Rafael's Love-Child. Kate Walker

lifted, wide dark eyes looking directly into hers. Her breath suddenly caught in her throat as she felt an involuntary kick of response.

      ‘What’s his name?’ she managed on a dry, painful croak.

      A faint thatch of fine black hair fuzzed the baby’s scalp. The black hair and something about the shape of the child’s face reminded her strongly of the man beside her. The man whose image had haunted her thoughts by day, disturbed her sleep at night in heated, shockingly erotic dreams that she had woken from to find her heart still racing, her hair damp with sweat.

      ‘His full name is Antonio Felipe Martinez Cordoba.’

      Cordoba. There it was. The confirmation she had been dreading. How had this happened to her? How could this man, whom she had known for only a few days, have such an effect on her that it mattered so much to think that he might already be in a relationship? That he had fathered a child with another woman.

      ‘What a mouthful.’

      She concentrated her attention on the baby as she spoke, putting out a tentative finger to stroke one waving hand, a smile escaping her as she saw the way his little fist closed round it, clutching hard. And in that moment it was as if the little boy’s hand had curled around her heart as well, taking it prisoner as it was flooded with an unexpected and totally overwhelming rush of love for this small, vulnerable being.

      ‘A big name for such a little scrap.’

      ‘I call him Tonio.’

      ‘That suits him.’ She bent forward, smiling into the child’s wide eyes, the red-gold curtain of her hair falling round her oval face, forming a shield from Rafael’s watchful gaze. ‘He’s yours?’

      His wordless murmur went unheeded as her thoughts leapt on to the next logical connection.

      ‘I didn’t know you were married.’

      ‘I’m not.’ His unexpected response brought her head round in a rush, brown eyes widening in shock. ‘Never have been, even though I came close to it once.’

      ‘Then Tonio. He’s a—a—love-child?’

      Her heart was doing crazy things inside her chest: beating way too fast and twisting, practically turning somersaults, so that she was unable to breathe. Not married didn’t mean not committed, and after all what greater commitment was there between two people than the fact that they had a child together?

      ‘A love-child?’ Rafael’s beautifully shaped mouth twisted cynically on the word. ‘There are those who would call him something far less complimentary.’

      ‘But if you and his mother are together…’

      ‘No!’ It came forcefully, almost violently, and those brilliant golden eyes blazed with fierce rejection of her statement. ‘Tonio’s mother and I are not, as you so tactfully put it, “together”.’

      Serena’s heart, which had started to slow down, to return to its natural rhythm, lurched painfully at the sudden change in his tone.

      Somehow, without quite knowing how, she had overstepped whatever careful lines he drew around his personal life. The man she had grown accustomed to over the past few days had vanished and the person she had privately nicknamed the Spanish Inquisitor, the man who had so upset and frightened her at their first meeting, was back.

      ‘I—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.’

      Thoroughly unnerved, she snatched her hand away from the baby’s grasp, suddenly afraid to show her response to the child.

      ‘I never…’

      But she got no further. Furious at having his new-found toy so abruptly snatched from him, Tonio murmured a faint protest which then developed into a full-blooded howl, his little face screwing into a furious grimace, his cheeks flushed bright red.

      ‘Oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry!’ Serena’s remorse was immediate, her fear of Tonio’s father forgotten as she moved hastily to comfort the little boy.

      Rafael was there before her, scooping the child out of his carrycot and gathering him close.

      ‘Hush, mi corazón, hush,’ he soothed huskily. ‘All is well; you’re safe.’

      Serena’s heart tightened again, her nerves tying themselves into hard, painful knots at the sight of the baby held so firmly against the strength and width of the hard wall of the man’s chest. His small, vulnerable form seemed so much tinier, so delicate when contrasted with the arms that enclosed him, the long-fingered hand that curved lovingly around the delicate skull, supporting the tiny head.

      Immediately all the loneliness and apprehension that had gripped her just before Rafael’s arrival flooded back with a vengeance.

      This was why, in spite of her initial fear of him, she had been so glad to see Rafael when he had appeared in her room on the second day after she had regained consciousness. No one else was likely to visit. There was no one she could turn to who could help her obtain the small necessities that would make her stay in hospital that bit more comfortable.

      And Rafael hadn’t needed to be asked. In fact he had arrived that first day with flowers, fruit, and a bag containing a selection of toiletries, all of the most luxurious brands, more expensive than anything she had ever been able to provide for herself. He had even thought to bring a couple of new nightdresses, guessing at her size with an accuracy that had frankly astonished and unnerved her. It spoke of an intimate knowledge of the female body that she found she didn’t want to enquire into too closely.

      ‘Keep them!’ he had declared dismissively when she had protested at his generosity. ‘They’re only trifles—I can easily afford them.’

      But just that morning she had learned that the nightdresses and toiletries were only part of it, that his generosity went much further than she had ever imagined. And that was something she could not let go unchallenged.

      ‘Is it true that you have been paying all my bills?’

      Rafael’s proud head came up sharply, black brows drawing together over the tawny eyes that were suddenly wary, as if he had something he very definitely wanted to conceal.

      ‘Who told you that?’ he demanded in a voice that promised retribution on the person responsible just as soon as he found out.

      ‘Oh, come on, Mr Cordoba!’ Serena protested. ‘I may have had an accident—a knock on the head—but I’ve not completely lost my mind!’

      ‘I thought we agreed on Rafael,’ he inserted coolly, in an obvious attempt to distract her from her line of questioning.

      ‘We agreed on nothing! You instructed me to use your name, told me not to worry my pretty little head about anything…’

      And, weak and vulnerable, she had done just that. She had accepted his presence in the hospital because the medical staff did, hadn’t persisted with the questions that had been so subtly but effectively blocked because with her head still aching and her thoughts still whirling in confusion it was easier not to. She had simply assumed that Rafael Cordoba had some part in the time she couldn’t remember, the moments just before or just after the accident, and so hadn’t pressed the matter.

      But not now. Now she couldn’t believe that she had been so foolish, so blindly, stupidly naïve. Now she wanted some answers.

      ‘And it wasn’t just a bang on the head,’ Rafael continued imperturbably, moving to lay the baby back in his carrycot. ‘You were very much out of it there for a while, and you were lucky to get away with only the injuries you had.’

      ‘You don’t have to tell me that!’ Serena retorted swiftly.

      She still felt cold inside just to recall the moment when, helped by a nurse, she had first managed to struggle out of her hospital regulation gown and into one of the new, pretty cotton ones Rafael had provided for her. She had been shocked and horrified to see the bruising that covered so much of her body, the scratches and