The Maid's Spanish Secret Page 15

  She tried to hold it together, but her emotions were still all over the place. Her mouth trembled and tears leaked to join the water hitting her cheeks. “I love you, too.” Her voice quavered. “I shouldn’t have said you weren’t enough. I was upset.”

  “I know.” His gaze grew pained. “Maybe instead of ‘trying,’ we’ll just see. Hmm? I don’t want you to think our marriage hinges on whether we have another baby. I love you.”

  “Okay. But I really do want your baby.” The yearning and disappointment was still there, but as she let her head rest on his shoulder, the hollowness eased. The darkness was dispelled by the light of his love.

  “Me, too.” He pressed his wet lips to her crown. “And when the time is right, I’m sure we’ll have one.”

  * * *

  Weeks later, Rico crowded her to scan the strips of negatives with her.

  “I want the one I took of you in front of the waterfall,” he said.

  Poppy never minded the touch of his body against hers, but, “You’re here to tell me how your father will behave. Act like him and pick something he might like.”

  His parents were coming for an early dinner, their first visit to the finished house. Sorcha and Cesar had plans elsewhere so it would be only the four of them. They would show them the beehives and the wine cellar and, at the explicit request of the duque, Poppy would demonstrate her darkroom.

  “The waterfall is a good shot,” Rico said, not backing off one hairbreadth. “The ripples in your hair mirrored the path of the water. I’ve wanted to see it since I took it.”

  It was poorly framed and crooked, but she could fix that.

  Actually, it was a decent shot, she decided, once the negative was in the enlarger. It was perfectly focused and the light was quite pretty, dappling through the jungle leaves. It was taken from behind her. She sat up to her waist in the water, looking toward the waterfall. She had been wearing her bikini and the strings were hidden by the fall of her hair so she looked like a naked nymph spied in her natural habitat.

  “I am not showing this one to your father.”

  She had already run test strips from this batch so she set her timer and switched the overhead light to red. Then she set the paper for exposure.

  “How long do we have?” His hands settled on her waist.

  “Not long enough.” The timer went off and she chuckled at the noise of disappointment that escaped him.

  She moved the paper into the developer bath and gently rocked until the second timer pinged. She moved the paper to the fixing bath, explaining as she went.

  “This last one is water, to wash off the chemicals.” She left the image in the final bath.

  “See? It’s great,” he said.

  “It is,” she agreed, washing her hands and drying them. “Now ask me how much time we have.”

  “Enough?”

  “It shouldn’t stay in there more than thirty minutes.” She closed one eye and wrinkled her nose. “But we shouldn’t stay in here more than thirty minutes or we won’t have time to get ready for our guests.”

  “I can work with that.”

  “I know you can,” she purred throatily and held up her arms.

  He ambled close, crowded her against the counter beside the sink then lifted her to sit upon it. “Have I told you lately how much I love you?”

  Every day. She cradled his hard jaw in soft hands, grazing her lips against the stubble coming in because he hadn’t yet shaved. “Have I told you lately that you make all of my dreams come true?”

  Maybe not all. They were still “seeing,” not “trying,” but their love was tender and new. They were protecting it with gentle words and putting no pressure on it with expectations they couldn’t control.

  “I want to,” he said, hands slowing as he ran them over her back and up to pull the thick elastic from her hair. “I want you to be happy.”

  “I am. So happy I don’t know how to contain it all.” She skimmed her fingers down to his shirt buttons, good at this now. She smiled as she spread the white shirt. It glowed pink in the red light. She slid light fingers across the pattern of hair flat against thick muscle and drew a circle around his dark nipples.

  “Me, too,” he said, skimming the strap of her sundress down her shoulder and setting kisses along the tendon at the base of her neck. “I didn’t know happiness like this was possible. That it was as simple as opening my heart, loving and allowing myself to be loved. You humble me, being brave enough to teach me that.”

  This was supposed to be a playful quickie, but his words and the tenderness in his touch were turning it into something far more profound.

  “This is what I wanted the day we made love the first time. I wanted to know the man you didn’t show to anyone else. Thank you for trusting yourself to me.” She held his head in her hands, gazed on the handsome face that she read so easily these days. She pressed her mouth to his.

  He took over, gently ravaging in a way that was hungry and passionate and reverent. She responded the way she always did, helplessly and without reserve. She trusted herself to him, too, and it was worth that risk. Their intimacy went beyond the right to open his belt or slide a hand beneath her skirt. His touch was possessive and greedy, but caring and knowing. Hers wasn’t hesitant or daring, but confident and welcomed with a growl of appreciation.

  He slowed and gazed into her eyes, not because he sensed she needed it, but because, like her, he sensed the magnitude of the moment wrapping around them. Their love would grow over time, but it was real and fixed and imprinted into their souls now. Irrevocable. Unshakable.

  They moved in concert, sliding free of the rest of their clothes, losing her panties to a dark corner, drawing close again and there. He filled her in a smooth joining that set hot tears of joy to dampen her lashes.

  “I love you,” she whispered, clinging her arms and legs around him. “I love when we’re like this. This is everything.”

  “Mi amor,” he murmured. “You’re my heart. My life. Be mine, always.”

  They moved in the muted struggle of soul mates trying to break the limits of the physical world and become one. For a time, as they moved with synchronicity, mouths sealed and hands chasing shivers across each other’s skin, they were nearly there. The rapture held them in a world where only the other existed, where the culmination was a small death to be eluded before the ecstasy of heaven swallowed them whole. Golden light bathed them as they held that delicious shudder of simultaneous orgasm.

  Slowly it faded and they drifted back to the earthly world. Poppy came back to awareness of the hard surface where her backside was balanced, the leather of Rico’s belt chafing her inner thigh. One bared breast was pressed to his damp chest, his heart still knocking against the swell. His breathing was as unsteady as hers, his arms folded tightly across her back, securing her in her precarious position. She nuzzled her nose in his neck and licked lightly at the salty taste near his Adam’s apple.

  Within her, he pulsed a final time. She clenched in response.

  “I may have a small fetish for the scent of vinegar and sulfur for the rest of my life,” he teased, nuzzling her hair. “That was incredible.”

  She suspected they might have a small something else after this, but she didn’t say it. It was only a feeling. An instinct. A premonition she didn’t want to jinx.

  It proved true a few weeks later.

  “Really?” Rico demanded with cautious joy. “It’s absolutely confirmed? Because—”

  “I know,” she assured him, understanding why he was being so careful about getting attached to the idea. She had been wary to believe it, too, despite missing a cycle and having a home test show positive. “But the doctor said yes. I’m pregnant.”

  He said something under his breath that might have been a curse or a murmur of thanks to a higher power. When he drew her into his embrace, she discove
red he was shaking. She felt his chest swell as he consciously took a slow, regulated breath and let it out.

  “You’re happy?” she guessed, grinning ear to ear, eyes wet as she twined her arms around his waist.

  “I want to tell the whole world.”

  “Most people don’t tell anyone until after twelve weeks.”

  “Can I tell Lily?”

  That cracked her up. “Sure. Go ahead.”

  After a frown of concentration, Lily grabbed a doll by the hair and offered it to Poppy. “Baby.”

  “Pretty much how I expect my mother to react,” Rico drawled. “But at least you and I know what an important occasion this is. Where should we go on our babymoon?”

  “I was thinking exotic Saskatchewan?”

  “To see your Gran? Excellent idea. But first, come here.” He drew her into his lap and kissed her. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  They kissed again and might have let it get a lot steamier, but Lily stuck an arm into the cuddle and said, “Me.”

  “Yes, I love you, too. Come on.” Rico scooped her onto Poppy’s lap and kissed the top of his daughter’s head. “I don’t know where we’ll put the new baby, but we’ll find room.”

  EPILOGUE

  One year later...

  POPPY WATCHED RICO carefully set their infant son in her grandmother’s welcoming arms while Poppy’s heart swelled so big, she thought it would burst.

  “Sé gentil,” Lily cautioned her great-grandmother with wide eyes.

  “English, button,” Rico reminded her, skimming his hand over the rippling red-gold waves. He called Lily button and angel and he called Poppy flash and treasure and keeper of my heart.

  “Be gentle,” Lily repeated in the near whisper they’d been coaching her to use when her little brother was sleeping. She was two and a half and talking a blue streak in two different languages, sneaking in a little Valencian and the Swiss nanny’s French here and there.

  “I will be very gentle, my darling,” Gran said with a beaming smile and damp eyes. “Will you stand here beside my chair while your mama takes our picture?”

  Rico stepped out of the frame, waited while Poppy snapped, then took the camera so she would have a few of her with her grandmother and the children. She didn’t let herself wonder how many more chances she would get for photos like this, only embraced that she still had the opportunity today.

  “He’s beautiful,” Gran said, tracing her aged fingertip across the sleep-clenched fist of Guillermo, named for her husband, William. “And heavy,” she added ruefully.

  “He is,” Poppy agreed, gathering up Memo, as Lily was already calling him. Poppy kissed his warm, plump cheek. “Two kilos more than Brenna—that’s Sorcha and Cesar’s little girl. She’s only a couple of weeks younger.”

  “Brenna is, is, is—” Lily hurried to interject with important information, but hit a wall with her vocabulary.

  “Your cousin, sweetheart.”

  “My cousin,” she informed Gran.

  “You’re very lucky, aren’t you? To have a little brother and cousins, too.”

  “Mateo is bossy.”

  “Mateo might express similar opinions about his cousin,” Rico said with dry amusement, waving Poppy to sit on one end of Gran’s small sofa. He took the other and patted his knee for Lily to come into his lap.

  Lily relaxed into his chest, head tilted to blink adoringly at her daddy. “Can I see Mateo?”

  “In a few days. We’re visiting Gran and then we’re going camping. Remember?” Poppy said.

  “And buy Mateo a toy,” Lily recalled.

  “That’s right. Before we go home, we’ll buy toys for him and Enrique.”

  “And Brenna?”

  “And Brenna,” Poppy agreed.

  “You were so homesick when you first went to Spain. Now look how happy you are.” Eleanor reached out her hand to Rico. He took it in his own. “Thank you for making her smile like this.”

  “Thank you.” He secured Lily on his lap as he leaned across to kiss Gran’s pale knuckles. “We still have a room in Spain for you,” he told her for the millionth time. “It’s very warm there.”

  “I’m too old for migrating around the world like a sea turtle,” she dismissed with a wave of her hand. “I have my sister and my friends here. But you’re sweet to keep asking.”

  They stayed through the dinner hour so Gran could show off her great-grandchildren and handsome grandson-in-law.

  “Poppy is becoming famous for her photography,” Gran made a point of announcing over dessert. “There was a bidding war at the auction.”

  “It was for charity,” Poppy said, blushing and downplaying it. “Rico’s brother was being nice, topping each bid.”

  “Don’t be modest. That’s not what happened at all,” Rico chided. “Cesar was incensed that people kept trying to outbid him. My sister-in-law wanted it and he wanted her to have it.”

  “It was so silly,” Poppy said, still blushing. “I could have printed her another.”

  “They wanted the only one and now they have it,” Rico said. The negative had been signed and mounted into the frame. “Poppy has an agent and is filling out her portfolio. We expect she’ll have her first show next year. We’re heading north in the morning, hoping to catch the aurora borealis.”

  The whole table said, “Ooh.”

  The next night, they were ensconced in a resort that billed itself as one of the best places for viewing the northern lights. Their children were abed, the nanny reading a book by the fire and Poppy and Rico were tramping through the trees to a lake that reflected the stars and the sky.

  The world was still and monochromatic under the moonlight, the air crisp with the coming fall. They stood holding hands a long moment, absorbing the silence.

  “Well, Gramps,” Poppy murmured. “We haven’t heard from you in ages. Care to say hello?”

  Nothing.

  “I vote we pass the time by necking,” Rico said.

  “I always have time for that,” Poppy agreed, going into his arms.

  His lips were almost touching hers when she sensed something and opened her eyes. She began to laugh.

  “There he is.”

  Rico looked above them and couldn’t dismiss the appearance with science. Like love, it was inexplicable, beautiful magic.

  * * *

  If you enjoyed The Maid’s Spanish Secret by Dani Collins, you’re sure to enjoy these other Secret Heirs of Billionaires stories!

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  An Heir for the World’s Richest Man

  by Maya Blake

  CHAPTER ONE

  SAFFRON EVERHART STARED at the obscenely large, hideously expensive bouquet of flowers on her desk and her heart dropped into her stomach. This was going to be much more difficult than she’d ever imagined.

  Over the years she’d learned to decode the levels of hell associated with the gifts that arrived on her desk on any given day.

  Flowers meant prepare not to sleep for the next seventy-two hours. Flowers and a gift certificate to the most exclusive spa in Switzerland meant pack a bag and have someone water your plants because you won’t be going home for a week. The last circle of hell was reserved for flowers and jewellery. These days the sight of precious gems made her shudder. She had three diamond bracelets, a Harry Winston pink diamond necklace with matching earrings, and a diamond and sapphire brooch she absolutely hated the sight of simply because of the blood, sweat and tears they’d wrung from her.

  So, in a way, the flowers, as breathtaking and stomach-hollowing as they were, were a blessing simply because they had no accompaniment.

  Still...

  She set the Waterford crystal vase down at the farthest corner of her desk, curbing the urge to caress the soft petals of the hothouse lilies she knew had come from a florist who catered to a handful of exclusive A-list clientele. Just as she resisted the urge to lean forward and inhale their bewitching midnight-breeze scent, or be bowled over by the knowledge that each of the thirty long stems in the gigantic vase cost over a thousand pounds.