Raul's Revenge

She had a mountain of work to do—washing, cleaning—but instead she flopped on the prettily covered chintz sofa, and, curling her bare feet up beneath her, pulled the ribbon from her pony-tail and shook her head, running her fingers through her long hair before sinking back against the soft cushion.

Penny could hardly believe that it was all over. James was safe. And with a deep sigh of relief she closed her eyes and said another silent prayer of gratitude.

Her eyes flew open at the sound of the doorbell yet again. She was off the sofa and down the stairs like a shot. James had just gone to sleep. No way did she want him awake again so quickly.

She flung open the door. Pushing her tangled hair off her face, she said, 'Please, you'll wake the baby.' A large figure of a man was blocking the doorway. 'Can I help y—?' And it was then that she raised her eyes to the stranger's face and gasped on the 'you'. Penny froze in astonishment, the colour draining from her cheeks.

'Aren't you going to ask me in?' Raul drawled. Ig­noring her gasp of shock at his appearance, he did not wait for an answer but simply brushed past her, closing the door behind him.

'Wait a minute,' Penny spluttered.

‘I think not, Penelope. I have waited too long already. Over two years too long, it would seem, and what I have to say to you would be best said in private.'

In the close confines of the narrow hall his presence was overpowering. She shuddered and looked away from his too-penetrating gaze, but the rest of him only served to remind her what a truly awesome specimen of the male sex he was.

A black leather blouson jacket accentuated the width of his broad shoulders, and the close-fitting cinnamon-coloured knit shirt was open at the neck, blending with the strong, tanned throat. Long legs were encased in black jeans of an indecently hip-hugging fit. She dropped her head and stared at his shoes. Gucci loafers, of course! What else?

She closed her eyes, an agonising surge of bitter re­sentment rocketing through her. The man with every­thing but a heart, she thought, her hatred of his kind tightening her mouth in disgust. Pull yourself together, she told herself sternly, and, taking a deep, calming breath, opened her eyes. He is only a man, and not a very nice one at that...

Lifting her head, she coldly faced him. 'I have nothing whatsoever to say to you.' Refusing to be cowed by his glittering, remorseless gaze, which seemed to see right through her, she reached out and curled her hand around the doorhandle. 'Leave. Now,' she said curtly, but in­stead a large hand covered hers and the door remained firmly closed.

'No one orders me to leave, and certainly not a de­vious, conniving little—‘

'And I will not be insulted in my own home,' she cut in. His touch was like a searing brand on her flesh. She tore herself free, clutching her two hands together con­vulsively, determined to deny the instant effect that his lightest touch had evoked. His dark eyes blazed with fury and he muttered something under his breath that she did not catch, and she did not care.

'I trust I have made myself clear. Please leave.' She knew in her bones that she had little or no hope of forcing Raul to go, but it had to be worth a try. This man had destroyed her once, torn her apart, humiliated her com­pletely. It had taken her years to recover, to regain her pride and self-respect. But never again, she vowed.

Raul's narrowed gaze rested on her standing defiantly before him and then sank to her entwined hands, an ex­pression of something very like disgust tautening his hard features.

'That is unfortunately no longer an option,' he said icily. 'Had you told me I had a son earlier, none of the trauma, the horror of the past two days would ever have happened. Think about that, my sweet Penny, when you attempt to defend your behaviour,' he drawled with biting cynicism, turning and striding up the stairs while she stood frozen to the spot.

She watched him reach the top and disappear into her apartment, her heartbeat racing like an express train. But the worst part was the knowledge that the damn man was probably right!

No one in the world would be allowed to steal any­thing or anyone from Raul Da Silva. No one would dare try. And, with that depressing thought in her mind, she could do nothing but trudge reluctantly up the stairs after him.

CHAPTER SIX

She should tear after him and throw him out. Instead Penny was grateful for the few moments alone to try and marshal her thoughts into some kind of order. Raul here, in her home. It was too much to take in. A t

housand questions spun in her tired mind. How had he found her? More importantly, why?

After the trauma of the past day or so the last thing she needed was a spectre from the past coming back to haunt her. Raul could not have chosen a worse time to reappear in her life. Her confidence in herself as a mother had taken a severe battering, and she was in no con­dition to fight with Raul.

A creeping paralysis slowed her steps and she stopped just inside the door of the living room, folding her arms across her chest in a defensive attitude. Raul was standing in the middle of the room—a sinister dark force, totally out of place in her pretty home.

'Nice, but hardly the luxury you were accustomed to,' Raul drawled cynically, his dark gaze sweeping the room and settling on her white face. 'And hardly the money. A country pharmacy-cum-gif t shop is not about to make you wealthy.'

His arrogant, sneering condemnation of her work and her lifestyle was the incentive she needed to regain her wits and her temper.

'You've got the wrong person. I was never accus­tomed to luxury. That was your taste, never mine,' she snapped. 'And, as for the single-minded pursuit of money, it doesn't seem to have done you much good if the grey in your hair is a testament to your wealth.'

Penny did not care if he was insulted. Raul deserved it. She had never wanted his money, only his love, until she'd discovered that he did not know the meaning of the word.

She was proud of what she had achieved and no one could take that away from her. Not even Raul.

She glanced around the familiar room, at the original pine fireplace, lovingly stripped and restored, at the al­coves either side lined with shelves that housed the music centre, television and dozens of books, at the modest, floral-patterned, chintz-covered three-piece suite, the coffee table, the carpet, curtains and wallpaper—all in complementary shades of rose and green. It was her home and she loved it, but with Raul's presence it seemed to shrink in size to the proportions of a doll's house.

'It wasn't money that caused every one of these grey hairs.' She had not realised that he had moved until his hand snaked out and caught her shoulder. 'It was a lying female,' he grated harshly, his dark eyes narrowed furi­ously on her pale face.