The Billionaire's Baby Bargain (A is for Alpha) (16 page)

“Yes. Of course.”
 

“Fine, then. I will meet you downstairs.” He stood and made his way toward the door.
 

“Wait, Andrés.”

He paused and turned to look back at her. “What is it?”

“Why didn’t you tell me who you were?” she asked impulsively, wanting there to be no more misunderstandings between them. Wanting a clean slate.

He arched a brow and tilted his head. “Who I was?”

“Over the summer…when we first met. You never once hinted that you owned Diablo’s Paraíso and that I was under your employment.”

Andrés stilled and his expression became shuttered. “You knew who I was.”

“No, I didn’t. I’ve told you that I didn’t have a clue,” she said in exasperation. “Not until
Señora
Martinez told me and then proceeded to fire me.”

“
Basta
! There is no need for anymore lies, Chloe,” he said tersely, his expression dark as he strode back into the room. “You deliberately sought me out for your article. You set out to seduce me—”

“No,” she shouted vehemently. “If you want me to ever trust you, to try and make whatever is between us work, then you need to start believing me. I didn’t stage a near rape on the beach. I never set out to seduce you. Damn you, Andrés! You want the truth? Besides a brief boyfriend in college, you’re only the second man I’ve slept with.”

Andrés reared back as if she’d struck him. His face tightened and something dark flickered in his eyes, but she was on a roll and in no mood to stop.

“I was so drawn to you, it wouldn’t have mattered if you were the janitor of the resort. Did you ever even look at the diary you stole from me? The notes?”

“No,” he finally admitted. “I had them locked away.”

“Well, perhaps you should’ve. Maybe you’d stop thinking the absolute worst about me.”

A thick silence hung in the room, and she bit her lip, closing her eyes. Waited for his response.

Heavy footsteps fell, but they were retreating from her again. Her blood chilled and she struggled to breathe. Fear ran through her. Was he angry?

“Meet me downstairs when you’re dressed,” he said curtly, and then the door closed behind him.

Chapter 8

Andrés sat downstairs in his office, staring at the computer and the correspondences he knew he should reply to. But he couldn’t at the moment. He’d taken care of the most pressing issue, calling Pablo and asking his assistant to reschedule all his appointments for the next few days.

His gaze slid to the now-closed diary on his desk and he sighed. The weathered pages of the book and the scrawled notes she’d taken were no longer unread.

Pressing his fingers hard against his temples, Andrés shook his head. He could see now that any story Chloe had intended to write for the magazine likely had nothing to do with him, though there was no denying she’d considered including the story of the charming Spanish man she’d met on the beach.
 

 
It was not easy to come to grips with everything his assumptions had meant. He’d taken her trust. Her body—which she’d offered with absolutely no expectations…except perhaps to fall in love.

His lips curled in disgust and he let a low growl rip from his throat.
 

He’d destroyed the life she’d had in Spain and the life she’d managed to reassemble when she’d returned.
 

How the hell was he going to make this up to her? Was it even possible? He would have to. Dammit, but he needed to make her see how much she was coming to mean to him and how foolish he’d been.

He stared blindly out the large glass window of his office at the green hills beyond, trying to comprehend everything.

“Andrés?”

Tension coiled through his body and he turned to face the doorway where she stood. His heart twisted and he exhaled on a sigh.

She was an angel in a cinnamon-colored dress that accented her curves, a black cardigan over it. Her curls fell loose and shiny over her shoulders.

He lifted his gaze back to her face and flinched at the look in her eyes. There was regret, and yet a spark of pride remained. It also showed in the proud lift of her chin.

How had he ever mistaken her to be a skilled seductress whose only intent was to write a story about him?

“I’m sorry I swore at you,” she said hesitantly. “You’re upset.”

Andrés closed the lid to his laptop computer and stood from his desk, approaching her with a slow stride. He had to give her credit, she didn’t back up from his advance, though her eyes did widen slightly. “Yes, I am.” He reached her side and slid an arm around her waist, pulling her gently against him. “But I am upset with myself.”

Her breath hitched in response and she pressed the flat of her palms to his chest. “You are? Why?”

“For not realizing what a fool I was. I’m sorry,
cariño
.” He brushed a light kiss across her lips and reveled in her soft sigh. “You offered me so much more than your body. And I took it, never realizing just how very innocent you were.”

A familiar blush stained her cheeks; her lashes lowered.
 

He walked back to the desk and retrieved the diary and notes. “These belong to you.”

She glanced up in surprise, accepting the leather book with the notes tucked inside. Gratitude, raw and poignant, flickered across her face, and she gripped the book to her chest. “Thank you,” she whispered, her eyes suspiciously damp.

“They were your parents,” he stated, still a bit amazed by that discovery. “The lovers in the diary.”

“Yes.” She bit her lip and gave a small nod, and for a moment naked grief reflected in her eyes. “They were. I was writing the article about them.”

This was a woman who’d already known pain. Suffering. And he’d only brought more upon her. He would make it up to her—he owed her that much.

“I’m so very sorry, Chloe. You were right. I should’ve read them earlier,” he said gently and brushed a kiss across her forehead. “Come now. Girona awaits us.”
 

They left the restaurant, and Chloe glanced down at the large, tanned hand holding hers, giving a slight shake of her head in disbelief. Who was this man and what had he done with Andrés?
 

The day had been amazing. He’d been the perfect tour guide, showing her all the sites of Girona, and she was completely enchanted with the medieval city and fascinated by its history.

Heavens, had she ever done so much walking? They’d explored many places, her favorites being the stunning gothic cathedral and monastery of St Pere de Galligants.
 

And then in the afternoon they’d enjoyed la comida, or what she’d simply call lunch back home. Only this had been unlike any lunch she’d had. There’d been multiple courses of food. Cheese, vegetables, soup, fish, meat, and finally, the most exquisite flan for dessert.

It had been a wonderful day, and it went far beyond just the sightseeing and dining. It was Andrés himself…he was different. Or no, he was the same man he’d been that first night in Valencia. He’d flirted continuously, treated her with a gentleness that more than once had brought tears to her eyes. He’d acted like a devoted lover, which had thrown her heart into turmoil, and she found herself questioning whether she still wanted to return home to Seattle, even if the opportunity presented itself.

“Are you sure you’re up for this last bit of walking?” Andrés asked softly, concern in his eyes as they moved throughout the city. “We could always put it off for another day. I’m worried that perhaps we’ve done too much. You must tire easier now with the baby—”
 

“Please, Andrés, I’m fine,” she protested, squeezing his hand to reassure him. “Honest, I forget I’m pregnant unless you remind me.” She grimaced. “Or when I’m getting sick in the morning. But if you don’t take me to the Passeig de la Muralla, I’m not going to be a very happy pregnant woman.”
 

Andrés chuckled. “Ah, well, then we must go.”

A short while later they were on the narrow walkway that rested high on the ancient wall that once encircled the city of Girona. There was barely enough room for the both of them to walk side by side, but they managed, never releasing each other’s hands.

“The view from up here,” she whispered in amazement, pausing to look out at the city sprawled below them. “Oh, Andrés, it’s so beautiful.”

He came to stand behind her and nuzzled her neck. “It is. And you are beautiful,
cariño
.”

She leaned back against him and let out a soft sigh, the romance of the moment not escaping her. There’d been moments when she wanted to go home to Seattle, but at a time like this…her future couldn’t be anything but Andrés and Spain.

“Andrés,” she whispered softly, tilting her head so his lips could graze the sensitive spot between her shoulder and neck. “I’m confused. The way I feel about you…”

“Chloe.” He turned her in his embrace and lifted her chin with one finger. “Marry me, please, my darling.”

He’d used the English endearment instead of
cariño
this time. The realization softened her heart just a bit, but not enough to let her say the words she desperately wanted to. He asked for all the wrong reasons.

“I can’t,” she murmured miserably. “You know I can’t.”

His nostrils flared, irritation flickering in his eyes. “Why? Because of a word I refuse to say?”
 

“It’s more than just saying it, Andrés.”

“
Cristos
.” He shook his head, his jaw tight. “Why do you feel so strongly about love? Why is it important to you?”

“Because my parents had it,” she confessed, wanting desperately for him to understand. “They loved each other so much, there wasn’t anything they wouldn’t do for one another.”

“And it killed them?”

“No…” she said slowly, searching his hard gaze. Stunned he would even make such a dramatic assumption. “A drunk driver killed them. Just over a year ago.”
 

Andrés’s grip on her loosened and he swore softly under his breath. He lowered his head, touching his forehead briefly against hers. “I’m sorry.”
 

Her heart ached with the memory, but she found it less difficult to discuss now. As if having Andrés in her life had eased the pain. “Their sudden passing was part of the reason I came to Spain. They met here while backpacking Europe. They always loved this country.”

“And you will too, Chloe.”

She swallowed against the sudden lump in her throat, wishing his desire and compatibility for her could be enough. “Andrés—”

“I can’t let you go,” he said huskily. “I won’t.”

But he couldn’t love her, either. Her throat tightened with tears she refused to shed.
 

And then his mouth was on hers, claiming her and demanding her surrender in at least the physical sense. Chloe couldn’t help but to give in. She wound her arms around his neck and pressed her body against his, kissing him back fervently. Taking his frustrations and passion and matching them with her own.

When he finally lifted his head, they both were breathing unevenly. He caught her jaw between firm fingers and forced her to look at him.

“Promise me you won’t try to leave Spain until the baby is born, Chloe. Promise you won’t leave me.”

She knew what he asked. That even if she refused to marry him, she would agree to stay…and to warm his bed at night. Which brought her full circle to where she’d been when she’d fled Spain just over two months ago. She would become Andrés’s mistress.
 

“Chloe?”

“I promise,” she heard herself agree on a whisper. “I’ll stay.”
 

And then she prayed that maybe Andrés was wrong about himself. Because she knew that even though he might not be able to give up his heart, Andrés stole a little bit more of hers with each day that passed.

Later that night, when they returned to his villa, the dynamics between them had shifted. They stood on a fur rug with a fire crackling in the background. Andrés slowly removed her dress and undergarments, his movements tender as she stood trembling in front of him.

His gaze slid over her, smoldering with desire. But there was more, an unfamiliar gentleness and connection that took her breath away. “Ah, you are so lovely,
cariño
.”

He sank to his knees, clasping her hips lightly. Then he leaned forward and pressed a kiss against the tiny swell where their child grew, tracing her skin with his fingertips.

Chloe’s throat tightened with emotion and she stroked the softness of his thick black hair. The look of wonder on his face was so foreign to his features that a shuddering sigh fled past her lips.
 

Then Andrés moved lower, his lips burning a trail that led straight into the curls shielding her sex.

“Andrés,” she protested feebly, but he ignored her, delving fingers between her legs to explore the damp folds.

Soft moans escaped her when he stroked her, but when he leaned forward and kissed her most intimate place, she was lost. He leaned in to taste her, touch her. Chloe’s thighs shook and her pulse raced; each flick of his tongue sent her mind spinning with sensation.