Fierce Passion (35 page)

A savory aroma filled the condo. He hated to wake her, but she was sitting up in bed, reading or pretending to. “Do you want to eat in here or in the dining room?”

She marked her place and closed the book. “The dining room.” She grabbed the headboard to rise and get her balance and hopped along behind him. There were two places set at the table. “I’d rather not have your company.”

“Ignore me if you like. The food is so good I won’t be offended.” He pulled out her chair and pushed it in for her. Along with the rich mixed vegetable dish and artichoke rice cakes, he’d ordered green salads and ice cream he’d put in the freezer. When she stared at her plate without lifting her fork, he grew concerned. “Can you remember the last time you ate?”

She appeared confused for a moment. “Last night. My stepfather made something wonderful with eggs, mushrooms and asparagus. I’ve forgotten what he called it.”

He handed her a fork. “Take a bite. This tastes as delicious as it smells.” He watched her slowly chew her first bite and was relieved when she took another. “I’ve been researching restaurants with vegetarian choices. This one makes the blue cheese dressing fresh for each salad.”

When she continued to eat on her own, he broke apart a rice cake and put half on her plate. The cheese filling oozed out invitingly. “Other than meeting you, my life is also bordering chaos. My father loved the Ortiz Line; it filled him so completely he never needed anything or anyone else. But I see it as a malevolent force, and whenever I break free, it grabs me again, the way a cat tortures a mouse.”

She glanced toward him. “How is your father?”

“The same. My stepmother believes one of us should always be with him, but I do need to sleep a few hours a day. I’m not asking for sympathy, nor do I want to toss complaints back and forth in an effort to decide who has the most pathetic life.” He got up. “May I bring you more?”

“This is enough, thank you.”

He’d placed a generous order and scooped up another helping. When he brought his plate back to the table, he continued as though he’d never left. “When I first told you I was your husband, why did you believe me?”

She ate a bite of rice cake before answering. “I was too laced up with drugs to think clearly, and you were convincing. You always sound so sincere. Is it a struggle?”

“Not at all. I am sincere. You easily convinced me you were a photographer, remember? But there’s no point in fighting over what each of us made up for the other. We’re going to be parents and ought to be civil.”

She pushed her plate away. “You’ve had several weeks to consider parenthood. I was already numb, and it’s too much for me to absorb easily. Will you excuse me? I’d like to go to bed early.”

“There’s chocolate ice cream for dessert. Wouldn’t you like some?”

“You are a devil.”

He finished his manchego and salad. “If you’re not going to finish your salad, do you mind if I do?”

“Help yourself.”

“Thank you. This is too good to go to waste. Will Fatima be here in the morning?”

“Yes. Why do you ask?”

“She’ll be able to give you some support. I’ll bet she loves babies.”

She reached for his arm. “I’m not telling anyone yet. I need to work as often as I can, with what’s left of me to photograph. When the pregnancy can no longer be kept hidden, I’ll announce it, but not a moment before.”

“I’ll get the ice cream.” He returned with two bowls. “Try it. In case you haven’t thought that far, I’ve also been married and unmarried with unseemly haste. I feel worse than numb, if there’s a level below it, and I’ve no one to blame but myself. I’ll clean up the kitchen so Fatima doesn’t have to do it in the morning.”

“I can do it.”

He shook his head. “On one leg? No, I can wash our plates and bowls without breaking them.”

She stirred her ice cream into a smooth blend. “I need you to keep quiet too, Alejandro. Let me be the one to announce the baby.”

“I’m tempted to ask for something in return, but I’ll restrain myself tonight.”

“And tomorrow?”

He leaned over to kiss her. “Ask me again tomorrow.”

Chapter Seventeen

Ana tore the pregnancy test box into little tiny bits and put them and the damning test wand in a paper bag she wadded up and shoved into her purse to throw in the trash somewhere far from home. It took her a long time to get to sleep, but she was up, dressed and seated at the dining room table and reading the newspaper when Fatima arrived Monday morning.

“How was France?”

“Restful, which is what I needed. Would you make me a poached egg for breakfast? I haven’t had one in a long time.”

The housekeeper’s eyes widened. “It’s been a year at least, but if you’d like one, it will only take a few minutes. How is your mother?”

“She’s well, and she and Claude are fun to be with. I should visit more often. They have a lovely home. Claude has to be one of the best chefs in France. Remind me to put a note to visit on my calendar.”

“Will do.”

Ana was grateful Fatima didn’t ask about Alejandro, and she wouldn’t speak his name. While she waited for breakfast, she called her agent. “I’m back. When can we schedule the shoot with Lamoreaux?”

“He’d want to do it today, but he needn’t believe you’re short of work, so I’ll call him and say you’ll be available on Wednesday.”

“That’s fine, thank you.”

“Do you want to come to the office today so we can talk about the rest of the month?”

She thought what he really wanted was to see if she looked as battered as she felt. “I’ll be there in an hour or so.”

The poached egg was even better than she’d remembered and the buttery toast perfect. “I should ask for these more often, Fatima.”

“It probably doesn’t compare to the food in France.”

“It doesn’t have to. If I ate Claude’s food every day, I’d balloon to two hundred pounds.”

“It would look good on you. Shall I bake some of the cookies you like?”

“Would you please? We need to plan another tea party. Would tomorrow afternoon be too soon?”

“Not if I go to the market right now and buy everything we’ll need.”

“We could wait until later in the week.”

“The ladies would be thrilled whenever you have it, but let’s do it tomorrow before you begin working again.”

“Fine. I’ll call them all when I come back from Paul’s.” Hosting a tea was a ridiculous thing to do, but it would occupy her thoughts for an afternoon, something she desperately needed.

Paul welcomed her into his office. As usual, he was well dressed in a muted whiskey plaid suit and maroon tie. “How much longer do you have to wear the cast?”

“Another three weeks or maybe more. I get around all right, but I miss dancing.”

“You look beautiful as always, and the scar scarcely shows. With your hair tumbled around your shoulders, it will be easy to cover. Lamoreaux was delighted you could work for him this week. He wants to do the shoot in his apartment, but it will be with a makeup artist, a wardrobe person, and the photographer who does his French ads. Ask someone to go with you if you’d rather not go alone.”

Alejandro immediately came to mind, and she barely silenced a hysterical shriek. “I’ll be fine on my own.”

“The contract is already signed for your usual rate. If the shoot goes into a second day, you’ll receive double.”

“Then what’s my incentive to get the shoot done quickly?”

“He’s the one we want to hurry, Ana. If you’re just holding a shoe, even an incredibly beautiful shoe, you’ll not want to spend more than single day on it.”

“Probably not. Is there anything else lined up?”

Paul shuffled the papers on his desk. “Not today, but once the word gets out that you’re working again, we’ll get plenty of calls. The tabloids have kept you on the front pages, and while obnoxious, all publicity is good. What’s happened with you and Alejandro Vasquez? Just so I’ll know and be able to tell people to mind their own business when they ask.”

His gaze kept straying to her cheek. She couldn’t blame him. “Please tell anyone who has the audacity to ask that I won’t discuss him.”

“Oh, I see. Fine. The film news isn’t good. Apparently Almodóvar is reworking the script. It could be a complete rewrite that will delay the filming for months, or merely a tweak or two. I’m staying on top of it.”

“Good. I should have thanked you for the philodendron. It’s doing well in my condo.”

“That’s what I’d hoped. Flowers are lovely but soon wilt, while green plants survive a little benign neglect.” He helped her stand and gave her Lamoreaux’s address before he opened the office door. “Let me know if the shoot isn’t going well, and I’ll come right over. Lamoreaux is infatuated with you, but you’ll be there to work, not hold his hand.”

“I’ll make certain he understands.”

Paul laughed. “Yes, I know you will with a single glance. That’s why you’re so popular, Ana. You can convey whole paragraphs with a slight tilt of your chin.”

She hoped she hadn’t lost the ability. There was no point in worrying when all Lamoreaux needed was a shoe model. She pushed the incriminating evidence left from the pregnancy test into the waste bin in the ladies’ room on the floor above Paul’s, relieved to be done with it. She wouldn’t pretend she wasn’t pregnant, but she had so much to deal with now.

On board the
Siren
, Alejandro had asked her thoughts on having children. They’d been in a playful mood, but she’d been at a terrible disadvantage when he’d known the truth and she hadn’t. She refused to replay the same tiresome argument when they should be planning for a family. She ought to buy a pair of booties, or a little sweater, some snuggly soft something to make the baby real. That’s what she needed to do, make the dear little child real and love him dearly. Clearly, Alejandro already did.

In the afternoon, she helped Fatima make little nut bread sandwiches with cream cheese for tomorrow’s tea. The ladies had all been so excited by her call, she was sorry she hadn’t entertained them all sooner. By the time Fatima left for the day, they had everything ready. There was the pisto manchego to reheat for dinner, but she wasn’t hungry after nibbling nut bread all afternoon.

If Alejandro wanted something for keeping still about her pregnancy, then he’d better hurry up about it. Maybe he was so pressured by work for the Ortiz Line he’d forgotten all about her. She might slip his mind for several days, a week maybe, or two. She didn’t have much of a hope, though. When her phone chimed half an hour later, she knew who it would be.

“I’m sorry not to have called earlier. Let’s go out to dinner tonight. I’ve found a place with incredibly good vegetarian food that’s so dark no one will recognize us and paparazzi don’t even know it exists.”

“Is dinner your price for keeping quiet?”

“No, but we need a neutral location to discuss it.”

“Alejandro…”

“I’ll pick you up at eight.”

“Fine. I’d like to get it over with. Good-bye.” It took her a long while to decide what to wear, and she finally chose her Goth look. With heavy eye makeup, her wig, a short black sheath, the jacket she’d worn to their first dinner, and one flat-heeled boot, she was dressed the part of a strong girl who could take care of herself. Alejandro would have to be equally prepared, or she’d make him part of the dinner menu.

Alejandro helped her into his SUV and paused with his hands on the keys. “That’s a startling transformation. You look tough. Is that your goal?”

She fastened her seat belt. “You said once you liked the Goth girl best, so I thought I’d bring her out again.”

“Was I teasing?”

“No, I don’t believe so, but I’m in a Goth mood tonight.”

He pulled the SUV away from the curb. “I wish you’d waited for me in Corfu. It would have been a beautiful place to work out our differences.”

His deep voice echoed around her, soft and smoothly seductive. “We don’t have differences that can be easily resolved, Alejandro, no matter what the setting. You took advantage of me, and I caught you. We were careful but somehow created a baby. The problems keep compounding, and I don’t even want to think about what tomorrow might bring.”

“So you’re about to have a baby with a man you’d rather not know?”

“Thanks for putting it so succinctly.”

“You forgot to mention the accident that’s left you suffering from post-traumatic stress. That has to be a factor.”

“Thank you again. When we reach the restaurant, you ought to make notes for future reference.”

He was quiet the rest of the way. “Here we are. The reviews are all good. Have you been here?”

She looked out at the sign above the door showing a buxom farm girl carrying a heaping basket of vegetables. “No, but it looks promising.”

The restaurant was as dimly lit as Alejandro had promised, and the warm, crusty bread had the most appetizing aroma. She buttered a thick slice while reading the menu. “The scrambled eggs with asparagus sounds good.”