Free The Buenos Aires Marriage Deal by Maggie Cox Page B

he was tired by the time I got him home. He’s been out for the count for about half an hour or so.’ Warily, Frances glanced up at the dark-haired Adonis who was currently making Briana’s tiny hallway resemble the entrance to a doll’s house instead of a normalsized dwelling. ‘I presume this must be—’
    ‘Pascual Dominguez.’ Standing aside to make the awkward introductions, Briana somehow made her lips form a smile. ‘Adán’s father. Pascual—this is my mother, Frances.’
    Catching the instantly disturbing drift of his expensive cologne as he extended his hand past her to greet her mother, Briana sensed his disapproval of her informality.
    Her intuition was proved right when he announced, ‘Mrs Douglas…it is good to meet you at last.’
    ‘As I’m sure you heard me tell Briana just now,’ her mother replied, ‘Adán is asleep and may not stir for a while.’
    ‘It does not matter. I have waited a long time already to see my son. I will wait as long as I have to until he wakes.’ This time Pascual made no bones about casting his meaningful gaze at Briana directly, so that she couldn’t mistake his displeasure with her.
    ‘Well…shall we go into the living room, then? That’s where he’ll be if he’s asleep on the couch.’
    ‘And in the meantime…shall I make some tea for us all?’ Frances suggested, her even-voiced tone acting as temporary balm to the tension that had enveloped them all.
    ‘A cup of coffee would be most welcome…black, no sugar… gracias. ’
    ‘And you, darling?’ Briana’s mother started to move towards the long galley kitchen at the end of the hallway, with its cheerful red and white checked curtains.
    Hardly able to think straight for the emotion that was tightening her chest, Briana answered distractedly. ‘Tea would be great—thanks.’
    ‘After you.’ Observing her glance towards the living room door, Pascual gestured that she precede him.
    In the small square room with its pine bookshelves crammed with books and CDs, its small television, compact music system and carpeted floor strewn with various children’s toys, her small son was lying asleep on the smaller of the two dark gold couches. His slumbering form was covered warmly with a cheerful patchwork rug Briana had made last winter. On the pillow his curly dark hair framed a sweetly heart-shaped face that wouldn’t shame an angel, she thought lovingly, her heart constricting with a surge of strong emotion as she gazed down at him.
    Sensing Pascual move next to her, she glanced up, her pulse racing hard at the realisation that his handsome face was equally affected. He was moved by what he saw. Adán was an exceptionally beautiful child, and people often stopped her in the street to tell her so. But then how could he not be beautiful when he had a father who looked like Pascual? Briana concluded.
    Straight away she knew that he could see that the boy was his. At least there would be no degrading speculation about paternity to deal with, on top of all the other accusations that he’d levelled her way, she mused with relief.
    ‘He looks not unlike myself as a small boy,’ he commented quietly beside her, the warmth in his voice replacing its previous chill.
    ‘He’s often mistaken for a girl with those lustrous curls!’ Briana smiled back. ‘But I can’t bring myself to cut his hair short yet.’
    ‘My mother would feel the same if she saw him. She had the same dilemma with me.’
    ‘Did she?’
    Almost afraid to say anything, in case she broke the suddenly intimate spell that seemed to enfold them, Briana crossed her arms over her silk shirt and chewed apprehensively down on her lip. She remembered Paloma Dominguez well. The woman was as tall and striking-looking as her son, and could be equally intimidating. Once upon a time she had been one of the world’s most famous fashion models. It was hard to imagine her as a relaxed young mum, making a fuss of her beautiful little boy…
    ‘How long