Illegitimate Tycoon (28 page)

 
          
She
gave a brief nod and stepped back into the man’s arms.

 
          
“Okay
now, relax,” the photographer said as he quickly snapped shots, moving to
capture different angles. “Bow your head a bit as you come closer to her. A
little more. More.”

 
          
The
man was now close enough to kiss her nape, and Rafael stood without breathing,
watching. Hating the jealousy that coursed through him like poison.

 
          
“That
should be it,” the photographer said, and the man promptly dropped his hands
from Leila and stepped back from her.

 
          
Rafael
drew air into his starved lungs, calling himself a fool for enduring this
particular torture. Though he was well aware she had posed with men many times
in her career, often with little clothes on, this stretched his patience to the
max.

 
          
The
whole thing seemed to take an eternity when in fact it was over in a few
minutes. But to watch some man lay his damned hands on his wife—on their
babies!—was too much for him to tolerate.

 
          
He
turned to leave, knowing if he stayed he’d likely make a fool of himself.

 
          
“Corbin’s
expression is wrong again and the body language was stilted,” the manager said
in a clearly perturbed tone that chaffed along Rafael’s already frayed nerves. “I’m
sorry, Leila, but we’ll have to shoot this over.”

 
          
Rafael
turned back in time to see her shoulders droop, to hear her sigh eddy toward
him. To feel her frustration reach out to him.

 
          
“If
she’d relax I wouldn’t feel so tense,” Corbin said.

 
          
How
dared this man place the blame on Leila?

 
          
“Come
on, let’s do it again and do it right this time,” the photographer said. “We
have a plane to catch in two hours.”

 
          
Rafael
took in the set again, jaw clenched so tightly he was sure he’d shatter bone.
He was surely better off not being around to watch, and he would have left if
he hadn’t caught the belligerent glower the male model fixed on Leila.

 
          
That
snapped the frail thread on his patience. Muttering curses in Portuguese and
English, he stormed onto the set.

 
          
“What
the hell are you doing?” the manager snapped.

 
          
“What
I should have done earlier.” Rafael shot Corbin a look that warned him to back
off, which he readily did.

 
          
Leila
laid a hand on his arm. “Calm down, Rafael.”

 
          
“I
am perfectly calm,” he said in a near roar. “They want a picture of you with
your husband’s hands on your babies, then I will show them how it should be
done.”

 
          
Ignoring
the dropped jaws of the manager and photographer, Rafael did what he’d ached to
do since he’d walked in the door. He slipped his arms around his beautiful wife
and splayed his fingers over her very round belly.

 
          
His wife. His children. His life
.

 
          
In
that instant he knew that he could lose all his earthly possessions, his
company, his millions. He’d be a rich man as long as he had Leila. As long as
he still had her love.

 
          
His
throat felt thick, his eyes burned.
“Meu
amor,”
he murmured as he pulled her flush against his front, groaning as
her firm bottom pressed against his groin.

 
          
Her
light flower scent was divine. She felt like heaven in his arms.

 
          
He
bent his head and nuzzled her nape, dropping a featherlight kiss on her silken
skin. A moan tore from her to mingle with his own husky groan.

 
          
She
leaned against him, her fingers curling around his wrists in a slow sensual
caress that stroked him clear to his soul. He felt the tension escape her and
heaved a great shuttering breath as his followed suit.

 
          
“That’s
it,” the photographer said. “Keep it up.”

 
          
But
Rafael had no intention of stopping.

 
          
This
was no act. This was very real.

 
          
He’d
waited five long days to hold his wife again and he wasn’t going to cut this
short.

 
          
He
dropped kisses along the shell-like curve of her ear, the slender column of her
neck and then along the gentle slope of her shoulder. He marveled at the change
in her body, anxious to see more. To touch, and taste, and lose himself in her.

 
          
Dimly
he heard the photographer say, “That’s a wrap.”

 
          
Leila
turned in his embrace, her face lifted to his. His mouth came down on hers,
hungry, demanding.

 
          
Her
kiss was just as greedy. She threaded her fingers through his hair and held his
head still, kissing him in kind. They pulled apart at last, both gasping for
breath. Her chin rested on his chest. His forehead was pressed to hers.

 
          
The
only sound in the room was their mingled breaths and the rapid thud of his
heart. A glance at the salon confirmed the others had left. For good, he hoped.

 
          
“I
am glad that is over,” he said after long moments passed and their breathing
returned to normal.

 
          
She
stiffened in his arms, and he knew before he looked down at her face that he’d
said the wrong thing to her. “So am I,” she said with a good degree of heat. “I
am shocked that even you would do something so brazenly arrogant as to storm
onto a set and take it over.”

 
          
It
was, by his own admission, beyond bold. But he’d made his point. He’d gotten
Leila where he wanted her—in his arms. And he’d gotten the crew out of his
house.

 
          
But
she was clearly not seeing it that way.

 
          
She
pushed free of him, chest heaving so hard he was sure her ripe breasts would
spill from her dress. And just realizing that had him stepping closer, his
hands itching to capture them. To help them free of the silky halter
constraining them.

 
          
To
kiss her and hold her and silence this fight before it escalated out of control.
“Querida
, don’t you see that I am
simply worried about your health and our babies?”

 
          
She
shook her head, and two fats tears slipped from her eyes. “Yes,” she said in a
choked voice. “But
I
can’t live like
a bird in a cage, waiting patiently here for you to set me free for a day. To
pay me any attention while you go on with your life.”

 
          
He
drove his fingers through his hair and swore. Of course she was right. She wasn’t
his trophy to keep hidden away. Today confirmed that more than ever, yet how
could he let her return to a career that would take her from him?

 
          
He
couldn’t.

 
          
Unbidden
came the memory of him when he was very young, of catching a small hare in the
alley outside their cottage in Wolfestone. Of him begging his mother to let him
keep it.

 
          
“I’ll
take care of it,” he’d promised with all the sincerity a boy of eight could
manage. “I’ll feed it and love it and keep it safe.”

 
          
“Rafael,
what life will it be for the rabbit who has only known freedom?” his mother had
asked.

 
          
He’d
shrugged, not knowing the answer. Only thinking of what he wanted.

 
          
“But
I love it,” he’d said, near tears for he’d wanted a pet so badly. Wanted a pet
to love.

 
          
His
mother, wise and patient, had merely smiled. “If you love something, set it
free. If it doesn’t return, it was never meant to be. Remember that in all
things, Rafael.”

 
          
It
was a lesson he’d forgotten until now.

 
          
Leila
was his wife, not his possession. To hold her prisoner here would only make her
hate him one day.

 
          
“You’re
right,” he said, hiding his frustration and anger and longing behind a bland
mask. “I have no right to forbid you to return to work. To force you to stay
here. But I won’t let us return to the hellish life we led a year ago. My
children will know me, Leila. Know us!”

 
          
She
pressed her palms to her head. “Rafael, I have no intention of working
full-time, and I certainly don’t want to live apart from you again. I had a
fabulous year professionally, but on a personal level it was the worse year of
my life. I lost our first child. I was terrified I’d lose you too.”

 
          
“But
you still want to work,” he said, still worried that it would consume her
again, that what he had in his grasp would slip through his fingers.

 
          
“Only
when it’s a worthy campaign. When it won’t interfere with our family.” She stepped
forward, pressing a hand over his heart that was beating far too fast and too
hard. “I want us to escape the pasts that haunt us. Our children deserve a
mother who is healthy in mind and body. They deserve a father who is there for
them as well. Who’ll play with them. Teach them. Who’ll love them
unconditionally.”

 
          
“And
you think I don’t want all of that as well?”

 
          
“I
thought you did, but of late you’ve held everything inside,” she said, earning
a scowl from him. “You only let me see a small part of you and it isn’t enough.
I want you beside me. The man I can discuss my dreams and fears and wants with.
My protector. My lover. But most of all, I want you to love me as I love you.”

 
          
“You
think …” But he couldn’t finish for she’d already accused him of holding his
emotions inside.

 
          
She’d
admitted she loved him. Admitted that she feared it was one-sided. How to
answer that!

 
          
He
did hold his thoughts and emotions close, for he had never completely felt
certain of their depth before. But now he couldn’t continue ignoring the truth.

 
          
“Come.
I will show you how I feel.” He clasped her hand and pulled her down the hall.

 
          
“You
think sex solves everything?” she cried out, trying to break free, but he
merely tightened his hold.

 
          
“There
is almost nothing I enjoy more than making love with you,” he said, “but that
isn’t my intention right now.”

 
          
“Wonder
of wonders,” she said, her tone holding a peevish edge. “You could just tell me
how you feel.”

 
          
He
ignored her and walked straight past his office to the next room that she’d
assumed was for storage. With a twist of the knob, he pushed the door open and
hauled her inside.

 
          
“There
is a saying my mother favors,” he said. “A picture is worth a thousand words.”

 
          
The
retort Leila had been poised to voice withered on her tongue as he pulled her
into the large airy room. The light tan walls were covered with framed pictures
of her. Magazine covers. Layouts. Stills that she’d forgotten she’d even had
taken.

 
          
She
turned in a circle, certain these depicted the past five years of her marriage
and a few before she’d even met Rafael. Yet not one showed them together. Just
her.