Free The Brazilian Millionaire's Love-Child by Anne Mather Page B

time.
    Still, Alejandro had changed, she conceded. He looked much older than she remembered, but losing his wife was bound to have had some bearing on that.
    Her stomach clenched, but she ignored it, concentrating instead on his injuries. Something had caused the flecks of grey in his night-dark hair and the deeply carved lines around his eyes and mouth.
    Yet, for all that, he still possessed that soul-destroyingmagnetism that had first drawn her to him. Even the ugly scar had added strength to a face that had always been wholly sensual, wholly male.
    But it wasn’t just his looks that caused her pulse to race so alarmingly. It was the knowledge that, if she wasn’t careful, that subtle power he possessed might defeat her resistance once again.
    Was he aware of it? Meeting those deep-set eyes, she had no way of knowing. His face was darkly intent, darkly perceptive, but also darkly enigmatic. She couldn’t possibly guess what he was thinking at this moment. But the faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth was unnerving. She suspected he was enjoying a joke—but was it at her expense or Anita’s?
    With an effort, she said, ‘How do you do, senhor ?’ managing not to flinch when hard, slightly calloused fingers closed about her hand. But she couldn’t prevent an instinctive recoil at the wave of heat that swept up her arm and into her face when his palm pressed briefly, intimately, against hers.
    Oh no, she thought, meeting his gaze again and seeing the contempt that twisted his lips at her reaction. He thought she was repulsed by his appearance. Dear heaven, how wrong could he be?
    And it seemed Anita was not indifferent to the silent battle of wills that was being waged between her son-in-law and her guest. Intervening, she said, ‘Your uncle must have told you that my daughter, Miranda, died a little over a year ago.’ Her eyes moved to her son-in-law, and she slipped an arm through his. ‘Since then, Alex and I have become very close. Is that not so, querido ? We survived her loss together.’
    Isobel’s eyes widened. She hadn’t realised it was such a short time since Anita’s daughter had died. But then,events moved fast in this part of the world, she conceded, trying not to feel bitter.
    She wondered how long Miranda and Alejandro had been married, before—what? Had an accident torn them apart? Was it even possible that he’d been married when he was in London?
    ‘ E claro. Of course.’ Alejandro was speaking now. If he objected to the older woman’s possessiveness, he didn’t show it. Then, addressing himself to Isobel again, his voice noticeably cooler, he added, ‘I understand you have a daughter also, Ms Jameson. It is a pity you could not have brought her with you.’
    Isobel suddenly felt as if the air-conditioned room had become airless. She couldn’t breathe, and she was sure all the colour had drained out of her face. He knew, she thought unsteadily; he knew about Emma. But what did he know? Did he realise she was his daughter? How had he found out?
    ‘I—I—’
    The words stuck in her throat as she suddenly realised he hadn’t been surprised to see her. She’d been so caught up with her own feelings, she hadn’t identified the most important aspect of this meeting. He’d known she was coming. And for some reason he hadn’t tried to stop her. Why? Why would he want to see her again? Unless Emma was the key.
    Her mouth was dry, and she resorted to a gulp of wine to try and loosen her tongue. But all she succeeded in doing was choking herself, and she had to stand there coughing helplessly while Alejandro came forward and took the glass out of her shaking hand.
    ‘I think our guest is too tired to answer your questions tonight, Alex.’ Anita came to her rescue, and Isobel was grateful—although she couldn’t help the ungraciousthought that the woman had resented Alejandro’s attention being focussed on someone else and not her. Turning, she snapped her fingers at the