Bought by the Rich Man: Taken by the Highest Bidder / Bought by Her Latin Lover / Bought by the Billionaire

He made her uneasy. There was no other way to put it. And she didn’t want him here in the small cottage. She didn’t want to be alone with him. He was too big, too intense, too different.

Her eyes met his, and as if he could read her mind, his lips curved in a faint sardonic smile. Heat exploded in Sam’s middle, her face flaming, her limbs going weak.

She didn’t like him. Didn’t want to like him. Didn’t want him anywhere near her, but somehow she knew he wasn’t going away, and he wasn’t going to be leaving her—or Gabby—alone.

“It’s hard being back here,” she said, as much as she could, or would say. If there’s anything she’d learned it was the value of silence, of avoiding conflict and controversy. As a child she’d waited years to be adopted, hoping against hope that she’d someday be placed with a real family, praying she’d eventually be wanted somewhere. It never happened. But the years of trying so hard to please, the years of waiting to be accepted, wanted, adopted, had left a lasting impression. Don’t make waves. Avoid conflict. Try to keep peace. Make others happy.

No wonder she became a professional nanny. The only thing she was good at was making others happy.

Sam squeezed her hand inside her pocket, the Rookery’s key ring now warm in her palm. Again she wondered why she thought this was the right place to go. Again she regretted her decision to return.

“I would have thought you’d be anxious to leave this morning,” she added, aware of Cristiano’s scrutiny, knowing he was watching her, measuring, evaluating.

“I am. But there are things we should discuss, things Gabriela shouldn’t hear. Now would be a good time for us to talk.”

Sam nodded, doing her best to ignore the sense of trepidation weighting her limbs. Immediately she flashed to Johann and Mercedes, or was it Cristiano and Mercedes? Is that what Cristiano wanted to tell her? That he and Mercedes had been lovers? And if Gabby was his child, then what would happen next?

What would happen to her? Why had he bought her?

Cristiano suggested they drive into Chester, have breakfast and buy some groceries in case they stayed one more night.

“If we’re to stay another night, shouldn’t we stay in a hotel here in town?” Sam asked as they settled into a booth at a Chester restaurant, the ceiling low in the historic half-timbered building, the interior dark, the booths hard and high, uncomfortably like church pews.

Cristiano barely glanced at the menu before setting it aside. “And give you another chance to run away? I don’t think so.”

“You couldn’t have been comfortable last night.”

“That’s kind of you to worry about me,” he drawled, leaning back in the booth. “But it’s not necessary. I may look delicate, but I’m surprisingly tough. And no, it wasn’t the best night’s sleep, but at least I knew where you were.”

Sam felt heat creep up her neck, into her cheeks. “What if I promised you I wouldn’t go anywhere—”

“Wouldn’t believe you.” He smiled at her but the smile was hard, fixed. “I don’t trust you.”

Her hands twisted beneath the table. “Anything I’ve done—”

“Yes, I know, you’ve done for Gabriela. But I don’t buy that, Samantha. This is about you. You don’t want to lose Gabriela. You don’t want to be without her.”

“And why should I be? I’ve spent years with her, years loving her.”

“But you’re not her mother, or her father. You’re not her family—”

“Neither are you!”

His dark gaze held hers in a long, timeless moment. “Are you sure?”

Sam’s stomach churned. It had come to this. No more running away from the inevitable.

“She’s a Bartolo,” he said, slowly, deliberately. “I’ve been trying to get her back for years.”

“But the gambling…Johann…”

“Why would I buy her? She’s mine, belongs with me. I knew if I took you Gabby would follow. I could have only taken Gabby if I destroyed Johann first.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“Come on, Sam. Don’t play ostrich now.”

She sat still, one hand kneading the other, seeing but not seeing, thinking but not thinking. If what he said was true…if Gabriela were indeed his child…Sam had no place in Gabriela’s life anymore. It was Gabby he’d wanted all along, not her. Johann’s letter giving Gabby to her meant nothing. It was just another sick joke on his part. One last stab at her.

She felt close to throwing up.

Sam pressed a hand to her middle. “You’ve had a DNA test?”

“Yes.”

Her mouth was so dry it hurt to swallow. “And the evidence?”

“Conclusive.”

Dazed, she shook her head, unable to think clearly. Her thoughts were too wild, her fear and confusion too great. “But then, why isn’t she with you? Why didn’t the court appoint you her legal guardian?”

“The courts eventually will, but I don’t want to wait any longer. My patience had run out. I’ve missed out on the first four and a half years of Gabby’s life as it is. I won’t miss any more.”

A new thought came to her, a new, more frightening thought. She sat taller, stomach in knots. It took all of her courage to get the question out. “Were you behind the kidnapping attempt three years ago?”

“No.”

But he knew about the attempt, she thought, heart racing. He wasn’t surprised by her question. He was familiar with the incident. “What do you know?”

“I know you were hurt.”

Sam looked at him quickly, and then away. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“You were in the hospital for a week.”

She smiled grimly, remembering how Johann proposed while she was still in the hospital. Johann had said he needed her, and Gabby needed her and that by marrying him, Sam would make him a better man.

It didn’t work out that way, of course. After the wedding, and as soon as Sam had fully recovered from the beating, she assumed even more household responsibilities than before. She wasn’t just the nanny now, but the cook, the housekeeper, the bookkeeper, the gardener, the seamstress, the laundress because, Johann, citing financial difficulties, had let all hired help go.

“How did you find out?” she asked, knowing that even though the workload was exhausting, by that point she was so attached to Gabby that she couldn’t imagine leaving.

“I’ve been keeping my eye on van Bergen.”

She felt a shiver of apprehension. “You’ve been spying on us?”

Again he fell silent, and his silence was somehow more effective than other peoples’ words. His silence conveyed tremendous strength and power, as well as calm. The word, unflappable, crossed her mind.

She looked at him where he sat across from her in the oak booth, his long legs out and braced before him, his hands resting lightly just below his hipbones. Something in his stillness, something in his pose—his hands resting just so—reminded her of a gunslinger from one of the old cowboy movies she used to watch with her father late at night when there was nothing else on the telly.