Returning to Claim His Heir

‘I don’t want to talk about that right now.’ She stiffened.

‘I know. You asked for some time and I will give you that.’ His eyes were sincere, his mouth a firm unyielding line. ‘But, for the record, I don’t think you need to try to look presentable. You have the kind of natural beauty that most women would kill for.’

He leaned back in his chair, showcasing the impressive deep brown expanse of his bare torso. Nora felt her gaze linger for longer than necessary, her eyes drinking in the smooth muscles that were so tautly defined in the morning sunlight. It had been so long since she’d felt the heat of his body on hers...

She bit her lip, turning to look out at the ocean in the distance.

‘I do have one small stipulation,’ he said gently, drawing her attention back to his amber gaze.

Nora felt trepidation shiver deep inside her at the predatory gleam she saw for a brief second before he disguised it.

‘For the duration of our stay here I wish for us to have dinner together.’ He steepled his hands over that magnificent stomach, his eyes never leaving hers. ‘Just good food and conversation—no tricks or forcing the issue of the past or the future.’

Nora narrowed her eyes at him, processing his words slowly and trying to figure out his angle. ‘What’s in it for you?’

Duarte fought the urge to smile at the obvious suspicion in her gaze. ‘Perhaps I just don’t like to eat alone,’ he said simply.

‘You are a terrible liar.’ She pressed her lips together, the faintest glimmer of a smile appearing on her lips before she stopped herself. ‘Let me guess—you plan to play the gracious host and wear me down until I agree to give you what you want?’

‘I don’t need to wear you down.’ He took another sip of his coffee. ‘I have faith that you are going to do the right thing, and I am determined to make sure you are kept safe.’

‘You don’t need to be nice to me,’ she said uncomfortably. ‘You are a busy man and I’m sure you have things to do back in Rio.’

‘Of course I do. But those things can be managed from afar. You cannot.’

‘You wish to manage me?’ She nar

rowed her eyes.

‘I wish to get to know you, Nora.’

He heard in his own words a bare honesty that shocked him. He saw her eyes shift away from him uncomfortably, her hands twisting the napkin in her lap as she watched Inés pace with the baby, singing softly.

‘Trust me—you don’t.’

Her words were barely audible but he caught them. He heard the weight of sadness and hopelessness woven through each syllable and was consumed by the urge to stand up and gather her into his arms. To figure out what on earth had happened between them that could put such a miserable look on her face.

‘Will you agree to my terms?’ he repeated, knowing she had every right to say no and knowing that he wouldn’t push the issue.

Inés walked back towards them and revealed the peacefully sleeping baby in her arms. Nora’s face lit up with surprise and gratitude as the older woman settled Liam into his pram.

Duarte peered down at the small bundle wrapped in blankets. The child had grown significantly in the month since leaving the hospital, and yet he was still tiny. He took in the boy’s dark colouring and once again thought of the man who had walked away from fatherhood. Anger coiled within him.

Inés’s voice penetrated his thoughts, asking Nora if she would like to take a moment to rest or freshen up and offering to sit with the baby in the fresh air of the upstairs balcony.

Nora hesitated, looking towards Duarte for a moment. ‘I don’t mean to leave you alone in the middle of your breakfast...’

Duarte assured her that he would be working all day and instructed Inés not to take no for an answer. No one should be expected to do everything for an infant without a little help.

She smiled, and the two women began to make their way back into the house. A few footsteps from the door Nora stopped and turned around to face him.

‘I’ll see you at dinner, then.’ Her voice was a little uncertain as she waited for him to nod before she disappeared through the doors.

Duarte tried not to roar at the small victory. He watched her walk away, his gaze lingering for far longer than was proper. He mentally shook himself and tucked into the spread of freshly cut papaya slices and warm bread rolls that had been filled with cheese and pan-fried.

This traditional dish of pão de queijo that Inés had prepared was one of his favourites, reminding him of long weekends and summers spent here as a child, when he and his sister would fight over the last piece while their father laughed and their mother scolded.

Every time he thought of his parents he wondered why his memory loss had not wiped away the grief he still felt from their death seven years ago. From the moment he’d set foot inside this, their special family vacation spot, he’d been instantly overcome with memories of when he was a child. Yet for some reason he had no memory of the past year of his life beyond blurred snatches here and there. It made no sense.