SO FAR EMILY had waited five days, and they’d been the longest, most misery-filled days of her life.
She missed Ramon. Every hour. Every minute. Every second of every day.
The weekend had been the worst. The home she usually adored had felt cold and soulless, and even an afternoon of baking had failed to stir any joy.
And now, back in the office, seated at her desk and staring listlessly at her screen, work wasn’t proving the distraction she’d hoped for either.
Her stomach churned with doubt and fear.
She’d taken an enormous risk by confessing her love to her baby’s father then sending him away.
Had she made a terrible mistake?
She hadn’t wanted him to stay away. She’d wanted him to go and take a long, hard look inside himself and then come back to her.
And tell her he loved her.
Because she wouldn’t settle for less. For too many years she had pined for love. She couldn’t waste the rest of her life pining for his. He’d always have a place in their child’s life—she’d never deny her child its father—but she could not marry a man who didn’t love her.
Emily’s phone pinged. Shutting off her thoughts, she delved into her bag and pulled out her phone.
And froze.
Her heart climbed into her throat.
Ramon.
His message was short.
A car is waiting outside for you. See Marsha on your way out.
She frowned at the screen. He’d made her wait five days and these were the words with which he’d chosen to communicate with her first? Hands shaking, she texted back.
It’s 3.30 p.m. on a Monday. I’m working.
His response was immediate.
Finish early.
Heart pounding, she chewed her lip, then forced her thumbs to work again.
Where am I going?
It’s a surprise.
I don’t like surprises.
Humour me.
She stared at the screen for a long moment, her tummy taut with indecision. When the phone pinged again, she jumped.
Please.
She hesitated, but her resistance was already melting, her desire to see him too powerful, too overwhelming. Releasing a pent-up breath, she fired back an ‘OK’.
Outside the office, Marsha rose from her desk, her cheeks flushing pink. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, holding out Emily’s passport. ‘He said I wasn’t to warn you.’
A flicker of excitement and hope skimmed through Emily’s stomach before she quickly dampened the hazardous feelings. She had no idea what he’d say to her when she saw him. She’d be a fool to allow hope to soar only then to find her heart painfully crushed.
Still, the fluttering in her stomach grew more intense during the ride to the airport. Not even the short, sharp jab of disappointment she felt when she boarded Ramon’s plane and saw he wasn’t there could diminish the jittery feeling of anticipation for very long.
The male flight attendant brought her an orange juice. ‘It’s nice to see you again, Ms Royce.’
She managed a smile. ‘And you. Umm... Could you tell me where we’re going, please?’
His polite expression didn’t alter. ‘Paris,’ he said. ‘We should be there in fifty-five minutes.’
* * *
By the time Emily climbed out of the back of a shiny limo in front of Saphir, her mouth was bone-dry and her palms so damp she had to repeatedly wipe them down the front of her simple black dress. A smiling concierge greeted her, escorted her inside and led her to the same lift she’d ridden with Ramon three months earlier.
She stepped in and gripped the handrail.
Only three months?
It felt like a lifetime ago.
The lift bore her swiftly upwards and when she stepped out into the penthouse, feeling breathless and a little lightheaded, he was there.
Her feet stumbled to a stop.
Clean-shaven and wearing dark trousers and a pale blue open-necked shirt, he looked as vital and bone-meltingly beautiful as he had on that fateful late summer night when he’d brought her here.
Their gazes locked and she began to tremble, desire and nervous excitement pin-wheeling through her in a potent, knee-weakening mix.
Then, abruptly, he pulled his hands from his pockets and strode towards her, his steps long and purposeful. He halted in front of her and cradled her face in his hands, and just that simple touch catapulted her senses into overdrive.
‘Did you miss me, Emily?’
Oh, so much. She feigned a shrug of indifference. ‘Not really.’
His eyes gleamed. ‘Not at all?’
‘Maybe a little bit,’ she whispered.
They both faintly smiled. It was the same exchange they’d had in her kitchen more than three weeks ago when he’d returned from Paris—moments before they’d had scorching hot sex in her room.
‘I missed you.’ He drew his thumbs across her cheeks, lowered his forehead to hers.
Emily felt her insides melting. Felt little tendrils of hope weaving around her heart. She dropped her bag, lifted her hands and curled them over his strong, masculine wrists. ‘Where have you been?’
He raised his head. ‘I went back to Spain.’
‘What for?’
His hands lowered, settling around her waist, drawing her close. ‘I had some ghosts to lay to rest. Some people to visit.’
‘Including your parents?’
‘Including my parents.’
Emily’s thoughts flickered to Elena and her heart swelled with gladness for the other woman. ‘And did you make any discoveries?’
‘A few.’
His heart pumping at a fierce pace, Ramon studied the exquisite features of the woman who had boldly declared her love for him, then sent him packing and told him not to return until he’d figured himself out.
She’d shocked him to his core. Flipped him into a brutal tailspin of anger and disbelief.
And fear. Mind-bending, gut-wrenching fear—because he’d known he couldn’t lose her.
‘I learned,’ he said, ‘that sometimes a man must confront his past before he can put it behind him.’
Soft grey eyes searched his. ‘And have you?’
‘Sí, querida. I have.’
Tears filled her eyes then and, though he had no wish to see her cry, he took them as a good sign.
‘Who else did you visit?’
‘Many people,’ he confessed.
He had started with his old girlfriend, with whom, once he’d tracked her down, he’d had the conversation they should’ve had twelve years ago before he’d fled Spain. He’d found Ana in a stylish home in Madrid, married with two small children, and happy. She’d moved on and she bore Ramon no ill will. Next he’d visited Jorge’s parents in Barcelona, whom he’d not seen since the funeral, and discovered they didn’t share their youngest son’s antipathy towards Ramon. Jorge’s mother had hugged him, cried for a moment, then invited him in. Matteo, they’d said, was a troubled young man, and they’d been appalled to hear of the incident in the tapas bar.
The next day he’d gone to see his brother, and then he’d returned to his parents’ villa, where, for the first time in a long time, he’d looked his mother in the eye and embraced her in a hug that had lifted her feet clean off the ground.
Finally, he’d come back to London and had a long, frank conversation with Maxwell Royce.
It’d been an intense, cathartic five days, and at some point he’d tell it all to Emily, but not now. That was the past. Right now his interest lay only in the future.
‘Want to know what else I learned, querida?’ he asked softly.
She nodded, and he reached into his pocket, pulling out the black velvet box containing her engagement ring.
‘I learned that I’m tired of running...’ He plucked the ring from its bed, lifted her left hand and slid the cool platinum band with its striking setting of diamonds and sapphires onto her finger. ‘And that I want to be the man—the only man—who loves you for the rest of his life.’ He pressed his lips to her knuckles. ‘I love you, mi belleza. Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?’
Eyes glistening, she wound her arms around his neck, her delicious curves pressing into his body. ‘Yes,’ she said, and a groan of relief mingled with desire tore from Ramon’s throat.
Gathering her close, he claimed her mouth in a kiss that was almost savage in its intensity.
Long minutes later, when their breath-deprived lungs cried out for air, they broke apart.
Surrendering to the feverish need to stamp his possession on her in every way possible, he swung her into his arms and headed for the bedroom.
As he lowered her onto the bed, she captured his jaw in her hand and murmured, ‘Why Paris?’
He laid his hand over her stomach, the small bump which he couldn’t wait to see grow filling his palm. ‘This is where we began. Where we created our child.’ He trailed his lips along her jaw, down her neck. ‘It will be a special place for us always, sí?’
Her eyes filled again. ‘I love you, Ramon.’
Fierce emotion flooded him. ‘Say it again,’ he demanded roughly against her throat.
Her laughter was pure. Sweet. ‘I love you.’ Insistent hands tugged his shirt tails from his trousers. ‘Your turn,’ she whispered.
He slid his hand under her dress, his questing fingers moving over heated, quivering skin. ‘I love you, mi belleza.’
She arched under his touch.
‘Show me,’ she urged.
And he did.