Returning to Claim His Heir

She hovered in the doorway for a long moment, her red hair seeming to glow under the lamps of the corridor behind her. ‘What if in five weeks... I still can’t tell you anything?’

He heard the fear in her words, noting her use of the word can’t rather than won’t. He measured his words carefully. ‘I think you should think about the kind of power I might hold over whatever it is that you fear. I might be able to help.’

She shook her head once, a sad smile on her lips. ‘I wish it were that simple.’

She turned and disappeared back up the corridor, leaving Duarte alone with his thoughts.

Nora practically tiptoed around the palatial villa, in an effort not to run into Duarte. For the most part she was successful. She spent her days adjusting to Liam’s needs, and was grateful for the help of the kind young nurse Duarte had provided to keep on top of her own aftercare.

Breastfeeding had turned out to be impossible with her terrible supply of milk, and she’d sobbed with guilt when her nurse recommended she stop before Liam had even reached his two-week milestone. Without the pressure of her own failure hanging over her, she found she became slightly more relaxed. In a matter of days, her blood pressure readings returned to normal range and she began to smile again.

She was slowly beginning to feel a little more human, but still she found herself scanning the exterior grounds and refused to walk outside the house.

In the early hours of the morning that marked the start of her third week as Duarte’s guest Nora awoke in a blind panic, her skin prickling with awareness as she jolted upwards in the gigantic four-poster bed. Blinking in the darkness, she placed a hand over her heart as though trying to calm her erratic breath. Her skin felt flushed, and the sheets were twisted around her legs as though she’d been thrashing in her sleep.

It wasn’t the first time her dreams had been invaded in such a fashion, but this one had been by far the most X-rated. In it, Duarte had touched her with such gentle reverence, his eyes drinking her in as though she were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. She had heard herself moan that she never wanted him to stop, her voice husky in a way she’d never heard before. She had felt every touch of his mouth as he kissed a path of sensual heat down her neck...

Shaking off the shiver of awareness that still coursed down her spine, she took a deep breath and peered over into the small cot beside her bed to ensure that Liam still slept peacefully. She adjusted his blanket and tried not to think of her handsome host or his frequent appearances in her subconscious.

If she’d expected Duarte to break his vow and demand answers, she’d been completely wrong. If anything, he’d gone out of his way to give her space

. He spent much of the day out of the house, likely working somewhere in the city. Some nights he didn’t return at all, like tonight.

She hated it that she was so hyper-aware of his movements, his presence. She’d tried her best to train herself to think of him as a benign stranger, but it was hopeless—especially while she was staying in this villa where memories of their time together assailed her.

Every time she walked into the living room she remembered the first night he’d taken her there...his mouth on hers as they failed even to make it to a bed. He’d been shocked to discover she was a virgin, and he’d insisted on bathing her afterwards. He’d sat behind her in a large claw-foot tub, overlooking the mountain view, and his hands had stroked over her body so reverently...

After that, she’d come to the villa countless times, always after the staff had been excused for the night. She’d been living in her own fantasy, imagining that she would build up to telling Duarte the truth of her identity and never incur his wrath or suspicion.

And all the while her father had been completely aware of her movements, plotting his revenge for her lies and deception. She’d been nothing but a pawn. A disposable entity to both powerful men in her life.

Now, lying back on the pillows in the silent house, she felt on edge. Earlier that day she’d tried to take a walk outside, for the first time since arriving. But while wandering around the courtyard, with Liam tucked tight against her chest, she’d thought she’d seen a familiar dark blue car parked at the end of the driveway. Her heart had stopped and she’d moved quickly back into the house, peering out of the window to see the car remain in place for another half-hour before slowly moving further down the road.

She’d had such a broken sleep tonight that it was possible she was being overly sensitive. It was only natural that she would be feeling the effects of her captivity. She wasn’t technically a prisoner here, but she knew she couldn’t leave. Not yet.

Frustrated, she gave up on trying to go back to sleep, wrapped herself in a thin cotton robe and clipped the portable baby monitor to the pocket. The clever gadget had been delivered the day after her arrival, along with a whole host of other items, including boxes and boxes of clothing for both her and Liam. In the haze of her sleep deprivation at the time she hadn’t had the energy to insist she would pay for the items. But she knew she must repay Duarte somehow. She refused to fall under the spell of a rich man and then begin to feel like she owed him something.

Lost in thought, she almost missed the faint sound outside the house, but her heightened senses alerted her to the fact that something wasn’t right. Frozen in place, she hardly breathed as the sound came closer to the large plate-glass windows that lined the back of the house. In the absence of the moon, she could see nothing but shadows and the crash of the waves in the distance below the cliffs made it hard to distinguish what exactly was out of place.

But then she heard it again. Footsteps on gravel, slow and deliberate. Heavy steps—much too heavy for the delicate, swanlike nurse or the housekeeper, neither of whom would be outside in the dark in the middle of the night.

Her brain made quick calculations as she moved instinctively to the side of the doors, out of sight. A tall shadow moved along the glass in her peripheral vision and Nora felt panic climb in her throat. All too quickly the quiet sound of the catch sliding sideways in the doorframe became apparent. To her horror, it seemed to have been left unlocked.

She watched as the door slid slowly open and the intruder pushed their tall, hulking frame inside.

Duarte felt his breath rushing in his lungs, hardly believing the events of this night. He’d been less than ten minutes from the villa when one of his security guards had informed him there was a break-in in progress. Two large men in a dark blue car had arrived shortly after midnight and managed to scale the gates.

Duarte and the guard had arrived just as the intruders had overpowered the second guard he’d left in charge of the surveillance of his home and its occupants.

Fury such as he had never known had possessed him as he had attacked the men and subdued them, using perhaps a little more force than necessary. His knuckles had become bloody, marking his white shirt and dark trousers, and he’d growled into his phone for his investigation team to send a van to pick the intruders up and take them for questioning. He’d left his security team to handle the rest, needing to get inside and ensure that Nora and the baby were unharmed.

Something about the two burly intruders snagged on his memory. He stepped into the darkened kitchen, feeling a memory surface like a television screen coming into focus. He froze with one hand still on the door handle, his mind conjuring an image of himself being thrown into a dark room, the smell of damp earth mingling with the scent of the sea in his nose. And then there had been Valerio’s furious voice, asking him if the woman had been behind everything.

The woman?

He pulled at the details, hoping for more, cursing as he felt them slip away.

He heard the movement behind him too late. Something hit him with sharp force behind his knees, jolting his equilibrium and sending him down onto the porcelain tiles. He landed on his left shoulder. The pain lanced through him like fire, a primal roar ripping from his throat.