The Latin Lover's Secret Child

Ana broke free and turned to face him, her hands supporting her on the rough stone and plaster wall. She studied his face, the black brows, dark eyes, long nose, sensual mouth. He was lovely, but what made him lovely wasn’t the symmetry of his features or his imposing size, but rather the beauty on the inside. You could see the fire in his eyes. You could feel his energy. He was so alive. So real.

Unlike the people in her world.

Unlike her family.

Anabella swallowed and reaching up lightly traced his temple, his nose, his cheekbone and chin. “I love you, Lucio.”

His dark eyes burned hotter, the heat and desire a tangible thing. “Not half as much as I love you.”

But his fire didn’t scare her. She loved it. She wanted it. He made her feel big and powerful and free. “We’ll take the world by storm, Lucio. We’ll do it all. See it all. Have it all.”

He laughed softly and shook his head. “You’re not a dreamer, are you?”

“We will have it all,” she insisted stubbornly, glaring at him. “We’ll have each other. We’ll have the baby. What else is there?”

His dark eyes searched hers. She could tell he was amused by her passionate outburst. Little she did upset him. Little she said troubled him. He accepted her for what she was. He accepted her for who she was.

“I am poor, Ana,” he said slowly, deliberately, his dark gaze intense. “I will never be able to give you—”

“No!” She clapped a hand over his firm mouth, silencing his words. His warm breath tickled her palm but she didn’t remove her hand, unwilling to let him speak the words. “You give me love, Lucio. It’s all I’ve ever wanted, all I’ve ever needed. Everyone in my family insists on the importance of appearances, propriety, position. You’re the only one that just loves me for me.”

His fierce expression softened. He drew her hand from his mouth, kissing her palm as he did so. “But negrita, I want you to have everything.”

She scooted closer to him, inching forward until her thighs pressed his, inching until she’d practically climbed into his lap. “But love is everything.”

“And our baby?”

“Will be loved.” She leaned towards him and touched her lips to the bronze column of his throat. With his Spanish-Indian heritage he tanned easily and she hoped their child would take after him. She wanted the baby to have his dark hair, dark eyes, and golden skin.

“You’re determined to have it all, aren’t you?” Lucio growled before catching her face in his hands and kissing her deeply.

He drank her in, drank her as if she were air and light and water and Ana felt a shiver of pleasure race beneath her skin. His touch made her feel hot, brilliant, physical.

“Your love,” he said against her mouth, “is worth everything.”

She held him tightly, pressing her face against his chest. It was such a miracle that they’d found each other. Lucio was a gaucho. She was the daughter of a count. Running off together might be scandalous but it would be the best thing that had ever happened to her.

“You smile,” he said, his fingers tangling in her long dark hair.

And she was smiling. “I wish we were leaving now.”

“I’ll have a horse ready for you later. We’ll ride most of the night.”

She nodded, the bubble of happiness so big and bright it felt like she’d swallowed the sun itself. She lifted her head to better see his face. “Do you think your family will like me?”

“Without a doubt.”

She studied his dark eyes, his almost arrogant expression. Such a proud, noble face. He could have been a Spanish conquistador, an explorer in search of the new world. Instead he was hers.

“I’ll love you forever.”

At first he said nothing. Then his dark eyes grew somber. “You’re only seventeen. Forever is an awfully long time.”

But his cautious tone made her laugh and she gave her head a shake even as her warm laughter danced between them, a shimmer of exuberance. “And tell me, Lucio Cruz, when have I been afraid of anything?”

CHAPTER ONE

Five years later…

“ANABELLA, you’ve been standing at the window all morning. Come sit down. You must be exhausted by now.”

Anabella tensed, her eyes so dry and gritty that it hurt to blink. “I can’t sit. Not until Lucio comes.”

“It could be a while—”

“I don’t care,” she interrupted huskily, her gaze never leaving the snowcapped Andes. It’d been cold the past few days but this morning was lovely. It felt almost like Spring. “He’ll come for me. He promised.”

“But we haven’t been able to reach him yet, Senora, and you’re still weak,” the nurse said coaxingly. “You must give us a chance to find him.”

Anabella didn’t answer. Her hand gripped the gold damask curtain in her hand, fingers trembling. She was tired. Her legs felt oddly weak, her muscles fatigued, but she missed Lucio so much. It’d been forever since she last saw him. Yet he would come for her. Lucio never broke his word.

“You’ve been ill, Senora. You must rest. Conserve your strength.” The nurse continued in the same patient voice one would use for a high-strung horse or a difficult child. “At least sit and have your lunch.”

“I’m not hungry.” Anabella hated how the nurse treated her like a child. Anabella didn’t need someone to tell her to rest, to sleep, to eat. She had a brain. She could think for herself.

Not that they were giving her many opportunities to make decisions for herself.

Like coming to this house. She hadn’t wanted to be here. The hospital had been bad enough with its antiseptic smells like the cool metallic scent of rubbing alcohol, the pungent disinfectant used to mop the shiny floors, the oddly pleasing odorless hand lotion worn by the staff nurses. But then they brought her to this big mausoleum of a place in the middle of vineyards.

The villa was enormous and formal and stuffed with antiques and fine art. It was a place for grand parties and elegant luncheons and business functions. It was another of Dante’s extravagances. He had so many. He was so rich.

Unlike her Lucio.

The only good thing about the house was its proximity to the mountains. And at least from her bedroom window she could see the mountains. Lucio and the mountains were synonymous in her mind. Lucio had grown up in the mountains and his family lived there still.

Her fingers tightened on the silk fabric. “So Dante has called Lucio then?”

The nurse set the clipboard down and her footsteps sounded on the floor. “I don’t know. The Count doesn’t consult with me.” The nurse’s hand settled lightly on Ana’s shoulder. “Shall we finish getting dressed now? Your brother will be here soon. You don’t want to meet him in your nightgown, do you?”

“I don’t want to see him.”

The nurse withdrew her hand. “You didn’t see him yesterday, either.”

Ana’s stomach knotted. “That’s my choice, isn’t it?”

“He’s your brother—”

“And what business is that of yours, anyway?” Anabella turned from the window, her arms folding across her chest and she stared at the nurse in the trim white dress with the neat white hose and shoes. “And why are you even here? I’m fine. I don’t need you. I don’t want the fuss.”