The Illegitimate Tycoon. Janette Kenny

in Brazil, and she knew she couldn’t tell him such news over the phone. She could have told him when he returned, in between a break in her hectic schedule, but she’d been so devastated still, so terribly shocked, that she’d been unable to find the words. All too soon too much time had passed. Now?

      Leila had no idea how to even begin to tell her husband what had happened! And the timing was once again all wrong.

      Leila pushed past his finely honed form and hurried into her bedroom. She simply couldn’t deal with it right now, not when her emotions were strained from the flight. Not when she wanted time alone with Rafael first before she voiced the truth that she knew could drive him from her.

      She hated that. Hated the distancing between them this past year. But she feared getting close to him again as well. Feared losing control of her body.

      And yet that’s what her fear was doing now – taking control over her life, her plans, and destroying her dreams.

      But how could she risk a repeat of the hell she’d gone through last year? She didn’t know, and the uncertainty and fear were eating her alive.

      She looked around the room wildly, desperate to regain control of her rioting emotions. Her gaze latched on to the rolling wardrobe clothes rack.

      “Is something wrong, querida?” Rafael asked, his deep voice freezing her in place for a heartbeat.

      Tell him. Blurt it all out!

      She ached to turn around and run her hands over his strong muscular chest. Wrap her arms around him and hold him tight. Beg him to forgive her for holding the truth from him.

      Leila desperately wanted to hold on to the only man she’d ever loved and savor the moment, for that’s all they’d had in a year. Moments.

      She’d wanted so much more. She wanted the early days of her marriage back. Wanted the tragedy of her miscarriage forgotten. Wanted to believe that she could bear his child without the mind-numbing fear, that she could be stronger than the disease that had nearly killed her as a teenager. That had killed her friend.

      But she couldn’t. Not now. Not before the premiere of the film he’d devoted so much to. Not when the truth could drive an even deeper wedge between them.

      “I have to make sure everything I need is here.”

      She moved to the rack, desperately pushing those dark thoughts from her mind.

      “Then I will leave you to your unpacking and make a few calls. The premier is at eight, two hours from now.”

      “I’ll have just enough time to get ready.”

      Without his interference. Without him being so close she could pull him to her, hold him, kiss him.

      She’d never intended to keep her miscarriage a secret from him, but her fears had sunk deep roots in her. Her only escape had been her career. It had become her anchor with a new twist. She’d developed a compulsive ritual to oversee her wardrobe, and to coordinate each shoot with the photographer beforehand.

      She’d gotten to the point now where she would only work with a handful of noted photographers because they understood her process and brought the best out in her.

      But her acclaimed status and demands had come at a price as well, for a few other, less experienced photographers had labeled her a control freak.

      She frowned at that fault now, knowing on some level it was true. She tore into the array of garments her agency had provided and nearly an hour passed as she lost herself in the preparations, gaining control of her life and her fear again.

      It wasn’t easy being at the top of her game. There was no time to sit back on her laurels and savor her position at the top, for there was always a new breed of models eager to knock her off her pedestal.

      Time would do that all on its own, of course, as the opportunity for aging models was few and far between. And a model close to thirty was already considered beyond her peak years.

      Right now it was crucial that Leila remained focused on her career, and she desperately needed this last campaign to excel. The endowment she would establish off this shoot alone would provide more funding for her clinic for girls battling anorexia and bulimia. So far it had been running on faith and charity. She’d depleted her own funds to shore up their own, but she knew she couldn’t keep doing that, knew she needed to do more.

      So it was imperative that she let nothing interfere with the networking she must do here at the film festival to secure her clinic. But try as she might she couldn’t stop thinking about Rafael.

      She couldn’t wait to be alone with him, to make love with him, for in his arms the world and its worries faded away.

      Leila strode to the closet to hang her personal wardrobe and threw open the doors. And blinked not once but twice. It’d been too long since her things had been next to his. Too long since they’d shared more than a night or two together.

      Several masculine suits hung on the rod. Men’s fine leather shoes rested on the closet floor in front of a large wheeled case.

      A smile curved her lips as she reached out to stroke the woolen sleeve on a charcoal designer suit jacket. When they’d met, he’d barely been able to afford an off-the-rack suit. Now he wore only ones custom-made to fit his long legs, trim hips and broad shoulders.

      “Do they meet with your approval?” he asked, his deep rich voice vibrating along her nerves in a delicious hum.

      She turned to him with a smile and felt her heart swell with love. With pride, for he’d come from nothing and worked hard to become one of the wealthiest men in the world.

      “Yes, I’m impressed by the quality of the cloth and the cut. But then you won me over years ago wearing just faded jeans and a stark-white jersey that hugged your chest—” she paused, striding to him on legs that oddly trembled “—as I long to do now.”

      A deep growl of pleasure rumbled from his chest as she glided her palms over his honed muscles. “This past year that we’ve spent apart has nearly killed me.”

      “Me too,” she said, her guilt once more threatening to steal the joy she felt at being in his arms.

      Rafael was such a handsome man. So strong inside. So giving to her. So good.

      Yet the core of steel within him could be unbendable as well. He was a proud man, slow to trust. And she’d betrayed that bond. Would he be forgiving when she confessed her lie?

      “Why the sad look, querida?”

      She took a breath and debated telling him now. Blurting it out in a rush, then suffering his anger in silence throughout tonight’s premiere. No, it would ruin this night for him and he had worked so hard to get to this point in his career.

      That smacked of being selfish, and of all her faults, she wasn’t that. Nothing could be gained from telling him now.

      She’d waited this long to purge her soul. She could wait another day or so until the time was right. Until she’d enjoyed the pleasure of being Rafael’s wife and lover without any arguments or hurt feelings between them.

      “I was just thinking how nice this would be if we didn’t have so many obligations this week,” she said.

      He shrugged. “Say the word and we’ll leave here, go somewhere more private. Just us two.”

      “So tempting, but you know I can’t do that. We can’t do that.”

      “When did our careers become more important than our marriage?” he asked.

      “It never has been,” she protested.

      One dark brow arched up. “Hasn’t it? In the past year we’ve only managed to be together once, and that was far too brief.”

      “I know, but we are both at crucial points in our careers,” she said. “To have shirked our responsibilities and commitments would have had adverse effects we might never have recovered from.”

      Especially for her as a model. Right now it was crucial she kept her name out there.