It was there that she’d found him sometime later, sitting on the sofa with a book of photos on his lap, a glass of whisky beside him. He’d felt hollow inside, and terrified too.
“She trusted me,” he’d said. “I failed.”
Rebecca had put her knees on the sofa, wrapped her arms around him and leaned her head against his. “It’s not your fault. It’s no one’s fault.”
“I went to tuck her in,” he’d said a long while later, spilling the truth he hadn’t spoken to anyone other than the medical personnel. “She was blue. Her body was swollen with the fluids her heart couldn’t pump. The doctors couldn’t save her.”
She’d stroked his hair. “I’m sorry.”
And then he’d said what had been on his mind. The thing that had awakened him and sent him to his office, unable to sleep. “I cannot do it again.”
“You won’t have to.” She’d said it fiercely, determinedly. He’d almost believed her.
“You cannot know that.”
She’d taken his hand, placed it over her abdomen. “I do. I won’t let it happen.”
“I have said the same thing,” he’d replied. “But there are some things even I cannot control.”
They’d returned to bed and he’d held her close, as if he could protect all three of them from harm. He’d blamed Rebecca for his pain because without her betrayal he’d have never married Caridad. Never had Anya and known what it was to lose her. But did that make any sense anymore? Was it really Rebecca’s fault? Or had he needed the numbness and single-minded focus that blaming her had given him for so many years?
He’d awakened early and had to force himself to come to the office today. He could’ve worked at home, but his feelings were too chaotic so he’d gotten dressed and taken his Aston Martin Vanquish from the garage. Zipping through the streets of Madrid, he’d tried to concentrate on all he needed to accomplish.
Focusing on work had gotten him through so much over the years. It would do so now.
He’d arrived at Ramirez Enterprises’ headquarters, given orders to his team, and gone to his big corner office to look over a proposal. The distraction had worked for a little while, but now that he was at his desk, his mind was wandering again.
Focus. The hotel in Dubai was finally about to begin construction. Though it’d been weeks since he’d uncovered his spy—a man in the Dubai office who’d been taking bribes from a local competitor—it’d still taken time to disentangle the web and get everything straightened away with the authorities.
The reorganization of Layton International was proceeding. Alejandro always felt a little pang of guilt when he reviewed the progress. Absorbing the company was a good move, but the difficulties he was experiencing with management made him long for the days when Rebecca was in charge.
She knew that company like she’d been born to it. He allowed himself a smile. Indeed, she had been born to it. Literally when her mother delivered her in the New York hotel.
He’d considered more than once asking Rebecca to come back to work, but he couldn’t sort out his feelings about it well enough to do so.
Was it a sign of defeat? Weakness? Was it tantamount to admitting he’d been wrong?
And what about the baby? Would it be too stressful on her pregnancy? Could she manage the hotel business and a baby too? A very male part of him wanted to lock her in the house and keep her there, but he knew from personal experience that whether or not a woman worked had nothing to do with her ability as a mother. Caridad had nothing but time and she’d failed miserably. His own mother was self-absorbed. Apparently, so was Rebecca’s.
He hadn’t missed the disappointment on her face when her mother finally called after the wedding. The conversation was short, to the point, and over without Rebecca saying more than a dozen words. Valencia had chattered endlessly to him about his marriage—she whispered that she liked Rebecca very much—and he’d come to think that women liked to talk about romance and weddings. It seemed as if Rebecca and her mother did not.
Alejandro sat back and spun his chair to look out the windows at the view.
Madre de Dios, he was married. If someone had told him two months ago that not only would Rebecca Layton be pregnant with his child, but she would also be his wife, he never would have believed it.
Life was very strange sometimes.
His secretary came in with some paperwork and he turned his attention to accomplishing something today other than thinking about his wife. Several hours later, when he’d spoken with his trusted man in Dubai, negotiated a new contract in Russia, and approved an impact study for a proposed site in India, he felt he’d done enough work to justify returning home. Perhaps Rebecca would be wearing that little bikini he’d bought her. She’d protested that she’d soon be too fat for it, but he’d bought it anyway.
There was nothing sexier than his wife lying beside the pool in her hot pink bikini. Especially when she let him take her into the house and peel it from her body as he kissed his way over every centimeter of her satiny skin.
Whatever else was between them, Alejandro loved how excited Rebecca made him feel. How determined he was to possess her. He loved her sighs and moans as he stroked and licked and kissed, and he loved the way her body clenched around his cock as he fucked her into a shattering orgasm.
He was growing hard just thinking about what he planned to do when he got
