He came across and slid his attention to the baby, determined that if there was something of himself in the boy, he’d see it.
Sorcha’s hands curled into loose, pale fists against the glass over the tiny bed as she waited out his study in silence. Were those miniature brows similarly shaped to the rest of the males’ in his family? That button nose and those round cheeks were too soft to bear any resemblance to anyone but another baby. That mouth was Sorcha’s. Hair? Similar in color to his own, he supposed, but inconclusive. Ears?
Finding visible proof of paternity was like trying to locate the memory of having conceived him—it wasn’t there. He’d spent the night trying to recall making love to her, driving himself crazy, coming up empty.
He was a scientific man, never one to accept anything less than factual evidence. He certainly didn’t take anyone at his word. He’d been burned by that when his “friend,” the abrasive specialist, had hacked into his network and stolen a year’s worth of experimental data and testing results.
Since the crash, however, since losing a vital piece of his memory, he had to take certain things on faith. He had no choice but to believe what people told him he had said or done during that time. There was nothing to counter it but gut instinct.
His gut was telling him to trust the PA who’d never let him down.
“If you have another story, Sorcha, now is the time to tell it,” he said, lifting his gaze from the baby. He stood at a cliff face, ready to step off of it. On her word.
She stilled, face solemn. For all her natural beauty, her intelligence was really one of her best features. A flicker of despondency moved across her expression. “I imagine I’ll wish I did, but I don’t.” A spasm of hurt tightened her expression. “Why? What are you going to do?”
“Let’s take this to your room, where we’ll have some privacy.”
They were speaking Valencian and there was only the one nurse in here, but Sorcha nodded. He held the door for her and paced slowly alongside her as she leaned on the wall all the way to her room.
Her IV was gone and she was moving better, standing straighter, but was still pale. She sighed with relief as she settled on the bed and he brought the blanket up over her legs. A big arrangement of flowers had arrived to give her windowsill a splash of color.
He frowned, mind jumping to that artist of hers.
“Octavia’s mother sent it to her. She already had one from her husband and knew I told my mother to save her money for baby clothes, so she gave that one to me.”
Right. Some grandparents sent flowers to congratulate a new mother when she delivered an heir into the family.
What did Enrique’s grandfather send? Cesar reached into his shirt pocket.
“From my father,” he said, offering it.
She didn’t take it, only looked at the amount. “My, he does value Señorita Fuentes, doesn’t he?” She turned away to reach for her glass on her side table and sipped from the straw. The color in her high cheekbones was the only indication of her reaction.
He’d always liked that collected demeanor of hers. He’d liked far too many things about her, and even today, mind dull and body aching from not sleeping, when he was trying to recover from having his mind blown apart, there was a piece of him that just wanted to crawl into that bed with her and have her.
It struck him that he hadn’t felt a rush of attraction like this since before his crash. Desire for sexual release was always there, like hunger or thirst. But last night, as he’d tried to manifest an image of having Sorcha, he’d mentally ridden her hard. He never had those sorts of fantasies about Diega. In fact, since waking up “engaged,” he’d more or less put his inner sex animal into a kennel and told him to shut up.
The beast was snarling to life now, pouring predatory heat through Cesar’s veins. Desire gathered in painful pools at his groin. He was having enough trouble working through the facts without trying to hide an erection!
He left the certified check on her bed and moved to the window, pushing his fists into his pockets. “The joining of our family with Diega’s is something both sides have wanted for a long time,” he said in explanation. “My father isn’t ready to let it go.”
Despite a lifetime of witnessing his parents’ indifference, he was disturbed by how cold-bloodedly they were behaving. It wasn’t that they didn’t believe Sorcha’s claim. They didn’t care. “He wants me to marry Diega regardless of this...” He gestured to the hall. “Hiccup,” he said with disgust at their attitude.
“Obviously,” Sorcha said with a nod at the paper he’d left near her knee.