anyone’s pity, and, with an impatient gesture, he turned away.
‘You already told me that your grandmother brought you up—’
‘And made a damn good job of it,’ he said quietly.
‘So your parents didn’t want children—’
‘Please,’ he said. ‘Please stop before you make things worse.’
‘You’ll see,’ she said confidently. ‘In a few months’ time our baby will be here and you’ll feel differently.’
The irony of their role reversal struck him, as Leila, speaking with such confidence about the birth, left him racked with fear for her. She couldn’t know what lay ahead of her, and this new Leila was frightened of nothing and no one—would listen to no one, not even him.
‘I’m only concerned for your safety, and for the baby’s safety,’ he assured her. ‘But if you want to hear that I’m the by-product of too much sex and too little love, then you would be right.’
‘So where does that leave us, Raffa?’
‘All you need to know is that love was never a factor. Not once. Not ever—’
He was still back in the past, talking about his parents, but then he noticed that Leila’s face had turned ashen. She thought he was talking about them.
‘Well, if nothing else,’ she said gamely, ‘I understand you better now.’
He should have known she would find some good amongst the debris. As the ghosts bore down on him he shook his head. ‘I doubt that somehow.’
The mother he’d never known was dead. And his father—a man he hadn’t spoken to for years—was currently sunning himself with the latest in a long line of teenage girlfriends in Monte Carlo. His grandmother had saved him, and it was Abuelita who had restored his faith in human nature.
Leila put her hand on his arm, and he was sure they both felt the shock of the physical contact. ‘I should have found some better way to tell you,’ she said. ‘But at least you know now. Perhaps it would be better for all concerned if things are handled formally between us by a third party as you suggested. I’ll return home as soon as you can make arrangements for me to leave.’
No, was his first reaction. She couldn’t leave. For a whole raft of reasons, not least of which was Leila herself, fast followed by his concern over the birth of her child. There must have been something of this in his eyes as he turned to look at her, and she lifted her hand as if to ward him off. Moving her hand aside, he dragged her close.
‘Don’t do this, Raffa. Please...’
She knew it was hopeless to resist just as he did. The passion between them was so easily ignited and it had been far too long for both of them. As Leila reached up to link her hands behind his neck, he kissed her hungrily, and, lifting her into his arms, he carried her across the hallway and up the stairs into his apartment. Kicking the door shut behind him, he crossed the room and laid her down on the bed. Undoing the buckle on his jeans, he lowered the zipper and freed himself. Lifting Leila’s skirt, he dispensed with her thong and settled over her. Driving a thigh between her legs—
He stopped.
Massively erect and hideously frustrated, he stopped.
Pulling back, he swung off the bed.
‘What?’ she said, reaching for him.
‘I can’t do this, Leila.’ Raking stiff fingers through his hair, he asked himself, what had he become? And then he swung round to find Leila crying.
Dios! What a mess this was.
CHAPTER SEVEN
L EILA CRYING SHAMED HIM . She wasn’t the type to use tears as a weapon, or even as a last resort. Leila had never been quiet and ineffective. She possessed an inner strength. Even now she wasn’t making a fuss as she straightened her clothes with a gentle grace that made him feel more of a brute than ever.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered, sensing his gaze on her.
‘What the hell are you thanking me for?’
‘You stopped,’ she said as if that were obvious. ‘You knew when to stop.’ She looked up at him. ‘And you could stop,
‘You already told me that your grandmother brought you up—’
‘And made a damn good job of it,’ he said quietly.
‘So your parents didn’t want children—’
‘Please,’ he said. ‘Please stop before you make things worse.’
‘You’ll see,’ she said confidently. ‘In a few months’ time our baby will be here and you’ll feel differently.’
The irony of their role reversal struck him, as Leila, speaking with such confidence about the birth, left him racked with fear for her. She couldn’t know what lay ahead of her, and this new Leila was frightened of nothing and no one—would listen to no one, not even him.
‘I’m only concerned for your safety, and for the baby’s safety,’ he assured her. ‘But if you want to hear that I’m the by-product of too much sex and too little love, then you would be right.’
‘So where does that leave us, Raffa?’
‘All you need to know is that love was never a factor. Not once. Not ever—’
He was still back in the past, talking about his parents, but then he noticed that Leila’s face had turned ashen. She thought he was talking about them.
‘Well, if nothing else,’ she said gamely, ‘I understand you better now.’
He should have known she would find some good amongst the debris. As the ghosts bore down on him he shook his head. ‘I doubt that somehow.’
The mother he’d never known was dead. And his father—a man he hadn’t spoken to for years—was currently sunning himself with the latest in a long line of teenage girlfriends in Monte Carlo. His grandmother had saved him, and it was Abuelita who had restored his faith in human nature.
Leila put her hand on his arm, and he was sure they both felt the shock of the physical contact. ‘I should have found some better way to tell you,’ she said. ‘But at least you know now. Perhaps it would be better for all concerned if things are handled formally between us by a third party as you suggested. I’ll return home as soon as you can make arrangements for me to leave.’
No, was his first reaction. She couldn’t leave. For a whole raft of reasons, not least of which was Leila herself, fast followed by his concern over the birth of her child. There must have been something of this in his eyes as he turned to look at her, and she lifted her hand as if to ward him off. Moving her hand aside, he dragged her close.
‘Don’t do this, Raffa. Please...’
She knew it was hopeless to resist just as he did. The passion between them was so easily ignited and it had been far too long for both of them. As Leila reached up to link her hands behind his neck, he kissed her hungrily, and, lifting her into his arms, he carried her across the hallway and up the stairs into his apartment. Kicking the door shut behind him, he crossed the room and laid her down on the bed. Undoing the buckle on his jeans, he lowered the zipper and freed himself. Lifting Leila’s skirt, he dispensed with her thong and settled over her. Driving a thigh between her legs—
He stopped.
Massively erect and hideously frustrated, he stopped.
Pulling back, he swung off the bed.
‘What?’ she said, reaching for him.
‘I can’t do this, Leila.’ Raking stiff fingers through his hair, he asked himself, what had he become? And then he swung round to find Leila crying.
Dios! What a mess this was.
CHAPTER SEVEN
L EILA CRYING SHAMED HIM . She wasn’t the type to use tears as a weapon, or even as a last resort. Leila had never been quiet and ineffective. She possessed an inner strength. Even now she wasn’t making a fuss as she straightened her clothes with a gentle grace that made him feel more of a brute than ever.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered, sensing his gaze on her.
‘What the hell are you thanking me for?’
‘You stopped,’ she said as if that were obvious. ‘You knew when to stop.’ She looked up at him. ‘And you could stop,
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