The Latin Lover's Secret Child

Anabella studied his hard eyes, his almost arrogant expression. Such a proud, noble face. He could have been a Spanish conquistador, an explorer in search of the New World. Instead he was hers.

“I’ll love you forever,” she promised.

At first he said nothing. Then his dark eyes grew somber. “You’re only seventeen. Forever is an awfully long time.”

But his cautious tone made her laugh and she gave her head a shake even as her warm laughter danced between them, a shimmer of exuberance.

“And tell me, Lucio Cruz. When have I ever been afraid of anything?”

by

Jane Porter

The Galván men: proud Argentinean aristocrats…who’ve chosen American rebels as their brides!

Other exciting episodes in this series:

In Dante’s Debt #2298

Lazaro’s Revenge #2304

Coming Soon

The Spaniard’s Passion

#2363

Harlequin Presents®:

Intense, international and provocatively passionate!

The Latin Lover’s Secret Child

Jane Porter

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

PROLOGUE

IT WAS a beautiful afternoon, sunny, cloudless, the sky a pristine blue. Anabella Galván felt the warmth of the sun inside her, her happiness almost as bright.

“Tonight, Lucio, we’re going tonight. It’s finally happening.” She couldn’t help smiling. It was impossible to contain her excitement.

“You just like the idea of running away together,” Lucio answered, tweaking her nose. “You’re such a rebel, Ana.”

“Maybe. But I want to be with you and if we worried about what everyone else thought, we’d never be together.”

The gaucho nodded his head slowly, his thick black hair loose to his shoulders. He usually wore it tied back but Ana had pulled the leather tie from it moments ago. “You’re sure your brother has no idea—”

“Dante’s not even at the estancia. He’s in Buenos Aires. He’s left me with his American, Daisy.” Ana’s fine black eyebrows arched. “And Daisy is very sweet, but she’s far too trusting.”

“Your brother’s going to be furious.”

Ana pressed against Lucio’s chest and drew his arms around her. “Stop worrying. Everything’s going to be fine.”

They were sitting on a stone plaster wall behind the small town center and he dipped his head, kissed her cheek, near her ear. “I just don’t want you hurt. I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you.”

She laughed at his fears and snuggled closer. “Nothing will happen, Lucio.”

They were silent for a moment and the warm breeze ruffled Ana’s hair and danced across their skin. Anabella closed her eyes, savoring the afternoon’s warmth, the feel of the sun on the top of her head, the strength of Lucio’s arms. Everything would be perfect now. She and Lucio together. She and Lucio and the baby. She couldn’t forget the baby. The baby made all things possible.

His arms tightened around her. His mouth brushed her ear. “This is crazy, you know,” he said, his voice deep.

Ana broke free and turned to face him, her hands supporting her on the rough stone and plaster wall. She studied his face, the black brows, dark eyes, long nose, sensual mouth. He was lovely, but what made him lovely wasn’t the symmetry of his features or his imposing size, but rather the beauty on the inside. You could see the fire in his eyes. You could feel his energy. He was so alive. So real.

Unlike the people in her world.

Unlike her family.

Anabella swallowed and reaching up lightly traced his temple, his nose, his cheekbone and chin. “I love you, Lucio.”

His dark eyes burned hotter, the heat and desire a tangible thing. “Not half as much as I love you.”

But his fire didn’t scare her. She loved it. She wanted it. He made her feel big and powerful and free. “We’ll take the world by storm, Lucio. We’ll do it all. See it all. Have it all.”

He laughed softly and shook his head. “You’re not a dreamer, are you?”

“We will have it all,” she insisted stubbornly, glaring at him. “We’ll have each other. We’ll have the baby. What else is there?”

His dark eyes searched hers. She could tell he was amused by her passionate outburst. Little she did upset him. Little she said troubled him. He accepted her for what she was. He accepted her for who she was.

“I am poor, Ana,” he said slowly, deliberately, his dark gaze intense. “I will never be able to give you—”

“No!” She clapped a hand over his firm mouth, silencing his words. His warm breath tickled her palm but she didn’t remove her hand, unwilling to let him speak the words. “You give me love, Lucio. It’s all I’ve ever wanted, all I’ve ever needed. Everyone in my family insists on the importance of appearances, propriety, position. You’re the only one that just loves me for me.”

His fierce expression softened. He drew her hand from his mouth, kissing her palm as he did so. “But negrita, I want you to have everything.”

She scooted closer to him, inching forward until her thighs pressed his, inching until she’d practically climbed into his lap. “But love is everything.”

“And our baby?”

“Will be loved.” She leaned towards him and touched her lips to the bronze column of his throat. With his Spanish-Indian heritage he tanned easily and she hoped their child would take after him. She wanted the baby to have his dark hair, dark eyes, and golden skin.

“You’re determined to have it all, aren’t you?” Lucio growled before catching her face in his hands and kissing her deeply.

He drank her in, drank her as if she were air and light and water and Ana felt a shiver of pleasure race beneath her skin. His touch made her feel hot, brilliant, physical.

“Your love,” he said against her mouth, “is worth everything.”

She held him tightly, pressing her face against his chest. It was such a miracle that they’d found each other. Lucio was a gaucho. She was the daughter of a count. Running off together might be scandalous but it would be the best thing that had ever happened to her.

“You smile,” he said, his fingers tangling in her long dark hair.

And she was smiling. “I wish we were leaving now.”

“I’ll have a horse ready for you later. We’ll ride most of the night.”

She nodded, the bubble of happiness so big and bright it felt like she’d swallowed the sun itself. She lifted her head to better see his face. “Do you think your family will like me?”

“Without a doubt.”

She studied his dark eyes, his almost arrogant expression. Such a proud, noble face. He could have been a Spanish conquistador, an explorer in search of the new world. Instead he was hers.

“I’ll love you forever.”

At first he said nothing. Then his dark eyes grew somber. “You’re only seventeen. Forever is an awfully long time.”

But his cautious tone made her laugh and she gave her head a shake even as her warm laughter danced between them, a shimmer of exuberance. “And tell me, Lucio Cruz, when have I been afraid of anything?”

CHAPTER ONE

Five years later…

“ANABELLA, you’ve been standing at the window all morning. Come sit down. You must be exhausted by now.”

Anabella tensed, her eyes so dry and gritty that it hurt to blink. “I can’t sit. Not until Lucio comes.”

“It could be a while—”

“I don’t care,” she interrupted huskily, her gaze never leaving the snowcapped Andes. It’d been cold the past few days but this morning was lovely. It felt almost like Spring. “He’ll come for me. He promised.”

“But we haven’t been able to reach him yet, Senora, and you’re still weak,” the nurse said coaxingly. “You must give us a chance to find him.”

Anabella didn’t answer. Her hand gripped the gold damask curtain in her hand, fingers trembling. She was tired. Her legs felt oddly weak, her muscles fatigued, but she missed Lucio so much. It’d been forever since she last saw him. Yet he would come for her. Lucio never broke his word.

“You’ve been ill, Senora. You must rest. Conserve your strength.” The nurse continued in the same patient voice one would use for a high-strung horse or a difficult child. “At least sit and have your lunch.”

“I’m not hungry.” Anabella hated how the nurse treated her like a child. Anabella didn’t need someone to tell her to rest, to sleep, to eat. She had a brain. She could think for herself.

Not that they were giving her many opportunities to make decisions for herself.

Like coming to this house. She hadn’t wanted to be here. The hospital had been bad enough with its antiseptic smells like the cool metallic scent of rubbing alcohol, the pungent disinfectant used to mop the shiny floors, the oddly pleasing odorless hand lotion worn by the staff nurses. But then they brought her to this big mausoleum of a place in the middle of vineyards.

The villa was enormous and formal and stuffed with antiques and fine art. It was a place for grand parties and elegant luncheons and business functions. It was another of Dante’s extravagances. He had so many. He was so rich.

Unlike her Lucio.

The only good thing about the house was its proximity to the mountains. And at least from her bedroom window she could see the mountains. Lucio and the mountains were synonymous in her mind. Lucio had grown up in the mountains and his family lived there still.

Her fingers tightened on the silk fabric. “So Dante has called Lucio then?”

The nurse set the clipboard down and her footsteps sounded on the floor. “I don’t know. The Count doesn’t consult with me.” The nurse’s hand settled lightly on Ana’s shoulder. “Shall we finish getting dressed now? Your brother will be here soon. You don’t want to meet him in your nightgown, do you?”

“I don’t want to see him.”

The nurse withdrew her hand. “You didn’t see him yesterday, either.”

Ana’s stomach knotted. “That’s my choice, isn’t it?”

“He’s your brother—”

“And what business is that of yours, anyway?” Anabella turned from the window, her arms folding across her chest and she stared at the nurse in the trim white dress with the neat white hose and shoes. “And why are you even here? I’m fine. I don’t need you. I don’t want the fuss.”

“I’m sorry. It’s your brother’s decision.”

“And you wonder why I don’t want to see him?” Anabella asked bitterly, moving to a deep armchair in the corner of her room and burying herself inside the protective arms.

Dante, Dante, Dante. It was always about Dante. When Dante said jump, people jumped. But Dante didn’t know everything.

Tears stung her eyes and Anabella bent her head, covered her face with her forearm. She felt almost crazy. Her emotions felt so wild, so chaotic and there was a buzz in her head, like the drone of a bee.

“You’re not dressed.”

Ana stiffened at the sound of the deep male voice. So he’d arrived. She glanced up, her gaze meeting her brother’s as he entered her room. He was wearing a charcoal gray suit, a shirt almost the same shade, and no tie. He looked rich, sophisticated, and successful. “I didn’t know I had to dress for you.”

Count Dante Galván glanced at the nurse and she discreetly slipped from the room. He waited until the door was shut. “What’s wrong, Anabella? You’re so angry with everyone lately.”

Her hands balled into defiant fists. “I want Lucio.”

“You don’t want him,” he corrected sternly. “Trust me, Ana, you don’t want—”

“You’re wrong!” She slammed her fists on the upholstered arms of the chair. “I do want him. I love him. I miss him—” her voice broke and she shook her head, frustrated, furious, unable to bear Dante’s grim expression. He didn’t understand. He didn’t know what it was like to love someone and yet be denied that person.

“You left him, Anabella.” Dante’s voice sounded flat. “It was your choice. You realized you didn’t have anything in common. You realized you needed something else, something different than what he could provide.”

“Stop!” He was making her sick and cold and she longed to take the soft afghan from the foot of the bed and wrap it around her. “You’re telling me lies. You’re trying to confuse me. But it won’t work this time. I know the truth. Lucio loves me.”

“That’s not the point, Ana!”

“It’s exactly the point.” Her teeth began to chatter. She rubbed her hands along her upper arms trying to get warm, trying to silence the small, frightened voice inside her. Lucio was coming back, wasn’t he? He wouldn’t leave her here with Dante, would he?

“You’re cold.” Dante moved forward, lifting the crimson blanket from the bed and covering Ana’s shoulders. He tucked the edges of the soft, fuzzy blanket around her before touching her forehead. “You’re icy. You need to be resting, Ana. You’ve worn yourself out.”

“I can’t rest.” Teeth chattering she tipped her head back and looked up at her brother. His face seemed so hard and yet his golden eyes glowed. He might look angry with her but she knew he loved her, and despite all his bullying and strong-arm tactics he wanted what was best for her. “Please Dante, find Lucio. I miss him so much. I can’t eat, can’t sleep. Please bring Lucio back to me.”

There went his wireless phone again.

The small phone clipped to Lucio Cruz’s belt silently vibrated yet again, sending tiny currents through his torso. The phone had rung almost constantly during Lucio’s three hour meeting with the California Wine Advisory Council and even though he was now on the way to his car, he still hadn’t had a moment to check his messages yet.

Lucio reached for his phone as he headed outside to the parking lot where the black convertible Porsche he’d rented at the San Francisco airport waited.

But before he could answer the phone, footsteps sounded on the pavement and Lucio looked up to see Niccolo Dominici, president of the California Wine Advisory Council, approach. Niccolo, owner of Napa’s famous Dominici Vineyard, had run the afternoon meeting.

“Come have dinner with us,” Niccolo said, sunglasses on to cut the bright afternoon glare. “Maggie’s just phoned. She’s insisting I bring you home with me, wanted me to tell you that you can’t say no. She’s desperate for adult conversation.”

Lucio’s lips tugged. He felt a reluctant smile. Niccolo’s wife was beautiful. Spirited. Like his ex-wife Anabella, but unlike Anabella, Niccolo’s wife loved him.

His smile faded. “Thank you for the invitation, but I’ve work to do—”

Niccolo made an impatient sound. “You’ve worked all day. You need dinner. Company. Hotels can be lonely places.”

Actually being in a hotel was less stressful than being home, Lucio thought bitterly. Home didn’t feel like home, not anymore. In the divorce settlement Anabella had gotten the house, the upper vineyard, the apartment in Buenos Aires. He’d taken a small place, a new place, in downtown Mendoza. It was a nice apartment in an expensive building. His one bedroom apartment was elegant with excellent light and a magnificent view of the Andes, but he’d left it virtually unfurnished, buying only a table, a chair and a bed.

He didn’t need more than that. He didn’t intend to be in Mendoza more than he had to. Anabella lived—entertained—in Mendoza. He couldn’t bear to be in the vicinity. Too much had happened between them. Too much pain. Too much disillusionment.

Lucio realized Niccolo was watching him, quietly waiting for an answer. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t be good company tonight,” Lucio answered honestly. “Besides, you have three little ones at home anxious to see you. They’d rather have you to themselves.”

Lucio had met the children a week ago when he first arrived in California and they were delightful. Jared, the eldest at seven, was fair and wiry with intense blue eyes. Then there was five-year-old Leo, the middle one, the second son, dark like his father with green gold eyes; and the youngest, three-year-old Adriana, with dark curls and dimples and constantly in mischief.

But being with Niccolo, Maggie and the children hadn’t been easy. Lucio found himself envious of his colleague, of the life the Italian vintner had made for himself in Northern California. Lucio, too, craved children but Anabella couldn’t conceive.

Niccolo’s hand suddenly clapped Lucio’s shoulder. “You’re sure you won’t join us?”

“Positive.” Lucio started the engine. He just wanted to escape. Niccolo meant well but Lucio couldn’t handle the contact, and certainly wasn’t up for socializing. It’d taken him a number of years, but he was finally good at growing grapes, crushing fruit and making drinkable dinner wine. He was sticking with his strengths. “Give your wife my best. Tell her we’ll have dinner before I go.”

Lucio drove fast; taking the narrow winding road from Dominici Vineyard to the highway more quickly than he should—far more quickly than the law allowed—but he’d never followed rules, never believed in rules. Rules, his father used to say were made for the man who couldn’t think for himself. Rules, his cowboy culture implied, were for those who needed a norm.

He didn’t need a norm.

Even now, despite his success, he didn’t want to be part of the norm, or the exclusive society of his aristocratic wife.

Lucio’s gaze swept the tight turn ahead and he shifted down, briefly reducing speed until he cleared the turn. The moment he came out of the turn he accelerated hard, practically flying down the stretch of road cutting through the rolling golden hills. Napa was in the middle of an Indian summer and the warm dry air, and the scent of baked earth, ripe fruit, smelled achingly familiar.

Maybe too familiar.

Thankfully this fast, rather reckless, drive was exactly what he needed. Freedom. Space. Speed. Adrenaline.

Racing through the hills reminded him of riding bareback on a young stallion. Danger heightened the senses and Lucio found himself relishing the rush of dry wind in his face, the hot sun burning down on his head, the ease with which the sports car hugged the turns.

Moving fast, he could almost forget that he’d lost the one person he’d ever loved.

By the time Lucio made it to his hotel room, his phone was ringing again. He answered, hand on the door, half expecting to hear Anabella’s brittle, angry voice. A small part of him still hoped she’d phone. A small part of him hadn’t accepted reality.

But it wasn’t Anabella’s voice on the other end of the line. It was Dr. Dominguez, the family physician in Mendoza.

“Where have you been?” Static on the line made the doctor’s voice sound unnaturally faint.

Lucio reached for the light switch on the wall. “I’ve been in meetings.”

“I’ve been calling you, leaving messages—” the connection broke up, and then the doctor’s voice came through again, “danger’s past—” and faded out only to fade in again, “an immediate return.”

Danger? Where was the danger?

It was a terrible connection. Lucio couldn’t make out more than a couple words the doctor was saying. He closed the hotel door and headed across the room to see if he couldn’t get better reception there. “Stephen, I missed most of what you just said. Can you repeat that, please?”

Dr. Dominguez replied but again it was static once more and Lucio drew back the drapes at the window to let in the light. “I can’t understand a word you’re saying.” Lucio fought to hang on to his temper. “Tell me again. What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

“Anabella.”

“What’s happened to Anabella?” Dread seeped through his gut as he pushed open the glass door to the balcony.

But he didn’t get an answer. The line went dead.

What the hell? What had happened to Anabella? Lucio swore, gripped his phone and started to punch in Dominguez’s number but his phone rang, interrupting him.

In that brief twenty-some seconds of silence his mind had spun a dozen different tragic scenarios.

“What’s wrong with Anabella?” Lucio demanded the moment he answered the phone.

The doctor didn’t waste time. “We think now it’s encephalitis.”

“Encephalitis,” Lucio repeated, wondering if he’d misheard the doctor. The connection still wasn’t the best. What the hell was encephalitis?

“It’s a viral infection. It’s very rare, almost never heard of in Argentina, which is why we had difficulty with diagnosing the illness. Your wife has been pretty sick, but we think she’s out of the woods now—”

“Out of the woods? How sick was she?”

The doctor hesitated, and then cleared his throat. “Encephalitis can be fatal.”

“How sick was she?” Lucio repeated with quiet menace.

The doctor didn’t reply. Lucio closed his eyes, shook his head, his heart and mind dark.

No one had told him. No one had called him. And it hit him all over again, how he’d always been the outsider. He might have married Anabella, but her family didn’t accept him. They’d barely tolerated him and once they knew Ana wanted out of the marriage they did everything in their power to expedite the divorce itself.

No wonder he and Anabella hadn’t lasted. They were up against too much. Up against virtually everything.

The doctor cleared his throat again. “As I said, it’s not an easy disease to diagnose. It starts out like the flu and quickly progresses. We had to do a lumbar puncture test. A CT brain scan. An MRI scan—”

“Goddamn,” Lucio swore, interrupting. A lumbar puncture test? CT scan? MRI scan? They ran all those tests on Anabella without ever calling him…telling him? “When were you going to tell me that my wife might die? After she’s already in a coma? When it’s time to make the funeral arrangements?”

“She’s out of the coma.”

Lucio’s hand felt nerveless. She’d been in a coma?

“I induced the coma.” The doctor’s voice was calm, reasonable, sounding as if inducing comas were child’s play. “But she came out of it fine, and the coma did exactly what we hoped. The inflammation is gone. We eventually expect a full recovery.”

“You induced a coma.” Lucio felt a wave of emotion. They’d put her in a coma; placed her in a deep sleep she might never have emerged from and no one—not one person—had given him the chance to say goodbye.

How dare they? How dare the doctors and her family exclude him?

His emotion was nothing short of rage, and hate and a gnawing helplessness. He didn’t like being helpless. He didn’t accept helpless. Helpless was for those too afraid to act.

He wasn’t afraid to act.

But he wasn’t free to act.

“Inducing a coma was the best way to limit the seizures. The seizures could have pushed her over the edge.”

Lucio closed his eyes, unable to even bear the vision of Anabella so close to death. She’d been the most important person in his life. He’d loved her more than he’d ever loved anyone and to think he’d almost lost her. Permanently. “But you’ve saved her.”

“Yes.” There was relief in the doctor’s voice. “We have. She’s awake, fairly alert.”

“So why are you calling?” Lucio couldn’t hide his bitterness, or the depth of his pain. Once an outsider, always an outsider. To Ana’s family he’d always be the gaucho. The peasant. The Indian native. “Am I to send flowers? Pick up the hospital tab? What’s my job now?”