defect. The few days he had spent in intensive care had been the most nerve-racking ordeal of Rebekah’s life, but the worrying time had brought her and Dante even closer and she did not know how she would have coped without his support. Fortunately Leo’s quick recovery had been nothing short of miraculous and now, at six months old, he was healthy, full of energy and seemed to require remarkably little sleep.
‘I think he’ll drop off,’ Dante said, watching the baby nestle against Rebekah’s neck and give a yawn. ‘And when he does I’ll have my wicked way with you.’
‘Is that a promise?’ she said teasingly.
Her soft smile stole Dante’s breath. He hadn’t known he could feel this happy, he reflected, swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat. For the first time in his life he felt utterly content and secure in the knowledge that his wife loved him as much as he adored her.
‘Oh, yes,’ he assured her huskily as he pulled her and their son into the circle of his arms. ‘I promise I will never stop loving you.’
For my mother-in-law Julia, my other mum. Thank you for all your encouragement.
RAMON VELAQUEZ’S private jet touched down at London City Airport exactly on schedule. He swiftly cleared customs, and as he walked out of the airport building to his waiting limousine his chauffeur sprang forward to take his suitcase.
‘Welcome back, Mr Velaquez. I hope you had a good trip.’
‘Gracias, Paul.’ Ramon climbed into the rear of the car and rested his dark head against the plush leather upholstery. A sense of well-being swept through him when he lifted the glass of whisky and soda that had been prepared for him from the drinks cabinet. ‘It’s good to be home.’
As the car pulled smoothly away he dwelled on his unconscious use of the word home. Because of course England was not his home; he was Spanish, and immensely proud of his country and his long and noble ancestry. His true home was the Castillo del Toro, and one day—he feared in the not too distant future, when he considered his father’s health problems—he would be the new Duque de Velaquez and would live permanently at the castle, surrounded by an army of servants.
He knew from his childhood that it would be a life dictated by formality and protocol—so different from the relaxed atmosphere of his London penthouse apartment, where he employed the minimum of staff and enjoyed a sense of freedom away from the avid gaze of the Spanish media.
He felt a faint pang of guilt that he had chosen to fly from his business meeting in New York to England rather than to Spain. He cared deeply for his parents, but he had been reluctant to face another lecture about the necessity for him to marry a highborn Spanish woman and provide an heir to ensure the continuation of the illustrious family name. So he had made the excuse that he needed to be in London to deal with an urgent business matter.
Ramon knew his father, the Duque, was pleased with his dedication to Velaquez Conglomerates, but it was doubtful he would be so impressed if he knew that Ramon’s real reason for racing back to London was because he was impatient to see his English mistress.
Lauren was at her desk, reading through a complicated lease agreement, when her mobile phone rang. Her heart gave a jolt, and she scrabbled in her handbag, a smile curving her lips when she saw that the caller was Ramon. She had been on tenterhooks all day, waiting for him to call. Like a lovesick teenager in the throes of her first romance, she thought ruefully.
Of course today there was a special reason why she was anxious to speak to him, she acknowledged, feeling once again the curious sensation that she was plummeting downwards in a fast-moving lift and had left her stomach behind. She was still reeling from the shock she had received a week ago—still couldn’t quite believe it was true. It had made her desperate to hear Ramon’s voice and to feel reassured that their relationship had developed into something deeper than a casual sexual liaison.
The closeness that she sensed had grown between them over the past months was not simply her imagination or wishful thinking, she assured herself. When she had first met the enigmatic Spaniard in a nightclub six months ago her journalist friend Amy had told her that Ramon Velaquez had a reputation as a playboy—but he conducted his affairs discreetly, and his love-life was rarely reported by the English media.
Lauren had been unable to deny the fierce chemistry that had blazed between her and Ramon, but mindful of Amy’s warning, she had embarked on an affair with him accepting that he would not want a serious relationship any more than she did. She was busy with her career and sceptical of love. And yet somehow, against all the odds, a relationship had developed between them that she felt was more than simply mind-blowing sex.
Admittedly Ramon discouraged discussions about his personal life. All she really knew about him was that his family owned a famous winery in the Rioja region of Northern Spain. But in every other way they were a couple who shared a life together: companionship, laughter, a mutual appreciation of art galleries and the theatre, and frequently, of late, Ramon’s London apartment. For whenever he was in town Lauren always stayed with him.
One important lesson she had learned during their affair was that he disliked displays of emotion, and an instinctive sense of self-protection had made her keep to herself the fact that she had fallen in love with him. But now she forgot her resolve to act cool with him, and quickly answered her phone.
The sound of his gravelly, sexy accent sent a little shiver of pleasure down her spine. ‘Buenas tardes, Lauren.’
‘Ramon.’ Her voice sounded annoyingly breathless, but she had never been able to control the effect he had on her. ‘How was your trip?’
‘Successful. You must know me well enough by now, querida, to understand that I would not settle for anything less.’
Ramon had smiled at the sound of Lauren’s voice. It was good to be back in London, and even better to know that soon he would be making love to his beautiful English rose, whose demure smile hid a delightfully passionate nature.
Business had kept him in the States for two weeks, and he was impatient to relieve the ache of sexual frustration that had grown more intense with every day that he had been away. Lauren had been in his mind more often than he was comfortable with, but now was not the time to question why she had such an effect on him. He wanted her with an urgency he had never felt for any of his previous lovers, and he knew that tonight she would be gratifyingly impatient for him to take her to bed.
He almost gave in to the temptation to instruct her meet him at his apartment when she finished work, but he resisted. A leisurely meal in an exclusive restaurant would heighten his anticipation of the delights to follow, and on a practical level he had refused the bland in-flight meals served on the plane so it was not only his sexual appetite that demanded appeasement.
‘I’ve booked a table at the Vine for seven-thirty,’ he said. It was satisfying to reflect on his business trip, which had gone just the way he had planned it. As usual he had left nothing to chance, and the take-over bid had been completed with a brutal swiftness that had taken his competitors by surprise. ‘We’re celebrating.’
Lauren’s heart missed a beat, and for a few seconds her brain went into freefall before her common sense returned. She was the only person in the world who knew the result of the pregnancy test she had done a week ago. There was no way Ramon could be suggesting that they were celebrating the fact that she was expecting his baby, which must mean—Lauren’s heart gave another little flip—he had remembered it was the six-month anniversary of when they had first met.
She stared at the silk tie she had bought him after spending her entire lunch-break agonising over whether she should give him an anniversary gift. Clearly she had made the right decision. Ramon had remembered the special