Ramon had smiled at the sound of Lauren’s voice. It was good to be back in London, and even better to know that soon he would be making love to his beautiful English rose, whose demure smile hid a delightfully passionate nature.
Business had kept him in the States for two weeks, and he was impatient to relieve the ache of sexual frustration that had grown more intense with every day that he had been away. Lauren had been in his mind more often than he was comfortable with, but now was not the time to question why she had such an effect on him. He wanted her with an urgency he had never felt for any of his previous lovers, and he knew that tonight she would be gratifyingly impatient for him to take her to bed.
He almost gave in to the temptation to instruct her meet him at his apartment when she finished work, but he resisted. A leisurely meal in an exclusive restaurant would heighten his anticipation of the delights to follow, and on a practical level he had refused the bland in-flight meals served on the plane so it was not only his sexual appetite that demanded appeasement.
‘I’ve booked a table at the Vine for seven-thirty,’ he said. It was satisfying to reflect on his business trip, which had gone just the way he had planned it. As usual he had left nothing to chance, and the take-over bid had been completed with a brutal swiftness that had taken his competitors by surprise. ‘We’re celebrating.’
Lauren’s heart missed a beat, and for a few seconds her brain went into freefall before her common sense returned. She was the only person in the world who knew the result of the pregnancy test she had done a week ago. There was no way Ramon could be suggesting that they were celebrating the fact that she was expecting his baby, which must mean—Lauren’s heart gave another little flip—he had remembered it was the six-month anniversary of when they had first met.
She stared at the silk tie she had bought him after spending her entire lunch-break agonising over whether she should give him an anniversary gift. Clearly she had made the right decision. Ramon had remembered the special significance of today, and tonight, over dinner, she would tell him about the baby.
‘Wonderful,’ she murmured, unable to disguise the little tremor in her voice. Trying to hide her feelings for Ramon was always a struggle, and the knowledge that she was carrying his child made it even harder to mask her emotions.
Ramon glanced at his watch. ‘I’ll meet you at the restaurant in three hours.’
A little shiver of pleasure ran through Lauren at the thought of seeing him again, but she could not help feeling anxious at the prospect of telling him about the baby. ‘I can’t wait to see you,’ she said. ‘My afternoon meeting is going to drag intolerably.’
He had missed her, Ramon acknowledged. The thought caused his dark brows to draw together. No woman had ever been important enough in his life for him to miss being with her, and he was startled to realise just how often he had thought about Lauren while he had been away. But he did not intend to share that information with her. He did not want her to think she could ever be more to him than his mistress.
His frown deepened as his thoughts turned once more to the news that his father’s cancer had returned after a brief period of remission. This time it was incurable. Now he understood why lately the Duque had been more insistent than ever that he should choose a suitable bride—with emphasis on the word suitable, Ramon thought grimly, recalling how his father had raked up the old story of Catalina during their last conversation.
Catalina Cortez was a mistake from his past of whom he did not like to be reminded, he brooded irritably. Dios, he had been a testosterone-fuelled eighteen-year-old when he had lost his heart and his head to the gorgeous glamour model whose bountiful curves had been regularly displayed on the pages of certain top-shelf magazines. But almost two decades later his father still would not allow him to forget that he had been utterly determined to marry Catalina.
Ramon did not suppose he was the first man to have been made a fool of by love, but he had learned his lesson well and he would not be a fool again. The memory of discovering Catalina with her lover and realising that she was a slut who had only been so flatteringly eager to marry him to get her greedy hands on the Velaquez fortune still touched a raw nerve—but no more than the humiliation he had felt that his father had been proved right.
Far worse than Catalina’s treachery had been the knowledge that he had disappointed his family. But it had been a long time ago, Ramon thought impatiently. Since then he had assured his father that he was prepared to do his duty by marrying a woman suitable to be a duquesa and to beget an heir. Now it seemed that assurances were no longer enough. His father was dying and wanted to see his only son married. Duty was calling him in an ever louder voice, and the freedom to take his pleasure with mistresses was drawing to an end—for when he did marry he intended to be a faithful husband to his as yet unknown bride.