The Rodrigues Pregnancy

Mills & Boon is proud to present a fabulous collection of fantastic novels by bestselling, much loved author

ANNE MATHER

Anne has a stellar record of achievement within the

publishing industry, having written over one hundred

and sixty books, with worldwide sales of more than

forty-eight MILLION copies in multiple languages.

This amazing collection of classic stories offers a chance

for readers to recapture the pleasure Anne’s powerful,

passionate writing has given.

We are sure you will love them all!

I’ve always wanted to write—which is not to say I’ve always wanted to be a professional writer. On the contrary, for years I only wrote for my own pleasure and it wasn’t until my husband suggested sending one of my stories to a publisher that we put several publishers’ names into a hat and pulled one out. The rest, as they say, is history. And now, one hundred and sixty-two books later, I’m literally—excuse the pun—staggered by what’s happened.

I had written all through my infant and junior years and on into my teens, the stories changing from children’s adventures to torrid gypsy passions. My mother used to gather these manuscripts up from time to time, when my bedroom became too untidy, and dispose of them! In those days, I used not to finish any of the stories and Caroline, my first published novel, was the first I’d ever completed. I was newly married then and my daughter was just a baby, and it was quite a job juggling my household chores and scribbling away in exercise books every chance I got. Not very professional, as you can imagine, but that’s the way it was.

These days, I have a bit more time to devote to my work, but that first love of writing has never changed. I can’t imagine not having a current book on the typewriter—yes, it’s my husband who transcribes everything on to the computer. He’s my partner in both life and work and I depend on his good sense more than I care to admit.

We have two grown-up children, a son and a daughter, and two almost grown-up grandchildren, Abi and Ben. My e-mail address is mystic-am@msn.com and I’d be happy to hear from any of my wonderful readers.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

Cover

About the Author

Title Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

EPILOGUE

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

THE villa dreamed in the afternoon sunlight. Pale stone walls, blush pink tiles dripping with purple and white bougainvillea that curled over the eaves and framed the shuttered windows. There was iron grill-work circling the first floor gallery, a dark contrast to the vivid colours of the flowers. It was everything Olivia had hoped it would be and more besides.

It wasn’t big. Indeed, compared to the houses she’d shared with Tony over the years, it was almost conservatively small. But that suited her. She didn’t want big. She didn’t want impressive. She just wanted somewhere she could call her own. Somewhere she could live unnoticed, undisturbed.

Beyond the gardens—lush lawns and rioting vegetation—the blue-green waters of the Caribbean creamed onto an almost white beach. It was delightful, it was heaven, and it was hers—for the next few months at least.

But Olivia shivered suddenly as the memory of why she was here swept over her. Tony was dead. Her husband of more than fifteen years had died as he had lived, screwing his latest mistress. And, as if that weren’t enough, the police had informed her that they’d both been high on cocaine at the time.

Naturally the press had indulged in a feeding frenzy at these revelations. Antonio Mora had always been news and, even though he was dead, he’d continued to excite speculation. Particularly as his latest partner had been the wife of a local senator.

Of course that aspect of the affair had soon been hushed up, and the question of why Olivia had remained married to him for so many years had resurfaced with predictable ease. It had always been assumed that she’d overlooked his many sexual exploits because of his money. But it wasn’t true. If she’d divorced Tony she’d still have been a wealthy woman. She’d signed no prenuptial agreement. A good lawyer could have probably ensured that she’d get half of everything Tony had.

No, it was Luis who had ensured that she and her husband stayed together. Luis, who had been only three when she’d come to work for Tony as the boy’s nanny. And, after discovering the fiasco of their whirlwind marriage, it had been Luis she’d continued to love.

Not that Tony had been an unkind man. When they’d met for the first time, she’d been instantly attracted by his charm and good looks. What she hadn’t realised was that Tony had had a different agenda. While she’d been looking for a lasting relationship, he’d been looking for a mother for his son.

He’d known she would never do anything to hurt Luis. The child had taken to her from the start and she’d let that blind her to his father’s faults. Besides, after a fairly ordinary upbringing in England, she’d been flattered by Tony’s interest in her. No one knew better than she did how persuasive he could be.

Tony’s funeral had been a nightmare. Reporters from more than a dozen countries had been jostling for pictures of the ‘grieving’ widow. The fact that Olivia had found it impossible to put on a show for the media had aroused even more speculation. When she’d stood dry-eyed beside her husband’s coffin Olivia hadn’t realised that it would be her picture that would dominate the headlines for the following week.

Yet, she’d got over it. And she had cried, too, in her suite at the house Tony had owned in Bal Harbour. They’d been together too many years for her not to feel some emotion. And she had cared for him once before she’d learned what a liar he could be.

But, ultimately, it wasn’t Tony’s lies that had driven her to seek this seclusion. Her hand probed the slight swell of her stomach and her teeth dug into her lip. She was a liar, too, though there was no one now to accuse her of being a hypocrite. The guilt she had she shared with no one but herself.

And for weeks after Tony’s death she hadn’t allowed herself to think about what had happened the night he’d died. She’d been kept too busy sorting out his affairs to pay any attention to herself. Which was good. When her mind was busy, she could put the past behind her. She could pretend that she hadn’t sacrificed her self-respect.

Avoiding Christian Rodrigues had been harder. The man who had been her husband’s deputy, and with whom he had shared a common heritage, had never been easy to ignore. But he had shamed her; he had made her no better than the husband whose faithlessness she had despised. And now he was behaving as if it mattered to him what happened to her. That he had some right to say how she conducted her life from now on.

It was ludicrous. He didn’t care about her. He’d proved that by seducing her that night. She couldn’t bear to be around him knowing how he felt about her. She was pretty sure he despised himself for allowing it to happen.

She knew that he’d felt sorry for her. She was too old, after all; too unglamorous to attract a man like him. Christian was like Tony. He was ambitious as well as clever. When he chose a wife, she’d have status as well as beauty.

It was when she’d discovered she was expecting Christian’s baby that she’d realised she had to get away. With Luis in college in San Francisco, there was nothing to stop her from leaving Miami. San Gimeno had seemed the perfect destination, and escaping here had been easier than she’d thought.

For once, she’d appreciated the advantages that money had given her. Although much of his estate was in trust until Luis’s twenty-first birthday, Tony had left her well provided for. Of the six properties he’d owned around the world, two of them—the mansion in Bal Harbour and an apartment in Miami—now belonged to Olivia. And with a trust fund that would pay her something in the region of two million dollars a year, she need never worry about security again.

Olivia had her own plans, however. As soon as—well, as soon as she returned to the States she intended to donate much of her inheritance to her favourite charities. She would keep enough for her and her baby to live on. But she had no desire for her child to know the hollow existence Luis had endured for so many years.

Nevertheless, she’d been grateful for the luxury of hiring a private jet to bring her to the island. She wanted no one to know where she was until her baby was born. She didn’t want to hurt Luis, and she would miss his regular phone calls, but Christian must never know what he’d done.

One of the smaller islands in the Bahamas group, San Gimeno had been left virtually untouched by the tourist boom. There were few hotels to speak of and its economy depended on its agriculture and fishing industries. It was the perfect retreat and although she’d only been here a couple of months, she loved it already.

Leaving the veranda where she’d been sitting enjoying the view, Olivia trod across the grass to the palm-fringed dunes that edged the beach. The turf was coarse beneath her feet, but she was getting used to going barefoot. It gave her a sense of freedom and she liked it.

It was so unlike the life she’d led as the wife of one of Florida’s richest men. She couldn’t imagine Tony appreciating the sight of his wife wearing a simple cropped vest and denim shorts. It had been important to him to feel proud of her, and she’d got used to doing and wearing what he said.

But Tony was dead and for the first time since she was twenty-two she was her own woman. An independent being, with no one to please except herself. It was a tantalising thought. Yet she couldn’t deny a shiver of—what? Anticipation? Apprehension? She wouldn’t have been human if she hadn’t felt some anxiety about the future.

Once again, an image of Christian Rodrigues filled her thoughts and her breath caught painfully in her throat. She had no doubt that—as she was Tony’s widow—he would be there for her, too, if she needed him. But she had no intention of asking for his help. Or indeed Luis’s, either.

She still hadn’t decided where she was going to live after the baby was born. She might return to Florida or she might stay here. She might even go back to England. It would depend what she intended to do with the rest of her life. Whether the tentative ideas she had for earning her own living might bear any fruit.

The sun was still hot upon her shoulders, and Olivia shifted restlessly. She was used to the heat. Florida could be unbearably hot and the humidity there was much greater than it was here. Nevertheless, she didn’t want to risk developing a fever. She had to stay well and rested. With a sigh of regret she turned back towards the villa.

And saw her maid Susannah standing waiting for her at the top of the veranda steps.

Immediately, Olivia felt a twinge of anxiety. She didn’t know why. It wasn’t as if she and the West Indian woman were close friends. But there was a rapport between them that Olivia had sensed as soon as she’d met her, and, recognising the agitation in the woman’s dark-skinned face now, she couldn’t help the sudden quiver in her stomach.

‘Is something wrong?’ she called, quickening her step, and Susannah moved aside to allow her to step up onto the veranda.

‘Um—no, ma’am,’ she said, but her tone was hardly convincing. Her hands twisted together at her waist. ‘You got a phone call, Mrs Mora. From the States. I wasn’t sure you’d want to take it.’

Olivia’s jaw dropped. ‘A phone call?’ she echoed, her voice hardly louder than a whisper. Susannah knew that no one else knew she was here. Or rather, Olivia had believed they didn’t, she amended tensely. ‘I—who is it?’

The housekeeper viewed her sympathetically. ‘I think he said his name was Roderick or Rodrigo. Do you want me to tell him you’re not here?’

Olivia’s nails dug into her palms. Not Roderick or Rodrigo, she guessed. ‘Could it have been Rodrigues?’ she queried, hoping she didn’t sound as panicked as she felt, and Susannah nodded with some relief.

‘It could be,’ she said. ‘Do you know him?’

Olivia winced. Did she know Christian? In the biblical sense definitely, she thought, though that was almost laughable. Oh, God, she should have known she’d escaped too easily. She should have realised that Christian would track her down.

‘I can find out what he wants?’ offered Susannah, clearly a little concerned at Olivia’s manner. In the eight weeks since she’d come to work for her, there had been no phone calls from the United States or anywhere else.

Olivia was tempted. The idea of letting Susannah deal with the call was appealing. She didn’t have to explain herself to Christian. He wasn’t Tony. He wasn’t even a friend, she thought tensely. He had no right to hound her like this.

But then common sense reasserted itself. Did she want him to think she was afraid of him? Afraid to speak to him?

No!

‘It’s—all right, Susannah,’ she managed to say now, reinforcing her words with a rueful smile. ‘It’s just a business associate of my late husband’s.’ Yeah, right.

‘If you’re sure?’

Susannah still looked doubtful and Olivia was warmed by the concern she could see in the other woman’s face. ‘I’m sure,’ she said, taking a deep breath before stepping into the light and airy living room of the villa. ‘Perhaps you could get me a glass of iced tea? I’m very thirsty.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

Susannah turned into the long passageway that ran from front to back of the sprawling residence while Olivia reluctantly approached the phone. It was lying on its side on an end table beside one of the three oatmeal leather sofas that formed a three-sided square before the flower-filled fireplace. With the windows open, the scent of blooms drifted irresistibly to Olivia’s nostrils. She took another steadying breath before picking up the receiver.

‘Yes?’ she said, feigning ignorance. ‘Who is this?’

‘It’s Christian Rodrigues,’ he responded shortly, as if she knew any number of men with the same last name. ‘Hello, Olivia. How are you?’

Olivia’s teeth clenched. Did he expect her to answer him? Dammit, what the hell was he doing calling her here?

‘What do you want, Christian?’ she asked coldly, refusing to give him the satisfaction of humouring him. And then, because she couldn’t resist asking, ‘How did you know where to reach me?’

There was silence for a moment and she guessed he hadn’t liked her reply. Then he said, his accent thickening as it always did when he was angry—or aroused, ‘Oh, por favor, Olivia. Credit me with a little intelligence.’

Olivia’s nails dug into the soft leather arm of the sofa as she sank down onto its cushions. ‘You knew where I was,’ she said, the inflection a statement, not a question, and he sighed.

‘You are Antonio Mora’s widow, Olivia,’ he said flatly. ‘A wealthy woman in her own right. I owe it to Tony to look out for you. What kind of a man would I be if I betrayed his trust?’

Olivia’s lips tightened. ‘You tell me.’

Another silence, this time more hostile than the last, and she knew she had touched a nerve. Then, ‘This is not the time to discuss the past, Olivia,’ he told her harshly. And she didn’t have to see his face to know he was angry now. ‘But Tony is dead and, whether you like it or not, you are vulnerable. It is my responsibility to ensure that you are not disturbed in any way.’

‘Except by you.’

She heard his sudden intake of breath and knew a moment’s fear that she had gone too far. Christian had been a good friend to Tony but he would make a bad enemy. For her own sake—and for the sake of her child—she had to make him understand that she didn’t need his help.

But how?

Taking another deep breath, she plunged into an impromptu explanation. ‘Look, I’m sorry if I seem ungrateful, Christian, but you have to understand I was hoping for some privacy here. When—when Tony died, I didn’t seem to have a minute to myself. Perhaps I was naïve in thinking I could get away without telling anyone where I was going. But I hope this doesn’t mean I have to report to you every time I want to—want to—’

The words ‘take a leak’ seemed most appropriate, but this time she bit her tongue before she offended him again. Somehow, she had to convince him that she was all right, that she needed nothing from him. If she could just keep her head, he would soon realise he was wasting his time with her.

‘I do not expect you to report to me at all, Olivia,’ he said now, almost grimly, and her heart sank at the thought that perhaps he wasn’t going to be so easy to dismiss after all. ‘But it would have been a courtesy to leave your forwarding address with my secretary.’

Not likely! Olivia’s mouth tightened. She refused to give that promiscuous bitch the time of day. Dolores Samuels had been trying to get her claws into Christian ever since Tony had blown her off a year ago. He must know that. Or had he already availed himself of her far-too-obvious allure?

The idea should not have been so distasteful to her and to cover herself, she muttered, ‘Perhaps I should.’ But she resented his assumption that she owed him any explanations. Dammit, he wasn’t her husband. She owed him nothing at all.

‘I’m sorry if you feel I have overstepped my position, Olivia,’ he declared into the silence that had followed her reluctant submission. ‘But, in the circumstances, it was—unavoidable.’

Unavoidable? Olivia stiffened. Was she missing something here? Surely he couldn’t have found out about— But, no. That was impossible. She’d told no one she was seeing a doctor and a patient’s records were confidential, weren’t they?

She shook her head. She was being paranoid. She’d done nothing to arouse anyone’s suspicions, least of all his. Whatever he wanted, it had to be something to do with Tony’s estate. But why hadn’t he contacted Luis? Was the power Tony had given him not enough?

‘I don’t understand,’ she said now, adopting an aloof tone. ‘What is—was—unavoidable?’

‘Luis is in hospital in San Francisco,’ replied Christian without preamble, and Olivia was glad she was sitting down when he threw that at her.

‘In hospital?’ she echoed weakly, her hand clammy on the receiver. ‘Oh, God, what’s happened? Is he ill?’

‘Not ill, no,’ responded Christian swiftly, and she guessed he wasn’t totally insensitive to her feelings.

‘His car ploughed into a wall. Luis was driving, naturally. He has a fractured pelvis, bruises, concussion…’ he paused ‘…and initially a suspected broken neck.’

The whimper of pain Olivia gave was audible to him and she heard Christian utter a frustrated imprecation. Then, almost savagely, he said, ‘He is not dying, Olivia. His spine was bruised, that is all. There is no fracture. With time—and the skill of his doctors—he should recover completely.’

Olivia swallowed. ‘You’re sure of that?’

‘As sure as I can be.’ Christian expelled a sharp breath. ‘I am not an expert, Olivia. But my understanding is that your precious boy will soon be as good as new.’

Olivia stiffened. ‘You needn’t be sarcastic, Christian. I realise that both you and Tony were born with balance sheets clutched in your power-hungry little hands. But Luis isn’t like that. He realises there’s more to life than money.’

‘Vale.’ The ice in Christian’s voice was almost palpable. ‘I suppose that is why he was only driving a Porsche Turbo instead of the GT?’

Olivia pressed her lips together. ‘Just tell me where he is,’ she said coldly. ‘I want to go and see him.’

‘There is no need.’

‘What do you mean, there is no need?’ Olivia was infuriated, her earlier panic giving way to indignation at his words. ‘Which hospital was he taken to? You might as well tell me. Because if you don’t, I will find out—’

‘Cool it, will you?’ Christian’s tone was flat now.

Olivia wished she didn’t feel so helpless. ‘You can’t stop me seeing him, Christian.’

‘God!’ His exclamation was fervent. ‘I am not trying to stop you from seeing him, Olivia. But there’s no need for you to think about flying out to San Francisco when I’ve arranged for him to be flown back to Miami in the morning.’

Olivia gasped. ‘You’ve what?’ She couldn’t believe it.

‘I think you heard me, Olivia.’

‘But—’ She struggled for words. ‘You had no right to do that.’

‘No?’

‘No,’ she spluttered. ‘It’s too soon for him to be moved. You said he has a fractured pelvis. He probably has whiplash. And what about the concussion—?’

‘The mild concussion?’ he inquired evenly and she wanted to scream. ‘He will survive.’

‘I still think you shouldn’t have made the decision to move him,’ she declared hotly. ‘Just because you can’t be bothered to take time off from your personal schedule to go and see him, you’re prepared to risk possible complications to satisfy your own ends.’

‘That’s your opinion, is it?’

He was breathing heavily now. She could hear it, and for a moment she was tempted to say nothing more. But she couldn’t let him intimidate her and, squaring her shoulders, she said, ‘Yes, it is.’ She paused and then added defensively, ‘And whatever his faults, I’m sure it would have been Tony’s opinion as well.’

‘You think?’ He blew out a breath and, although she couldn’t see him, she sensed the anger that was simmering just beneath his iron control. ‘Well, querida, for your information, Luis’s doctor has assessed his condition and sanctioned the transfer to the hospital in Miami. An air ambulance, fully equipped with both doctors and nursing staff, will fly him from the local airport in San Francisco. Subsequently, he will be airlifted to the Sacred Heart. Does that reassure you?’

Olivia moistened her lips. ‘I—I suppose it has to.’

‘Good.’ But he was sardonic. ‘Then that only leaves us with the question of when you will come to Miami to visit him.’

Oh, God! Olivia sank back against the soft leather. She’d known it was coming, of course, but it sounded so much more ominous when he said it.

‘You—you say Luis is being flown back to Miami tomorrow?’ she asked, prevaricating, and Christian agreed.

‘Naturally, with the time change, you would be advised not to try and see him until the day after,’ he observed drily. ‘I suggest I send a helicopter for you on Thursday morning. If you can be ready for, say, ten-thirty, we could—’

‘I don’t need your help to get back to Miami,’ Olivia interrupted him swiftly. The idea of Christian coming here, invading her sanctuary, didn’t bear thinking about. ‘I can get a flight myself.’

‘When?’ Christian sounded impatient. ‘Come on, Olivia, we both know that you’ve got to get from San Gimeno to New Providence before you can even think about taking a flight.’

‘There are such things as charter flights,’ she retorted, desperate to avoid his intervention. ‘I do have the money to hire a pilot, you know.’

‘But why should you want to do that when the Mora Corporation owns a couple of choppers?’ demanded Christian infuriatedly. ‘If what you’re really saying is that you don’t want me to escort you, then okay. I’ll have Mike Delano make the trip.’

‘There’s no need for you to send anyone,’ she persisted, but now she had gone too far.