Carrying The Spaniard's Child. Jennie Lucas

turned away. “Let’s go.”

      “Where?”

      “Paternity test.”

      “Forget it—”

      He whirled on her with narrowed eyes. “You hate me,” he growled. “Fine. I feel the same for you. But does not our child, at least, deserve to know the truth about his parents?”

      She glared at him, her eyes glittering with dislike. Then her expression faltered. He’d found the one argument that could sway her.

      “Fine,” she bit out.

      “You’ll take the test?”

      “For my baby’s sake. Not yours.”

      He exhaled. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath, wondering if he’d have to physically force her into the helicopter—a very unpleasant thought, especially with a woman who was likely pregnant with his child. He was relieved she wasn’t being so unreasonable.

      Then he realized Belle must have decided to change her strategy. She was just shifting her ground, like a boxer. Santiago’s lips pressed together in a thin line. He glanced at his bodyguards, hovering nearby. “Get her things.”

      As his men reached into her pickup, Santiago took her arm, leading her forward. Within seconds, she was sitting comfortably beside him on a leather seat inside the luxury helicopter.

      “I’ll take the test, but I’m never going to marry you,” she said over the sound of the propellers.

      He narrowed his eyes coldly. “We both know this is exactly what you wanted to happen. So stop the act. In your heart, I know you are rejoicing.”

      “I’m not!”

      “Your joy will not last long.” He drew closer, his face inches from hers. “You will find that being my wife is different than you imagined. You won’t own me, Belle. I will own you.”

      Her brown eyes got big, and he felt a current of electricity course through his body. Against his will, his gaze fell to her lips. So delicious. So sensual and red. Heat surged through his veins.

      He’d always despised the idea of marriage, but for the first time, he saw the benefits. As much as he hated her, it had only lifted his desire to a fever. And he knew, by the nervous flicker of her tongue against her lips even now, that Belle felt the same.

      Once wed, she would be in his bed, at his command, for as long as he desired. Because one thing, at least, hadn’t been a lie between them.

      So why wait?

      For all these months, since the explosive night he’d taken her virginity, he’d denied himself the pleasure of her. Both for his own sake and, he’d once believed, for hers.

      No longer.

      Tonight, he thought hungrily. He would have her in his bed tonight.

      But first things first.

      Putting on a headset, Santiago spoke to the pilot over the rising noise of the blades whipping the sky. “Let’s go.”

      * * *

      Sitting in the helicopter, Belle looked through the window across the wide plains of Texas. Far below, she saw wild horses running across the prairie, feral and free, a hundred miles away from any human civilization.

      She envied them right now.

      “Those are mine.” Santiago’s voice came through her headset. Sitting on the white leather seat beside her, he nodded toward the horses with satisfaction. “We’re on the north edge of my property.”

      So even the wild horses weren’t free, she thought glumly. It was the first time they’d spoken in the noisy helicopter since they’d left the world-class medical clinic in Houston.

      “You want to own everything, don’t you?”

      “I do own everything.” Santiago’s dark eyes gleamed at her. “My ranch is nearly half a million acres.”

      “Half a—” She sucked in her breath, then said slowly, “Wait. Did you buy the Alford Ranch?”

      He raised a sardonic eyebrow. “You’ve heard of it?”

      “Of course I’ve heard of it,” she snapped. “It’s famous. There was a scandal a few years ago when it was sold to some foreigner—you?”

      He shrugged. “All of this land was once owned by Spaniards, so some people might say that the Alfords were the foreigners. I was merely reacquiring it.”

      She looked at him skeptically. “Spaniards owned this?”

      “Most of South Texas was once claimed by the Spanish Empire, in the time of the conquistadors.”

      “How do you know that?”

      He gave a grim smile. “My father’s family is very proud of their history. When I was a boy, and still cared, I read about my ancestors. The family line goes back six hundred years.”

      “The Velazquez family can be traced six hundred years?” she blurted out. She barely knew the full names of her own great-grandparents.

      “Velazquez is my mother’s name. My father is a Zoya. The eighth Duque de Sangovia.”

      His voice was so flat she wasn’t sure she’d heard him right. “Your father is a duke? An actual duke?”

      He shrugged. “So?”

      “What’s he like?” she breathed. She’d never met royalty before, or aristocracy. The closest she’d come was knowing a kid called Earl back in middle school.

      “I wouldn’t know,” he said shortly. “We’ve never met. Look.” Changing the subject, Santiago pointed out the window. “There’s the house.”

      Belle looked, and gasped.

      The horizon was wide and flat, stretching in every direction, but after miles of dry, sparse sagebrush, the landscape had turned green. Between tree-covered rivers, she saw outbuildings and barns and pens. And at the most beautiful spot, she was astonished to see a blue lake, sparkling in the late afternoon sun. Next to it, atop a small hill surrounded by trees, was a sprawling single-story ranch house that made the place in the old TV show Dallas look like a fishing shack.