He moved in closer. ‘Was the need to keep your gorgeous figure perfect worth what it cost you in the end, Cristina? When you finished up a poor widow who had to go back begging to her miserable father? Did he hold it against you that you had not produced a male grandson for him to leave Santa Rosa to? Or was that always your goal?’ he pushed on relentlessly. ‘Was the only way you could own your beloved Santa Rosa by making sure you would never produce a son?
‘Well, I’ve got news for you,’ he continued, when she still said nothing. ‘You will have my child whether or not you want it. Son or daughter. I have no preference. And Santa Rosa will be placed in trust for that child to inherit, because it will give me such pleasure to watch you lose the one thing that you covet the most!’
He kissed her then, using his hand in her hair to tug up her face and laying the kiss on her like a brand of hate. Tears were sparkling in her eyes by the time he straightened, her burning mouth working on the desire to just break down and weep. Luis looked at her as if he would love to strangle her right here in the lift—but the doors opened and he was grabbing her hand instead.
The lobby was busy. People everywhere—standing, sitting, moving about, checking out or checking in. Cristina blinked the hurt tears from her eyes and looked up at the hard-as-nails profile of this man she knew she would never forgive for saying what he just had.
And she would never forgive herself for giving him reason to say it.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked unsteadily.
‘Shopping,’ he answered.
Shopping…For a few short seconds the meaning of the word just refused to register in her bemused head. Then it did register. Luis had just destroyed her and now he was walking her into the swish shopping mall attached to the hotel as if it was perfectly acceptable to knock her down then take her on a shopping trip.
Cristina bit her teeth together and said nothing.
Anton was wishing he could take back what he’d said in the lift.
But he was angry—still angry—about many things. Not least the amount of interference and manipulation that was taking place in his life. Ramirez, his mother, Kinsella—he could go right back to the day of his birth!
And that crack by his uncle Max about his mother knowing Vaasco Ordoniz was niggling the hell out of him. It was just one more thing other people had knowledge about and he did not. If he had any sense he would just drop this whole crusade, go back to England and—
It was then that it happened. As if Ramirez himself was listening in on his angry thoughts, Anton came smack up against a heart-leaping thump that stopped him dead in his tracks.
He was standing in front of a jeweller’s window. Tall, dark hair, Latin profile, and a way of resting his hands in his pockets that was so familiar it completely locked Anton up where he stood.
Was it? Could it be? What if it was? The desire to go over there and ask the man outright if he’d heard of Enrique Ramirez vibrated like an engine in his blood.
‘Luis…?’ Cristina prompted warily.
He barely heard her. He could barely hear his own thoughts above the humming going on in his head. The man turned, as if drawn by the mental energy he was generating. The moment Anton looked into his face he knew he was looking at a perfect stranger. No green eyes, no cleft chin—no hint anywhere on that solid-shaped face that he could reflect back to himself. The rushing sinking feeling shot through him.
‘Luis, you’re hurting my hand…’
He looked down at the woman beside him. Saw the expression in her face and relaxed his grip. His half-brothers—his half-brothers, he repeated, and felt his mind swoop into full focus on his main goal in all of this.
Whatever it took, he told himself fiercely. Money, blackmail, seduction—threats. This woman, who was looking up at him through rich, dark, warily questioning eyes, was going to be his wife as soon as he could make it happen. She was going to grow ripe with his child. And to achieve those two aims he was prepared brush aside anything and anyone that attempted to run interference.
In fact he was more than ready to run some interference of his own.
And it began right here, in the first shop he pulled her into.
An hour later and they were standing in the spare bedroom surrounded by designer bags containing the designer clothes that he had chosen because she would not.
‘Put on the red dress,’ he instructed. ‘You have—’ he glanced at his watch ‘—about an hour and a half.’
With that dictatorial announcement he strode out of the bedroom and closed the door, leaving Cristina to sink down onto the end of the bed, where she sat staring at the array of bags spread around her. Even with the confused mixture of anger, hate and total bewilderment she was feeling, there was a tiny dark corner of her that wanted to dive with a shriek of delight into the lot.
There were bags containing sensuous floaty skirts and filmy tops by Nina Ricci, evening dresses from Valentino, day suits from Armani and Chanel. She could see the Gucci logo, Prada, Jimmy Choo…In a short, breathtaking hour Luis had trailed her through a wonderland of purchases without once letting go of her hand. He’d perused, selected and thrown casually at hovering assistants. If Cristina had not responded when he’d asked for her opinion, he’d used their clasped hands to lift up her chin, then kissed her full on the mouth.
He’d charmed, he’d smiled, he’d tossed off light, teasing comments. The assistants had been starry-eyed with heroworship by the time he paid his account—while she must have looked like a spoiled and petulant over-indulged lover by the frozen look on her face.
But those starry-eyed assistants did not know what was going on behind the charm he ladled out for their benefit. They could not know that those smiling green eyes were laced with anger, or that the kisses he laid on her lips were hard and cold with contempt.
Luis, she had realised very quickly, was functioning to his own agenda. Be nice to the future wife in public, but treat her like dirt beneath your feet when not.
His real agenda had been fed to his mother via the telephone, while Cristina sat miserably on the end of the bed. Yes, he was surprised to hear she’d arrived in Rio. The concierge had told him, of course—who else? No, he did not have time to share a pot of tea with her, but dinner would be nice. Eight o’clock in the Mezzanine restaurant? He was sorry he would not be able to collect her from her suite, but he had some business to attend to first, so would it be all right if they met in the lounge bar?
Kinsella arrived back from the bank looking her usual smooth, immaculate self in a cream roll-neck sweater that skimmed her figure and a pencil-slim skirt to match. Anton watched through hooded eyes as she moved around the conference room, clearing away the day’s business. Cool and calm, super-efficient—not a single hair or carefully curled eyelash out of place. There was no way from looking at her that anyone would know the danger that lurked beneath that efficient façade.