Illegitimate Tycoon (25 page)

 
          
“Feijoada
. My mother used to cook it
when I was a boy. Coming home always makes me hunger for it.” His dark eyes
flicked over her. “Much like I hunger for you,
querida.”

 
          
“It’s
safe to say you have an unquenchable appetite,” she said in a teasing tone,
hiding the worry that clung deep inside her. Would his hunger for her still be
as consuming once she began to grow? Would he still be as attentive?

 
          
Stop thinking that your worth is equated
with your weight!
But right now the old fears were playing hell with her
hormones, a thing her doctor had warned her about.

 
          
“I
hope you have fresh vegetables too,” she said, breaking the intense gaze of his
by moving to the refrigerator.

 
          
“Always,”
he said. “I suspected you would turn up your nose at Brazilian comfort foods in
favor of a salad.”

 
          
She
hadn’t used to, but it seemed a lifetime ago when she had been a child as thin
as a string bean and able to eat anything without putting on a gram. But once
she’d turned that corner into adulthood and had begun to gain weight, she had
learned to acquire a taste for fresh vegetables seasoned with the lightest dash
of olive oil and enhanced with herbs.

 
          
“How
is your mother?” she asked as she placed an array of vegetables on the island
counter and began making a salad, smoothly switching the subject, and her
thoughts, from her eating habits.

 
          
“She
is well. Busy,” he added with a frown. “She manages a day care center in her
village which commands all her time.”

 
          
Did
she hear a note of resentment in his tone?

 
          
“That’s
admirable.”

 
          
He
gave a halfhearted shrug. “It’s unnecessary! I have provided well for her. She
doesn’t need to hold a job.”

 
          
She
wasn’t sure whether to pity him for feeling abandoned by his mother or angry
with him for being so dictatorial. “Have you ever thought that she takes
pleasure working with children? That she feels good about herself when she
stays busy?”

 
          
“Exactly
what she claims,” he said with no small degree of annoyance. “Tell me, Rafael.
Are you opposed to the majority of women working or just your mother and wife?”

 
          
He
cut her a sharp look, then turned his attention back to monitoring his meal
which was far more tempting than her fresh vegetables. Like the man?

 
          
“My
mother is of an age where she should be enjoying her life. Traveling. Taking it
easy,” he said with an arrogant lift of his chin. “As for you, you know how I
feel about you working once the babies are here.”

 
          
“Actually,
I think something else troubles you deeply than the mere thought of me working.
What it is I can’t imagine.”

 
          
He
crossed to her in three angry steps and cupped her chin, forcing her to look
into his dark eyes that snapped with annoyance and a deep and troubled glint
that made her heart ache, made her breath catch and a shiver pass over her.

 
          
“You
want to know what concerns me about you returning to your career after the
babies are born?” he bit out, heat blazing in his voice. “Fine! I’ll tell you.
I know you,
querida
. You are obsessed
with every aspect of your career.”

 
          
“I
am a perfectionist,” she clarified, jerking free of his grasp and the
accusation she didn’t want to face.

 
          
That
earned her a derisive snort. “You won’t be able to simply work an occasional
session. One shoot will turn into three. Before long, you will be jaunting around
the world again on campaigns.” His eyes blazed into hers. “Who will care for
our children then?”

 
          
She
hiked up her chin, but her bravado just as quickly fizzled. “I will, with the
help of a nurse or nanny.”

 
          
He
flung a hand upward and cursed. “You would leave our children in the care of a
stranger so you could return to your career?”

 
          
“No!
I’d take them and the nanny with me—”

 
          
“Like
hell!”

 
          
There
was anger and something else she could not identify in his expression. But its
raw intensity startled her. Touched something in her that defused the last of
her anger.

 
          
He
raked a hand through his hair. “The children will live in their home. I won’t
have you drag them around the world.”

 
          
She
wasn’t about to argue, for he was right. She did have control issues to deal
with. And though she flung out that scenario, she wouldn’t want to tear her
children away from their home. To leave them subjected to the paparazzi while a
session wore on and on.

 
          
“Okay.
Point made,” she said, conceding that easily.

 
          
He
gave a clipped nod, still oddly tense. Had she touched on something else that
troubled him? Something that he didn’t want to face?

 
          
“I’m
glad we are in agreement,” he said.

 
          
“We
aren’t.” She held her ground as his head snapped up, dark eyes locking on hers again.
“I won’t argue that the children are better off staying here with me for the
most part. But know this. I’m cutting back on my career, but I’m not giving it
up.”

 
          
He
planted both hands on his hips when she suspected he was tempted to drive them
through a wall.

 
          
She
took in his challenging posture and carefully blanked expression and knew he’d
shut her out. Knew she’d have to cut to the heart of what troubled him before
they could resolve this battle. And though they’d kept their voices tempered
for the most part, it was clearly a battle of wills.

 
          
Leila
affected a sweet smile that had him scowling even more. “While
I
am working, I thought you could watch
our children those few times I’m away. After all, they deserve to know both of
their parents.”

 
          
“The
children will know me. I will spend much of my time here,” he said. “Yes,
working.”

 
          
“I
will make time to be with them.”

 
          
“How
good of you,” she said, knowing that she’d touched on an issue that troubled
him deeply.

 
          
“Rafael,
all you have talked about since we met was having a family. You say you don’t
want me to work, you want me to stay home and be with the children. Yet you
plan to continue with your career and
make
time
for your children. Is that the kind of family you want?”

 
          
Rafael
didn’t respond. In fact, he didn’t say a word as he took plates from a cabinet
and turned back to the stove.

 
          
Leila
huffed out a weary sigh. When the subject got too personal, he retreated into
his shell. Right now that broad back was racked tight with tension while he
focused all his attention on cooking, using it as his shield to stop her from
prying beyond the tiny bit he was willing to reveal.

 
          
It
was almost as if he were afraid to be responsible for his own children! As soon
as that thought crossed her mind, she knew what troubled Rafael. Her proud,
strong husband was afraid to be
alone
with his children. To be responsible for them. That’s why he wanted her to be
at home all the time, so he wouldn’t have to care for his children without her.
And she knew exactly who to blame.

 
          
My
God, such emotional scars that beast of a man had left on the son he refused to
claim!

 
          
Rafael
placed a generous portion of barbecued meat on a plate and passed it to her.
She took it automatically, willing him to open up to her. But he didn’t say a
word as he prepared a plate for himself.

 
          
Leila
set her meal on the table and dropped onto a chair. Though the intense aroma
was so enticing she nearly drooled, her stomach was so tied in knots she
doubted she would be able to swallow a bite.

 
          
“You’re
not like him, Rafael,” she said when he finally joined her, every inch of his
gorgeously honed frame taut with glacial tension. “You’ll be a good father.”

 
          
“You
don’t know that.” The uncertainty in her brave husband’s voice terrified her.

 
          
She
reached over and ran her palm over his corded arm, feeling the tight coil of
tension that held him stiff. “I know you are gentle. Kind. Loving. Our children
will adore you, and you’ll spoil them rotten.”

 
          
He
downed his head, breathing hard, taking it all in but saying nothing. She bit
her lower lip, more concerned about his fears than her own right now. And that’s
what had him in its grip. Fear that he would be like his father. That he might
harm their children.

 
          
That
was an emotion she understood far too well, she thought as she stared at her
plate. She’d barely touched a bite, but then their conversation had pretty much
killed her appetite.

 
          
“I
need your help, Rafael.” That brought his gaze up to hers, and she cringed at
the inner pain reflected in those dark troubled eyes. “I’m afraid that as I
grow, I won’t be able to cope with the changes. That I’ll skip meals. Lose
weight.”

 
          
“What
do you want me to do?”

 
          
“Watch
over me,” she said. “Help me turn into the mother I want to be, and I’ll do all
I can to prove to you that you’re a far better man, and father, than your own
ever could be.”

 
          
He
stared at her for the longest time. Finally, he turned his hand over, the palm
up in a silent plea that tugged at her heart.

 
          
“All
right,” he said.

 
          
Leila
swallowed the well of emotion clogging her throat and reached over, resting her
hand in his. His long fingers clasped hers, not tight, but she felt the intense
connection clear to her soul.

 
          
A
ghost of a smile touched his mouth, and the tension that pounded through her
started to lessen. But they still had a mountain to climb.

 
          
Her
gaze lowered to their joined hands again. This was the invisible thread that
bound them together. Fragile. Tenuous.

 
          
It
wouldn’t take much to break it. To shatter them as well. Could two damaged
souls mend the wounds of their pasts?

 
          
She
hoped so, for it wasn’t just about them anymore. Two precious lives depended on
both of them to triumph.

 
          
* * *

 
          
Much
like they’d done at the film festival in France, they fell into a lazy routine
that carried them through the next few weeks. She became familiar with the
small house staff, immediately liking the housekeeper and cook. She learned
that the gardener was from the same small village as her mother.

 
          
She
and Rafael had also visited with a noted obstetrician in São Paulo. Though much
of her initial fears had been eliminated at that first visit, she was still
guarded about her pregnancy and her own ability to accept the inevitable
changes in her body.

 
          
The
days passed with her and Rafael lounging on the patio taking in the sun,
watching a film together in his home theater and strolling in the garden hand
in hand. Neither spoke of their fears.