There can be no resistance...only surrender!

Waitress Belle Langtry’s night of no regrets with ruthless playboy Santiago Velazquez was never meant to be more than a sinfully sweet memory. Until fate has other plans, and Belle finds herself carrying the baby she never thought possible!

Santiago has long rejected all notions of fatherhood, so Belle’s news is shocking. He might refuse to trust her, but Santiago won’t let Belle escape his claim—to her or their child! His plan? To bind Belle with his ring, and keep her in thrall to him with his touch!

Santiago’s voice was low, controlled, but Belle felt his cold fury. He was all gorgeous on the outside, she thought. Too bad his soul was even harder than his body.

“You made your choice,” she whispered. “You abandoned us. This baby is mine now. Mine alone.”

He lifted a dark eyebrow. “That’s not how paternity works.”

“It is if I say it is.”

“Then why tell me you’re pregnant at all?”

“Because three days ago I was foolish enough to hope you could change. Now I know it would be better for my baby to have no father at all than a man like you.” She lifted her chin. “Now, get off my land.”

Growing dangerously still, Santiago stared at her, jaw tight.

“Let me tell you what’s going to happen, Belle.” As he looked at her his voice was low and deep, almost a purr. “You’re going to marry me.”

Was he crazy or was she?

“Marry you?” Belle gasped. “Are you out of your mind? I hate you!”

“I’ll admit I made a mistake, trusting you. I should have known better. I should have known your innocence was a lie. I shall pay for that…” He moved closer, with a gleam in his dark eyes. “But so will you.”

Secret Heirs of Billionaires

There are some things money can’t buy…

Living life at lightning pace, these magnates are no strangers to stakes at their highest. It seems they’ve got it all… That is until they find out that there’s an unplanned item to add to their list of accomplishments!

Achieved:

1. Successful business empire

2. Beautiful women in their bed

3. An heir to bear their name?

Though every billionaire needs to leave his legacy in safe hands, discovering a secret heir shakes up his carefully orchestrated plan in more ways than one!

Uncover their secrets in:

Unwrapping the Castelli Secret by Caitlin Crews

Brunetti’s Secret Son by Maya Blake

The Secret to Marrying Marchesi by Amanda Cinelli

Demetriou Demands His Child by Kate Hewitt

The Desert King’s Secret Heir by Annie West

The Sheikh’s Secret Son by Maggie Cox

The Innocent’s Shameful Secret by Sara Craven

The Greek’s Pleasurable Revenge by Andie Brock

The Secret Kept from the Greek by Susan Stephens

Look out for more stories in the Secret Heirs of Billionaires series, coming soon!

Carrying the Spaniard’s Child

Jennie Lucas

www.millsandboon.co.uk

USA TODAY bestselling author JENNIE LUCAS’s parents owned a bookstore and she grew up surrounded by books, dreaming about faraway lands. A fourth-generation Westerner, she went east at sixteen to boarding school on scholarship, wandered the world, got married, then finally worked her way through college before happily returning to her hometown. A 2010 RITA® Award finalist and 2005 Golden Heart® Award winner, she lives in Idaho with her husband and children.

Books by Jennie Lucas

Mills & Boon Modern Romance

Uncovering Her Nine Month Secret

The Sheikh’s Last Seduction

To Love, Honour and Betray

A Night of Living Dangerously

The Virgin’s Choice

One Night With Consequences

The Consequence of His Vengeance

A Ring for Vincenzo’s Heir

Nine Months to Redeem Him

Wedlocked!

Baby of His Revenge

At His Service

The Consequences of That Night

Princes Untamed

Dealing Her Final Card

A Reputation for Revenge

One Night In…

Reckless Night in Rio

Visit the Author Profile page

at millsandboon.co.uk for more titles.

To my husband, my own fairy-tale hero.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Secret Heirs of Billionaires

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

BELLE LANGTRY HAD hated Santiago Velazquez from the moment she’d laid eyes on him.

Well, not the exact moment, of course. She was only human. When they’d first met at their friends’ wedding last September—Belle had been the maid of honor, Santiago the best man—she’d been dazzled by his dark gorgeousness, his height, his broad shoulders and muscular body. She’d looked up at his dark soulful eyes and thought, Wow. Dreams really do come true.

Then Santiago had turned to the groom and suggested out loud that Darius could still “make a run for it” and abandon his bride at the altar. And he’d said it right in front of Letty!

The bride and groom had awkwardly laughed it off, but from that moment, Belle had hated Santiago with a passion. Every word he said was more cynical and infuriating than the last. Within ten minutes, the two of them were arguing; by the end of the wedding, Belle wished he would do the world a favor and die. Being the forthright woman she was, she couldn’t resist telling him so. He’d responded with sarcasm. And that had been their relationship for the last four months.

So of course, Belle thought bitterly, he would be the one to find her now, pacing the dark, snowy garden behind Letty and Darius’s coastal estate. Crying.

Shivering in her thin black dress, she’d been looking toward the wild Atlantic Ocean in the darkness. The rhythmic roar of the waves matched the thrumming of her heart.

All day, Belle had held her friend’s adorable newborn as Letty wept through her father’s funeral. By the end of the evening reception, the pain in Belle’s heart as she held the sweetly sleeping baby had overwhelmed her. Gently giving the baby back to Letty, she’d mumbled an excuse and fled into the dark snow-covered garden.

Outside, an icy wind blew, freezing the tears against Belle’s chapped skin as she stared out into the darkness, heartsick with grief.

She would never have a child of her own.

Never, the ocean sighed back to her. Never, never.

“Belle?” a rough voice called. “Are you out here?”

Santiago! She sucked in her breath. The last man she’d ever want to see her like this!

She could only imagine the arrogant sneer on the Spaniard’s face if he found her crying over her inability to have a child. Ducking behind a frost-covered tree, she held her breath, praying he wouldn’t see her.

“Belle, stop trying to hide,” he said, sounding amused. “Your dress is black, and you’re standing in the snow.”

Gritting her teeth, she stepped out from behind the tree and lied, “I wasn’t hiding.”

“What are you doing out here, then?”

“I just needed some fresh air,” she said desperately, wishing he’d leave her alone.

A beam of light from a second-floor window of the manor house illuminated the hard lines of Santiago’s powerful body in the black suit and well-cut cashmere coat. As their eyes met, electricity coursed through her.

Santiago Velazquez was too handsome, she thought with an unwilling shiver. Too sexy. Too powerful. Too rich.

He was also a selfish, cynical playboy, whose only loyalty was to his own vast fortune. He probably had vaults big enough to swim in, she thought, and pictured him doing a backstroke through hundred-dollar bills. In the meantime he mocked the idea of kindness and respect. She’d heard he treated his one-night stands like unpaid employees. Belle’s expression hardened. Folding her arms, she waited as he strode through the snow toward her.

He stopped a few feet away. “You don’t have a coat.”

“I’m not cold.”

“I can hear your teeth chattering. Are you trying to freeze to death?”

“Why do you care?”

“Me? I don’t,” he said mildly. “If you want to freeze to death, it’s fine with me. But it does seem selfish to force Letty to plan yet another funeral. So tedious, funerals. And weddings. And christenings. All of it.”

“Any human interaction that involves emotion must be tedious to you,” Belle said.

He was nearly a foot taller than her own petite height. His shoulders were broad and he wore arrogance like a cloak that shadowed him in the snow. She’d heard women call him Ángel, and she could well understand the nickname. He had a face like an angel—a dark angel, she thought irritably, if heaven needed a bouncer to keep lesser people out and boss everyone around. Santiago might be rich and handsome but he was also the most cynical, callous, despicable man on earth. He was everything she hated most.

“Wait.” His black eyes narrowed as he stared down at her in the faint crystalline moonlight frosting the clouds. “Are you crying, Belle?”

She blinked hard and fast to hide the evidence. “No.”

“You are.” His cruel, sensual lips curved mockingly. “I know you have a pathetically soft heart, but this is pushing the limits even for you. You barely knew Letty’s father, and yet here I find you mourning him after the funeral, alone in the snow like a tragic Victorian madwoman.”

Normally that would have gotten a rise out of her. But not today. Belle’s heart was too sad. And she knew if she showed the slightest emotion he’d only mock her more. Wishing desperately that Santiago hadn’t been the one to find her, she said, “What do you want?”

“Darius and Letty have gone to bed. Letty wanted to come out and look for you but the baby needed her. I’m supposed to show you to your guest room and turn on the house alarm once you’re brought in safe and sound.”

His husky, Spanish-accented voice seemed to be laughing at her. She hated how, even disliking him as much as she did, he made her body shiver with awareness.

“I changed my mind about staying here tonight.” The last thing she wanted was to spend the night tossing and turning in a guest room, with no company but her own agonizing thoughts. “I just want to go home.”

“To Brooklyn?” Santiago looked at her incredulously. “It’s too late. Everyone wanting to get back to the city left hours ago. The ice storm just closed the expressway. It might not reopen for hours.”

“Why are you even still here? Don’t you have a helicopter and a couple of planes? It can’t be because you actually care about Letty and Darius.”

“The guest rooms here are nice and I’m tired. Two days ago I was in Sydney. Before that, Tokyo.” He yawned. “Tomorrow I leave for London.”

“Poor you,” said Belle, who had always dreamed of traveling but never managed to save the money, even for an economy ticket.

His sensual lips curved upward. “I appreciate your sympathy. So if you don’t mind wrapping up your self-indulgent little Wuthering Heights routine I’d like to show you to your room so I can go to mine.”

“If you want to go, go.” She turned away so he couldn’t see her exhausted, tearstained expression. “Tell Letty I’d already left. I’ll get a train back to the city.”

“Are you serious?” He looked down at her skeptically. “How will you reach the station? I doubt trains are even running—”

“Then I’ll walk!” Her voice was suddenly shrill. “I’m not sleeping here!”

Santiago paused.

“Belle,” he said, in a voice more gentle than she’d ever heard from him before. “What’s wrong?”

Reaching out, he put his hand on her shoulder, then lifted it to her cheek. It was the first time he had ever touched her, and even in the dark and cold the touch of his hand spun through her like a fire. Her lips parted.

“If something was wrong, why would I tell you?”

His smile increased. “Because you hate me.”

“And?”

“So whatever it is, you can tell me. Because you don’t give a damn what I think.”

“True,” she said wryly. It was tempting. She pressed her lips together. “But you might tell the world.”

“Do I ever share secrets?”

“No,” she was forced to admit. “But you do say mean and insulting things. You are heartless and rude and...”

“Only to people’s faces. Never behind their backs.” His voice was low. “Tell me, Belle.”

Clouds covered the moon, and they were briefly flooded in darkness. She suddenly was desperate to share her grief with someone, anyone. And it was true she couldn’t have a lower opinion of him. He probably couldn’t think less of her, either.

That thought was oddly comforting. She didn’t have to pretend with Santiago. She didn’t have to be positive and hopeful at all times, the cheerleader who tried to please everyone, no matter what. Belle had learned at a young age never to let any negative feelings show. If you were honest about your feelings, it only made people dislike you. It only made people leave, even and especially the ones you loved.

So Santiago was the only one she could tell. The only one she could be truly herself with. Because, heck, if he permanently left her life, she’d throw a party.

She took a deep breath. “It’s the baby.”

“Little Howie?”

“Yes.”

“I had a hard time with him, too. Babies.” He rolled his eyes. “All those diapers, all that crying. But what can you do? Some people still seem to want them.”

“I do.” The moon broke through the clouds, and Belle looked up at him with tears shimmering in the moonlight. “I want a baby.”

He stared down at her, then snorted. “Of course you do. Romantic idiot like you. You want love, flowers, the whole package.” He shrugged. “So why cry over it? If you are foolish enough to want a family, go get one. Settle down, buy a house, get married. No one is stopping you.”

“I... I can’t get pregnant,” she whispered. “Ever. It’s impossible.”

“How do you know?”

“Because...” Belle looked down at the tracks in the snow. The moonlight caused strange shadows, mingling her footsteps and his. “I just know. It’s medically impossible.”

She braced herself for his inevitable questions. Medically impossible how? What happened? When and why?

But he surprised her.

Reaching out, he just pulled her into his arms, beneath his black cashmere coat. She felt the sudden comfort of his warmth, his strength, as he caressed her long dark hair. “Everything will be all right.”

She looked up at him, her heart in her throat. She was aware of the heat of his body against hers.

“You must think I’m a horrible person,” she said, pulling away. “A horrible friend for envying Letty, when she just lost her father. I spent all day holding her sweet baby and envying her. I’m the worst friend in the world.”

“Stop.” Cupping her face, he looked down at her fiercely. “You know I think you’re a fool...existing in a pink cloud of candy-coated dreams. Someday you will lose those rose-colored glasses and learn the truth about the heartless world...”

She whispered brokenly. “I—”

He put his finger on her lips. “But even I can see you’re a good friend.”

His finger felt warm against her tingling lips. She had the sudden shocking desire to kiss it, to wrap her lips around his finger and suck it gently. She’d never had such a shocking thought before—she, an inexperienced virgin! But as little as she liked him, something about the wickedly sexy Spaniard attracted —and scared—her.

Trembling, she twisted her head away. She remembered all those women he’d famously seduced, those women she’d scorned as fools for being willing notches on his bedpost. And for the first time, she sympathized with them, as she herself fully felt the potent force of his charm.

“You’re lucky, actually.” Santiago gave her a crooked half grin. “Babies? Marriage? Who would want to be stuck with such a thankless responsibility as a family?” He shook his head. “No good would have come of it. It’s a prison sentence. Now you can have something better.”

She stared at him. “Better than a family?”

He nodded.

“Freedom,” he said quietly.

“But I don’t want freedom.” Her voice was small. “I want to be loved.”

“We all want things we can’t have,” he said roughly.

“How would you know? You’ve never wanted anything, not without taking it.”

“You’re wrong. There has been something I’ve wanted. For four months. Someone. But I can’t have her.”

Four months. Suddenly, Belle’s heart was beating wildly in her chest. He couldn’t mean...couldn’t possibly mean...

Could Santiago Velazquez, the famous New York billionaire, a man who had supermodels for the asking, really want Belle—a plump, ordinary waitress from small-town Texas?

Their eyes held in the moonlight. Sparks ran through her body, from her earlobes to her hair to her breasts to the soles of her feet.

“I want her. I can’t have her,” he said in a low voice. “Not even if she were standing in front of me now.”

“Why not?” she breathed.

“Ah.” His lips twisted. “She wants love. I see it in her face. I hear it in her voice. She craves love like the air she breathes. If I took her, if I made her mine, she would turn all her romantic longings on me. And be destroyed by it.” He looked down at her, his eyes dark and deep. “Because as much as I want her body, I do not want her heart.”

Behind the soft silver halo on his black hair, she could dimly see the shadow of the manor house, and hear the ocean waves pounding on the unseen shore.

Then Belle’s eyes suddenly narrowed.

He was playing with her, she realized. Toying with her. Like a sharp-clawed cat with a mouse. “Stop it.”

“What?”

She lifted her chin. “Are you bored, Santiago? Do you want some company in your bed and I’m the only one around?” She glared at him. “Other women might fall for your world-weary playboy act. But I don’t believe a word of it. If you really wanted me, you wouldn’t let anything stand in the way, not my feelings and certainly not the risk of hurting me. You would seduce me without conscience. That’s what a playboy does. So obviously, you don’t want me. You’re just bored.”

“You’re wrong, Belle.” Roughly, he pulled her against his body, beneath his expensive black cashmere coat. She felt his warmth as his dark eyes searched hers hungrily. “I’ve wanted you since Darius and Letty’s wedding. Since the first time you told me to go to hell.” His sensual lips curved as he cupped her cheek and looked down at her intently. “But whatever you think of me, I’m not in the business of purposefully making naïve young women love me.”

Her whole body was tingling with energy, with fear, with a feeling that could only be desire. She fought it desperately.

“You think I’d immediately fall in love with you?”

“Yes.”

She gave an incredulous snort. “You have no problems with your ego, do you?”

His dark gaze seared her. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

“You’re wrong.” She gave a careless shrug. “I do want love, it’s true. If I met a man I could respect and admire, I might easily fall in love. But that’s not you, Santiago.” She looked at him evenly. “No matter how rich or sexy you might be. So if you want me, too bad. I don’t want you.”

His expression changed. His eyes glittered in the moonlight.

“You don’t?” Reaching out, he ran his thumb lightly against her trembling bottom lip and whispered, “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she breathed, unable to pull away, or to look from his dark gaze.

He ran his hand down her arm, looking down at her as if she were the most beautiful, desirable creature on earth. “And if I took you to my bed, you wouldn’t fall in love?”

“Not even remotely. I think you’re a total bastard.”

But even as she spoke, Belle couldn’t stop herself from shivering. She knew he felt it. The corners of his lips twisted upward in grim masculine satisfaction.

Softly, he ran his hand down through her hair. Her body’s shivering intensified. As she breathed in his scent of sandalwood and firelight, she felt the strength and power of his body against hers, beneath his long black coat.

“Then there’s no reason to hold back. Forget love.” He gently lifted her chin. “Forget regret, forget pain, forget everything fate has denied you. For one night, take pleasure in what you can have, right here and now.”

“You mean, take pleasure in you?”

She’d tried to say the words sarcastically, but the way her heart was hammering in her chest, her tone came out wrong. Instead of sarcastic, she sounded breathless. Yearning.

“For one night, let me give you joy. Without strings. Without consequences. Stop thinking so much about the future,” he said in a low voice, his hand cupping her cheek. “For one night, you can know what it feels like to be truly, recklessly alive.”

His black eyes seared hers, and the cold January night sizzled like west Texas in July as an arc of electricity passed between them.

Give herself to him for one night, without consequences? Without strings?

Belle stared up at him, shocked.

She’d never slept with anyone. She’d never even gotten close. She was, in fact, a twenty-eight-year-old virgin, an old maid who’d spent her whole life taking care of others, while failing to achieve a single dream for herself.

No. Her answer was no. Of course it was.

Wasn’t it?

He didn’t give her a chance to answer. Lowering his head, he kissed her cheek, his lips lingering against her skin, moving slowly. Sensuously. She held her breath, and as he drew back, she stared at him with big eyes, her whole body clamoring and clanging like an orchestra.

“All right,” she heard herself say, then gasped at her own recklessness. She opened her mouth to take it back. Then stopped.

For one night, you can know what it feels like to be truly, recklessly alive.

When was the last time she’d felt that way?

Had she ever?

Or had she always been a good girl, trying so hard to please others, to follow the rules, to plan out her life?

What had being good ever done for her—except leave her heartsick and alone?

Santiago’s dark eyes gleamed as he saw her hesitate. He didn’t wait. Wrapping his large hands on her jawline and then sliding them to tangle in her hair, he slowly drew his mouth to hers. She felt the warmth of his breath, sweet like Scotch, against the tender flesh of her skin.

His sensual mouth lowered on hers, hot and demanding, pushing her lips apart. She felt the delicious sweep of his tongue, and the cold winter air between them heated to a thousand degrees.

She’d never been kissed like this before. Never. The tepid caresses she’d endured seven years ago were nothing compared to this ruthlessly demanding embrace, this—dark fire.

She was lost in his arms, in the hot demand of his mouth, of his hands everywhere. Desire swept through her, a tidal wave of need that drowned all thought and reason. She forgot to think, forgot her own name.

She’d never known it could be like this...

She responded uncertainly at first, then soon gripped his shoulders, clutching him to her.

All her hatred for Santiago, all her earlier misery, transformed to heat as he kissed her in the dark winter night on the edge of the sea, invisible waves crashing noisily against the shore.

She didn’t know how long they clung to each other in the cold night, seconds or hours, but when he finally drew away, she knew she’d never be the same. Their breath mingled in the dappled moonlight.

They stared at each other for a split second as scattered snowflakes started to fall.

Wordlessly, he took her hand and pulled her toward the house. She heard the crunch of frozen snow beneath her scuffed black flats, felt the warmth of his hand over hers.

They entered the nineteenth-century mansion, with its dark oak paneling and antique furniture. Inside, it was dark and quiet; it seemed everyone, including the household staff, had gone to bed. Santiago closed the tall, heavy door behind them and punched a code into the security system.

They rushed up the back stairs, hardly able to stop kissing long enough to stumble to the second floor.

Belle shivered. She couldn’t be doing this. Impulsively offering her virginity to a man she didn’t even like, let alone love?

But as he pulled her into a guest bedroom at the far end of the hall, she couldn’t even catch her breath. His long black coat fell to the floor, and he pulled her into his arms. Cupping her face in his hands, he ran his thumbs along her swollen lower lip.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, running his hands through her long brown hair tangled with ice and snowflakes. “Beautiful, and mine...”

Lowering his mouth to hers, he kissed her hungrily. Heat flooded through Belle, making her breasts heavy, swirling low and deep in her core. His hands stroked her deliciously, mesmerizing her with sensation, and by the time she realized he was unzipping her black dress, it was already falling to the floor.

An hour ago, she’d hated him; now she was half-naked in his bedroom.

Setting her back onto his bed, he pulled off his suit jacket, vest and tie. He never took his eyes off her as he unbuttoned his black shirt. His bare chest was chiseled and muscular, curving in the light and shadow. Falling beside her on the bed, he pulled her against him with a growl, kissing her with a hot embrace. He nibbled down her throat, and she tilted her head against the pillow, closing her eyes. He cupped each breast over her white cotton bra and reached beneath the fabric to stroke and thrum the aching nipples beneath.

Unhooking her bra, he tossed it to the floor and lowered his head to suckle one breast, then the other. The sensation was so sharp and wild and new that she gasped, gripping his shoulders tightly.

Moving up, he covered her gasping lips with his own, plundering her mouth before he slowly kissed down her body to her flat, naked belly. His tongue flicked her belly button. Then he kept going down further still.

His hands gripped her hips. He nuzzled between her legs, and she felt the warmth of his breath between her thighs. He held her firmly, gently pressing her legs apart, kissing each of her thighs before he pulled her panties off. Pushing her thighs apart, he teased her with his warm breath, then, with agonizing slowness, he lowered his mouth and tasted her.

The pleasure was so unexpected and explosive that her fingernails dug into his shoulders as his tongue slid against her, hot and wet.

Holding her hips, he worked her with his tongue until she gripped the blanket beneath her, holding her breath until she started to see stars. He licked her softly one moment, then the next plunged his tongue inside her. She heard a voice cry out, and realized the voice was hers.

He swirled his tongue against her, increasing his rhythm and pressure until her back started arching from the bed. He pushed a single thick finger inside her, then two, stretching her wide. She gasped as the pleasure built almost too high to bear. Higher—higher—then—

Soaring to the sky, she exploded into a million pieces, falling to the earth in gently chiming shards. It was like nothing she’d ever experienced. It was pure joy.

Lifting up from her, he ripped off the last of his clothes. Positioning himself between her legs, he gripped her naked hips. As she was still gasping with pleasure, he pushed his huge, thick shaft inside her.

* * *

He’d dreamed of this.

For four months, Santiago had dreamed of seducing the sinfully beautiful woman who’d made it such a point to scorn him. He’d dreamed of having her deliciously full curves in his arms, her body naked beneath his. He’d dreamed of kissing her full pink lips and seeing her lovely face darken with ecstasy. He’d dreamed of taking her, filling her, satiating himself with her.

But now, as he finally pushed inside her, he felt a barrier he had not expected. He froze. He’d never once dreamed of this.

“You’re a virgin?” he breathed in shock.

Slowly, she opened her eyes. “Not anymore.”

He set his jaw. “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” she said in a small voice.

Something in her expression made him tremble. Something in her voice spoke directly to his soul. He felt a strange emotion in his heart: tenderness. He bit out, “You’re lying.”

“Yes.” Her soft, slender arms reached up around his shoulders and pulled him down, down, down against her, tempting him to his own ecstasy and ruin. “But don’t stop,” she whispered. “Please, Santiago...”

Hearing his name on her lips, he sucked in his breath. How could even a romantic, idealistic woman like Belle Langtry be an untouched innocent, in this modern world? A virgin. Santiago was the only man who’d ever touched her, this infuriating, exhilarating, magnificent woman.

His soul felt the danger of getting close to any woman so innocent and bright. It made him want to flee.

But his body, held still deep inside her, felt the opposite as he looked down at her beautiful face, glowing with wanton desire. He shuddered. Ravaging hunger built inside him, thrilling his nerves, coursing down his limbs and centering at his hard core barreled deep inside her.

He lowered his head to hers. His kiss was gentle at first, then deepened, turning to pure light. His hands roamed slowly down her naked body, cupping and caressing her breasts.

She had the most perfect body, curvy and ripe. Any man would die to have a fiery goddess like this in his bed. And that this goddess was also a virgin...

He shuddered a little, and without realizing it, pushed deeper inside her. The soft whisper of a moan escaped her as he lowered his lips to suckle her breasts. Her breath changed to a gasp of ecstasy.

Gripping her hips, he very slowly started to ride her, even as he kissed her lips and caressed her breasts. He sucked her earlobe and slowly licked and nibbled down her neck. He felt her body lift beneath his as new pleasure rose in her, and she began to kiss him back hungrily.

He started to lose the last shreds of his self-control. She was wet, so wet, and somehow her tight sheath accepted all of him. His thrusts became deeper as he wondered if the size of him would be too much for her. But it wasn’t. He felt her tighten around him, gripping her fingernails into his shoulders. But that small pain only added to his building pleasure. When he heard her low gasp rise to a scream of joy he could no longer hold back. His eyes closed in pure ecstasy, his head tossing back as he filled her deeply, until his own roar exploded in the deep dark silence of the bedroom. Flying in a whirlwind, he experienced pure sexual joy such as he’d never known before as he spilled himself into her.

He fell back to the bed against her, eyes closed, cradling her body against his own. For ten seconds, as he held her, he felt a deep peace, a sense of home, sweeter than he’d ever known.

Then his eyes flew open. He was filled with regret so great it tasted like ash in his mouth.

“You were right,” Belle sighed, a hopeful smile on her lovely heart-shaped face. “I feel recklessly alive. That was like nothing I ever dreamed. Pure magic.” She pressed back against his naked chest, pulling his arms more tightly around her, as she said dreamily, “Deep down, maybe you’re not all bad. I might even like you a little.”

Santiago looked down at her grimly in the moonlight from the bedroom window. He’d just known ecstasy that he’d never experienced before.

With a virgin.

A romantic.

Sleeping with Belle had done strange things to him. His body had never known such deep pleasure. And his soul...

She yawned. “I just hope no one heard us.”

“They didn’t,” he said harshly. “Letty and Darius are in the other wing, and this house is made of stone.” Stone like his heart, he reminded himself.

“Good. I’d never live it down if Letty knew, after everything I’ve said about you.”

“What did you say to her?”

“I said you were a selfish bastard without a heart.”

His shoulders tightened. “I’m not offended. It’s true.”

“You’re funny.” She looked up at him sleepily. “You know, no matter what you think, love and marriage aren’t always a prison sentence. Look at Letty and Darius.”

“They look happy,” he said grudgingly, then added, “Looks can be deceiving.”

Her forehead furrowed. “Don’t you believe in anyone? Anything?”

“I believe in myself.”

“You’re a terrible cynic.”

“I see the world as it is, rather than as I wish it could be.” Eternal love? A happy family? At thirty-five, Santiago had seen enough of the world to know those kind of miracles were few and far between. Tragedy was the normal state of the world. “Do you already regret sleeping with me?”

Shaking her head, she smiled up at him, looking kittenish and shy and so damned beautiful that his heart caught in his throat. “You feel so good to me. I’m glad you’re here.” She yawned, closing her eyes, cuddling against him. “I couldn’t bear to be alone tonight. You saved me...”

Pressing against his chest, she fell asleep in seconds.

Santiago yearned to sleep, as well. His body wanted to stay like this, with her, cuddled in this warm bed, taking solace in each other against the cold January night and all the other cold nights to come.

Warning lights were flashing everywhere.

He looked down at her, sweetly sleeping in his arms, so soft and beautiful, so opinionated and dreamy and kind. So optimistic.

You saved me.

Santiago felt bone-weary. Carefully, he disentangled himself from her. Rising from the bed, he walked naked to his coat crumpled on the floor. Pulling his phone from his pocket, he dialed the number of his pilot.

The man struggled not to sound groggy. It was eleven o’clock on a cold winter’s night. “Sir?”

“Come get me,” he replied. “I’m at Fairholme.”

Without waiting for a reply, Santiago hung up. He looked back at Belle one last time, sleeping in his bed, so beautiful in the moonlight. Like an innocent young woman from another time. He couldn’t remember ever being that innocent, not with the upbringing he’d had.

Whatever Belle might say, she would want to love him. She would try, like a moth immolating herself against an unfeeling flame.

Of course she would. He was her first.

His jaw tightened. He never would have seduced her if he’d known. He had a rule. No virgins. No innocent hearts. He never brought anyone to his bed who might actually care.

And he’d just seduced an innocent virgin. The friend of Darius’s wife.

He felt a low self-hatred. After Nadia, he’d vowed never to get involved with anyone again. Why risk your capital on an investment that was a guaranteed loss? Might as well flush your money—or your soul—straight down the drain.

He thought again of Wuthering Heights. He’d never read the book, but he knew it ended badly. It was romance, wasn’t it? That always ended badly. Especially in real life.

Santiago silently dressed, then picked up his overnight bag. But he hesitated at the door, still hearing the wistful echo of her voice.

Don’t you believe in anyone? Anything?

He’d lied to her. He’d told her he believed in himself. But the real answer was no.

Belle would wake up alone in bed and find him gone. No note would be needed. She’d get the message. He really was the heartless bastard he claimed to be.

As if there was ever any doubt, he jeered at himself. Regret and self-loathing filled him as he turned down the hall.

He wished he’d never touched her.

CHAPTER TWO

SHIVERING IN THE warm July twilight, Belle stood on the sidewalk of Santiago’s elegant residential street on Manhattan’s Upper East Side. She watched well-dressed guests step out of glossy chauffeured cars, climbing up the steps and ringing at his door, to be greeted by his butler.

A butler, she thought bitterly. Who had a butler in this day and age?

Santiago Velazquez—that was who.

But the butler wasn’t the problem. Belle watched a crowd of beautiful young socialites, giggling and preening, hurry up the steps of his brownstone in six-inch heels and designer cocktail dresses.

She looked down at her own loose, oversized T-shirt, stretchy knit shorts and flip-flops. She wasn’t wearing makeup. Her brown hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail. She’d fit in at his fancy party like a dog driving a car.

She didn’t belong here. And she didn’t want to see Santiago again—ever—after the cold way he’d treated her after they’d slept together in January. Losing her virginity in a one-night stand with the heartless, cynical playboy was a mistake she would regret the rest of her life.

But she couldn’t leave New York. Not without telling him she was pregnant.

Pregnant. Every time she thought of it, she caught her breath. It was a miracle. She didn’t have any other word to describe it, when seven years ago she’d been told very firmly by a doctor that it could never happen. Pregnant.

A dazed smile traced Belle’s lips as she rested her hands gently over the wide curve of her belly now. Somehow, in that disastrous night when Santiago had seduced her, this one amazing, impossible thing had happened. She’d gotten her heart’s deepest desire: a baby of her own.

There was just one bad thing about it.

Her smile faded. Of all the men on earth to be her unborn baby’s father...

She’d tried to tell him; she’d left multiple messages asking him to call her back. He hadn’t. She’d been almost glad. It gave her a good excuse to do what she wanted to do—leave New York without telling him he was going to be a father.

But her friend Letty had convinced her to make one last try. “Secrets always come out,” she’d pleaded. “Don’t make my mistake.”

So, against her better judgment, here Belle was, stopping at his luxury brownstone on her way out of town. The last place she wanted to be.

Just thinking of facing Santiago for the first time since he’d snuck out of her bed in the middle of the night, she wanted to turn and run for her pickup truck parked two blocks away, then head south on the turnpike, stomp on the gas and not look back until she reached Texas.

But she’d already made the decision to try one last time to give him the life-changing news that he was going to be a father. Belle always tried to do the right thing, even if it hurt. She wasn’t going to turn coward now. Not over him.

Tightening her hands into fists, Belle waited until the last limousine departed, then crossed the street in the fading twilight. Her body shook as she walked up the stone steps and knocked on the big oak door.

The butler took one look at her, then started to close the door as he said scornfully, “Staff and delivery entrance at the back.”

Belle blocked the door with her foot. “Excuse me. I need to see Santiago. Please.”

The butler looked astonished at her familiar use of his employer’s first name, as if a talking rat had just squeaked a request to see the mayor of New York. “Who are you?”

“Tell him Belle Langtry urgently needs to see him.” She raised her chin, struggling to hide her pounding heart. “It’s an emergency.”

With a scowl, the butler opened the door just enough for her to get through. The soles of Belle’s flip-flops slapped against the marble floor of the mansion’s elegant foyer. She had one brief glimpse of the beautiful, wealthy society crowd in the ballroom, sipping champagne as waiters passed through with silver trays. Then she sucked in her breath as she saw the party’s host, head and shoulders above the crowd. With his height and dark good looks, Santiago Velazquez towered over his guests in every way.

The butler pointed down an opposite hallway haughtily. “Wait in there.”

Through the door, Belle found a home office with leather-bound books and a big dark wood desk. Knees weak, she sank into the expensive swivel chair. Her cheeks still burned from seeing Santiago from a distance. Thinking of seeing him face to face, she was terrified.

The night he’d taken her virginity, passion and emotion had been like a whirlwind, flinging her up into the sky, to the stars, scattering pieces of her soul like diamonds across the night. It had been so sensual, so spectacular. More than she’d even dreamed it could be.

Right until the moment he’d abandoned her, and she’d had to go down to breakfast alone. She’d had to hide her hurt and bewilderment, and smile at Letty and Darius and their baby, pretending nothing had happened, that nothing was wrong. That was how cold-hearted Santiago was. He’d only promised one night, true. But he hadn’t even been able to stick that out.

Leaving Fairholme, she’d returned to her tiny apartment in Brooklyn, which she shared with two rude, parent-funded roommates who’d mocked her dreams, her Texas accent—which was barely noticeable!—and her job as a waitress. Normally she would have let their taunts roll off her like water off a duck’s back, but after her night with Santiago, she’d felt restless, irritable and hopeless, as she continued to be rejected at auditions, with a day job that barely paid the bills.

A month later, when she’d discovered she was pregnant, everything had changed. Her baby deserved better than this apartment shared with strangers, an insecure future and unpaid bills. Her baby deserved better than a father who couldn’t be bothered to return phone calls. It was a bitter thought.

Belle had come to New York with such high hopes. After nearly a decade spent raising her two younger brothers, she’d finally left her small town at twenty-seven, determined to make her dreams come true.

Instead, she’d made a mess of everything.

She’d dreamed of making her fortune? She now had ten dollars less in her wallet than when she’d left Texas eighteen months ago.

She’d dreamed of seeing her name in lights? She’d been rejected from every talent agency in New York.

But worst of all... Belle swallowed hard... She’d dreamed that she would finally find love, real love, the kind that would last forever. Instead, she’d allowed herself to get knocked up by a man she hated.

Belle had had enough of New York. She was going home. Her two suitcases were already packed in her truck, ready to go. There was only one thing left on her to-do list.

Tell Santiago Velazquez he was going to be a father.

But now, she suddenly wasn’t sure she could do it. Even seeing him in the ballroom, from a distance, had knocked her for a loop. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe she shouldn’t stay...

Santiago pushed through the door. When he saw her sitting in his chair, his glare was like a blast of heat, his tall, powerful body barely contained by the well-cut suit. “What the hell are you doing here?”

After all these months, this was how he greeted her? She stiffened in the chair, folding her arms over her belly. “Good to see you, too.”

Closing the door behind him, Santiago pierced her with his hard, black eyes and said dangerously, “I asked you a question. What are you doing here, Belle? I think I made it very clear that I never wanted to see you again.”

“You did.”

Santiago moved closer in the shadows of the study. “Why did you trick my butler into letting you in, telling him there was an emergency?”

“It wasn’t a trick. It’s true.”

“An emergency. Really.” His lips twisted scornfully. “Let me guess. After all these months, you’re realized you can’t live without me, and you’re here to declare eternal love.”

She flinched at the cold derision in his voice.

“God help any woman who truly loved you.” She took a deep breath, then glared back at him. “Don’t worry. I hate you plenty. More than ever.”

A strange expression flashed across his features, then he gave her a cold smile. “Fantastic. So why did you interrupt my party?”

He was glaring at her with such hatred. How could she possibly tell him she was pregnant with his baby? “I came to tell you... I’m leaving New York....”

“That’s your emergency?” He gave an incredulous laugh. “One more thing to celebrate today, on top of closing a business deal.”

Her hackles rose. “Let me finish!”

“So do it, then.” He folded his arms, looking down at her as if he were king of the mountain and she was just a peasant in the dirt. “And let me get back to my guests.”

She took a deep breath.

“I’m pregnant.”

Her small voice reverberated in the silence of the study. His black eyes widened in almost comical shock.

“What?”

Slowly, she rose from the chair, dropping her arms to her sides so he could see her baby bump beneath her pregnancy-swollen breasts and oversized T-shirt. For a moment, he didn’t speak, and she held her breath, afraid to meet his gaze. Some stupid part of her still hoped against hope that he would surprise her. That he would suddenly change back to that warm, irresistible man she’d seen so briefly that cold January night. That he’d gather her into his arms and kiss her joyfully at the news.

Those hopes were quickly dashed.

“Pregnant?”

She risked a look at him. His jaw was hard, his eyes dark with rage.

“Yes,” she choked out.

She never expected what he did next.

Pulling her close, he put his large, broad hands over her cotton T-shirt, to feel the unmistakable swell of her pregnant belly.

He dropped his hands as if he’d been burned. “You said it was medically impossible.”

“I thought it was...”

“You said you could never get pregnant!”

“It’s a...a miracle.”

“Miracle!” He snorted, then narrowed his eyes. He slowly looked her over. “And here I thought you didn’t have what it took to be on Broadway. No gold digger ever lied to my face so convincingly. I actually thought you were some angelic little innocent. Quite the little actress after all.”

That low, husky, Spanish-accented voice cut right through her heart, and she staggered back. “You think I got pregnant on purpose?”

He gave a low laugh. “You really had me going with the way you defended true love. Letting me find you alone, sobbing in the garden over the fact that you could never, ever have a baby. I’m impressed. I had no idea you were such an accomplished liar.”

“I didn’t lie!”

“Cut the act, and get to the part where you give me a price.”

“Price?” she said, bewildered.

“There’s only one reason you would deliberately trick me into not using a condom when you fluttered your eyes and lured me into bed—”

Her voice came out an enraged squeak. “I never did that!”

“And that’s money. But I’ll admit,” he said carelessly, looking her over, “you earned it. No woman has ever tricked me so thoroughly. Except—” His expression changed, then he set his jaw. “How much do you want?”

“I don’t want money.” The room was spinning around her. “I just thought you had the right to know!”

“Perfecto,” he said coolly. Going to the door, he opened it. “You told me. Now get the hell out.”

Belle stared at him in shock, astounded that any man could react to news of his unborn son or daughter so coldly, refusing to even show interest, much less take responsibility! “That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”

“What did you expect?” he drawled. “That I’d fall to one knee and beg you to marry me? Sorry to disappoint you.”

Belle stared up at him, incredulous. She’d waited for twenty-eight years, dreaming of Prince Charming, dreaming of true love—and this was the man she’d slept with!

Anger rose like bile in her throat. “Wow. You figured me out. Yes, I’m desperate to marry you, Santiago. Who wouldn’t want to be the bride of the nastiest, most cold-hearted man on earth? And raise a baby with you?” She gave a harsh laugh. “What an amazing father you would make!”

His expression hardened. “Belle—”

“You call me a liar. A gold digger. When you know I was a virgin the night you seduced me!” She lifted her chin, trembling with emotion. “Was this what you meant when you called me naïve? Did you decide you wanted to be the one to show me the truth about the heartless world?”

“Look—”

“I never should have come here.” Tears were burning the backs of her eyes. But she’d let him see her cry once, that dark January night, and he’d lured her into destruction with his sweet kisses and honeyed words. She’d die before she let him ever see her weak again. “Forget about the baby. Forget I even exist.” Stopping at the door, she looked back at him one last time. “I wish any man but you could have been the father of my baby,” she choked out. “It’s a mistake I’ll regret the rest of my life.”

Turning, she left, rushing past the snooty butler and beautiful, rich guests who looked like they’d never had a single problem in their glamorous lives. She went outside, nearly tripping down the steps into the cooling night air. She ran halfway down the block in her flip-flops before she realized Santiago wasn’t following her.

Good. She didn’t care. When she reached her old 1978 Chevy pickup, she started up the engine with a roar. Her hands didn’t stop shaking until she was past the Lincoln Tunnel.

From the first day they’d met, she’d known Santiago was dark-hearted poison. How could she have been so stupid to let him seduce her?

For one night, let me give you joy. Without strings. Without consequences.

Belle choked out a sob as she gripped the steering wheel, driving south on the Jersey Turnpike. She was thrilled about the baby, but what she would have given to have any other man as the father!

For the last few months, when Santiago hadn’t returned her phone messages, she’d told herself that she and the baby would be better off without him. But part of her had secretly hoped for another miracle—that if she told Santiago she was pregnant, he’d want to be a father. A husband. That they could all love each other, and be happy.

So stupid.

She wiped her eyes. Instead Santiago had not only cavalierly abandoned his unborn baby, he’d insulted Belle and thrown her out of his house for daring to tell him she was pregnant!

The truly shocking thing was that she was even surprised. He’d made his feelings clear from the beginning. He thought babies were a thankless responsibility and love was for suckers.

Belle cried until her eyes burned, then at midnight, pulled over to a roadside motel to sleep fitfully till dawn.

The next day, the hypnotic road started to calm her. She started feeling like she’d dodged a bullet. She didn’t need a cold, heartless man wrecking her peace of mind and breaking their child’s heart. Better that Santiago abandon them now rather than later.

By the third day, as the mile markers passed and she left the green rolling hills of east Texas behind, she started to recognize the familiar landscape of home, and her heart grew lighter. There was something soothing about the wide horizons stretching out forever, with nothing but sagebrush and the merciless summer sun in the unrelenting blue sky.

Feeling a sweet flutter inside her, Belle put a hand to her belly. “So be it,” she whispered aloud. This baby would be hers alone. She would spend the rest of her life appreciating this miracle, devoting herself to her child.

It was still morning, but already growing hot. The air conditioning in her pickup didn’t work, but both windows were rolled down, so it was all right. Though she was lucky it wasn’t raining because one of them wouldn’t roll back up.

As she drew in to the edges of her small town, she took a deep breath. Home. Though it wasn’t the same, without her younger brothers. Ray now lived in Atlanta and twenty-one-year-old Joe in Denver. But at least here, the world made sense.

But as she pulled into the dirt driveway, she abruptly slammed on the brake.

A big black helicopter was parked in the sagebrush prairie, tucked behind her house.

She sucked in her breath. A helicopter? Then she saw the two hulking bodyguards prowling nearby. That could only mean...

With an intake of breath, she looked straight at the old wooden house with the peeling paint. Her heart stopped.

Standing on the wooden porch, with arms grimly folded, was Santiago.

What was he doing here?

Fear pounded through her as she turned off the engine of her truck.

With a deep breath, Belle got out of her old pickup, tossing her long brown ponytail, slamming the door with a rusty squeak.

“What are you doing in Texas?” She lifted her chin to hide the tremble in her voice. “Let me guess. Did you think up some new ways to insult me?”

He came down the rickety wooden steps toward her, his black eyes glittering. “Three nights ago, you showed up at my house with a very shocking accusation.”

“You mean I accused you of getting me pregnant?” Waving her arm, she said furiously, “Such a horrible accusation! No wonder you wanted me to get the hell out!”

Standing on the last step above her, he ground his teeth. “I was calling your bluff. It was a negotiation. I expected you to swiftly return with a demand for a specific sum of money.”

Calling her announcement of pregnancy a negotiation! He was just the worst! A lump rose in her throat. Blinking fast, she turned toward his entourage and helicopter in the field. She said evenly, “How did you find my address?”

“Easy.”

“You must have been waiting for hours.”

“Twenty minutes.”

“Twenty! How?” She gasped. “There was no way you could know when I’d get here. Even I didn’t know exactly!”

He gave a grim smile. “That was more difficult.”

“Were you tracking my truck? Spying on me?”

“Stop changing the subject,” he said coldly. He stepped closer on the packed dirt driveway, towering a foot over her. His black eyes traced the length of her body, from her oversized T-shirt to her shorts to her flip-flops, and a flash of heat coursed through her. “You were telling the truth? The baby is mine?”

“Of course the baby’s yours!”

“How can I trust a proven liar?”

“When did I lie?” she said indignantly.

“‘I can’t get pregnant, ever,’” he mimicked. “‘It’s impossible.’”

“You are such a jerk.” Belle shivered, sweating beneath the hot Texas sun.

His voice had been low, controlled, but she felt his cold fury. He was all gorgeous on the outside, she thought, like melted chocolate with his soulful Spanish eyes and black hair and hard-muscled body. Too bad his soul was even harder than his body. He had a soul like flint. Like ice.

Just when she’d been counting her blessings that he was out of their lives, here he was, pushing back in. For what purpose?

“You made your choice,” she whispered. “You abandoned us. This baby is mine now. Mine alone.”

He lifted a dark eyebrow. “That’s not how paternity works.”

“It is if I say it is.”

“Then why tell me you were pregnant at all?”

“Because three days ago I was foolish enough to hope you could change. Now I know it would be better for my baby to have no father at all than a man like you.” She lifted her chin. “Now get off my land.”

Growing dangerously still, Santiago stared at her, jaw tight. Without a word, he turned to stare across the stark horizon against the wide blue sky. Against her will, her eyes traced the golden glow of the sun gleaming against his olive-colored skin, the chiseled cheekbones, the dark scruff on his jaw.

“Let me tell you what’s going to happen, Belle.” When he looked back at her, his voice was low and deep, almost a purr. “Today, you’re going to get a paternity test.”

“What? Forget it!”

“And if it’s proven that the baby’s mine,” his black eyes glittered, “you’re going to marry me.”

Was he crazy or was she?

“Marry you?” Belle gasped. “Are you out of your mind? I hate you!”

“You should be pleased. Your plan worked. Admit you purposefully got pregnant with my child to trap me into marriage. Have that much respect for me, at least.”

“I won’t, because it’s not true!”

“I’ll admit I made a mistake, trusting you. I should have known better. I should have known your innocence was a lie. I shall pay for that.” He moved closer with a gleam in his dark eyes. “But so will you.”

A shiver went through her.

“I would never marry someone I hate,” she whispered.

“You’re acting like you have a choice. You don’t.” He gave a cold smile. “You’ll do what I say. And if the baby is mine...then so are you.”

CHAPTER THREE

SANTIAGO VELAZQUEZ HAD learned the hard way that there were two types of people in the world: delusional dreamers who hid from the harsh truth of the world, and those clear-eyed few who could face it, and fight for what they wanted.

Belle Langtry was a dreamer. He’d known that the day they’d met, at their friends’ wedding last September, when she’d chirped annoyingly about the bridal couple’s “eternal love” in face of their obvious misery. Belle’s rose-colored glasses were so thick she was blind.

But then, you’d have to be blind to see anything hopeful about love or marriage. Love was a lie, and any marriage based on it would be a disaster from start to finish. It could only end in tears. He should know. His mother had been married five times, to every man in Spain except Santiago’s actual father.

But for some reason, when he’d met Belle, so feisty and sure of her own illusions, he hadn’t been irritated. He’d been charmed. Petite, curvaceous, dark-haired, with deep sultry eyes and a body clearly made for sin, she’d gotten under his skin from the beginning. And not just because of her beauty.

Belle hated him, and wasn’t afraid to show it. With one glaringly big exception, Santiago couldn’t remember any woman scorning him so thoroughly. Not since he’d grown into his full height at twenty, and especially not since he’d made his fortune. Women were always hoping to get into his bed, his wallet, or usually both. He hadn’t realized just how boring it had all become until that exact moment that Belle Langtry had insulted him to his face.

She was different from the others. She drew him like a flame in the darkness. Her tart tongue, her apparent innocence, her brazen honesty, had made him lower his defenses. Their single night together had been transcendent and joyful and raw. It had almost made him question his cynical view of the world.

Then, three nights ago, he’d discovered how wrong he’d been about her.

Belle Langtry wasn’t different. She wasn’t innocent. She’d only pretended to wear rose-colored glasses to hide the fact that she was a cold-eyed liar, just like everyone else, plotting for her personal gain. She wasn’t like his mother had been, pathetically desperate for love, deceiving herself to the end of her self-destructive life. No. Belle was like Nadia. A mercenary gold digger who would say or do anything, her eyes always on the glittering prize.

At Fairholme, in the snowy garden that cold January night, when Belle had wept in Santiago’s arms as if her heart was breaking, she’d been lying.

When he’d softly stroked her long dark hair in the moonlight and whispered that everything would be all right, and Belle had looked up, her big dark eyes anguished beneath trembling lashes, she’d been lying.

When she’d told him she could never, ever get pregnant, and lowering his head, he’d kissed her beneath the moonlight scattered with snowflakes, as he tried to distract her from her grief, she’d been lying.

Santiago had known Belle was an actress. He’d just had no idea how good. He hadn’t been fooled in such a way in a long time.

After she’d invaded his cocktail party and dropped the bomb of her pregnancy news, he’d paced and snarled at his guests, wondering what he’d do when Belle finally returned to make her financial demands. If she was truly pregnant with his child, she had leverage. Because as much as Santiago despised the idea of love and marriage, he would never abandon a child the way he himself had once been doubly abandoned.

What would Belle ask for? he’d wondered. Marriage? A trust fund in the baby’s name? Or would she eliminate the middleman and simply ask for a billion-dollar check, written out directly to her?

He’d waited that night, nerves thrumming, but she’d never returned to his town house. The next morning, he’d discovered she’d left New York, just as she’d claimed she intended.

Now, after three days, he knew everything about Belle, except for her medical records, which he expected to have later today. His investigator had easily found her home address in Texas. The GPS of her phone had been tracked through means he didn’t care to know, and someone had watched for her highly visible blue 1978 Chevy at the gas station two hours to the east, the only gas station for miles in this empty Texas prairie. He’d simply taken the helicopter here from his large ranch in south Texas.

But he could hardly be expected to reveal his strategies to an enemy. Which was what Belle now was.

From the day they’d met, she’d acted like she hated him. But he’d never hated her.

Until now.

Santiago stared down at her beneath the unrelenting furnace of the sun blasting heat from the Texas sky. He felt a prickling of sweat on his forehead. Wearing a vest, tie and long-sleeved shirt along with tailored wool trousers, he found the temperature brutal. And it wasn’t even noon.

Santiago set his jaw. He wouldn’t allow Belle to control the situation. Or his baby. He didn’t know her goal, but the way she was playing the game—like a professional poker player without a heart—the amount she wanted must be astronomical. And why would it ever stop, when she’d have the leverage to control him for the rest of her life? She could try to control custody, or make their child hate him through her lies. She could leave Santiago like a fish gasping on a hook.

Belle had deliberately misled him, saying she couldn’t get pregnant. Later, she’d ambushed him with her news and then fled New York, just to show him she meant business. She’d done all this for a reason. To get the upper hand.

But he wouldn’t let her use their innocent baby as a pawn. He couldn’t be forced or tricked into abandoning a child. Not after what he’d endured himself as a boy. Belle didn’t know who she was dealing with. Santiago would scorch the earth to win this war.

His eyes narrowed. She thought she could defeat him? He’d fought his way from an orphanage in Madrid, stowing away at eighteen on a ship to New York City with the equivalent of five hundred dollars in his pocket. Now, he was a billionaire, the majority owner of an international conglomerate that sold everything from running shoes to snack foods on six continents. You didn’t do that by being weak, or letting anyone else win.

Belle was in his world now. His world. His rules.

“I’ll never marry you,” she ground out, her brown eyes shooting sparks. “I’ll never belong to you.”

“You already do, Belle,” he said flatly. “You just don’t know it yet.” Turning, he made a quick gesture to his helicopter pilot, who started the engine.

She gave an incredulous laugh over the rising noise of the helicopter. “You’re crazy!”

Santiago looked down at her. Even now, despising Belle as his enemy, he felt more drawn than ever. She wasn’t conventionally beautiful, perhaps, but somehow she was more seductive than any woman he’d ever known. His eyes unwillingly traced the curve of her cheek. The slope of her graceful neck. The fullness of her pregnancy-swollen breasts.

Belle was right, he thought grimly. He was crazy. Because even knowing her for a lying, almost sociopathic gold digger, he wanted her in his bed more than ever.

“I’d be crazy to abandon my child to you,” he said evenly. He looked over his shoulder at the wooden house in the barren sagebrush field, with only a few wan, spindly trees overlooking a dry creek bed. “Or to this.”

Following his gaze, she looked outraged. “You’re judging me because I don’t live in a palace?”

“I’m judging what you’ve done to escape it,” he said grimly. He knew all about how she’d been raised here, and only left a year and a half before. He wondered if her dream of Broadway stardom had always been a cover story, and she’d planned to hook a rich man from the beginning. Maybe even her friendship with Letty had been contrived, to better throw Belle in the path of wealthy targets.

The only thing good about this isolated, bare land was the view of the endless blue sky. The sky above the dry grass prairie was starkly dramatic. You could see forever. The freedom. The unending loneliness.

But there were all kinds of loneliness. You could be lonely surrounded by others, as he’d learned as a child.

His own son or daughter would never know that kind of loneliness. He or she would never feel unwanted, or alone. He would see to that.

He turned away. “Let’s go.”

“Where?”

“Paternity test.”

“Forget it—”

He whirled on her with narrowed eyes. “You hate me,” he growled. “Fine. I feel the same for you. But does not our child, at least, deserve to know the truth about his parents?”

She glared at him, her eyes glittering with dislike. Then her expression faltered. He’d found the one argument that could sway her.

“Fine,” she bit out.

“You’ll take the test?”

“For my baby’s sake. Not yours.”

He exhaled. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath, wondering if he’d have to physically force her into the helicopter—a very unpleasant thought, especially with a woman who was likely pregnant with his child. He was relieved she wasn’t being so unreasonable.

Then he realized Belle must have decided to change her strategy. She was just shifting her ground, like a boxer. Santiago’s lips pressed together in a thin line. He glanced at his bodyguards, hovering nearby. “Get her things.”

As his men reached into her pickup, Santiago took her arm, leading her forward. Within seconds, she was sitting comfortably beside him on a leather seat inside the luxury helicopter.

“I’ll take the test, but I’m never going to marry you,” she said over the sound of the propellers.

He narrowed his eyes coldly. “We both know this is exactly what you wanted to happen. So stop the act. In your heart, I know you are rejoicing.”

“I’m not!”

“Your joy will not last long.” He drew closer, his face inches from hers. “You will find that being my wife is different than you imagined. You won’t own me, Belle. I will own you.”

Her brown eyes got big, and he felt a current of electricity course through his body. Against his will, his gaze fell to her lips. So delicious. So sensual and red. Heat surged through his veins.

He’d always despised the idea of marriage, but for the first time, he saw the benefits. As much as he hated her, it had only lifted his desire to a fever. And he knew, by the nervous flicker of her tongue against her lips even now, that Belle felt the same.

Once wed, she would be in his bed, at his command, for as long as he desired. Because one thing, at least, hadn’t been a lie between them.

So why wait?

For all these months, since the explosive night he’d taken her virginity, he’d denied himself the pleasure of her. Both for his own sake and, he’d once believed, for hers.

No longer.

Tonight, he thought hungrily. He would have her in his bed tonight.

But first things first.

Putting on a headset, Santiago spoke to the pilot over the rising noise of the blades whipping the sky. “Let’s go.”

* * *

Sitting in the helicopter, Belle looked through the window across the wide plains of Texas. Far below, she saw wild horses running across the prairie, feral and free, a hundred miles away from any human civilization.

She envied them right now.

“Those are mine.” Santiago’s voice came through her headset. Sitting on the white leather seat beside her, he nodded toward the horses with satisfaction. “We’re on the north edge of my property.”

So even the wild horses weren’t free, she thought glumly. It was the first time they’d spoken in the noisy helicopter since they’d left the world-class medical clinic in Houston.

“You want to own everything, don’t you?”

“I do own everything.” Santiago’s dark eyes gleamed at her. “My ranch is nearly half a million acres.”

“Half a—” She sucked in her breath, then said slowly, “Wait. Did you buy the Alford Ranch?”

He raised a sardonic eyebrow. “You’ve heard of it?”

“Of course I’ve heard of it,” she snapped. “It’s famous. There was a scandal a few years ago when it was sold to some foreigner—you?”

He shrugged. “All of this land was once owned by Spaniards, so some people might say that the Alfords were the foreigners. I was merely reacquiring it.”

She looked at him skeptically. “Spaniards owned this?”

“Most of South Texas was once claimed by the Spanish Empire, in the time of the conquistadors.”

“How do you know that?”

He gave a grim smile. “My father’s family is very proud of their history. When I was a boy, and still cared, I read about my ancestors. The family line goes back six hundred years.”

“The Velazquez family can be traced six hundred years?” she blurted out. She barely knew the full names of her own great-grandparents.

“Velazquez is my mother’s name. My father is a Zoya. The eighth Duque de Sangovia.”

His voice was so flat she wasn’t sure she’d heard him right. “Your father is a duke? An actual duke?”

He shrugged. “So?”

“What’s he like?” she breathed. She’d never met royalty before, or aristocracy. The closest she’d come was knowing a kid called Earl back in middle school.

“I wouldn’t know,” he said shortly. “We’ve never met. Look.” Changing the subject, Santiago pointed out the window. “There’s the house.”

Belle looked, and gasped.

The horizon was wide and flat, stretching in every direction, but after miles of dry, sparse sagebrush, the landscape had turned green. Between tree-covered rivers, she saw outbuildings and barns and pens. And at the most beautiful spot, she was astonished to see a blue lake, sparkling in the late afternoon sun. Next to it, atop a small hill surrounded by trees, was a sprawling single-story ranch house that made the place in the old TV show Dallas look like a fishing shack.

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