The Santana Heir

How could this have happened? After Arturo’s letter, she’d believed it was safe to go ahead with the adoption. She’d started making a lifetime of plans for her stepsister’s son. Now a dark-eyed stranger who’d appeared out of nowhere could change everything. Had Arturo sent him, or had Emilio Santana come on his own?

More important, what did he want?

Settling Zac in the safety of his crib, she pulled off her soiled shirt and replaced it with a clean, black V-necked top. That done, she yanked off her terry cloth sweatband, splashed her face clean and gave her shoulder-length hair a few licks with the brush—after rinsing away the traces of carrot mush. Even as she tidied up, she knew her appearance didn’t matter. She wasn’t the one her visitor had come to see. Her instincts told her that Emilio Santana had come for Zac.

And she meant to fight him with everything she had.

He rose as she returned to the living room with Zac in her arms. In faded jeans, an open-necked white shirt and casual black jacket he looked as elegant as a movie hero. It occurred to Grace that she could’ve taken the baby, crept out the back door and driven away in her car. But she knew it wouldn’t have made any difference. A man like Emilio Santana would have the means to track her down anywhere.

“Will he come to me?”

“He’s not used to strangers. Sit down. I’ll give him a chance to check you out.” Grace lowered herself to the ottoman and put Zac on the rug. “Sorry I don’t have a drink to offer you, Mr. Santana—unless you’d settle for iced tea. I wasn’t expecting company.”

“Please call me Emilio. And don’t worry about the tea.” He took his seat. His English was flawless, his accented voice deep and rich. If she’d closed her eyes, Grace might have pictured Antonio Banderas. But this unsettling man was even better-looking.

Zac had decided to investigate the visitor. He was crawling on all fours toward the chair where Emilio sat. Grace resisted the urge to reach out and pull him back. She’d been present at Zac’s birth and first held him when he was only minutes old. She had loved him from the moment Cassidy told her she had a baby on the way. If this presumptuous man thought she was just going to hand over her child and walk away...

“What’s his full name?” Emilio was studying the baby. “Izac? Zachary?”

“It’s plain Zac—Cassidy’s choice. Zac Miller, legally, although I plan to change the last name to my own when the adoption becomes final.” Grace emphasized the word when.

“I understand you’re no blood relation to the boy.”

The knot in Grace’s stomach tightened. “No, but Cassidy wanted me to raise him. And I have a letter from your brother, consenting to the adoption.”

“I know. I’ve seen a copy of that letter. I found it when I was going through my brother’s files.” His voice went flat. “Arturo’s dead. He was killed in a car crash last month.”

Grace felt her heart drop. She stared at Emilio, waiting for the second blow that was sure to come.

“I checked the status of Zac’s adoption. I know it hasn’t been finalized. As the executor of my brother’s estate, I’m asking you to put it on hold.”

“Why?” Grace’s question emerged as a croak. Her heart was pounding. She felt vaguely nauseous.

“My brother agreed to the adoption on condition that the boy have nothing to do with our family since he planned to marry and start a family with his wife. But his death has changed everything. As far as I know, this boy is Arturo’s only child.”

Zac had reached the chair and used the padded arm to pull himself to his feet. He stood looking up at Emilio with eyes that would melt granite. Emilio brushed a fingertip across the silky curls—a subtle gesture of possession.

Grace snatched the baby into her arms. “So you want to take him. What if I say no?”

His stony expression answered her challenge. “I’ve already contacted my lawyers in Los Angeles. If necessary, they’re prepared to block the adoption and bring the matter to court.”

Grace’s arms tightened around Zac’s warm little body. The adoption had already cost her thousands. She had no resources left for a prolonged legal battle. But how could she give up this precious child to be raised by strangers?

“There are stronger ties than blood,” she said. “One of them is love. Zac is my son in every way that matters. Nothing could force me to let him go.”

“I understand.”

“Do you?”

“And do you, Grace?” His obsidian eyes drilled into hers. “To my knowledge, my brother sired no other children. This boy could be the heir to more than you’ve ever dreamed of. You love him like a son—don’t you want what’s best for him? I have a plan in mind. At least hear me out.”

“We don’t need your family’s money, if that’s what you’re implying. I earn enough to get by, and Cassidy left a trust fund for Zac’s education.”

“Listen to me.” His voice rasped with impatience. “This isn’t about money. It’s about the boy. You seem to be the only mother he knows. Separating the two of you would be cruel—and whatever you may think of me, I’m not a cruel man. I cared for Cassidy as a friend and I want her son to be happy.”

Grace stared at him in confusion. Now what? Did he intend to leave and let her keep Zac?

“I’m proposing to take the two of you back to Peru with me,” he said. “You could see the estate where Zac would grow up and the privileged life he’d enjoy. After that you’d have three choices. You could give him up to my custody and go home, you could work out some kind of visitation arrangement with me, or you could choose to stay in Peru and raise the boy to manhood.”

As his words sank home, Grace felt the shock all the way to her bones. This, then, was her reality. Emilio Santana was Zac’s biological uncle. He intended to take his nephew. Her only option was whether or not she would agree to go with him, and leave her life in Arizona behind. If she tried to keep Zac there with her, this man had the power to raise an army of lawyers against her.

She inhaled shakily. “You’re saying, if I stayed in Peru, I could take care of Zac, but I couldn’t adopt him.”

“That’s right. It would be your choice.”

She rose to face him, holding the baby tight. “But I wouldn’t be his mother. I’d be more like his nanny.”

Emilio’s eyes narrowed. His look was dark and dangerous. “You’d be part of his life. The only other option is to let him go for good.”

Two

Grace pressed close to the window as the Gulfstream G500 dropped toward Lima. Far to the west, the setting sun streaked the clouds with rose and flame. Below the plane, breathtakingly close, the craggy peaks of the Andes jutted into the thin air like ice-tipped daggers.

“Unbelievable,” she murmured.

“Isn’t it? I never get tired of flying home.” Emilio emerged from the cockpit where he’d been consulting with his private pilot. Grace was still getting used to his way of making things happen. Within a few hours of their first meeting, he’d pulled strings to secure the couriered delivery of visas from the Peruvian consulate for her and Zac. Grace had been given just one day to pack and recruit a friend to house-sit. The next morning she and Zac had been picked up and driven to the airport in a chauffeured limousine. Bypassing the hassle of ticket and security lines, they’d been whisked along a side road to Emilio’s private plane. Almost before she’d realized it, she was having hot coffee and flaky cheese croissants in the air, served by a slim young man who fussed over Zac and smiled at her efforts to make herself understood in her high school Spanish.

To paraphrase Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, she wasn’t in Arizona anymore. She and Zac had been swept up by this cyclone of a man and transported to another world—a world that, for Grace, was still shrouded in unreality.

“How is the boy doing?” Emilio slid into the leather seat across the aisle. He’d spent much of the flight in the office section of the plane, leaving Grace to tend Zac in the main cabin. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to impose his presence on her; or, more likely, he simply hadn’t had much interest in her company. As his nephew’s caretaker, her status wasn’t far above a servant’s.

Grace glanced toward Zac, who lay strapped in his car seat, sound asleep. “The little pill spent most of the day wearing himself out,” she said. “I’m hoping he’s down for the count. I know I am.”

Emilio’s gaze lingered on the sleeping baby, as if examining each feature for traces of his brother. “He’s a beautiful child, isn’t he?”

“He had a beautiful mother.” Grace squelched the urge to remind him what Cassidy had gone through to carry and deliver her baby, refusing needed medicines to treat her cancer that might have caused him harm. All that Arturo had given up was a minuscule blob of DNA—and that while thoroughly enjoying himself. Emilio had contributed nothing at all. The idea that this man was entitled to storm into her life and snatch away the child she loved was unthinkable. But that was her new reality.

“You look tired, Grace.” Emilio’s gaze took in her drooping hair and tired face. Even after the long day, he looked maddeningly fresh and unrumpled in khakis and a simple polo shirt that matched the black armband he wore as a sign of mourning. Even the faint stubble on his jaw looked as if it was meant to be there.

“In my house you’ll have all the help you need,” he said. “You’ll be able to see the countryside, pursue your art, anything you like—an advantage I suspect you didn’t enjoy at home.”

Grace hummed noncommittally. Admittedly, the thought of having some help sounded nice. So far, Zac had been a full-time job. But was there more behind Emilio’s offer? If Emilio were to marry—as he almost certainly would—his wife would most likely push her aside, forcing her to leave the boy. Was Emilio preparing for that possibility by increasing Zac’s dependence on the household servants instead of her?

Emilio glanced out the window. “We’re coming into Lima, Grace. Come over here. You’ll see more from this side of the plane.”

He rose, giving her room to slip into the space next to the window. She felt the hot tingle of awareness as her body brushed his. He was warm and solid through his clothes, his skin smelling lightly of sage-scented soap.

Pulling past him she took her seat. Did he know that her pulse had surged as they touched? But why even speculate? Emilio Santana was well aware of his effect on women—even on this woman who had every reason to dislike him. For such a man, seduction would come as naturally as breathing.