‘No,’ she said out loud in answer to Leandro’s question. ‘None of them know. I thought it best under the circumstances not to tell them.’
Because perhaps she viewed their lovemaking as an unimportant one-night stand that she’d succumbed to whilst away from home in a strange country? The thought was like the tip of a red-hot poker suddenly pressed against Leandro’s skin. But then he regrouped. Had Isabella resisted naming him as Raphael’s father to her family because of the celebrity attached to his name? Did she think that perhaps they would not believe her story or that they might even press her to pursue him for support? In other words …had she been protecting him?
‘Why?’ he asked her, moving Raphael closer into his chest and revelling in the strong feelings of protectiveness and warmth that deluged him. ‘Were you ashamed of what happened?’
‘No!’
The passion in her face reassured Leandro that his initial speculation was wrong even more convincingly than her fierce denial. He felt himself relax against the back of the sofa and even briefly smiled. ‘Then why? Why did you not tell them that I was Raphael’s father?’
‘Why should I? I’m an adult …and what I do is my business, not theirs.’ Isabella would not go on to explain to him that whatever decisions or actions she took—they were nearly always criticised by her exacting parents. Therefore, telling them about Leandro would only have invited more condemnation and disapproval, and, honestly, what self-respecting, intelligent human being would welcome that? Sighing, Isabella moved gracefully across the room to absently straighten one of the silver-framed photographs on the window sill.
Waiting patiently for her further explanation, Leandro was quite content to observe her eye-catching curves in her slim black jeans and agreeably tight sweater. With her long dark hair reaching down to the middle of her back and the too-distracting sway of her hips when she moved, she was the kind of earthy, sexy woman whose arousing image would disrupt most men’s sleep when they saw her. Registering the inevitable tension that this thought produced, Leandro tried to will away the passionate arousing memory of that long hot night they’d spent together in Spain, but he wasn’t strong enough to totally banish the image that taunted him.
‘Anyway …I don’t want anyone knowing my business except those I know I can really trust …and unfortunately they are few and far between. And you must have enough to contend with already being in the public eye without having stories about an illegitimate son appearing in the papers.’
Staring down at the near blissful expression on Raphael’s face as he continued to drink from his bottle, Leandro admired Isabella’s obvious integrity at wanting to protect her own and his privacy, but he winced at the repugnant idea of his child being labelled ‘illegitimate’ in the newspapers …His father, Vincente, would turn in his grave! Which immediately presented him with another dilemma that needed resolving. This particular one he decided to save until they got the chance to talk properly later …but he vowed that after the matter of Isabella moving out to Spain with him, it would be top of his agenda.
‘But you say you tried to contact me when you found out that you were pregnant?’ He lifted his gaze as she slowly walked back across the room towards him, unable to stop himself from appreciating the very arresting picture she made. Dios mio! But she was more bewitching than any sultry movie star he had ever worked with!
Recalling the painful memory of being so clearly disbelieved at claiming acquaintance with Leandro …not just once, but several times by the different people at his film company’s offices, Isabella frowned. ‘I tried many times, Leandro …but I think your people truly believed that I was some kind of stalker or something! Anyway …they wouldn’t take a message no matter how many times I rang, and all my letters went unanswered. I suppose it comes with the territory when you’re well known and don’t know who you can trust …but it made it impossible for me to let you know about Raphael.’
‘So—’ Leandro lowered his voice with the heaviest of sighs ‘—you thought that you would never see me again?’
‘Can you blame me for thinking that? On the morning we said goodbye it was “business as usual” for you—I could tell you’d probably never even give me another thought once I was gone!’ She shrugged, her heart filling with renewed hurt that he could dismiss so casually what they’d shared. It hadn’t helped when a woman at his offices had made some exasperated comment when Isabella had phoned, that Leandro Reyes always had some woman hanging on his coat tails!
‘It is not true that I did not think of you again. Why do you think I am here now?’
Isabella didn’t answer him that she’d privately speculated that he was looking for another one-night stand. She was too upset to even say the words. Turning away so that he wouldn’t witness the tears that had momentarily clouded her vision, Isabella went to the door. ‘I should get on and get some dinner ready. Are you all right holding the baby for a while? You can lay him down on the sofa if he gets too heavy.’
She disappeared before Leandro could even reply …
As they sat in Isabella’s small, neat kitchen to eat the meal she had prepared and served—Raphael sleeping peacefully in his bed after his bath and some rhythm and blues music station playing quietly in the background on the radio—Isabella stole a glance at the man sitting opposite her across the Spanish lace tablecloth she’d brought back from Santiago. There were so many topics she’d love to converse with Leandro about besides the astounding fact that they had a son together. He was an amazing man doing extraordinary work in a field of the arts that people were fascinated by and she longed to tell him how much she had loved the film he’d directed that she’d seen the other night with Chris. But, although right now there was little distance between them physically, emotionally they seemed miles apart. Leandro Reyes was an unknown quantity to Isabella even though her feelings for him were not, and she longed to find a way to bridge that seemingly enormous gulf between them. He apparently loved his son on sight, but would that be enough to cement a proper relationship between him and Isabella and was that what he really wanted?
Guiltily catching his eye and seeing him offer a wry smile, Isabella sighed out loud and put down her fork. The poor man had just discovered she wasn’t exactly a gourmet cook. It was fairly evident that the dish she had cooked was pretty inedible. But how was she supposed to be able to concentrate on cooking when the father of her child—a man she had only met twice before and had experienced the most momentous connection with—was sitting in her living room cradling their child as if he were the pivot on which the earth turned round?
‘I’m sorry …this is pretty awful. You don’t have to eat it.’
‘No …it is fine. I am not so hungry anyway. It is not the food that I came here for, Isabella, as we both know …’
She knew that he was talking about the baby but the intensity of his gaze was like coming into direct and sudden contact with the relentless reflection of a glaring Spanish sun and Isabella pushed back her chair a little too suddenly and got to her feet. Moving across to the clean granite worktop next to the fridge, she took the cork out of the bottle of red wine that resided there and poured Leandro a generous glassful, then a much smaller one for herself. Bringing the glasses to the table, she sat back down again and smiled awkwardly.
‘Perhaps this will get rid of the taste,’ she joked, raising her glass to her lips and taking a sip. The alcohol acted like a heady cocktail to her already heightened nervous system, but Isabella told herself she needed some kind of boost to help her deal with the discussion that was about to take place.
‘Isabella?’
‘Yes?’
‘Let us not waste any more time with distracting trivialities. We need to talk seriously.’