One Night in... Rio: The Brazilian Millionaire's Love-Child / Virgin Mistress, Scandalous Love-Child / The Surgeon's Runaway Bride

‘Mmm.’

Anita was obviously absorbing this, but Isobel didn’t fool herself that that was to be an end to the matter. And she wasn’t disappointed.

‘And was this a business meeting?’ Anita asked after a moment. ‘Perhaps Cabral Leisure wanted to advertise in one of your uncle’s magazines, yes?’

It was a temptation to agree, but Isobel suspected it was a trap, and decided to be as honest as she could be. ‘It was at a birthday party, actually,’ she said, trying to make light of it. ‘A friend of mine, who is in the advertising industry, invited your son-in-law to come along. And—and he did.’

‘And this was when?’

‘Oh …’ How to answer that? ‘A few years ago,’ she said at last. ‘I can’t actually give you a date.’

Although she could, to the exact day and time.

‘And you haven’t seen him since?’

‘Not since he left London, no.’

Anita was silent for a few moments, and Isobel waited apprehensively for her to ask her to explain that statement.

But she didn’t.

As if she’d decided she could save any further questions about Alejandro for another day, Anita lifted her arms above her head and stretched luxuriously.

Then, with the arrival of the maid with the coffee she’d ordered, she turned to less personal matters. She asked Isobel about her aunt and uncle, showing some interest in the fact that her aunt bred horses. For a moment, Isobel was sure she was going to mention Alejandro again.

But no. She went on to question Isobel about her work and her professional background, showing a polite interest in her answers, if nothing else.

However, by the time the coffee was finished, she was evidently getting bored. ‘I am tired, senhora,’ she said. ‘We will continue our discussions tomorrow afternoon, sim? For now, you might like to rest also. Ricardo may have told you, I often work late into the night. That is why I am usually unavailable in the mornings.’ Her lips twitched. ‘I am sure you can find your own way back to your apartments.’

Alejandro half-expected Isobel to defy him.

When he arrived at the Villa Mimosa the following morning, he was quite prepared to have to force her to go with him. And force her he would, if he had to, he told himself. He had been looking forward to this day for far too long.

But, in the event, she was waiting for him on the veranda at the front of the villa. Although it was still quite early, she was neatly dressed in a plain V-necked olive tee-shirt and khaki shorts. Her hair, longer now than he remembered it, was braided into a thick plait that lay confidingly over her shoulder. She wore no jewellery and little make-up, but she still managed to look distractingly feminine.

Alejandro brought the Lexus to a halt at the foot of the shallow steps that led up to the veranda, and before he could open his door and get out Isobel had run down to join him.

Pulling open the opposite door, she said, ‘Don’t bother to get out. I can manage.’ She swung herself up into the seat beside him with an agility that exposed slim thighs, lightly reddened by the sun. ‘Okay.’

Alejandro regarded her quizzically. ‘Forgive me,’ he said, ‘but I had not expected you to be so eager to spend the morning with me.’

‘I’m not,’ retorted Isobel flatly, even though his nearness made her pulses race. ‘But as you seem to have difficulty walking …’

Alejandro’s jaw tightened. ‘You feel sorry for me, is that it?’ He gave a harsh laugh. ‘Please. I do not need your pity. And I am perfectly capable of getting in and out of this vehicle.’

Isobel cast him a frustrated look. If only he knew, she thought irritably. Far from feeling sorry for him, all her energies in that direction were concentrated on herself.

Didn’t he realise that the scar on his cheek created an almost primitive fascination? That he had a raw sexuality that no amount of soul-searching on her part could totally dismiss?

He wasn’t the man she’d known in London, no, but he was far more dangerous. He was Emma’s father, a fact that she’d conveniently managed to suppress until she’d come here.

‘You’ve obviously injured your leg,’ she said at last as he put the Lexus into gear. ‘I was merely being considerate.’

‘Realmente?’

‘Yes, really,’ she replied tersely. ‘I’d do the same for anyone in your situation.’

‘Tell it as it is, why do you not?’ murmured Alejandro drily, and saw the way her full lips compressed into an impatient line.

But he really didn’t want to waste the morning arguing with her. Or to arouse her enmity, if he hadn’t done so already. His daughter was more important than that, more important than any resentment he might feel towards her. Que droga, but he was resentful. He’d missed out on the first two years of Emma’s life.

Emma …

They drove through the small town of Porto Verde. Isobel, who hadn’t left the villa except to go down to the beach since her arrival, looked about her with interest.

Like the village that was nearer the villa, Porto Verde reminded her of places she’d visited in the Caribbean. Square plots surrounded colour-washed houses whose tiled roofs steamed lightly in the morning sun. Even at this hour washing hung from haphazardly slung lines; dogs roamed at will, and children with huge brown eyes turned to watch them as they drove past.

She saw the airport in the distance, but Alejandro turned off the coast road and drove inland up a steeply climbing track. And away from the coast all signs of habitation disappeared, the road given over to hedges of flowering hibiscus and long grasses moving languidly in the barely perceptible breeze.

It was primitive, but beautiful. Much like the man she was with, she thought fancifully, still not entirely sure she was doing the right thing by coming with him. But what choice did she have, actually? She had to know what he knew about her and Emma.

She expelled a breath, feeling the heat outside pressing against the car’s windows. Or was it just her temperature that was rising, driven by the tension inside the car?

‘It’s very beautiful,’ she said at last, deciding to avoid any controversial questions for the moment. ‘How far is it to—what was it you called it?—Montevideo?’

‘Montevideo is in Uruguay,’ said Alejandro flatly. ‘The estancia is called Montevista. It is actually a Spanish name. It means—’

‘Mountain view,’ inserted Isobel with a grimace. ‘I do understand a little simple Spanish, Alejandro.’

‘Ah.’

Alejandro caught his breath, his fingers tightening about the wheel. He’d forgotten how good his name sounded on her tongue. Had forgotten a lot of things about her, he conceded ruefully. Most particularly, how easy it would be to let what happened the day before blind him to the real reason she was here.

All the same, he couldn’t ignore the fact that he’d spent much of the night stressing over his own stupidity. Grabbing her like that, kissing her! Por amor de Deus, what had he been hoping to achieve?

To make love with her—that was the answer, he acknowledged grimly. For a few moments, he hadn’t been able to think of anything else. And despite the passage of years he remembered everything about her. Which should have warned him how unpredictable bringing her to the estancia today was.

The sky overhead was a translucent blue. Isobel’s eyes followed the vapour trail of a jet flying high above them, and caught a glimpse of a sinuous body before it disappeared into the grasses at the side of the track. A snake, perhaps? she wondered, recalling the warning her uncle had given her about the wildlife in this area. She shivered. Not all the creatures were friendly. And she wasn’t only referring to the animals.

They eventually reached a sort of plateau and Isobel was grateful when the road straightened out. It had twisted and turned for miles, it seemed, and although she was normally a fairly good traveller her nerves weren’t helping her roiling stomach.

The air was so clear, she saw, looking about her, realising that the blue line on the horizon was the sea. In the other direction purple mountains, half-shrouded in mist, looked distant and mysterious. Here, a heat haze hovered over miles of open grassland, the vast landscape punctuated by stands of pine or flowering acacia.

There were groups of cattle too, seeking shade beneath the trees. Rather dangerous-looking cattle, Isobel thought, their long, pointed horns turning irresistibly in their direction.

She was so busy taking it all in that she almost missed the stone gateposts with their arching logo of rearing stallions. The track narrowed between white-railed fences, steadily rising towards a sprawling mass of buildings about half a mile away.

There were more cattle here, and Isobel looked at Alejandro enquiringly. ‘I thought this was a horse farm,’ she said, gesturing towards the animals. ‘Do you breed cattle too?’