Rodrigo had been Lola’s first lover. Of that, there could be no doubt. When they’d first made love, and he’d discovered her virginity, he’d been shocked, exhilarated, intoxicated with pride. Lola, so beautiful and desirable, had somehow still been a virgin at twenty-four.
But she might well have taken lovers since then. Any man would want her. While Rodrigo had been celibate as a monk.
“You and that Russian,” he said with deliberate carelessness, “you are lovers, of course.”
Her lips twisted. “I’ve never even let him kiss me.”
He stared at her. No. It couldn’t be true. Blinking hard, Rodrigo regained his reason. All the time she’d worked for him, he’d thought she was a terrible liar. But he must have been mistaken. Of course she was sleeping with the other man. Why else would he propose? What a little actress she was. Really, he should hire her for his next prestige film. “Liar.”
“I’m not,” she bit out, her eyes flashing. “I’ve only kissed one person in my whole life—”
She cut off her words, but it was too late. He stared at her, his heart twisting violently in his chest.
“You’ve never kissed another man? Even now?” He came closer. “Even after all this time?”
She looked up at him, her eyes shooting sparks. “I loved you, Rodrigo. Do you even know what that means? No. You don’t. How could you, when you felt nothing?”
A razorblade lifted to his throat. He tried to keep his grip on reason. He ground out his words. “Why would the man propose, if he’s never even slept with you?”
Her hazel eyes were luminous in the shadows of the ballroom. “Because he thinks it’s the only way he can have me.”
For a moment, Rodrigo couldn’t breathe. Suddenly, it was as if a veil had been lifted from his eyes. He’d been right all those years he’d thought she wasn’t a good liar. She wasn’t. He could always tell on those rare occasions when she tried to lie. Her voice got strangled, her face turned red. He knew when she was speaking the truth.
And he could hear the truth in her voice when she said she’d loved him.
Had he been wrong about her all this time?
He wasn’t wrong about one thing, at least, he told himself fiercely. He wasn’t wrong about her stealing his child away.
“I want to see the baby,” he said tightly.
“Now?”
“Now.”
“Fine,” Lola said coldly. “I’ll get my coat. You can meet him. But that’s it.”
As he followed her out of the hotel ballroom, Rodrigo’s gaze slowly traced down her body. Her generous breasts were even fuller than he remembered, emphasizing her hourglass curves, her tiny waist and perfect hips. She wore no jewelry. She didn’t need jewels. Not when her eyes sparkled in her beautiful face. Not when she had that body. No man in the room could take his eyes off her—and Rodrigo was no exception.
Damn her.
His jaw tensed as he remembered the angry tremble of her voice. We’re better off without you.
It wasn’t true, he thought. He stiffened, remembering his own father. He was nothing like that bastard.
Maybe he didn’t know much about fatherhood or parenting or happy families, but he could at least give his son a name. A stable home. A good childhood.
He could give him everything he himself had never had.
His eyes fell on Lola. Whether she liked it or not, Rodrigo was the one in control now. His eyes traced the full curve of her backside, the span of her tiny waist.
And he intended to have his way. At any cost.
CHAPTER TWO
LOLA WAS IN SHOCK.
Gripping her arm, Rodrigo led her out of the ballroom and helped her collect her coat—a black faux fur—then led her out of the grand hotel. He handed his ticket to the valet, who brought his Ferrari around, gleaming sleekly in the night.