The Illegitimate Tycoon. Janette Kenny

heart warmed at the thought of having children with Leila, of having a home with her that wasn’t empty or flat.

      He’d never had that in his entire life. His mother had loved him, yes, but she had always held at least two jobs at a time to support them, and she had worked incredibly long hours. He had hardly seen her as a child.

      As for a home, their small flat in Wolfestone might have been the place Rafael had been raised, but the memories there were painful, suffocating. Rafael had felt only freedom when he had left its cloying grasp. He had moved to a modern apartment in London and then, when he had married Leila, they had bought a luxurious penthouse in Rio, far away from the darkness of Rafael’s past.

      But though this was his and Leila’s residence, it still lacked that life and energy of a loving family that he had felt missing for so long.

      Rafael wanted a real casa with land where his children could play and make good memories to last a lifetime. A place they could call home, a place they’d feel safe. Loved. Everything his aristocratic father had denied him.

      Leila knew how much this meant to him and she had shared his dream of having a family.

      And, if they were very lucky, they’d realize that dream soon.

      Now, as he saw Leila approach and close the distance separating them, his gaze hungrily licked over her like flames on dry tinder, consuming, scorching. It was always like this, the gripping desire that engulfed him whenever they were reunited.

      As for his heart.

      His heart warmed with emotions that seemed too huge to imagine. He was afraid to look away, to blink, for fear he’d awaken to discover that what he had with her had just been a fantasy.

      She was absolutely gorgeous.

      And she was his wife. His.

      Under the rapid-fire flash of cameras, she strode down La Croisette with her million-dollar smile in place. He knew she wasn’t focused on any one person or thing, that her stunning smile was for her legion of adoring fans.

      She knew how to make love to the camera, and the lens loved her. And why wouldn’t it?

      She was a fantasy brought to life. The woman every man dreamed of making love to, the woman every woman wished she could emulate.

      Perfection. Seductive perfection.

      Her mass of golden hair was caught up in a tumble of messy curls that framed a face that had graced every major magazine since she was thirteen. But that gamine child that had launched her career was gone, replaced by a sensual woman who’d worked hard to make a perfectly toned body seem more desirable than voluptuous curves.

      Her crimson dress caressed her upthrust breasts and gentle bow of her hips in the warm salt-tinged breeze. He knew every move she made was carefully orchestrated, right down to the metered strides of her long lithe legs supported by killer stilettos. Strong flawless legs that would wrap around his naked flanks in the throes of passion.

      Their March rendezvous had reminded him just how much he’d missed her this past hectic year. How he’d taken for granted the exact feel of her silken skin against his fingers and mouth, her erotic scent that clung to him and held tight, her sultry passion that drove him wild in bed and out.

      He caught the slight hesitancy in her eyes before she stopped before him, her palms firm on his chest in a familiar way that had been captured on film a thousand times. A touch that left him trembling inside, remembering all that was good between them. All the passion, the pure joy, the bliss of shutting out the world and lying wrapped in each other’s arms.

      Her gaze made a slow sweep up to his face, and he felt his own lips pulling into a smile. His hands settled on her trim waist, firm and clearly possessive. Her soft lips beckoned him and he met her halfway for their customary kiss of greeting, but the moment was gone before he could savor it.

      Her scent stayed with him though, a provocative perfume that teased the senses. That promised much more. This would be the new fragrance she was here to promote in conjunction with the release of the film of the same name, Bare Souls.

      That certainly did not describe them!

      For as close as they were with each other’s bodies, they had both kept their own demons securely locked away since the day they’d met. He’d never told her how being William Wolfe’s unwanted bastard had scarred him. She’d never divulged everything pertaining to the near disastrous bout of anorexia she’d suffered at a young age. But he suspected she was still haunted by that episode in her life, and he wondered now if she’d truly fully recovered from the disease.

      Those big hazel eyes that had captured the heart of the world at thirteen locked on his and his concerns fled. For a heartbeat it was difficult to breathe. Impossible to think.

      Then in a blink the look was gone, replaced with the seductive glint of a woman. The look that had men around the globe drooling after her.

      He certainly was not immune! His body responded to the carnal energy arcing between them, and he reached out and cupped her jaw, a simple caress that drew whispers from the crowds.

      But it was as if everyone else on the planet faded away until it was just them.

      This reaction to each other, this look that they shared and which they had exploited, kept the paparazzi from hounding them with too many questions—specifically about the stability of their marriage this past year.

      “How was Nathaniel’s wedding?” she asked.

      “Everyone asked about you,” he said, still hurt that she’d not altered her plans for him. “I called you—”

      “I know,” she said, her palms shifting against his chest in a small urgent circle, her eyes searching deep into his as if begging him to understand. “I couldn’t get away.”

      He nodded, accepting that apology because now wasn’t the place to engage in a deeper conversation. But there was a strained note in her voice that had him wondering if she were having difficulties with her career, problems he didn’t know about.

      If his brothers and sister had thought it odd that the most celebrated model of the decade couldn’t demand a day off to attend a family wedding, none of them had mentioned it to him. But then his family was already highly dysfunctional.

      They all knew not to expect too much—they were all wary of loving too deeply. And yet love had happened for Rafael. A deep, passionate love that scared him, for he knew that such emotions were fragile. Priceless.

      Being with Leila again, knowing she’d be his for an entire week during the film festival, made his skin tighten with anticipation. His heart pounded far harder. Desire. Lust.

      Yet, those base emotions were wrapped up in much deeper emotion, like a tight wad that made his blood surge. They had been building toward a far stronger marriage before this past chaotic year.

      He fully intended to pick up where they’d left off.

      “Our suite is ready,” he said.

      “Good. I’m eager to sit down someplace quiet for a while.”

      He cut her a quick look as he took her arm. A sliver of uncertainty crossed her features again. There was paleness beneath her makeup as well. Had she been ill?

      They walked together into the hotel, and he was grateful that velvet ropes kept the fans and paparazzi at bay. He’d never grown comfortable being in the spotlight—spawned from his youth of being pointed out as the Wolfe bastard. Now was no different.

      Though he was no longer the subject of ridicule, he still hated the attention that crashed into his private life.

      He took Leila’s arm and escorted her across the elegant lobby, thankful that they met nobody along the way inclined to ask for an autograph or a quick chat. They were left alone still as they took the elevator to their floor, but Rafael didn’t draw a decent breath until he shepherded his wife into their suite and closed off