Filthy Rich Revenge: A Filthy Rich Billionaires Book - Lynn Raye Harris Page 0,71

charge.

She knew that company like she’d been born to it. He allowed himself a smile. Indeed, she had been born to it. Literally when her mother delivered her in the New York hotel.

He’d considered more than once asking Rebecca to come back to work, but he couldn’t sort out his feelings about it well enough to do so.

Was it a sign of defeat? Weakness? Was it tantamount to admitting he’d been wrong?

And what about the baby? Would it be too stressful on her pregnancy? Could she manage the hotel business and a baby too? A very male part of him wanted to lock her in the house and keep her there, but he knew from personal experience that whether or not a woman worked had nothing to do with her ability as a mother. Caridad had nothing but time and she’d failed miserably. His own mother was self-absorbed. Apparently, so was Rebecca’s.

He hadn’t missed the disappointment on her face when her mother finally called after the wedding. The conversation was short, to the point, and over without Rebecca saying more than a dozen words. Valencia had chattered endlessly to him about his marriage—she whispered that she liked Rebecca very much—and he’d come to think that women liked to talk about romance and weddings. It seemed as if Rebecca and her mother did not.

Alejandro sat back and spun his chair to look out the windows at the view.

Madre de Dios, he was married. If someone had told him two months ago that not only would Rebecca Layton be pregnant with his child, but she would also be his wife, he never would have believed it.

Life was very strange sometimes.

His secretary came in with some paperwork and he turned his attention to accomplishing something today other than thinking about his wife. Several hours later, when he’d spoken with his trusted man in Dubai, negotiated a new contract in Russia, and approved an impact study for a proposed site in India, he felt he’d done enough work to justify returning home. Perhaps Rebecca would be wearing that little bikini he’d bought her. She’d protested that she’d soon be too fat for it, but he’d bought it anyway.

There was nothing sexier than his wife lying beside the pool in her hot pink bikini. Especially when she let him take her into the house and peel it from her body as he kissed his way over every centimeter of her satiny skin.

Whatever else was between them, Alejandro loved how excited Rebecca made him feel. How determined he was to possess her. He loved her sighs and moans as he stroked and licked and kissed, and he loved the way her body clenched around his cock as he fucked her into a shattering orgasm.

He was growing hard just thinking about what he planned to do when he got home.

He phoned down to the valet to have his car brought around. When he stepped outside to climb into the sleek gray car, he was a bit surprised to find a gaggle of reporters waiting for him on the sidewalk. What now?

Long after his years in the bull ring were over, the newspapers still seemed to find his life fascinating. Famed matador to billionaire tycoon was endlessly entertaining to the public. Now that he’d so recently married, the press tended to shadow his and Rebecca’s public appearances. The attention would die down eventually. He hoped.

“Señor Ramirez,” a reporter shouted at him. “Is it true you systematically destroyed your wife’s former company, Layton International, through an untraceable chain of subsidiaries? That you duped Jackson Layton into the acquisitions that led him into debt and contributed to his apparent suicide last year? Did you do this to force Rebecca Layton to marry you?”

Alejandro felt as if the ground had been kicked out from under him. If someone had asked him when he’d grown horns and a tail, he’d have been less shocked. He strode toward the group and halted just in front of the security ropes. A guard stood by, looking stony, ready to intervene.

“I acquired Layton International legally,” Alejandro stated. “You may check all the filings. And Jackson Layton didn’t commit suicide. He died in a plane crash.”

“My source says otherwise. That he piloted the plane and crashed it on purpose.”

“Your source is wrong,” Alejandro growled. Rebecca would have told him if her father had committed suicide. Wouldn’t she? Why keep it from him, especially when she’d first arrived in Madrid? She’d gone at him with both barrels back