His Unknown Heir(10)

His voice was just as Lauren remembered it: deep, melodious, with a faint huskiness that was spine-tinglingly sexy. It tugged on her soul like a siren’s song, drawing her gaze inexorably to his face.

Matty had his father’s eyes, she thought faintly. The likeness between them was almost uncanny. When her son had been born and the midwife had placed him in her arms she had stared in awe at his tiny face and been reminded of Ramon. But her joy had been tinged with an aching sadness that he was not with her to welcome their child into the world. She had never expected to see him again, but now, unbelievably, he was here in Alistair Gambrill’s office, and she was overwhelmed by the conflicting emotions that stormed through her.

‘I’m pleased to meet you, Lauren.’ Only Ramon could make her name sound so sensual, his discernible accent lingering over the vowels like a lover’s caress, causing the tiny hairs on her arms to stand on end.

Her face suddenly felt hot as the blood moved in her veins once more. Even worse was the instant effect Ramon had on her body, and she bit back a gasp when she felt her nipples tighten so that they strained uncomfortably against the lacy restriction of her bra.

Why was he here? she wondered fearfully, tension knotting in her stomach. Could he have found out about Mateo? She glanced desperately at Alistair. Everyone at PGH knew she had a son. Had her boss unwittingly revealed her secret by explaining to Ramon that her lateness this morning might have been due to childcare issues?

She fought the frantic urge to turn and flee from Ramon’s speculative gaze. Alistair had introduced him as a new client, she reminded herself. He couldn’t be here because of Matty. But he had known the name of the law firm she had moved to shortly before they had broken up, and she was sure his presence at PGH was not merely coincidence. Nothing Ramon ever did was unplanned.

What game was he playing? she wondered. But it was easier to go along with it in front of Alistair than to admit to a history that was well and truly in the past. Pride and professionalism were her only weapons against Ramon’s lethal charm, and she called on both, forcing her lips to curve into a polite smile as she extended her hand. ‘And I am delighted to meet you…’ She paused infinitesimally while she steeled herself to say his name. ‘Ramon.’

In the few brief seconds before his hand closed around hers she allowed her gaze to roam over him. It was only eighteen months since she had last seen him, but he looked older. Still stunningly handsome, but there were a few faint lines around his eyes, and his aristocratic features seemed harder somehow, his skin drawn tight over his slashing cheekbones. The silky black hair that had once touched his collar was now cropped short—less jet-setting playboy, more billionaire businessman, she mused.

She had read in the newspapers of his father’s death a year ago. Ramon was now CEO of Velaquez Conglomerates, which included among its business interests the famous Velaquez winery, a bank, and a chain of five-star hotels around the world. He must also have assumed the title of Duque de Velaquez, she realised. But then her thoughts scattered as his hand clasped hers, his strong, tanned fingers contrasting starkly with her paler skin, and the contact of flesh on flesh sent an electrical current shooting up her arm and a quiver of reaction down her spine.

Ramon studied Lauren in a leisurely appraisal, frowning slightly as he felt his body’s involuntary response to her. His arousal was instant and embarrassingly hard. He was not a testosterone-fuelled youth, he reminded himself, irritated to discover that his desire for her had not lessened in the year and a half since he had last seen her.

She was wearing the scarlet suit she had worn the night she had abruptly ended their relationship—although today she had teamed it with a demure white blouse rather than the black silk bustier that had displayed her breasts like plump velvety peaches. Her close-fitting jacket showed off her slim waist, while her pencil-skirt moulded her hips and stopped several inches above her knees to reveal long slender legs in sheer hose. Black patent stiletto heels added another three inches to her height and made her legs seem even longer—he wondered if she still liked to wear stockings.

He inhaled swiftly, and tore his eyes and his over-active imagination away from her legs. Her face was attractive, rather than pretty, oval in shape, with creamy skin, intelligent grey eyes beneath hazel brows. Her dark honey-blonde was hair swept up into a chignon.

What was it about this woman that he found such a turn-on? Ramon wondered irritably. He had dated some of the world’s most beautiful women—actresses and models whose looks were their fortune. Only this graceful English rose had taken him to the edge of sexual insanity.