Jane Porter - The Latin Lover's Secret Child

Again he told himself not to look ahead, not to think too much. All he could do was take life with Anabella one step at a time. He had to deal with one crisis before facing the next. And right now the girl wanted clean jeans.

In the bottom drawer of the dresser in her room he found old clothes that Anabella didn’t wear anymore, but clothes she hadn’t discarded, either.

Ana beamed. “Thank you.” She grabbed a pair of jeans and an old cropped sweatshirt once a bright cherry red but through repeated washings had faded to brick. “I’ll be ready in just a second. Should I meet you downstairs?”

He agreed and when she appeared fifteen minutes later she was dressed, her hair blow-dried, eye lashes thickened with mascara and lips darkened with a soft rosy lip gloss. “Better?” she teased.

“Much,” Lucio nodded.

He wanted to smile at her but he couldn’t. He was feeling so much, remembering so much. She exuded sweetness and spice, innocence and bravado. This was the Anabella he’d fallen in love with. This was the one he couldn’t imagine living without.

But feeling this much was dangerous. He couldn’t let his emotions get the upper hand and he clamped down hard on all the chaotic, turbulent feelings rushing through him. What Anabella needed now was practical, rational support. She needed him calm. She needed him to remain firmly in control.

“We’ll be eating in here,” he said, steering her into the library. “I thought we could eat by the fire. It seemed cozy.”

She blushed. “And intimate.”

Intimate. Right. Not exactly the mood he was going for. But he let Anna’s comment slide, focused instead on putting her at ease. It’d been a month since she sat at a real table for a meal, and Lucio hoped that this dinner together would be a first step for her on the road to recovery.

Neither said much during dinner but Ana ate nearly everything on her plate. It was a simple, traditional Argentine meal—grilled beef, pommes frites, green salad. “Thank God,” she said, curling up in her wing chair, legs under her. “Real food again.”

He was curious about her memory, about the past month and exactly what and how much she recalled. “What were you eating before?”

Ana shrugged. Smiled. Her teeth flashed white. “Isn’t that odd? I don’t remember. So it must not have been anything good, or I’d know, right?”

“That’s one way of looking at it.”

She laughed. “And what’s another?”

His gut tightened and he watched the light from the fire dance and flicker across her expressive face. He loved her laugh, loved her when she was feisty and playful. When she teased him like this, he wanted to pull her onto his lap, into his arms, and keep her there forever.

Suddenly her expression grew somber and she dropped the French fry she’d been nibbling. “Lucio—”

“Yes, negrita?”

She blushed at the endearment. She’d always loved being his. “We’re still going to get married, aren’t we?” Her blush deepened. She seemed to be struggling with the words. “You do still want to marry me, don’t you?”

So much innocence. Such a return to girlish dreams. For a moment he didn’t know how to answer her. And then he thought, answer her honestly. Be truthful. She deserved that much. “Of course I want to marry you.”

Her lips curved and her green eyes shone warm, soft, as though she were glowing from the inside out. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s do it soon. I want to do it soon.” She leaned forward. “How about tomorrow?”

UPSTAIRS after dinner Anabella didn’t want Lucio to leave her. She slid her arms around his waist, pressed close to him. “Stay with me,” she whispered, her voice deepening, husky, voice of a seductress.

“I can’t.” He moved to kiss the top of her forehead before remembering that he wasn’t her grandmother and he smiled to himself.

“Why not?”

And gazing down into her face, he realized all over again that all he could do was be as honest as possible. “I’m tired. I’ve just returned from a long trip and I need to sleep.”

“You can sleep in my room.”

“I wouldn’t get any sleep, and neither would you.” He stroked her soft cheek with the pad of his thumb. “And you need your rest as much as I do.”

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