Was it this place? The dress? The extravagant shampoo?
Or was it being around Santiago, being pregnant with his child, being the first woman he’d ever brought to this famous ranch, spread across five counties of south Texas?
“Most of South Texas was once claimed by the Spanish Empire, in the time of the conquistadors...my father is a Zoya. The eighth Duque de Sangovia.”
Santiago, the son of a duke? That surprised her. He didn’t seem like a man who’d been born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Oh, he was arrogant enough. But he seemed too rough, like a man who’d had to fight so hard for everything that he no longer gave a damn about the judgment of lesser mortals.
“Your father is a duke? An actual duke?...What’s he like?”
“I wouldn’t know. We’ve never met.”
That was one thing Santiago and Belle had in common, then. All she had of her father was an old picture of him, beaming into the camera as he held her as a swaddled baby, sleeping in his arms.
If Santiago had never even met his father, that explained a lot. But why did they have different last names? If his father was still alive, why had the two men never met?
Then she was distracted by a more urgent question. Biting her lip, Belle looked down at her belly, prominent in the red dress. She looked at the dress, at the luxurious toiletries, the costly, well-made shoes.
Why was Santiago suddenly being so kind to her?
She couldn’t trust it, that was for sure. She’d learned that from their night together. He could be warm and tender when he wanted her, then ruthlessly toss her out of his life like garbage.
There could be only one reason. He’d realized he couldn’t bully her into marriage, so he was going to try to seduce her into it.
She wouldn’t let him.
She wouldn’t.
Belle was willing to share custody of their baby. But she wouldn’t share her life, her heart and certainly not her body. She would never be Santiago Velazquez’s plaything again, and definitely not his wife.
Now she just had to convince him of that, so he’d let her go home.
At five minutes past eight, as Belle walked through the enormous, sprawling ranch house, down the darkened hallways, she felt strangely nervous of how he’d react.
Opening the sliding doors, she went outside onto the terrace that stretched out toward the lake. Fairy lights hung from a large pergola, covered with flowers of pink bougainvillea. The lights twinkled against the twilight as soft music came from invisible speakers.
And she saw him.
Santiago stood at the terrace railing, looking out pensively toward dark water painted red by sunset. Then he turned, devastatingly handsome, tall and broad-shouldered in his tuxedo. And he smiled.
“Welcome,” he said in his low, husky voice. Their eyes locked, and held.
And Belle suddenly knew the real reason for her fear. Her heart had known it all along, and so had her body. Her brain had refused to accept it. Now she saw the truth. She hadn’t been afraid of Santiago’s reaction.
She was afraid of her own. Because when she’d given him her body all those months ago, she’d unwillingly given him part of her heart. And now, as he smiled at her, his eyes twinkling beneath the lights, she caught her breath.
“You’re beautiful.” Coming closer, he held out a champagne glass. His dark eyes caressed her as he whispered, “Brighter than the stars.”
As she took the champagne glass, their fingers brushed. She saw the intention in his eyes, and it rocked her to her core.
Santiago intended to conquer her, just as he’d conquered the world. He intended to win her, as he’d won his billion-dollar fortune. He intended to rule her, as he ruled this isolated Texas ranch, big enough to be its own kingdom.
He intended to possess her as his wife. And he would not be denied.
CHAPTER FOUR
HE’D BEEN WRONG about her. All wrong.
When he’d left New York in pursuit of Belle, he’d been certain she was a gold digger, a cunning, cold-hearted actress, who’d ruthlessly lied in order to conceive his child for her own selfish financial gain.