Illegitimate Tycoon (2 page)

 
          
He
certainly was not immune! His body responded to the carnal energy arcing
between them, and he reached out and cupped her jaw, a simple caress that drew
whispers from the crowds.

 
          
But
it was as if everyone else on the planet faded away until it was just them.

 
          
This
reaction to each other, this look that they shared and which they had
exploited, kept the paparazzi from hounding them with too many questions—specifically
about the stability of their marriage this past year.

 
          
“How
was Nathaniel’s wedding?” she asked.

 
          
“Everyone
asked about you,” he said, still hurt that she’d not altered her plans for him.
“I called you—”

 
          
“I
know,” she said, her palms shifting against his chest in a small urgent circle,
her eyes searching deep into his as if begging him to understand. “I
couldn’t
get away.”

 
          
He
nodded, accepting that apology because now wasn’t the place to engage in a
deeper conversation. But there was a strained note in her voice that had him
wondering if she were having difficulties with her career, problems he didn’t
know about.

 
          
If
his brothers and sister had thought it odd that the most celebrated model of
the decade couldn’t demand a day off to attend a family wedding, none of them
had mentioned it to him. But then his family was already highly dysfunctional.

 
          
They
all knew not to expect too much—they were all wary of loving too deeply. And
yet love had happened for Rafael. A deep, passionate love that scared him, for
he knew that such emotions were fragile. Priceless.

 
          
Being
with Leila again, knowing she’d be his for an entire week during the film
festival, made his skin tighten with anticipation. His heart pounded far
harder. Desire. Lust.

 
          
Yet,
those base emotions were wrapped up in much deeper emotion, like a tight wad
that made his blood surge. They had been building toward a far stronger
marriage before this past chaotic year.

 
          
He
fully intended to pick up where they’d left off.

 
          
“Our
suite is ready,” he said.

 
          
“Good.
I’m eager to sit down someplace quiet for a while.”

 
          
He
cut her a quick look as he took her arm. A sliver of uncertainty crossed her
features again. There was paleness beneath her makeup as well. Had she been
ill?

 
          
They
walked together into the hotel, and he was grateful that velvet ropes kept the
fans and paparazzi at bay. He’d never grown comfortable being in the spotlight—spawned
from his youth of being pointed out as the Wolfe bastard. Now was no different.

 
          
Though
he was no longer the subject of ridicule, he still hated the attention that
crashed into his private life.

 
          
He
took Leila’s arm and escorted her across the elegant lobby, thankful that they
met nobody along the way inclined to ask for an autograph or a quick chat. They
were left alone still as they took the elevator to their floor, but Rafael didn’t
draw a decent breath until he shepherded his wife into their suite and closed
off the world behind them. He’d asked for and received a magnificent view of
the sea, complete with a private balcony.

 
          
“It’s
breathtaking,” Leila noted, pulling free of him and crossing to the bank of
windows, and Rafael thought how the view paled in comparison to her beauty. “When
did you arrive?”

 
          
“Yesterday.
I came straight from London.” She faced him then, and backlit with the sun it
made her look more fragile and pale. “Were you able to spend much time with
your family?”

 
          
“I
flew in the day of the wedding and left the next morning,” he said, then
shrugged when her smooth brow pulled into a frown. “Like you, my schedule was
incredibly tight.”

 
          
She
nodded at that and looked away. How ironic that he’d kept bits of his past
secret from her, yet he disliked it when the tables were turned. He simply saw
no sense in divulging how despicable his father had been to him, how he’d
suffered emotionally while his siblings had endured that plus physical abuse.

 
          
Some
things were better left buried. He certainly couldn’t see any reason to exhume
the dark secrets of his past to his wife.

 
          
A
good part of his success in business had hinged on his gut feeling to strike
deals at opportune moments. This was no different.

 
          
“We
should coordinate our schedules,” he said, smoothly steering the conversation
away from his family and their murky past. “My publicist stressed the
importance of us showing support for each other and our projects during the
festival, though I can’t imagine not being there for you.”

 
          
“Yes,
of course. I’ll get my mobile.” Was there a quaver of distress in her voice?

 
          
He
glanced back only to find her riffling through a brand-new designer purse,
seeming simply distracted. She was unquestionably the most beautiful woman he’d
ever known, but her life was as screwed up as his.

 
          
They
had been two rising stars who’d collided in a glitter of passion. She had
reached the pinnacle of a career that now dictated the way she must live.

 
          
Leila
was a millionaire in her own right—her name a brand that was copied. Emulated.
She had endorsements. Fame. A demanding life far apart from his own.

 
          
This
past year Rafael had moved from the realm of millionaire to billionaire, and
the fasttrack world of computer technology meant he always had to stay one step
ahead of the competition. He’d honed his rapier-edged instincts in fighting his
way to the top of his world, and now he wondered if the changes he saw in Leila
had been there all along. If he’d simply been too comfortable with his marriage
to recognize his wife wasn’t her usual bubbly self.

 
          
She
certainly seemed more sure of herself than in the past, yet there was a
vulnerability about her that hummed about the edge of her success like a
nervous hummingbird seeking nectar. There was something wrong that he couldn’t
quite put his finger on.

 
          
They’d
both achieved their goals, but at what price to their personal life? Was their
marriage still as strong as it once had been?

 
          
He’d
find out this week that they’d be together; he’d already planned to spend the
bulk of his time in his wife’s company. He’d missed her more than he could
possibly express, for tender words had never been easy for him to grasp, much
less admit.

 
          
It
had always been easier to show her how much he loved her with gifts. Like his
latest smartphone.

 
          
Rafael
ran his thumb over the sleek new mobile that was the cutting edge of
technology. This was his baby. The wireless device of the future that was
featured in the movie
Bastion 9
,
which would premiere here tonight.

 
          
But
while the phones he’d donated for the elite festival gift bags were silver on
black, like the ones that would go on sale tomorrow around the world, this
device had a one-of-a-kind liquid magenta shell enhanced with thin black
swirls.

 
          
Her
color.

 
          
His
mobile was the companion to hers, a reverse of the colors. His and hers phones.
A design he’d created as the logo for her own personal line that she’d yet to
launch.

 
          
“I
found it,” she said, holding her old mobile up and squinting at the screen.

 
          
He
held his palm out for it. “It’ll take me a moment to exchange the chip into the
new one.”

 
          
Excitement
lit her eyes as she crossed to him. “Is that the new device that’s all the buzz?”

 
          
He
nodded.

 
          
“I
didn’t know they came in color.”

 
          
“They
don’t, or at least not for a year and even then never with this design.”

 
          
She
reached out and laid her hand on his, stilling him. “Is this design your
creation as well?”

 
          
“It
is,” he said, his body surging to life once more by her touch, by the wonder
glowing in her eyes.

 
          
Her
brow furrowed the slightest bit as she studied the intricate swirls. He knew
the exact moment she understood the design was much more than lines and
curlicues, when she realized this was cursive writing in Portuguese.

 
          
“‘My
only love,’” she read, then pressed two fingers to her lips. “It’s perfect.”

 
          
He’d
thought so too. Had believed she was the only woman he’d ever love from the
first moment he’d met Leila five years ago.

 
          
Leila
had been well into making a stunning comeback in the modeling world, but she’d
still been a painfully thin waif with soulful eyes.

 
          
And
it had been obvious she was very much under her dominating mother’s control. He’d
clashed with the “stage mother” immediately, for at the time he was just a
developer in a huge software company in London. A nobody, save the unwanted
notoriety of being William Wolfe’s bastard, a fact he desperately tried to hide
for the shame that it brought on his mother.

 
          
Leila
Santiago had been the star, hired as the hot model to tout the cutting-edge
personal music player he’d developed that recorded and held hundreds of songs.

 
          
He’d
stood in the shadows of the set watching her, just as he’d watched his siblings
play together from afar all those years ago. The longer he’d observed Leila,
the more he realized she was dancing to the whims of her domineering mother.

 
          
Then
as now, Leila’s gorgeous eyes had met his. For a moment he’d seen the pain and
uncertainty choking her. Seen the loneliness in her that mirrored his own.

 
          
That
one look had called to something buried deep inside him.
Bare Souls
.

 
          
She,
the lost waif in need of a hero, and he, the unwanted boy desperately needing
to find the one person who’d make him feel whole. Make him feel worthy.

 
          
Everyone
on the set had planned to hit the pubs after the shoot and Rafael had looked
forward to getting to know Leila better, but her mother had made it clear that
Leila needed to work out instead.

 
          
Though
Leila seemed at her wit’s end, she didn’t object to her mother’s dictates, as
if she were used to acquiescing to the woman.

 
          
That
had been all the incentive he’d needed to approach the alluring model. That and
a good dose of arrogant Brazilian pride!

 
          
“Join
me for a drink?” he’d asked Leila once he’d gotten her alone.

 
          
She’d
smiled, though it’d been a nervous one. “My mother has already made plans for a
trainer to work with me tonight.”

 
          
He
cast her plump mother a scathing glance, for if anyone needed a personal
trainer it was her. “Why don’t you let her use the workout and you take the
night off?”

 
          
“With
you?”