister, with him but he also took the one thing my father wanted most in all the world: a grandchild to hold in his arms.’
The roughness of his voice told her just how hard he was going to find it.
On an impulse she headed for the mini-bar, found a small bottle of the cognac Raul favoured and tipped half of it into a glass. Without a word she held it out to Raul and watched as he tossed it back. The way that the lean bronze lines of his throat tightened as he swallowed made a small kick of response jerk in her stomach.
‘Gracias.’
Understanding was what had made her react in this way, and understanding was what kept her close. She knew what he was going through, having endured it herself. She knew what had put the shadows under his eyes, the grey tinge on his skin. And she knew how he must be dreading telling his father. Matias Marquez Marcín had come late to fatherhood. He had been forty when his son was born, ten years older when his second child, his daughter, Lorena, had come into the world. His health had taken a battering in the past few years and this latest sorrow must have hit him hard.
‘Is your father still unwell?’
Raul nodded slowly, the shadows in his eyes and his sombre expression revealing more than his deliberately controlled response.
‘He had another stroke just before Christmas. He looks so fragile that I fear a puff of wind would blow him away.’
‘There will be other grandchildren.’
‘Mine?’
The single word was raw with bitterness and the golden eyes burned with unspoken accusation. He didn’t say that the grandchildren he had hoped to give his father would have been the ones he’d planned on having with her, the only reason he had asked her to marry him, but he didn’t need to actually speak the words. They were there, in the atmosphere, like letters shaped in ice that came between them with their bitter memories of the past.
‘I doubt if I’ll marry—I suggested it once and decided it was not for me. I’ll not put my head in that noose again.’
The dark, sidelong glance he shot her told her that like her he was thinking of the marriage that had never been between them. Not for the first time she sent up a little prayer of thankfulness that she had never let him see that she knew the real reasons he had ever proposed to her.
‘My father knew that if he was to hope for heirs then he had to look to my sister. At least if he was to have grandchildren while he still had the strength to hold them. Even if I created children—would they come in time?’
‘I’ll pray they do.’
Without thinking she reached out a hand, rested it on Raul’s powerful forearm where the way that he had rolled up his shirtsleeve exposed the tanned skin, lightly dusted with black hair. His skin was warm and smooth under her touch and the feel of hard bone and muscle sent a sensation like an electrical shock running up from her fingertips and along every tingling nerve.
She saw him stiffen slightly, saw his dark eyes flick down to where her fingers rested on his arm and then back up to her face.
‘Alannah …’ he said, just once, soft and low, and he placed the cognac glass down on the table beside him without ever taking his gaze from hers.
A sudden stillness seemed to freeze the air, paralysing her lungs so that her breathing seemed to stop, she even felt her heartbeat slow to a barely there thread of a pulse. It was as if the rest of the world had dissolved into a hazy mist all around her so that just herself and Raul were real, and everything else had ceased to exist.
Those beautiful eyes seemed to have lost all their burning ferocity and instead were deep pools of misty gold. And when he lifted his hand and put it over hers, pressing it down onto his arm, it seemed to happen in slow motion. So did the movement of his head as he lowered it, angling it so that his mouth was aimed for hers.
And Alannah responded without thought, lifting her own face towards his, her lips parting slightly, waiting for his kiss.
‘Alannah,’ he said again, the warmth of his breath kissing her mouth before he did.
CHAPTER SEVEN
WHEN their lips met it was the gentleness that was totally unexpected. After the
