Claiming His Secret Son (The Billionaires of Blackcastle 4)

Amelia, who’d taken her eyes off Richard only to swing them to Isabella for a silent verdict on how things stood between them, piped in at once, “You have nothing to worry about. The aromas alone are a powerful spell.”

“Who taught you this recipe?” That was Mauri, of course.

“A lovely lady called Eliana.”

If he’d thrown that knife he wielded into her heart it wouldn’t have hurt more. Hearing him mention another woman with such indulgence made something she’d never felt on his account sink its talons into her gut.

Jealousy. Acrid, foul. And totally moronic. She was the one who’d turned down his offer to continue their intimacies.

But...he’d never cooked with her!

Well, he was cooking for her whole family now.

As if he could feel her burning envy of that woman who’d taken him into her kitchen and made him follow her orders, his steel-hued gaze targeted her. “She’s almost like a sister to me since she married a man I consider a brother.”

The tension drained from her muscles, forcing her to sit.

Mauri’s next question came at once. “What’s his name?”

“Rafael. Ah-ah...” Richard raised his hand, anticipating and answering Mauri’s next batch of questions. “Rafael Moreno Salazar. He’s from Brazil and he’s my partner. He’s ten years younger than me. And he is a magician with numbers.”

Numbers. The boy Richard wouldn’t leave behind in The Organization, the one he’d postponed his own escape for.

Forever needing more info about Richard, Mauri lobbed him another question. “Do you have other friends?”

“I have six partners, including Rafael. One I considered my best friend. He doesn’t like me back now.”

And that had to be Phantom.

Before Mauri pounced to extract that story, Richard gave him what she could only call a man-to-man look that said, “Later.” And wonder of wonders, it worked. Well, almost.

Mauri swerved into another tack. “What’s his name? Where’s he from?”

“Numair Al Aswad. That means black panther in Arabic. He’s a sheikh from a desert kingdom called Saraya.”

Everyone’s eyes got even wider. It was still Mauri who asked what she thought was on everyone’s mind. “Is each of your friends from a differe

nt country?”

Richard chuckled as he began to distribute food on plates. “Indeed. Black Castle Enterprises is a mini United Nations. We also have a Japanese chap, a Russian, an Italian and a Swede. My right-hand man, Owen Murdock, is an Irishman. I trained him like I trained Rafael.”

“Like you’ll train me?”

It felt as if everyone, except Benita and Diego, who chose this moment to bicker, held their breath for Richard’s answer.

He considered Mauri for a moment. “We’ll see if you’ve got what it takes first.”

“I got it!”

The kids giggled at Mauri’s impassioned claim but stopped at once. It wasn’t Mauri’s scolding look that made them look so sheepish and contrite. They never reacted like that to his “older brother” exasperation. It was Richard. He didn’t level any disapproval or reprimand at them, just a look.

She fully sympathized. Just a look from him took control of her every voluntary and involuntary response.

Her mother and sister intervened to end Mauri’s bombardment of Richard, and they all sat to eat.

It did turn out to be a magical meal, on all counts. The food was fantastic, making everyone want to meet the Eliana who’d invented the recipe, with her mother the first to declare Richard the winner of their contest. The constant mood was one of prevailing gaiety and excitement, again thanks to Richard. He was a maestro in handling people of all ages, compelling, constantly surprising, making each person feel they had his full attention, and causing them to fall over themselves to win his approval.

Although she knew this was just his expert manipulation skills, she couldn’t help but enjoy it. Delight in it. But both his behavior and her reaction to it made her more nervous.