Returning To Claim His Heir Page 3

  Duarte burst through the hospital doors carrying a wild-eyed pregnant woman in his arms. The drive to the hospital had been blessedly swift, and free of the usual Rio traffic, but he had still feared they might not make it in time. He was famous for pushing himself beyond his limits, but delivering an infant in the passenger seat of a rented Bugatti was not exactly the way he’d imagined this meeting going.

  This hospital wasn’t the nearest medical facility, but when she told him she’d been attending a community birth centre in one of the poorest areas of the city he’d been hit by a strange protective urge so strong it had taken his breath away.

  She was important to his investigation, he told himself. He needed her safe and well if he was to find out the information she might have.

  Nora seemed to be delirious with pain as the nurses performed some preliminary checks. In between each contraction she became more frantic, her eyes glazed as she repeated that she had to get to the airport.

  Duarte saw the questioning looks that passed between the nurses as they looked at the reading on the blood pressure monitor. The atmosphere in the room changed immediately. A bright red call button was pressed and soon the room seemed to fill with people—doctors and specialists, anaesthetists and paediatricians.

  Nora clutched his hand tightly as the team moved around her, performing more checks. Her nails bit into his skin as she cursed through another intense wave of pain, her neck and back arching and her hair tumbling around her face in a wild cloud of red curls.

  He felt utterly dumbstruck by her ferocious beauty. This woman was a stranger to him, and yet he was witnessing one of the most intimate moments of her life. He felt the strangest urge to reach out and comfort her, but was keenly aware of her boundaries. In the end he settled for the simple touch of his hand on top of hers.

  Her back relaxed as the pain eased off again and she looked up at him, pinning him with eyes the colour of the sky after a heavy rainstorm at sea—deep silver with a ring of midnight-blue. He was so captivated by her gaze that he hardly noticed as she looked down at his hand and frowned at the quartet of scarlet crescent moons left by her fingernails.

  ‘Did I do that...?’ she breathed, horrified.

  Duarte leaned close to speak softly near her ear. ‘Don’t worry about me. This hand is yours for the duration. If you need to crush my fingers in the process, so be it.’

  She shook her head, the ghost of a smile crossing her lips.

  Duarte couldn’t help it; he laughed at the crazy turn his day had taken.

  She looked up at him through thick lashes, her eyes filled with surprise, and for a moment, Duarte felt the strong pull of déjà vu. His mind grasped at the feeling, but it was like trying to hold on to water and feeling its weight slip through his fingers.

  Why did he feel as if seeing her was the key to unlocking some hidden compartment in his memory?

  A young nurse chose that moment to interrupt, looking at Duarte as she explained that she needed to talk to the baby’s father for a moment.

  Nora’s entire body froze, and a sudden lucidity that was almost akin to blind panic entered her eyes.

  ‘No! He needs to leave.’ Her voice lowered to a growl as another contraction hit her and her body began to arch forward. ‘Get him out of this hospital.’

  Duarte took a stunned step back just as another doctor entered the room and announced that they would be preparing her for immediate emergency surgery.

  He was swiftly whisked away from her and taken down the hall to fill out some paperwork. The surgeon was a kind-faced young woman who assured him that his partner and the baby would be well taken care of.

  Duarte opened his mouth to correct her, only to find she was already rushing away.

  Keeping his mind occupied, he strode down to the nurses’ station and set about filling in more paperwork. He had no idea what her date of birth was, or even her nationality so, against all his instincts, he opened her handbag and her suitcase and began to search.

  For a woman who said she was leaving town, she had packed suspiciously light. Her bags contained no identification nor any clues as to where she might have been headed. She didn’t even have a mobile phone. Baffled, he listed his own details as next of kin and made sure it was known that no expense should be spared in her care.

  The nurse’s eyes widened, her gaze flickering between the name scrawled on the form and the long scar on the side of his face. For a moment Duarte was confused, but then he winced and cursed under his breath. In all the drama he’d forgotten that technically he was supposed to be dead. His family name was well known in this part of Brazil, thanks to their wealth of charity work.

  He walked away from the stunned recognition in the woman’s eyes, knowing that at some point he was going to have to contact Dani and explain how he’d come to be spotted in Rio, in hospital with a pregnant woman.

  His shoulder twinged again, the pain hot and uncomfortable under his designer shirt. He had missed out on his evening swimming regime due to the long flight, and already he could feel his muscles seizing in protest. He seemed to be in a constant state of management, swimming against the tide and trying to live a normal life with his new damaged body.

  After what felt like hours, he walked back down the corridor towards the operating theatre, feeling like a caged animal pacing its enclosure. Running a hand along the stubble growing on his jaw, he ignored the tension in his gut and instead puzzled over the way Nora Beckett had embraced him in the rain.

  She’d thought him dead and had seemed overwhelmed at the sight of his return. She’d known him. He could have sworn he’d felt the echo of some fierce connection between them every time she’d looked at him. And yet she’d looked at him with fear in her eyes, and had bellowed for him to be taken from the room.

  Something didn’t make sense...

  Unable to stay put a moment longer, he moved purposefully down the corridor to demand an update. At the same moment a nurse emerged from the double doors that led down to the operating theatres with a bundle of white linen in her arms.

  ‘Senhor, I was just coming to get you.’ She beamed. ‘Baby boy is completely healthy. We’d like you to get settled in the suite while the team finish with Senhora Beckett.’

  ‘Is she okay?’ he asked, swallowing hard as he peered down at the small face, barely visible in the folds of material.

  ‘The procedure required heavy anaesthesia and she is still sedated.’

  The nurse ushered him down the hall to a large private suite. The small bundle was placed in a cot beside the bed and then the nurse apologised as she was suddenly called from the room by a beeping device at her hip.

  Alone, and utterly out of his depth, Duarte felt his chest tighten with anxiety as the infant began to wriggle. Did they usually abandon babies to the care of clueless billionaires around here? Give him a priceless antique catamaran and he would know how to take it apart and put it back together blindfold. But children had never exactly been a part of his wild playboy lifestyle.

  Duarte walked to the side of the cot and peered down at the infant, its tiny features scrunched up, its hands flailing. Without thinking, he reached into the cot towards one tiny hand. His heart seemed to thump in his ears as his index finger was instantly grasped in a tight fist and the wriggling stopped.

  ‘There you go, pequeno,’ he murmured, rubbing his other hand against his sternum, trying to control the frantic beating of his heart as he marvelled at the force of the boy’s grip. ‘You can hold on tight if that helps. Your mamãe will be here soon.’

  Nora opened her eyes to find she was still dreaming.

  Often in the past six months she had fallen asleep to dream of Duarte, his amber eyes alive and full of happiness as he cradled their newborn baby. In that perfect life there was no anger or lies between them, no danger or threat of punishment from her villainous father.

  Sh
e blinked at the vision before her in the luxurious hospital room—the painfully handsome man in his perfect designer shirt, shirtsleeves rolled up as he cradled the tiny infant in his powerful arms. She closed her eyes briefly at the memory of how she’d embraced him so passionately in her shock, then clung to him as he’d rushed her to the hospital.

  But he didn’t remember her at all.

  A small tear slid from her eyelids and down her cheek as she realised that perhaps that was a blessing to them both.

  To all three of them.

  ‘You’re awake,’ that gravelly voice murmured from across the room. ‘The nurse told me to tell you not to try to sit up by yourself.’

  ‘My baby...’ Nora croaked, her throat painfully dry. ‘Give him to me.’ She raised her voice, hearing the edge of panic creeping in but feeling too weak to hold it back.

  Duarte frowned, but immediately did as she asked. The soft bundle was placed gently on her chest and Nora looked down at her son’s perfect face for the first time.

  ‘The nurse just fed him and she asked me to hold him for a moment.’

  ‘Thank you...’ Nora whispered, inwardly mourning the fact that her baby’s first feed had not come from her.

  She mentally shook herself, sending up a prayer of thanks that they were both safe. All those plans she had made for a natural birth had been thrown out of the window when the doctors had told her she was in an advanced stage of pre-eclampsia and they would need to sedate her immediately in order to operate.

  Her headaches, the swelling... She was lucky they were both alive. She was lucky they had got to the hospital so quickly.

  If she’d been alone...

  Tears welled in her eyes at the thought.

  ‘My sweet, sweet Liam,’ she whispered, closing her eyes and brushing her lips against jet-black downy soft hair. He was beautiful, and so impossibly small she felt something shift within her. Something fierce and primal.

  ‘Liam? An interesting name.’ Duarte’s voice seemed to float towards her from far away.

  ‘It’s short for the Irish for William,’ she whispered, her eyes still fixed on examining the tiny bundle.

  She almost couldn’t believe that in the space of one day her life had changed so dramatically. She moved her fingertips over ten tiny fingers and toes, puffy cheeks and a tiny button nose. He was perfect.

  She closed her eyes and placed her cheek against her son’s small head as a wave of emotion tightened her throat once more.

  ‘It’s easier to pronounce than our version. My father always shortened his name to Gill.’

  Nora refused to look up, unsure if he was baiting her somehow. But there was no way he could know she had chosen her son’s name to honour the great Guilhermo Avelar.

  She heard him take a step closer.

  ‘You have Irish ancestry? You speak Portuguese like a native, but the red hair...’

  Nora looked up and wondered if she imagined the shrewdness in his gaze, fearing that he was remembering... The reality of her situation came crashing down on her, dampening the euphoric pleasure of holding her child for the first time. She felt her chest tighten, but schooled her features not to show a thing, not wanting to give him any more information than needed.

  ‘My mother is Irish, but I’ve lived here my whole life.’

  ‘Here in Rio?’ he asked.

  ‘No. Not here.’ She let her words sit and watched as he realised she wasn’t going to play along.

  He nodded once and took a few steps away, towards the window. Nora was briefly entranced by the sight of his handsome features in the glow of the afternoon sun. The blue sky formed a heavenly backdrop behind him, making him look like a fallen angel.

  How could someone so beautiful cause her so much heartbreak? How could he remember nothing of the time they’d spent together? She’d told him of her Irish mother’s lifelong work as an ecologist and about the remote Amazon village where she’d been born. He’d told her stories of his own idyllic childhood, and how happy they had been as a family until their move to England.

  They’d bonded over a shared sense of having felt stifled and restless when growing up. She had never felt such a connection to another person, such an urge to speak the first thing that came into her mind. He had seemed like a good man then—before everything had become so twisted between them. But his anger had made him cold.

  The last time they had spoken he had vowed to find her, to hunt her down and put her in prison alongside her criminal father. Even now she could clearly remember the simmering rage in his gaze as her father’s men had dragged him away.

  He might not remember that night, or all the events that had led to it, but he still felt that hunger for vengeance—she’d bet her life on it. Why else was he back here in Rio, digging around?

  What would he do if he knew she had hard evidence that could put Lionel Cabo in prison for the rest of his life? The slim thumb drive sewn into the lining of her suitcase was the insurance she had used to secure her own freedom, but that same evidence would also serve as evidence of a damning connection. A connection that someone could use against her.

  Trusting Duarte in the past had led to betrayal. Did she dare ask him for help, knowing that he might choose to use her past against her?

  She closed her eyes and thought of the innocent life she had just brought into this battlefield. This should have been a moment of celebration for both of them.

  For a split second she contemplated throwing caution to the wind and telling Duarte that Liam was his son. Maybe if she told him everything and explained herself he would see that she was not the same as her father after all. She had made her share of mistakes, but she was not the black-hearted criminal he had accused her of being.

  But then she remembered his promise and imagined being thrown in jail for her crimes. She felt torn between silence and blind faith, but she was a mother now and she had a responsibility to raise her son. She couldn’t risk it.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind me bringing you to a different hospital.’ He gestured around them at the clean sleek lines of the private mother-and-baby suite. ‘I know the staff here from my charity work. It’s one of the best facilities in the city.’

  ‘I will try my best to repay you.’ Her voice shook slightly and he instantly waved away her offer.

  The gesture held so much lazy arrogance that her hands automatically tightened at the reminder that Duarte Avelar wasn’t just rich, he was powerful. More powerful than any of the people she’d met while working for her father among Rio’s high society.

  Even without the fact that he was descended from one of Brazil’s oldest dynasties, he was rich as Croesus in his own right. He was the kind of man who didn’t have to worry about anything. He probably had world-class lawyers on retainer just in case he needed matters dealt with. If his memory came back, if he remembered what she had been a part of...

  ‘Nora...’ Duarte didn’t move, but his eyes held her captive with their sincerity. ‘Was there a reason you were leaving the city today, alone and in such a vulnerable condition?’

  ‘That’s hardly your concern.’

  She kept her tone firm, the anxiety roaring within her a reminder of her own vulnerability. She was alone and he knew it. That meant it was even more important for her to keep the upper hand. Keep what little power she had left.

  She looked up at his dark features, feeling the weight of fear crush any of the remaining traces of hope she might have had upon seeing him alive. She had far too much knowledge of what happened to a woman when she put herself in the orbit of a powerful man’s control. Her son deserved to be safe, and she would die before she allowed him to be used the same way she had been as a child.

  Her eyes darted to the window. She was trying to pinpoint where they were in the city. Trying to plan a way out, just in case.

  Powerful men did not often give up their
children—even illegitimate ones. Her own mother had found that out the hard way. Sometimes a child served as the ultimate form of control.

  ‘I had to search your bag for identification in order to fill out your chart.’ His eyes met hers, searching. ‘I noticed you were packing very light. You don’t even have a mobile phone or your passport.’

  ‘I must have forgotten them at home.’

  The lie fell easily from her lips and she felt a pang of relief that he hadn’t found the hidden pocket in the lining of her luggage that she’d used to hold her savings, the thumb drive and her emergency documents.

  ‘I thought that...so I had my assistant go back to your apartment to retrieve them.’

  Nora fought the urge to growl, feeling his eyes on her, watching her reaction. Apparently his injury hadn’t addled the entirety of his wonderful mind; he was still sharp. He must have been told that her apartment was empty, that she’d been evicted suddenly and without notice.

  ‘What exactly are you asking me?’ She assumed her best poker face, feeling as though she was walking a tightrope and might fall into the web of her own lies at any moment.

  ‘Your landlord seemed terrified that he might be harmed and refused to give the reason for your eviction. In fact, he seemed quite concerned for your wellbeing, despite having no knowledge of your pregnancy. According to him, before today you had barely left your apartment in months.’

  Nora felt her pulse hammer against her chest. How could she tell him that hiding behind the walls of her shabby apartment and living in anonymous squalor for months on end had been preferable to anyone in her father’s criminal network seeing her growing stomach and using it against her? Her father would have known instantly whose child she carried, and he would not have hesitated to use the knowledge for his own gains. He’d always got her under his control so easily—it was one of his talents.

  She had been eighteen when she’d first moved to Rio, home-schooled and painfully naïve, with her father’s wonderful promises ringing in her ears. She hadn’t reacted when he’d told her she stood out in all the wrong ways, with her simple outdoorsy style and her wild red curls. When he’d hired stylists to dress her and soften her looks she had foolishly seen it as him taking care of her. To a girl who had grown up fatherless and isolated, any attention from him had seemed wonderful.