Illegitimate Tycoon (18 page)

 
          
He
was miserable. He missed Leila terribly and he dreamed of her having his
babies. Ached to spend every day and night with her, and the ache to have his
own family had nearly consumed him.

 
          
But
Leila wasn’t ready. She may never be. He had to give her space, maybe let her
go forever.

 
          
“Join
me in Malibu,” she said, tracing his jaw with a fingernail.

 
          
“I’m
tied up in Brazil for the next month.”

 
          
“Rio
after that, then?”

 
          
“Yes,
we’ll spend the next months back home.”

 
          
“That
sounds good.”

 
          
Rafael
tightened his hold on her and strode into the bedroom, his mind too fogged with
passion to think logically now.

 
          
He
longed to lie beside her, cover her, have her straddle him. He’d adore her with
his hands and lips and tongue until they could no longer move. Until they were
sated in body and spirit.

 
          
“You
will be exhausted in the morning,” he promised as he stretched out beside her
on the bed. “As will you.”

 
          
He
smiled at that, for she was right. But he craved that sweet exhaustion. He
wanted to leave knowing he’d given her all the pleasure that he could. He
wanted her to wake in the night and miss him being beside her.

 
          
“I
will hold you to that promise,
querida.”

 
          
“As
long as you hold me.”

 
          
He
would do that and more. Much, much more.

 
          
He
splayed a hand on her flat belly and smiled as her silken skin quivered beneath
his palm, the flesh warm. Smooth. Perfection.

 
          
“Make
love with me,” she said, reaching for him.

 
          
“With
pleasure.”

 
          
His
fingers brushed through the carefully trimmed hair at the apex of her thighs
and she shifted, lifting her hips in silent invitation. His lips captured hers
in a kiss that commanded and teased in turn. He bit her full lower lip, then
laved the swollen flesh even as his fingers toyed with the plump folds between
her thighs.

 
          
“Please,”
she said, digging her fingernails into his sides to bring him closer, setting
his skin on fire with her passion. “Hurry.”

 
          
But
he was in no rush to see these last hours slip away. He’d pleasure her with
care. He’d savor every second she remained in his arms, for it could be months
before he saw her again.

 
          
“Beautiful,”
he whispered as he trailed kisses down her neck, taking love bites that made
her quiver and send a fresh rush of blood to his already engorged sex. “You
were made for loving. You were made for me.”

 
          
He
speared one finger into her hot tight core, groaning that she was as tight and
sweet as a virgin still. Sweat popped out on his brow and slicked his back.
Blood roared in his ears.

 
          
He
thrust another finger into her while his thumb found her pleasure point,
rubbing hard and fast.

 
          
She
bucked and cried out, her plea captured in his mouth, branded on his soul.

 
          
He
would make this last night special for her. For him.

 
          
He
set a fast tempo, drawing the moment out. His thumb found her pleasure spot and
rubbed insistently as his lips captured one tight nipple and suckled hard. He
laved each ripe breast until both tightened. His hand rode her hard toward an
explosive climax.

 
          
He
rocked back and watched her, his heart hammering so hard with need he could
barely draw a breath, thinking he’d never seen anything as beautiful as Leila
lost in passion. Reaching for her climax, coming undone at his touch.

 
          
She
was free now. Her features open. Natural. More passionate than any professional
still shot could convey.

 
          
His
.

 
          
Before
the last tremors left her, he settled between her lithe thighs and thrust into
her quivering heat with a husky shout of completion. She clutched him to her
with her arms, her core muscles, her sultry eyes gleaming like cut ambers.

 
          
Sweet,
sweet oblivion called to him, yet he moved with slow deliberation, drawing this
moment out, committing this to memory. Her nails raked down his back creating
rivers of fire. Her long lean legs wrapped around his hips, holding him close,
demanding his all.

 
          
He
gritted his teeth, pumping into her, fingers twined now, eyes locked on each
other. “Remember this,” he charged, driving into her hard, fast, pushing her
into the stars that surely glittered just for her.

 
          
“Always,”
she said, her voice no more than a breath.

 
          
Then
she was lost, her body trembling as her climax overcame her. He sank into her
once more and let himself go, lost in the flickering carnival lights of passion
with her.

 
          
The
last thing Rafael wanted to see was the dawn of a new day. But it came anyway.

 
          
He
rolled from the bed without waking her and took a shower, but the pounding
spray failed to ease the tension gripping him this morning. Last night was a
clear poignant memory.

 
          
Now
it was over.

 
          
He
dressed, then stood by the bed, watching her sleep. He’d promised he’d wake her
before he left, but what was the use in depriving her of much-needed sleep?

 
          
“I
will miss you,
querida,”
he
whispered.

 
          
Then
with a heavy heart, he slipped from the suite.

 
          
NEARLY
two weeks had passed since they’d parted in France and still Leila had to
struggle to find the strength to get out of bed each morning. Even the
tranquility she felt at her home perched high in the Malibu hills was absent
this time.

 
          
Part
of that was because for the first time ever she’d had great difficulty falling
asleep to the soothing wash of the tide. But most of her anxiety could be
blamed on her heartache over being apart from Rafael.

 
          
What
little rest she got was fitful—plagued with images of him loving her, his arms
open for her return. Him asking her what she wanted most—her career or a
family.

 
          
Dammit,
she wanted both. But her fear over one drove her full tilt into pursuing the
other.

 
          
Perhaps
that was the reason she’d seen a return of the nightmares that had tormented
her after her miscarriage.

 
          
If
she hadn’t received such favorable reports from the clinic regarding a
critically young girl who’d reminded her of herself at that age, she’d have
found it difficult to function at all. But the money spent on the girl’s care
was worth the heartache—worth the sacrifice. At least, that’s what she tried to
tell herself.

 
          
“You’ve
put in horribly long hours this past month,” her agent said when Leila finally
confessed she was worried about her stamina. “I’m concerned with your
exhaustion. It’s showing on your face and that won’t do.”

 
          
Leila
was well aware of that! As exhausted as she was, she’d never be able to keep up
with the demands expected of her when the real work began.

 
          
“Have
you seen a doctor?” her agent asked. “No. When do you expect them to send over
a contract?”

 
          
“Any
day now,” her agent said, frowning again as if annoyed that she’d changed the
subject. “Once you sign, they’ll want you to be ready to work. It would be
crushing to your career if you fell off schedule and were unable to work. Or
worse, if you go there looking as exhausted as you do.”

 
          
A
model’s nightmare. And at her age, maintaining a youthful look was crucial. She
had to do something, and if it meant taking medicine for depression again, then
that’s what she’d do.

 
          
“Very
well,” Leila said. “I’ll ring my physician today.”

 
          
But
due to her doctor’s busy schedule and Leila’s celebrity status he agreed to see
her after hours.

 
          
“Congratulations
on being the spokeswoman for
Bare Souls,”
her doctor said by way of greeting, proving that even a professional whom she
admired for his bluntly honest demeanor was awed by Leila’s stellar success. “I
trust the festival was as exciting as the video clips of it suggested.”

 
          
“It
was an experience of a lifetime,” Leila said, her heart warming over the memory
of unbelievable bliss with Rafael. “Unfortunately I caught a bit of a bug there
and can’t seem to shake it.”

 
          
The
doctor quickly launched into his professional persona. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

 
          
“Exhaustion
and a queasy stomach.”

 
          
“This
started in France?”

 
          
She
frowned. “Actually, I arrived with an upset stomach. At the time I thought I
hadn’t recovered from a stomach virus.”

 
          
The
doctor patiently listened as she described how food—even the smell of it—would
turn her stomach. How she’d feel perfectly fine one moment only to become
violently ill the next.

 
          
“It
didn’t last more than a few days and then I felt fine. Except for being tired,”
she admitted as the doctor gave her a careful examination.

 
          
“I’ll
ask you this once because, considering your medical history, I have to rule it
out,” the doctor said. “Have you had a relapse with your eating disorder?”

 
          
She’d
expected the question. “No. I’ve adhered to a healthy diet and have not been
tempted to revert to anorexia once since my recovery. In fact, I have gained
weight.”

 
          
“Good
for you,” the doctor said after weighing her and announcing she was five pounds
heavier than the last visit.

 
          
The
weight gain shocked her, for though she noticed her clothes fit snugger, this
was a much greater increase than she’d ever had. She’d been trying to put
weight on, had promised Rafael she would, but she had always believed that this
would be impossible for her to actually achieve! She had thought that when she
had reached her desired ten kilos extra her first erratic impulse would be to
begin an immediate and rigid diet. But she had hardly noticed the gain. It
certainly hadn’t been at the forefront of her mind.

 
          
For
a moment she still felt that initial gut impulse to diet, to starve herself if
she must, but it wasn’t anywhere near as strong as she had feared. Was there
hope for her and Rafael and the future they had once dreamed of?

 
          
But
almost as soon as this joyous feeling settled in Leila’s heart, she shook
herself. She’d still had a negative reaction to her weight gain, even if only
slight. Added to her desolation over her miscarriage, this only confirmed her
fears about pregnancy and the belief that she’d never be able to cope with the
body changes she’d endure while pregnant. What if she tried, only to fail
again? Where would that leave her and Rafael then?