Illegitimate Tycoon (24 page)

 
          
“The
traffic can be unpredictable,” she said, her features tight, not with pain but
concern.

 
          
He
took her hand, entwining his fingers with hers, his heart skipping a beat as
her tremors passed through him. “I know you trust your doctor, but I will rest
easier when you are back in our home in São Paulo.”

 
          
Again
she nodded, and he sensed before she spoke that she wouldn’t balk, that today’s
snarl on the freeway had proved his point. “Yes, so will I.”

 
          
He
finally drew a decent breath, then lifted their joined hands to place a warm
kiss on the back of her smooth flawless skin. “Good. Let’s see this doctor now.”

 
          
After
the doctor examined Leila, he ordered an abdominal ultrasound. Hearing his
babies’ hearts beat, seeing them move inside Leila, was a joy that was beyond
anything Rafael had experienced. His emotions were so overwhelming that he was
glad the room was dark and nobody asked him to speak.

 
          
“You
suffered mild heat cramps caused by too much sun and a strenuous workday,” the
doctor said later. “I’d recommend you cut back on your work, Leila.”

 
          
“I
am,” she said, and Rafael heaved another sigh of relief.

 
          
He
thanked the doctor and took Leila’s hand, loving her more than words could say.
“Let’s go home,
querida.”

 
          
IN
THEIR five years of marriage they’d called only two places home. The first
apartment they’d shared in Rio, and later the penthouse.

 
          
They’d
always lived in the midst of excitement. The bustling life of Rio or the
exciting nightlife along the coast.

 
          
But
as Rafael’s private jet landed some hours later in Ribeirão Preto, she admitted
she looked forward to the change of pace. A limo was waiting to take them from
the airport.

 
          
Though
she was tired, her gaze devoured the beauty of the farmland. Many of the red fields
lay bare, or riddled with stubble. But the fields of sugarcane teemed with
workers harvesting the crop.

 
          
This
life was vastly different than what either of them had known. Though he’d
always talked of buying land one day, she’d never wondered why until now.

 
          
“What
made you want to live out here?” she asked.

 
          
He
took a deep breath and smiled. “I can breathe out here. Relax.”

 
          
She
nodded, finding it refreshing that they shared this. “I felt the same way about
Malibu.”

 
          
“You’ll
like it here.”

 
          
And
she did.

 
          
The
casa
was fabulous, though not nearly
as large as she’d expected a billionaire would own. Another surprise was the
house staff, which was small, almost invisible.

 
          
He
gave her a brief tour of the
casa
,
pride ringing in his voice. Though she could see the historical dignity of the
old coffee plantation had been kept intact, his office was as he’d told her—the
ultimate in high-tech.

 
          
As
for the bedroom they would share, it was simply sumptuous. But it was obvious
he hadn’t spent much time here. The closets and dresser were nearly empty!

 
          
Just
staring at that void was a shock, for no matter where she’d lived, she was
surrounded by a vast array of clothes, most supplied by the various companies
she’d worked for. Always more than she’d ever need, which was why she auctioned
the majority of them to help her clinic in São Paulo.

 
          
And
secretly, there was another reason she felt at ease when faced with the latest
wardrobe she was to model. They were all the same size—the size she was to
maintain. How would she cope with a closet full of maternity clothes, all
designed to accommodate her increasing abdomen? Who’d know if she gained extra
pounds, or lost them?
Don’t think that
way/

 
          
She
wouldn’t let the past ruin her future. The doctor had given her a chart that
listed what weight she should safely gain during her pregnancy. As long as she
stayed within those parameters, she’d be okay. She
had
to be okay!

 
          
But
there was still the worry over how to spend her days. Though Rafael had
promised to spend the bulk of his time here, she knew that he’d still have to
put in long hours working.

 
          
She’d
be alone in an area where she knew nobody. Where she had nothing to do but
think. For someone with her past history, that could be a dangerous thing. More
dangerous than if she worked.

 
          
So
what was she going to do for the next six months? How could she keep from going
stircrazy?

 
          
She
crossed to the window and took in the old plantation from a new angle. She had
expected a highly efficient compound, and Rafael’s
fazenda
was that and more, right down to the small army of men in
the fields.

 
          
“Do
the workers live here or in town?”

 
          
“Most
live in the dormitory I built for them.”

 
          
He
pointed to a fairly large building off to the right.

 
          
She
frowned, for it didn’t look near large enough to house the workers plus their
families. Surely Rafael wasn’t exploiting the poor, not after producing a film
that cut right to the heart of Rio’s poverty issues.

 
          
“Isn’t
that terribly crowded for families?” she asked.

 
          
“The
few families that I employ have their own cottages,” he said. “The field
laborers that you see are young men from the Rio slums.”

 
          
She
blinked, not expecting that. She looked from them to him. “All of them?”

 
          
He
nodded. “I met most of these boys over a year ago when I visited the
favelas
, gathering research for our
film. Some came from fractured homes, with a parent either disabled or dead
from the gang wars. Most were homeless.”

 
          
How
well she knew that life! How desperately she’d wanted to escape it after her
father’s and brother’s deaths.

 
          
“All
of these boys were extremely eager to work for us then.” Rafael frowned, as if
troubled by a memory. “When the project was over, I couldn’t just walk away
from them.”

 
          
The
apprehension that had seized her lost its grip in one long exhalation. “So you
gave them jobs.”

 
          
“Yes,
but I also gave them the chance to better their lives if they wished. Each boy
is given the opportunity to take classes,” he said simply. “If they have an
education or steady job, they are less likely to return to the gangs.”

 
          
She
stared at the young men again until tears stung her eyes. They all looked
healthy. Happy.

 
          
At
that moment, she loved Rafael more than she thought possible. Though he was
austere and often demanding on the surface, deep inside beat the heart of a
very compassionate man.

 
          
Though
she was proud of the clinic she’d established to help the poor girls of São
Paulo afflicted with the same disease she’d battled, his work far outshined her
efforts. For he was not only saving lives, he was saving the future of Brazil.

 
          
If
only an opportunity like this had been offered her father and brother …

 
          
To
her surprise sudden tears filled her eyes. She blinked, trying to hold them
back. But the effort was futile.

 
          
“Querida
, what’s wrong?” he asked,
pulling her against his chest.

 
          
She
shook her head, hating to tell him a lie. Yet how could she open the door on
the past she had locked away? How could she expect him to understand why she’d
never been able to tell him about the horrible event that changed her life
forever?

 
          
He
gripped her arms and held her from him, his gaze boring into her, his features
taut with worry. “Leila, you are scaring me. What is it that’s troubling you?”

 
          
She
bit back a watery laugh born of nerves, her hands finally finding purchase on
his incredibly broad chest. She splayed them over hard muscle and warm flesh,
letting his heat seep into her and thaw her choking fears.

 
          
“Everything
that you depicted in the film
Carnival
,
I lived through to one degree or another. Everything,” she emphasized, hoping
he’d understand that she had seen every vile thing one person could do to
another at a young age, that she, too, had lived in that poverty-ridden war
zone.

 
          
Rafael
cared for the desperately poor. The way he managed his farm and provided for
the boys he’d rescued from the slums proved that to her.

 
          
“There
were no saviors like you in the
favelas
when I was a child. If there had been, perhaps my father would still be alive.
Perhaps my brother would too, and have his own family and home because of the
largess of someone like y—”

 
          
He
pressed a finger over her lips, silencing her. “There is still much to do. You
and I have the chance to make a difference for our people. That is a good
thing,
querida.”

 
          
The
tears she’d thought were spent stung her eyes. “We could work together on this?”

 
          
“If
you wish, though I understand how much you need to control your clinic.”

 
          
Fire
streaked across her cheeks. How stupid she’d been to think her efforts would
have gotten lost under his corporate umbrella. But then she hadn’t realized his
own work among the desperately poor was this extensive.

 
          
“I
love you,” she said.

 
          
“And
you are my heart as well.” He bent and kissed her tear-streaked eyes, her nose
that was surely red, her lips that were raw from her nervously biting them. “Rest.
I’ll call you when dinner is served.”

 
          
She
nodded again and reluctantly pulled from his arms. The bed was monstrous. Yet
she crawled on it and curled on her side, intending to rest a few minutes. The
worst was over.

 
          
Or
was it? she wondered, her hands sliding protectively to her stomach.

 
          
Leila
woke an hour later, much rested. And ravenous! The enticing aroma drifting down
the hallway only increased her appetite. When had she eaten last?

 
          
Perhaps
she could beg a snack from the cook.

 
          
The
thought fizzled like cola on her tongue as she stepped into the bright airy
kitchen and her gaze lit on the handsome man standing at the stove. He wore
snug jeans that hugged his lean hips and long legs, and a white T-shirt that emphasized
his broad muscular back and golden skin.

 
          
A
skillet sizzled before him and a spicy aroma escaped a pot of beans and rice,
the enticing smells drifting on the warm air.

 
          
“I’m
impressed,” she said, coming closer. “And very grateful you’re fixing what I
hope is our dinner.”