The Gold Collection. Maggie Cox

paused and studied Lauren, his eyes drawn to the rounded contours of her breasts and the slightly darker skin of her nipples, visible through the sheer fabric of the nightgown. She had run such a high fever while she had been ill that it had been necessary for him to strip her and sponge her naked body on several occasions. He had done so with clinical efficiency, his libido kept firmly under control. But now she was awake, watching him with her cool grey eyes, he was unbearably tempted to join her on the bed, peel the wisp of peach silk from those creamy breasts and take each rosy nipple in his mouth.

      How could he still desire her when she had callously deprived him of his son for almost a year? he asked himself angrily, swinging away to stand by the window in the hope that she would not notice his powerful arousal. When he had first discovered that she had kept Mateo from him he had hated her, but during the days and nights that he had nursed her through her illness his anger had cooled, and he had forced himself to consider his own behaviour.

      Lauren had accused him of being a playboy who had only wanted her for sex, and he could not deny the truth of that accusation. During their affair he had never considered a long-term relationship with her. His future had been mapped out: marriage—eventually—to a Spanish woman from his own elite social circle, who would provide him with the next Velaquez heir.

      And yet, although he had refused to admit it, Lauren had got to him in a way that none of his numerous previous mistresses ever had.

      ‘Who is Donny?’ he asked her abruptly.

      Lauren gave him a startled glance. ‘He’s my father,’ she said after a moment. ‘His name is Donald. When I was a child I used to call him Donny, instead of Dad, and his pet name for me was Laurie. It was just a silly thing between us.’ She hesitated. ‘Why do you ask?’

      ‘You kept muttering his name when you were ill.’

      Lauren had a vague memory of dreaming about her father. He had been walking down the garden path, holding a suitcase. It had been a dream re-enactment of the day that Donald Maitland had walked out on his wife and daughter. She had been crying and tugging on his sleeve, begging him not to leave her. She prayed she hadn’t wept in her sleep. It was embarrassing to think that Ramon might have seen her crying. Impossible to glean anything from his shuttered expression.

      So Donny wasn’t her lover. But that wasn’t to say that Lauren did not have a lover back in England, Ramon brooded. The idea of some unknown man staying at her flat, possibly taking on the role of stepfather to Mateo, made him want to smash his fist into the wall.

      ‘When you found out that you were pregnant you should have told me—for Mateo’s sake,’ he said harshly, unable to control his anger. ‘It would have been far better for him if you had given up your job and been a full time mother. I would have looked after both of you…’

      ‘I didn’t want your money,’ Lauren said sharply.

      ‘Perhaps you didn’t, but it would have been in Mateo’s best interests if you had involved me,’ he said inexorably. ‘Because of your selfishness Mateo was denied his father for the first months of his life, and he has spent far too much time in the care of nursery staff when he could have been here with his family.’

      Her selfishness! Lauren was struck dumb by Ramon’s accusation. She had been selfless. She had devoted her life to Matty. Did Ramon think she enjoyed leaving her baby every day?

      But her conscience prickled with the knowledge that there were some grains of truth in what he had said. Ideally she would have liked to have been with Matty constantly for his first year, but one of the reasons she had not told Ramon he had a son was because of her stubborn pride. He had made it clear that she meant nothing to him, and so she had doggedly chosen to bring Matty up on her own—even though that had meant returning to work when he was only a few months old.

      The guilt that had so often racked her when she dropped Mateo at the nursery churned in her stomach now. Ramon had scathingly told her that doing her best for Matty had not been good enough, and although she hated to admit it maybe he had a point?

      She suddenly felt desperately tired. A legacy of the flu, she supposed. Tears filled her eyes, and she blinked frantically to dispel them. Dealing with Ramon was emotionally draining at the best of times, and they still had to discuss arrangements for sharing custody of their son.

      ‘I have only ever wanted to do the right thing for Matty,’ she told him thickly.

      Ramon moved closer to the bed, and stared down at her with a hard gleam in his eyes that filled Lauren with a sudden sense of foreboding. ‘In that case,’ he said coolly, ‘I assume you have no objection to marrying me?’

      ‘I assume you’re joking?’ Lauren retorted after a lengthy stunned silence. Anger gripped her. ‘You don’t want to marry me, so don’t try to pretend you do. I didn’t even make it to girlfriend status when we were together. You only ever saw me as your mistress, and the fact that I have given birth to your child is not a good enough reason to tie us down in a relationship neither of us wants. We can both be involved in Matty’s upbringing without some farcical marriage,’ she insisted desperately when Ramon said nothing and simply surveyed her with his dark, unfathomable gaze.

      ‘How?’ he demanded bluntly.

      ‘Well…’ Lauren struggled to envisage how it would actually be possible for them both to care for Mateo when they lived in different countries. ‘Maybe you could buy a house in England and he could stay with you when you visit,’ she suggested, instantly disliking the idea that she might have to spend days, even weeks apart from Matty while he was with his father.

      ‘I have already made it clear that Mateo will live permanently at the Castillo del Toro.’

      ‘But it would be difficult for me to move to Spain and find a job. I speak Spanish reasonably well, but I am not familiar with the legal system over here. I would probably have to study for a Spanish law degree.’

      Ramon shrugged, indicating his indifference to her concerns about her career. ‘As my wife you will not need to work. I will provide you with everything you could possibly need.’

      ‘I don’t want you to keep me,’ Lauren argued, panic surging up inside her. ‘I’ve worked hard to have a good career, and I value my independence.’ The idea of being reliant on Ramon for money and a home filled her with horror. She had first-hand experience of how those things could be snatched away.

      He stared at her speculatively. ‘What do you value most, Lauren? Your independence, or your son? Because you cannot have both,’ he told her, in an implacable tone that made her heart plummet.

      ‘This is ridiculous,’ she said shakily, her hand trembling as she pushed her hair back from her face. ‘You can’t want to marry me. I’m not a blue-blooded Spanish woman, and I wouldn’t know how to be a duquesa.’

      ‘It’s true you are not an ideal choice,’ Ramon told her with brutal frankness. ‘But you are the mother of my son, and for his sake I have a duty to marry you so that he can grow up in the care of both his parents.’

      Lauren felt as though prison bars were closing around her, trapping her. In desperation she tried another approach. ‘You must see that it would never work. For a start, how would you feel to be married to a woman you don’t love?’

      ‘Love was never on my agenda,’ he said dismissively. ‘I do not consider it a prerequisite for a successful marriage. We both want to be with our son while he grows up, and I believe we are adult enough to be able to work things out. We were friends once,’ he reminded her. ‘And we proved on the night of the Valentine’s Ball that we are still sexually compatible—wouldn’t you agree, querida?’ he demanded, his voice suddenly so toe-curlingly sexy that Lauren felt a tightening sensation deep in her pelvis.

      She snatched a breath when he dropped down onto the edge of the bed and slowly ran his finger down the valley between her breasts. She was instantly agonisingly aware of him—of the distinctive scent of the cologne he always wore, the way his black hair gleamed like silk