Sebastian had come to her rescue. It had been Sebastian who flew her back to Rio and eventually brought her to England with him. Dear Sebastian, who had been in Brazil to buy horses from Vaasco. He’d come back with a brokenhearted, shamed and pregnant woman instead.
Now here was life making a tangling full circle, and the Ordoniz name was haunting her again. Who was this woman? How did Enrique know about her? Why had he sent their son to her? Who was playing a game with whom?
She was young, Kinsella Lane
said. Vaasco had been a very wealthy man. He had trained horses for the polo field as a hobby, not to earn a living. Who was this—person who would marry an old man if she was not some kind of cynical fortune-hunter? And, having managed to inherit Vaasco’s money, was she looking to get her hands on Anton’s money as well?
Maria looked down at the ring box sitting on her dressing table, then at the words in Enrique’s note.
For you, Maria, in sincerest gratitude for the son you gave me and as a token of my regret for the life you had taken away from you on my account. Our son grew in my image. He deserves to know this. He deserves his share in my inheritance. Vaasco turned out badly. One day you will perhaps thank me for saving you from him. Think on that when you meet his widow. She is not what she seems and deserves your pity.
‘I pity no one who means to hurt my son,’ she murmured.
Maria’s son wasn’t hurting. He was sleeping the sleep of the thoroughly sated.
Lying beside him, Cristina watched him—just watched, as she’d used to love watching Luis sleep. He had a way of sprawling on his front across three-quarters of the bed, leaving her one quarter to curl herself into. She never minded. When he awoke, her quarter would become his quarter too, leaving the rest of the bed to grow cool.
Or it would if she intended to be here when he awoke. She had already delayed her departure for much longer than she should have.
But for now—for a few more precious seconds—she was content to reacquaint herself with the way his hair flopped over his forehead and how his face wore the relaxed expression of sleep.
Her tummy muscles quivered, her heart squeezing out a tight, painful ache. He was beautiful, her Luis. Passionate, demanding, insatiable—and the low-down pulse of just how insatiable still played its pleasure across the sensitive muscles where she loved to feel Luis most.
How had she lived six years without being with him?
How was she going to manage without him all over again?
They’d got up at one point between bouts of wild passion, gathering up clothes and closing doors. It had made her blush and him grin when they realised how they had left them standing wide open for anyone to come in and catch them.
‘My staff know better than to intrude on my privacy,’ he had stated with arrogant confidence.
Still, they’d been—noisy. She was blushing again now just remembering some of the gasps and cries she’d emitted in the throes of her pleasure. Or those tense little curses he’d rasped out as his control snapped, and the resulting driving sound of his breathing when he finally gave in.
He was no silent lover, this cool-headed half-Englishman she loved so much, Cristina thought with a smile. The desire to reach out and gently stroke that floppy lock of hair away from his forehead almost got the better of her.
But it was time for her to get up and go…
Stay a little longer, urged a soft voice inside her. See out the rest of the day, then the long dark night with him. Leave tomorrow.
No. The time to go was now…while she could.
Her heart gave that painful little squeeze in protest. At the same moment a pair of ink-black eyelashes lifted upwards and eyes the colour of a dark ocean focused on her face. It was as if he’d sensed what she was thinking, the way a set of long fingers reached up to brush a gentle caress across her cheek.
‘You’re still here,’ he said softly. ‘I was dreaming you’d left me.’
‘No,’ she whispered
Tomorrow, Cristina thought. I will leave tomorrow. ‘Kiss me, Luis,’ she begged.
CHAPTER SIX
IT WAS into the afternoon by the time Cristina let herself into Gabriel’s apartment.
‘Where have you been?’ Gabriel demanded, almost before she had managed to close the door. ‘It was bad enough that the rushed message you left with my answering service last night said almost nothing, but did you have to go missing today too?’
Having spent most of the day trawling through the banks and financial houses of Rio, it was all she could do to utter a weary, ‘Sorry.’
‘Not good enough, Cristina,’ Gabriel censured. ‘I was worried about you. When I rang Scott-Lee to find out what was going on, all I got was some cold Englishwoman claiming that she had never heard of Cristina Marques!’