Filthy Rich Revenge: A Filthy Rich Billionaires Book - Lynn Raye Harris Page 0,19
pry, but when she’d seen the album, she’d simply been too curious to stop. “Your daughter is very pretty, Alejandro. I’m sorry if I upset you by looking at her photos.”
He passed a hand over his face, swore under his breath while shaking his head. It made no sense to her, but when his hand dropped away, what she saw on his face twisted her heart.
Pain like nothing she’d ever experienced. Longing and regret.
Loneliness.
He pulled in a ragged breath. “Sí, Anya was very pretty. She was the best thing I have ever done.”
Was? Rebecca’s heart squeezed hard. Oh dear God. The official document was a death certificate. Defunción. Death. How had she blundered so badly?
She swallowed the knot clogging her throat. “I’m sorry,” she said again.
“Get out of my sight.” The words fell like empty bullets onto the floor. Hollow, dull. He sounded suddenly very tired, very worn. Very unlike the vibrant man she knew.
She came out from behind the desk and walked to the door. He flinched when she put her hand on his arm. The movement saddened her. Once he would have welcomed her touch. No longer. “I’m sorry for your loss, Alejandro.”
She truly was. No one should have to endure such a thing. The experience had changed him, she could see that. It made him harder, colder, less sympathetic than he’d once been.
It explained so much. She ached for him.
His hand closed over hers before she could pull it away, held it there as his pain-filled eyes raked her.
“You think I am like the lion with the thorn in his paw, yes? You think if you pull it out, I will be forever in your debt?”
Rebecca swallowed. As much as he tried, the malice was missing. “I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
The knot in her throat was tight. “I wanted to say I’m sorry. No one should lose a child. I can’t know your pain, but I’m sorry for it.” She knew what it was like to lose a parent unexpectedly, but her father at least had a life first. Alejandro’s little girl never got the chance.
His fingers tightened. “You would offer to comfort me, perhaps? Take me to bed and make me forget?”
Rebecca couldn’t speak. She watched him, her breath tight in her chest, her eyes filling with unshed tears. A part of her was ready to hold him, to let him take whatever he wanted from her. Another part, the angry, betrayed part, wanted to hold onto her fury at him. She was paralyzed by opposite urges.
Alejandro was not. “You can keep your pity and comfort to yourself, Rebecca Layton. I do not need it.”
He let go of her hand.
“I’m sorry,” she said again. Because there was nothing else to say.
“Go.”
She hesitated. And then she walked out and left him alone to grieve.
8
Why couldn’t she sleep?
By the time Rebecca stood at the pool’s edge and considered taking off her robe and underwear and going for a swim, it was nearly three in the morning. She’d tried to sleep. She’d turned on the television and watched a Spanish-language movie—not that she understood a word—and hoped it would bore her enough.
It hadn’t. But was it jetlag or Alejandro that kept her awake?
She swirled a toe in the water and thought of the look on his face when he’d told her his child was gone forever. No one should ever have to endure such a thing. A hand drifted over her abdomen. Once upon a time, she’d thought she would be the mother of Alejandro’s children.
Her heart swelled with sorrow. His poor, poor wife. Rebecca had never spared any good will for the woman who’d crushed her dreams with her mere existence, but she hurt for the former Mrs. Ramirez now. Had their child’s death torn their marriage apart?
Alejandro had been so angry earlier, so defeated. Not at all the man she knew. She’d had no idea what to say to him, no words to breach the barrier of anger and mistrust between them. She’d been focused on her own problems since arriving. The shock of realizing he was very much as human and vulnerable as anyone was hard to reconcile with the brutal tycoon who wanted to destroy her life.
His loneliness had reached out to her and she’d been almost powerless to resist it. In spite of the hurt, in spite of all he’d done to humiliate and control her, she’d felt in that instant like they shared a connection.