His Forbidden Passion Read online

  And he knew how lucky he’d been to find such loving, caring parents. His own biological mother had never wanted him, and she’d been only too happy for someone else to take responsibility for him.

  He had once tried to find his mother, when he was a teenager and curious about his roots. But he’d discovered she’d died of an overdose, just weeks after he’d been adopted, and he’d realised again how fortunate he was that Robert had found him.

  Perhaps that was why he viewed the present situation with much less anguish than Serena. OK, it had been a shock to all of them, particularly his mother, who, like Serena, had trusted her husband completely.

  And it was going to be hard for her. The old man—his grandfather—had a lot to answer for, bringing the girl to their attention all these years after Robert’s death. He must have had an attack of conscience, Dominic decided, brought on by the sudden discovery of prostate cancer earlier in the year.

  ‘So why is my grandfather going to have a—what was it you said—a hissy fit?’ Dominic questioned now, and Serena turned resentful eyes in his direction.

  ‘Because she’s the image of her mother,’ she retorted shortly. ‘Or the way she used to look before she died.’ She shook her head. ‘You know, I knew Celeste had had a baby, but I never dreamt it might be Robert’s child.’

  ‘Obviously, no one did. Except perhaps my grandfather.’

  ‘Oh, yes, he knew.’ Serena was bitter. ‘But how could Robert do that to Lily? I thought he loved her.’

  ‘I know he did.’ Dominic’s tone was mild. ‘This woman—Celeste—was probably just a momentary madness.’

  ‘A momentary sexual madness.’ Serena wasn’t prepared to compromise. ‘Or maybe to prove he wasn’t impotent, hmm?’ She flopped down into one of the tapestry-covered armchairs that flanked the pseudo-marble fireplace. ‘How could he, Dom? Would you do that to a woman you professed to love?’

  ‘Uh—no.’ Dominic was indignant. ‘But we’re not talking about me, Serena. And your brother’s dead. Someone has to defend him. He wasn’t a bad man, for God’s sake. Can’t you cut him a little slack?’

  Serena sighed. ‘It’s not easy.’

  ‘Anyway, I doubt if Robert would approve of what your father’s doing, if he were alive.’ Dominic was persuasive. ‘And I dare say at the time he thought what he was doing was right.’

  ‘Getting rid of the evidence, you mean?’

  ‘Oh, ’Rena…’ Dominic came to squat on his haunches beside her chair. ‘I’m sure he had the child’s best interests at heart. Her mother was dead and I doubt if my mother would have welcomed her into the family then.’

  ‘I doubt if she would either,’ agreed his aunt forcefully. ‘So what makes you think Lily will feel any differently now?’

  Dominic sighed and pushed himself to his feet again. ‘I doubt she will,’ he admitted honestly. ‘But it’s not her call, is it? It’s your father’s decision.’

  ‘Well, I think the whole thing is disgusting. I don’t know how I kept my temper when that—that ignorant girl refused to believe me.’ She snorted. ‘She has no idea what she’s being offered.’

  ‘Perhaps she doesn’t care,’ suggested Dominic quietly. ‘So—did you manage to convince her?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Serena got up to pour herself another drink and then resumed her seat. ‘She may think about what I’ve said, but I don’t particularly care. She’s not at all what I expected.’

  Dominic’s brows rose. ‘Because she looks like the Dubois woman?’ he probed shrewdly, and Serena turned an indignant face up to his.

  ‘Of course, you would think that,’ she said crossly. ‘You’re a man. Men always made fools of themselves over the Dubois women. Or so I’ve heard.’ She sighed. ‘But all right. Perhaps I am a bit jealous. One thing’s for sure, she doesn’t look a lot like Robert.’

  ‘Not at all?’

  Serena made a frustrated sound. ‘Well, obviously she does a little,’ she admitted. ‘She has his nose and his mouth and his height.’

  ‘But she’s black?’

  ‘No.’ Serena shifted a little uncomfortably. ‘Well, not obviously so. She’s just—beautiful. Slim and dark and gorgeous. Just like her mother, as I say.’

  Dominic couldn’t suppress a grin. ‘No wonder you didn’t like her,’ he teased and a rueful smile tugged at his aunt’s mouth.

  ‘Well, she was arrogant,’ she said defensively. ‘Like she was doing me a favour by speaking to me at all.’

  ‘Oh, dear.’ Dominic was amused. ‘But let’s face it, you are a complete stranger to her. She was probably suspicious of your motives.’

  Serena considered. ‘She really believes the Novaks were her parents, you know.’

  ‘Well, I suppose they were.’ Dominic shrugged. ‘The only parents she’s known, anyway. For the past twenty-odd years, she’s believed she had no other relatives.’

  ‘Twenty-two years,’ said Serena pedantically. ‘I guess you were about seven or eight when she was born.’

  ‘There you are, then.’

  ‘But didn’t she ever have any doubts?’ Serena frowned.

  ‘Children tend to believe what their parents tell them,’ said Dominic reasonably. ‘Unless they find them out in a lie. And it can’t have been easy for the Novaks either.’

  ‘They weren’t poor,’ said Serena pointedly. ‘According to Dad, Robert paid them a small fortune to take the baby to England and pass it off as their own.’

  ‘There are other problems besides financial ones,’ Dominic remarked drily, but Serena wasn’t listening to him.

  ‘They’d already made arrangements to emigrate,’ she said. ‘And the money must have been a real bonus.’ She grimaced. ‘I suppose the fact that Celeste had died in childbirth made it easier for Robert to escape the consequences of his actions.’

  Dominic decided not to pursue the subject. Serena was never going to agree that neither her brother nor the Novaks had had it all their own way.

  He doubted his father had found it easy to turn away his own child—his own flesh and blood—even for the sake of his marriage. He must have regretted it sometimes, however much he’d loved his wife.

  ‘Well, it’s in your hands now, darling,’ declared Serena half maliciously. ‘I’ve done my best and it obviously wasn’t good enough. Let’s hope you have more success.’

  Chapter Two

  CLEO buttoned the neckline of her leather jacket and wrapped a blue and green striped scarf around her collar.

  There was no point in pretending she wasn’t going to be frozen sitting watching a rugby football match. Despite Eric’s promise that they’d be protected by the roof of the stands, there wouldn’t be any heating at all.

  Why had she agreed to go with him? she wondered. It wasn’t as if she wanted him to get the wrong impression about their relationship. He was a good friend; a good neighbour. But that was all.

  The truth was that since Serena Montoya’s visit, she’d spent every evening on edge, waiting for the doorbell to ring. Although it was three days now since that encounter at the supermarket, she couldn’t believe the woman wouldn’t try to see her again. An evening out, even at a rugby match with Eric Morgan, was better than staying in on her own.

  Norah had a date. She wouldn’t be home until much later, whereas Cleo’s job as an infant-school teacher meant she was home most afternoons by five o’clock.

  After stepping into short sheepskin-lined boots, she considered the beanie lying on the table beside her. What the woollen hat lacked in style, it more than made up for in warmth and comfort.

  But, on the other hand, she didn’t want Eric to think she was a wimp. And wearing a woolly hat was strictly for the birds. All the same…

  With a muffled exclamation, she picked up the beanie and jammed it onto her head. She could always say she’d worn it to keep her hair tidy, she thought, viewing her reflection in the mirror without satisfaction. It wasn’t easy to keep the tumbled mass of silky dark hair in check. It was long eno
ugh to wear in a braid, but she’d caught it up in a ponytail this evening.

  At least no one could say she looked beautiful at present. Quite the contrary, she’d decided firmly. But then she grimaced. She’d told herself she wouldn’t think about what the Montoya woman had said, so where had that come from?

  When the doorbell rang at half-past six, she felt none of the apprehension she’d experienced in recent days when anyone came to the apartment. It just meant Eric was a few minutes early, and, as he only lived in the apartment upstairs, he didn’t have far to come.

  ‘Hang on,’ she called, snatching up her purse and her mobile phone and stuffing them into her pockets. Then, pulling the door open, she carolled, ‘See! I am rea—’

  But it wasn’t Eric.

  In fact it wasn’t anyone she knew and she felt a moment’s panic. Strange men just didn’t come calling this late in the day. Particularly not tall, dark men, with deep-set eyes and hollow cheekbones, and the kind of dangerous good looks that seldom went with a caring disposition.

  He wasn’t a particularly handsome man. His features were too harsh, too masculine, to be described in such modest terms. Nevertheless, he was disturbingly attractive. He disturbed her in a way she recognised as being wholly sexual. And that was not good.

  ‘Um…’ Her voice failed her for a moment and she saw his eyes—green eyes, she observed—narrow perceptively. Then, clearing her throat, she continued tightly, ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘I hope so.’

  His voice was as smooth as molasses and twice as sensual. Cleo’s stomach plunged alarmingly. She wasn’t used to having this kind of reaction to a man and she struggled to compose herself.

  He had to be looking for Norah, she thought, though her friend had never mentioned meeting anyone like him. One thing was for sure: she’d never seen him before.

  ‘You must be Cleopatra,’ he went on, supporting himself with one hand raised against the jamb, and she stiffened.

  His action had caused the sides of his dark cashmere overcoat to fall open to reveal an Italian-made suit that had probably cost more than Cleo made in a year at her job. A matching waistcoat was buttoned over a dark blue shirt that looked as if it was made of silk, dark trousers cut lovingly to reveal muscled thighs and long, powerful legs.

  Even without the name he’d used causing her a shiver of apprehension, his appearance alone sent a frisson of awareness feathering down her spine.

  No one she knew called her Cleopatra. No one except Serena Montoya, of course. Dear heaven, this man must be something to do with her.

  ‘Who—who are you?’ she got out uneasily, suddenly conscious of her less than glamorous appearance. Snatching off the beanie, she thrust it into her pocket. ‘I—I was just going out.’

  ‘I had sort of gathered that,’ remarked the man, faint amusement tugging at the corners of his lean mouth. ‘I guess I’ve come at a bad time.’

  Cleo pressed her lips together for a moment and then said, ‘If—if Ms Montoya sent you, there wouldn’t be a good time.’ And let him make what he liked of that.

  The man’s hand dropped from the frame of the door and he straightened. ‘I have to assume you didn’t like Serena,’ he commented drily, and Cleo made a sound of impatience.

  ‘I neither like nor dislike her,’ she said, not altogether honestly. ‘And my name’s Cleo. Not Cleopatra.’

  ‘Ah.’ He glanced up and down the hall before looking at her again. ‘Well, Cleo—whether you like it or not, sooner or later we have to talk.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I think you know the answer to that as well as I do,’ he replied levelly.

  ‘Because some old man says I’m his son’s daughter?’ demanded Cleo tersely. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘No.’ The man shook his head. ‘Not just because my grandfather says it’s so—’

  ‘Your grandfather?’ Cleo felt as if the ground beneath her feet had shifted a little. ‘You—you’re Ms Montoya’s son?’

  He laughed then, his lips parting to reveal a row of even white teeth. What else? thought Cleo irritably. The man was far too sure of himself.

  Then he sobered, his grin totally disarming her. ‘No,’ he said, and she didn’t know why she wasn’t relieved by his explanation. ‘My name is Dominic Montoya. Serena’s my aunt.’

  Cleo swallowed. ‘I see,’ she said. But what did that mean?

  ‘She’s yours, too,’ he added, unsteadying her still further. ‘Robert was my father, as well.’

  Cleo couldn’t speak. This man was her brother? She didn’t believe it. She didn’t want to believe it.

  ‘That’s impossible,’ she managed at last, and he pulled a wry face.

  ‘Yeah, well, that’s the way it is.’ He shrugged dismissively. ‘Get used to it.’

  ‘It can’t be true—’

  ‘Cleo?’

  She had never been more relieved to hear Eric Morgan’s voice. The young man from the apartment on the floor above was coming down the stairs just along the hall from her door.

  ‘Is everything OK?’ he asked, coming to join them, and Cleo could tell from his tone that he’d heard at least some of what they’d been saying.

  His eyes flickered suspiciously over the man standing by her door, but Cleo had to admit his words had more bluster than substance. In his navy duffel coat and club scarf, Eric was at least half a foot shorter than Dominic Montoya, and in any physical contest she doubted he’d stand a chance.

  Nevertheless…

  ‘It’s fine, Eric,’ she said now, grateful for his concern. She gestured towards her visitor. ‘Mr Montoya was just leaving.’

  Dominic knew a momentary sense of irritation. Serena had been right, he thought impatiently. Cleopatra—Cleo—whatever she called herself, was arrogant. And stubborn. It would serve her right if he and his aunt abandoned the whole business.

  But she was labouring under a misapprehension if she thought his grandfather would give up. Jacob Montoya was not that kind of man.

  ‘Are you ready, Cleo?’

  The little man was annoying, inserting himself between them as if he had a right to be there, and Dominic had to bite his tongue to prevent himself from making a foolish mistake. If he wanted to speak to her again, he had to keep this civil. But the temptation to blow them both off was incredibly appealing.

  ‘OK,’ he said now, taking a step back from the door, his eyes holding hers with a narrowed insistence. ‘Enjoy your evening—uh—Cleo. We’ll talk again, when you have more time.’

  He strode away, descending the stairs without a backward glance, and Cleo expelled a breath that was neither relieved nor convincing. She’d wanted him to go, she told herself. So why did she feel this sense of frustration? Why did she care that she’d been less than polite?

  ‘You OK, Cleo?’

  Eric was obviously aware that something wasn’t quite right, but Cleo was in no mood to explain things to him now.

  ‘Just a misunderstanding,’ she said, pulling out her woolly hat again and putting it on. ‘Shall we go?’

  ‘But who was that man?’ Eric asked, as she turned out the light and locked her door. ‘Does he work for the education authority?’

  As if, thought Cleo bitterly, and then wondered if it wouldn’t be easier to pass Dominic Montoya off as someone she’d met at work.

  But no, she was no good at lying. ‘He’s not important,’ she said, starting down the stairs so that Eric was compelled to follow her. ‘I hope it doesn’t rain. I haven’t brought an umbrella.’

  Cleo noticed the car as soon as she came out of school the following afternoon.

  It was already getting dark. A slight drizzle was falling and the huge black SUV idling at the kerb just outside the playground entrance did look slightly sinister.

  The children had long gone, so she knew she didn’t have to worry about infant predators. Just an adult one, perhaps, with his quarry already in his sights.

  Putting up her umbrella, she angled it so that she couldn’
t see the SUV any more and, stepping onto the pavement, turned determinedly towards the bus stop. She’d timed her exit to coincide with the bus’s timetable. A woman alone didn’t linger long in this area, particularly after dark.

  The SUV was facing in the opposite direction, so she reckoned that if her bus was on time she ought to be able to board it before the car turned round.

  But she hadn’t accounted for the fact that the vehicle might simply use its reverse gear. And the road was quiet enough, so it presented no danger.

  Even so, the main thoroughfare frequented by the city’s buses was just ahead and she quickened her pace. She didn’t want to run, even though every nerve in her body was urging her to do so.

  Then the car stopped just ahead of her, the driver’s door was pushed open and a man got out. A tall man, wearing jeans and a sports jacket over a black T-shirt. He was at once familiar and unfamiliar, and Cleo found she was clutching her shoulder bag to her chest, as if for protection.

  ‘Hi,’ he said, apparently indifferent to the weather, rain sparkling on his dark hair in the light from the street lamp. He came round the bonnet of the car to block her path. ‘I’m sorry. Did I scare you?’

  Cleo expelled a nervous breath. ‘No. Why would you think that?’ she asked sarcastically. ‘I’m often stalked by strange men after school.’

  Dominic sighed. ‘I wasn’t stalking you.’

  ‘What would you call it, then?’

  ‘I was waiting for you,’ he said mildly. ‘Come on. I’ll give you a lift home.’

  ‘That’s not necessary.’

  ‘Dammit, I know it’s not necessary!’ exclaimed Dominic tersely. He blew out a breath, calming himself. ‘OK. What would you rather do? Go to a pub and have a drink? Or come back to the hotel and speak to Serena? It’s all the same to me.’

  ‘And what if I don’t want to do any of those things?’ Cleo asked, aware that the words sounded childish even to her ears.