Carrying The Spaniard's Child. Jennie Lucas

wrong?”

      Reaching out, he put his hand on her shoulder, then lifted it to her cheek. It was the first time he had ever touched her, and even in the dark and cold the touch of his hand spun through her like a fire. Her lips parted.

      “If something was wrong, why would I tell you?”

      His smile increased. “Because you hate me.”

      “And?”

      “So whatever it is, you can tell me. Because you don’t give a damn what I think.”

      “True,” she said wryly. It was tempting. She pressed her lips together. “But you might tell the world.”

      “Do I ever share secrets?”

      “No,” she was forced to admit. “But you do say mean and insulting things. You are heartless and rude and...”

      “Only to people’s faces. Never behind their backs.” His voice was low. “Tell me, Belle.”

      Clouds covered the moon, and they were briefly flooded in darkness. She suddenly was desperate to share her grief with someone, anyone. And it was true she couldn’t have a lower opinion of him. He probably couldn’t think less of her, either.

      That thought was oddly comforting. She didn’t have to pretend with Santiago. She didn’t have to be positive and hopeful at all times, the cheerleader who tried to please everyone, no matter what. Belle had learned at a young age never to let any negative feelings show. If you were honest about your feelings, it only made people dislike you. It only made people leave, even and especially the ones you loved.

      So Santiago was the only one she could tell. The only one she could be truly herself with. Because, heck, if he permanently left her life, she’d throw a party.

      She took a deep breath. “It’s the baby.”

      “Little Howie?”

      “Yes.”

      “I had a hard time with him, too. Babies.” He rolled his eyes. “All those diapers, all that crying. But what can you do? Some people still seem to want them.”

      “I do.” The moon broke through the clouds, and Belle looked up at him with tears shimmering in the moonlight. “I want a baby.”

      He stared down at her, then snorted. “Of course you do. Romantic idiot like you. You want love, flowers, the whole package.” He shrugged. “So why cry over it? If you are foolish enough to want a family, go get one. Settle down, buy a house, get married. No one is stopping you.”

      “I... I can’t get pregnant,” she whispered. “Ever. It’s impossible.”

      “How do you know?”

      “Because...” Belle looked down at the tracks in the snow. The moonlight caused strange shadows, mingling her footsteps and his. “I just know. It’s medically impossible.”

      She braced herself for his inevitable questions. Medically impossible how? What happened? When and why?

      But he surprised her.

      Reaching out, he just pulled her into his arms, beneath his black cashmere coat. She felt the sudden comfort of his warmth, his strength, as he caressed her long dark hair. “Everything will be all right.”

      She looked up at him, her heart in her throat. She was aware of the heat of his body against hers.

      “You must think I’m a horrible person,” she said, pulling away. “A horrible friend for envying Letty, when she just lost her father. I spent all day holding her sweet baby and envying her. I’m the worst friend in the world.”

      “Stop.” Cupping her face, he looked down at her fiercely. “You know I think you’re a fool...existing in a pink cloud of candy-coated dreams. Someday you will lose those rose-colored glasses and learn the truth about the heartless world...”

      She whispered brokenly. “I—”

      He put his finger on her lips. “But even I can see you’re a good friend.”

      His finger felt warm against her tingling lips. She had the sudden shocking desire to kiss it, to wrap her lips around his finger and suck it gently. She’d never had such a shocking thought before—she, an inexperienced virgin! But as little as she liked him, something about the wickedly sexy Spaniard attracted —and scared—her.

      Trembling, she twisted her head away. She remembered all those women he’d famously seduced, those women she’d scorned as fools for being willing notches on his bedpost. And for the first time, she sympathized with them, as she herself fully felt the potent force of his charm.

      “You’re lucky, actually.” Santiago gave her a crooked half grin. “Babies? Marriage? Who would want to be stuck with such a thankless responsibility as a family?” He shook his head. “No good would have come of it. It’s a prison sentence. Now you can have something better.”

      She stared at him. “Better than a family?”

      He nodded.

      “Freedom,” he said quietly.

      “But I don’t want freedom.” Her voice was small. “I want to be loved.”

      “We all want things we can’t have,” he said roughly.

      “How would you know? You’ve never wanted anything, not without taking it.”

      “You’re wrong. There has been something I’ve wanted. For four months. Someone. But I can’t have her.”

      Four months. Suddenly, Belle’s heart was beating wildly in her chest. He couldn’t mean...couldn’t possibly mean...

      Could Santiago Velazquez, the famous New York billionaire, a man who had supermodels for the asking, really want Belle—a plump, ordinary waitress from small-town Texas?

      Their eyes held in the moonlight. Sparks ran through her body, from her earlobes to her hair to her breasts to the soles of her feet.

      “I want her. I can’t have her,” he said in a low voice. “Not even if she were standing in front of me now.”

      “Why not?” she breathed.

      “Ah.” His lips twisted. “She wants love. I see it in her face. I hear it in her voice. She craves love like the air she breathes. If I took her, if I made her mine, she would turn all her romantic longings on me. And be destroyed by it.” He looked down at her, his eyes dark and deep. “Because as much as I want her body, I do not want her heart.”

      Behind the soft silver halo on his black hair, she could dimly see the shadow of the manor house, and hear the ocean waves pounding on the unseen shore.

      Then Belle’s eyes suddenly narrowed.

      He was playing with her, she realized. Toying with her. Like a sharp-clawed cat with a mouse. “Stop it.”

      “What?”

      She lifted her chin. “Are you bored, Santiago? Do you want some company in your bed and I’m the only one around?” She glared at him. “Other women might fall for your world-weary playboy act. But I don’t believe a word of it. If you really wanted me, you wouldn’t let anything stand in the way, not my feelings and certainly not the risk of hurting me. You would seduce me without conscience. That’s what a playboy does. So obviously, you don’t want me. You’re just bored.”

      “You’re wrong, Belle.” Roughly, he pulled her against his body, beneath his expensive black cashmere coat. She felt his warmth as his dark eyes searched hers hungrily. “I’ve wanted you since Darius and Letty’s wedding. Since the first time you told me to go to hell.” His sensual lips curved as he cupped her cheek and looked down at her intently. “But whatever you think of me, I’m not in the business of purposefully making naïve young women love me.”

      Her whole body was tingling with energy, with fear, with a feeling