LITMIR.BIZ

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coolness, Cathy told herself not to be a fool and settled the baby more comfortably on her lap. Somehow she would find a way out of the mess she was in. Then she flinched as Campuzano got in beside her. Automatically her body tensed. He was too close, overpoweringly so. She caught the downward drift of his smoky eyes, the scornful, mocking curl of his sensual mouth, and knew he had registered her reaction. And she told herself that the way she tensed up whenever he was near had everything to do with the threat he posed to her rights over Johnny and nothing whatsoever to do with all that unforced masculine magnetism.

      Very aware of the powerful male thigh so close to her own, and knowing that he would undoubtedly construe further silence on her part as immature sulkiness, she asked stiltedly, ‘Are we far from Jerez?’

      It would soon be time for Johnny’s feed, and he needed changing, and Campuzano noted the tiny anxious frown between her violet eyes and answered drily as the car moved smoothly away from the airport, ‘A mere seven kilometres. And it is pronounced Hereth. However, you must wait in patience to enjoy the luxuries of my town house. We shall be staying at the finca for the first few days.’

      ‘And how far is that, whatever it is?’ She spoke more snappishly than was wise, aggrieved because he had automatically assumed that her anxiety to reach their destination sprang from her desire to sample the lifestyle of the rich and powerful. Was that how he had viewed her complete capitulation a mere twenty-four hours after he had delivered his initial ultimatum?

      ‘“It” is the land, the vineyard, the house. And there we shall stay, for the time being.’ His haughty expression did nothing to disguise his implacable will. ‘And it is roughly nine kilometres from the airport in the opposite direction from Jerez.’ His voice dropped, very silky, very smooth. ‘But since you have assured me that you no longer crave a hectic social life, the isolation shouldn’t trouble you.’

      Had she been who she had said she was—Cordelia Soames, model, sybarite and scalp-hunter—then the isolation would have bothered her to the point of screaming. As she was merely sister Cathy, two years older in years but aeons younger in experience, it didn’t bother her a scrap, and what she had to do was convince his high-and-mightiness that she, in her role as Cordy, had completely changed.

      Johnny was growing fractious, fists and feet punching the air, and Cathy said sweetly, ‘You can hold him now,’ and passed him over, earning herself a glance of pleased surprise, then turned to look out of the window, hiding her own wicked smile, because Señor Javier Campuzano was just about to discover how difficult it was to keep control of a strong, eighteen-pound baby who was determined to wriggle, not to mention the havoc a leaking nappy could wreak on a pair of expensively trousered knees!

      ‘I am looking forward to meeting your mother,’ she pronounced with the truth born of hope, injecting a liberal sweetness as she added, ‘Is her English as good as yours?’ She kept her gaze on the sun-drenched, rolling low hills which rose above the widely sweeping coastal plain, but, puzzled, her eyes were drawn back to him, unprepared for the rich vein of amusement in his voice.

      ‘Almost. But the pleasure will have to be postponed for a while. She rarely visits the finca, preferring the house in Jerez.’

      And that wiped the smile from her face. The sooner she made contact with Johnny’s grandmother, the sooner she would find an ally to stand at her side against the man who was, moment by moment, reinforcing his position as her enemy. And what was almost as disappointing was the way he positively seemed to enjoy handling the lively baby, not one scrap put out by the way the tiny fists were creating havoc in the soft darkness of his expensively styled hair or by the ominous damp patches on those immaculately trousered knees!

      Damn him! she muttered inside her head. Why couldn’t he have left well alone? She and Johnny had been doing just fine until he had poked his arrogant nose into their affairs. The adoption would have eventually gone through, she just knew it would, despite the warning Molly had given her.

      Molly Armstrong had been appointed guardian ad litem—a large and ponderous title for such a tiny, bubbly lady, Cathy had always thought—and, out of the many visits she’d made to compile her reports before the courts could consider the granting of an adoption order, a warm and friendly relationship had been born. And it had been Molly she’d phoned in a panic after Campuzano had left that first evening, and Molly, bless her, had made time for her in her busy schedule, appearing on the doorstep at nine the following morning, just as she’d finished giving the baby his bath.

      ‘You’ve got problems?’ Molly had said, taking the sturdy, towel-wrapped baby on her knee while Cathy had disappeared into the kitchen to make coffee. ‘So tell me about them. Slowly. Don’t gabble as you did down the phone last night.’

      So over their drinks Cathy had told her, guiltily missing out the fact that she had lied, had allowed Javier Campuzano to believe she was Johnny’s mother. She didn’t feel easy about what she had done, but that erroneous belief had to strengthen her case where he was concerned. If he ever discovered that Johnny’s real mother had walked out on him he would leave nothing undone—not a single thing—until he had legal and total control over his nephew.

      ‘You and Senor Campuzano are both related to Johnny in the same degree,’ Molly said, her neat head tipped on one side. ‘Naturally, he could apply for an order to give him the right to see the child regularly, to exercise some control over his future upbringing and welfare.’

      Which was precisely what Campuzano had said, but Cathy knew, she just knew, he wanted complete and total control. And she had no doubt at all that he would move heaven and earth to get it if he ever discovered that Johnny’s real mother had walked out, preferring the glamour and excitement of a modelling career to the hard work of bringing up a child. So, ‘And if the baby were still with his real mother?’ Cathy asked, hoping she didn’t look as hot and guilty as she felt. ‘Would his father’s family still have rights?’

      ‘Well, I have warned you,’ Molly answered, her smile sympathetic, ‘that the adoption order might not go through, despite the natural mother saying she wanted nothing more to do with the child. The courts could take the view that, following the birth, she is suffering some kind of hormonal imbalance and could change her mind at a later stage. Only time will tell, of course, and, in the interim, you could be given a residence order with parental responsibility.’ She was taking the question at face value, in view of the warnings she’d already given, and that made Cathy feel more devious than ever, her long hair falling forward, hiding her uncomfortable face as she dressed the baby. And Molly was telling her, ‘And yes, the father’s family would still have rights; a child needs the care and love of all its family.’ Which was not at all what Cathy had wanted to hear.

      And because of that she had had to back down, to agree to come to Spain. All she had to do now was convince the not-to-be-convinced that she was a responsible, loving mother.

      She was in her own thoughts. Her mouth took a grim line and, made aware that he was looking at her, saying something, she shrugged half-heartedly. ‘Sorry?’

      ‘We are almost there. You can see the house from here.’ The emphatic patience of his tone told her he was repeating himself. And then, with an edge of steel, ‘I would have thought you would be eager to see where your child will be spending most of his boyhood.’

      Unforgivable. Untrue. He was trying to make her believe that Johnny’s future was already settled. She refused to dignify his taunt by making any comment. Casting a dismissive glance at the low white building perched on top of a rounded hill overlooking the vineyards, the rows of newly leafing vines curving around the hillsides in perfect symmetry, Cathy hunched one shoulder in a negligent shrug. She utterly refused to be impressed.

      Johnny didn’t need vineyards, or anything else Campuzano could give him. He needed love, and cherishing, and she could give him that in abundance. Unfortunately, the Spaniard seemed to be offering just that. The sternly arrogant features were relaxed, irradiated with intensely tender pleasure as he bounced the squealing baby on his knee.

      Jealousy, white and piercing and utterly unpleasant, darkened her eyes, and her voice was thin and sharp as she instinctively reached for the child.

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