The Brazilian Millionaire's Love-Child by Anne Mather

waiter, her instructions sharp and imperative, and he hurried out of the room. Then, with a tight smile at Isobel, she said, ‘I have told Ruis to arrange with Sancha to have your meal served in your room, senhora . I am sure you would prefer it this evening, nao ?’
    Isobel’s sigh was heartfelt. ‘Oh yes; thank you, senhora ,’ she said, making sure to avoid Alejandro’s eyes. ‘I am rather weary. It’s been a long journey. If you’ll excuse me, I will have an early night.’
    ‘I will escort Ms Jameson back to her suite,’ said Alejandro at once, but to Isobel’s relief Anita objected.
    ‘I think Ms Jameson would prefer one of the servants to assist her,’ she said, patting his sleeve reprovingly. ‘She barely knows you, querido .’ The smile she directed towards him was intimate. ‘You can be a little intimidating at times.’
    Alejandro’s mouth thinned, and he said something to Anita in their own language that wiped the smile from her face. Then, turning to Isobel, he said coldly, ‘I apologise if I have intimidated you, senhora . That was not my intention. We will continue our conversation at another time, nao ?’
    Isobel wanted to say that she had nothing to discuss with him, but this was not the time to start an argument, and she managed a polite smile in return.
    ‘I’ll look forward to it, senhor ,’ she said, refusing to let him see that he had rattled her. But she was overwhelmingly relieved when the maid who’d escorted her to the terrace appeared to escort her back again.
    The food when it arrived didn’t interest her. Isobel felt sick, disorientated, totally confused as to why she washere. Was she really expected to write an article about Anita? Or was that just a ruse to get her there? But, if that were so, what did Alejandro hope to gain by it? It all came back to Emma and she was scared.
     
    It was still dark when Alejandro parked his SUV above the dunes that backed onto Anita’s villa. He’d driven home after a rather strained dinner with his mother-in-law, rejecting her offer to stay over. But he hadn’t gone home to bed. He didn’t sleep well these days anyway, and after last night’s little fiasco he hadn’t attempted to undress. He was determined to see Isobel, to talk to her. And if that meant treading on Anita’s toes, then so be it.
    Running a careless hand over the growth of stubble on his jawline, he thrust open his door and got haltingly out of the vehicle. Despite the hour, the air was still warm, though there was a delicious breeze blowing up off the ocean. The scent of salt was stimulating, and he thought that in other circumstances he might have been considering taking his yacht out for a sail today.
    The villa seemed all in darkness. Anita would still be sleeping; she rarely rose before eleven. Sometimes it was midday before she summoned Sancha to deliver the strong black coffee she drank so liberally. That, together with a narrow, black cheroot, was all she had for breakfast.
    Which was why Alejandro occasionally chose this time to walk on the beach. His own property was a dozen miles from here, over a precipitous route that wound up into the hills above the villa. He didn’t visit the villa every time he drove down here, but since he’d known Isobel was coming he’d begun to haunt the place.
    It was hard, incredibly hard, to remain calm when he wanted to howl his outrage at the unfairness of fate. He hadn’t realised it would be so difficult, seeing Isobel again.And, while his situation had changed so dramatically, she seemed infuriatingly the same.
    Except that she had had a baby…
    The shadows lightened, highlighting a piece of driftwood in his path. Kicking it aside, he was grateful to avoid it. It would have been easy to mistake it for a clump of seaweed thrown up by the incoming tide.
    Then, as he straightened, he saw her. It was still barely light, but there was no mistaking the slim figure etched against a sky lemon-tinged by the rising sun. His