A week later, sprawled on the cushions of the daybed beside his wife, Roman watched Jamie swim-splashing in the new addition to the landscaping, a baby pool filled with inflatable toys, while he read aloud an article in the paper.
‘“It seems that the truth is out: the wedding photo, it has been definitively decided, was taken by famous photographer Sir Robert Chambers, who is refusing to confirm the rumours, but a source close to him apparently says”—’
A protective hand on the gentle swell of her belly, Marisa broke into peels of musical laughter.
‘Imagine,’ Roman said, leaning over to remove her hand and kiss the small bump before he placed it back and covered the pale fingers with his own big hand. ‘If our son has a talent worthy of such a towering artistic icon at only four.’
‘Five next,’ Marisa corrected with a grin.
‘Five next, but imagine what he will be capable of by the time he is eighteen.’
‘If he is anything like his father, he’ll be breaking hearts, I would think.’
Roman caught her hand and pulled Marisa against him. ‘There is only one heart I am interested in,’ he husked, curving a possessive hand over the curve of her left breast, ‘and I do not want to break it. I want to love it like I do every single part of you.’ He placed a gentle kiss on her mouth.
‘Well, soon there’ll be a lot more of me to love than there was, so you’d better leave plenty of time,’ she retorted against his warm lips.
‘Time is not a problem. We have the rest of our lives.’
With a sigh Marisa allowed herself to be drawn into his arms and Roman held her tight. He never wanted to let her go.
He wasn’t aware he had spoken aloud until Marisa whispered back, ‘Don’t even try to let me go, Bardales. I’m a keeper.’
Adored Claiming His Unknown Son by Kim Lawrence?
You’re sure to enjoy the first instalment in the Spanish Secret Heirs duet, The Spaniard’s Surprise Love-Child, available now!
And why not explore these other Kim Lawrence stories?
The Greek’s Ultimate Conquest
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A Passionate Night with the Greek
All available now.
Keep reading for an excerpt from A Forbidden Night with the Housekeeper by Heidi Rice.
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A Forbidden Night with the Housekeeper
by Heidi Rice
CHAPTER ONE
CARA EVANS STOOD at the graveside, listening to the priest drone on in French, and stared at the miles of vines owned by the neighbouring Durand Corporation covering the adjacent hillside like a patchwork.
She didn’t understand all the words in the eulogy; her French wasn’t fluent. But still she felt sad, and stunned, at the loss of her employer, Pierre de la Mare, the owner of the small vineyard on which they stood.
Not just her employer, her husband, she corrected herself.
Although it felt ridiculous to call Pierre that. He had been old enough to be her grandfather, she’d only been married to him for three days...and now she was his widow.
‘Marry me, Cara. Take pity on an old man who does not wish to die alone.’
She could feel the eyes of the tiny group of Pierre’s friends and associates who had arrived for the burial staring at her as she watched the sun dip towards the crest of the hill.
And could hear what they were thinking.
Gold-digger. Opportunist. Whore.
But she refused to feel guilty about accepting Pierre’s proposal. Pierre had told her the vineyard would have to be sold. All she stood to gain from their brief marriage was a small legacy from his will to cover the wages he had been unable to pay her for months.
Towards the end she’d been more like a carer than a housekeeper. She’d bathed Pierre, fed him, helped him dress, wheeled him into the fields he loved each morning so he could watch the vines ripen and had endless conversations each evening about everything from Simone Signoret—his favourite French movie star—to the latest news of Maxim Durand, the billionaire vintner who owned all the land surrounding Pierre’s much smaller vineyard. And who Pierre said had been trying to put him out of business for years.
She had never just been Pierre’s employee. She’d been his companion and eventually his friend. Theirs had never been a sexual relationship, although she’d be damned if she’d humiliate Pierre by letting anyone know that. They’d struck a deal: if she married him he would be able to pay her the wages he owed her after his death, and she needed that money to help her settle somewhere new.
The pang of loss and anxiety tightened around her chest. She would miss Pierre but, more than that, she would miss La Maison de la Lune because the house had become her home.
She’d been living at the ramshackle old farmhouse for eleven months, scrubbing the stone floors until they gleamed, dusting the worn furniture, learning how to work the temperamental washing machine, planting a vegetable patch to save money on their food bill.
She’d never stayed anywhere this long, never felt so settled and secure, and it hurt more than it ever had before to know she would be forced to move on soon.
She sighed. She ought to be used to it by now. So why did it feel harder this time? Was it just because she was getting older? She’d turned twenty-one two weeks ago. One thing was for sure, La Maison de la Lune held a special place in heart.
She squinted into the setting sun as a large black SUV appeared on the far ridge. A cloud of dust rose in its wake as it bounced over the rutted track towards the family cemetery on the edge of
