The Brazilian Millionaire's Love-Child. Anne Mather

tongue halfway down her throat.’

      ‘And that concerns you how?’ His accent was thickening, Isobel noticed. ‘I suggest you leave us, Julia. We are not innocents who require you as a—a chaperon, nao?’

      ‘Um—perhaps Mr Cabral should leave,’ Isobel ventured, not looking at him as she spoke. ‘It is getting very late.’

      She heard his sudden intake of breath at her words. ‘You do not mean this!’ he exclaimed harshly, but before she could respond Julia intervened.

      ‘She does,’ she said, her expression triumphant. ‘Bye bye, Alex. I’ll see you next week.’

      Isobel’s gaze darted from Julia’s face to Alejandro’s. What was that supposed to mean? But he was already striding towards the door, and for a moment she thought he was going to leave without speaking again.

      However he halted on the threshold, gripping the frame of the door with one hand, the other pushing back the tumbled darkness of his hair. ‘This is not over, Isobel,’ he informed her softly, and she didn’t know whether that was a threat or a promise. ‘Volto mais tarde.’ And what did that mean? ‘Boa noite, senhoras. Goodnight.’

       CHAPTER TWO

      AFTER Alejandro had gone, there was an uncomfortable silence. Then Julia said, ‘That was fun, wasn’t it?’

      Isobel pressed her lips together. ‘Yes, well, I’d rather not talk about it, if you don’t mind.’ She glanced down at her wristwatch, noticing the way her shirt was clinging to her, and cringing at the image she presented. ‘It’s late, as I said. Perhaps it would be a good idea if we wrapped things up now. It’s after one, and—’

      ‘You’re not serious?’ Julia’s jaw dropped in disbelief. ‘Issy, you can’t. Things are just beginning to heat up.’ She made an impatient gesture. ‘Just because you got a little tight and made a pass at Alex, I’m not going to throw a wobbly. We’ve been friends too long to let a man—’

      Isobel lifted a hand to silence her. ‘How do you know him anyway? And what did you mean when you said you’d see him next week?’

      ‘Oh.’ Julia looked coy now. ‘Didn’t he tell you? Well, I don’t suppose he had the chance, did he? We—that is, the agency—are doing some work for his company. Cabral Leisure is pretty big in South America. They’re wanting to break into the European market, and our agency was the one they picked to promote them here.’

      ‘Oh.’ Isobel nodded. ‘Oh, I see.’

      ‘Yeah. Our Alex belongs in the big league, Issy. That was why I was so upset when I saw you two together.’

      ‘Really?’

      Isobel wasn’t prepared to believe that, but Julia hurried on. ‘I mean it, Issy. No one was more surprised than me when he accepted my invitation. I guess he must have been bored, yeah? Guys like him don’t come slumming very often.’

      Isobel turned away, gathering up the empty cans strewn about the worktops and dropping them into the waste bin. She was tempted to say that her apartment was certainly not a slum, but she didn’t want to give Julia another excuse to patronise her. Besides, if he was as wealthy as Julia was implying, the other girl was probably right. At least, about him not mixing with the common herd every day.

      ‘Anyway, just because he’s walked out doesn’t mean we have to ruin the party,’ Julia continued when Isobel didn’t bite. ‘Another hour, Issy. Pretty please? Then I’ll get the gang out of here, I promise.’

      Alejandro walked back to his hotel.

      It was a fairly warm night for London in November, which was just as well, because in his haste he’d left his leather jacket at Isobel’s apartment.

      It hadn’t been a deliberate choice, he assured himself. He’d just been so angry when she’d asked him to leave that he hadn’t thought about anything but getting out of there.

      Now, the idea of seeing Isobel again intrigued him. As his temper cooled, he remembered her sweetness before Julia had interrupted them—the softness of her skin, the unexpected provocation of her mouth.

      Isobel, he mused. Isobella. She’d certainly been different from the other girls at the party. Her almost shy manner reminded him of the girls back home, though he guessed Isobel had never had a chaperon breathing down her neck.

      Except Julia…

      His lips twisted. When she’d invited him to the party, he’d intended to decline. Although he’d been working with the agency, he wasn’t in the habit of mixing business with pleasure. But she’d been so insistent, he’d eventually given in. After all, despite the wishes of his parents, he had no serious commitments elsewhere.

      He scowled. He didn’t want to think about Miranda at this moment. Not when thoughts of Isobel were foremost in his mind. She’d felt so good in his arms, warm, soft and sexy. He wondered how old she was. His own age, he guessed, but she looked younger. It was unbelievable that she’d been married and divorced. She seemed so innocent somehow. He knew he wanted to see her again. But would she want to see him?

      Disappointingly, she wasn’t at home when he called at her apartment the next morning. Instead, a garrulous old woman came out of the adjoining apartment and accosted him.

      ‘Are you looking for Mrs Jameson?’ she demanded, and Alejandro, who wasn’t used to being spoken to in such a manner, felt his hackles rising. ‘Anyway, she’s not here,’ the woman went on fussily, apparently unaware of giving any offence. ‘She went out first thing this morning, though how she expects to do a day’s work when none of us got a wink of sleep last night is beyond me.’

      ‘Ah.’ Alejandro was beginning to understand her reaction.

      ‘Were you at the party?’ she asked. Then, answering her own question, ‘No, I don’t suppose you were, or you’d not have expected her to be up yet.’

      Alejandro didn’t bother to correct her. ‘You said Mrs Jameson, senhora. I understood the lady was divorced, nao?’

      The woman’s eyes widened suspiciously, as if she’d just realised he wasn’t English, but she answered him anyway. ‘She is,’ she confirmed. ‘Or that’s what she told the landlord when she moved into the apartment.’

      ‘I see.’ Alejandro didn’t allow his relief to show. ‘Muito bem; I will have to return later, perhaps, when Mrs Jameson is at home.’

      The woman frowned at him through her thick-framed lenses. ‘Are you a friend of hers?’ she queried, and once again Alejandro had to tamp down his impatience. She pursed her lips. ‘Who shall I say has called?’

      Alejandro was fairly sure the question was purely curiosity now, and he was tempted not to reply. But the last thing he wanted was for Isobel to think he’d been snooping around. ‘My name is Cabral,’ he said shortly. Then, with a slight bow of his head, ‘Thank you for your time, Mrs—Mrs—?’

      ‘Lytton-Smythe,’ she said at once. She paused for a moment and then ventured casually, ‘Do you work for her uncle too?’

      Alejandro hesitated. ‘Her uncle?’ he echoed, unable to prevent himself, and the woman nodded.

      ‘Samuel Armstrong,’ she said. ‘He publishes magazines or something. Mrs Jameson is always on the go, interviewing famous people and writing articles about them for him.’

      ‘Is she?’ Alejandro was impressed.

      ‘Yes.’ There was reluctance in the woman’s tone now, as if she regretted being so frank. ‘I suppose she must be quite clever, really, even if it is only her uncle she works for.’

      Damned with faint praise, thought Alejandro drily, but he was grateful for the information nonetheless. If only so he knew there was an alternative source