Chapter Eight

“What are you doinghere?”

Raquel swung her legs down and stood up, only to grab the back of the sofa as her head spun. Apprehension filled her as she stood facing Alexandre, who leaned back against the door with his arms folded across his chest, his shrewd eyes watching her like a predator sizing up his prey.

She was wary of being alone with him while her fiancé was somewhere on the other side of the door. Yet, she couldn’t suppress the illicit pleasure that rushed through her when his eyes slid indolently over her, pausing at her breasts before moving down to her toes. She should be incensed by his blatant perusal, but was ashamed to admit that it stoked tiny flames all over her body, igniting a slow-burning flame in the pit of her stomach.

On their own accord, her eyes did a quick survey of him, too.

He wore a charcoal grey suit with a white shirt, and no tie. The long hair was tamed with hair gel and brushed back away from his face, exposing his sharp cheekbones. Her eyes lingered on the puckered white line on the left side of his lips, standing out starkly against his dark skin. Strange that she hadn’t noticed the scar before while she had kissed those gorgeous supple lips to her heart’s content.

“We need to talk.”

She blinked, his words rousing her from the sexual languor that slowly spread through her body. “We have nothing to say to each other,” she replied tartly, forcing herself to walk toward the door on shaky legs, intent on letting herself out. She had to get away from him. She couldn’t afford to be with him in the same room and not feel...

Alexandre stood up straight and stepped in front of her, barring her escape route.

She glared at him. “Move away from the door. Let me leave.”

“Why did you come to my club that night knowing you were promised to my brother?” She gasped at his accusatory tone. “Did you come there with the intention of shaming Leandro? Did you orchestrate our meeting in some way?”

His vile suggestion infuriated her.

“Do you hear yourself?” She threw her hands up. “I didn’t even know who you were until a few minutes ago!”

“So anyone would have done that night?”

Before she could think, her hand flew up and she slapped him—hard. “How dare you!” she cried, humiliated by his dirty insinuation. Did he think she made a habit of sleeping with strangers?

Alexandre slowly turned his head. The angry imprint of her hand bloomed on his dark skin, immediately filling her with remorse that she had succumbed to violence. But the fury in Alexandre’s eyes was nothing like she had ever encountered before. Angry flames leapt in his eyes, dangerous like molten lava, capable of incinerating everything in its path. And Raquel knew, if she didn’t get away from him, she would be consumed by his wrath. With a choked gasp, she stumbled back when he growled—a feral sound that sent panic coursing through her.

“You will pay for that,” he muttered through clenched teeth, advancing as she retreated in fear.

“I’m not afraid of you,” she spluttered with false bravado.

“Then you are a fool.” Grabbing her arm, he pulled her forward and she fell against his chest with a cry.

“Let me go!” she protested, trying to push away from him, but he was as immovable as a rock.

“If you think I’m going to let you deceive my brother, then think again.”

His warning raked down her spine like a nail across a board, sending unpleasant shivers all over her body. But even as she trembled against him, she forced herself to meet his eyes.

“I would never do that to Leandro.”

His eyes blazed at the way she said his brother’s name, like a gentle caress, and it infuriated him that she spoke Leandro’s name with intimate familiarity while she looked at him as though he was the dirt under her shoes.

“You won’t, because I won’t let you,” he hissed, his breath hot on her face. “Don’t think you can waltz away from me with my child in your belly.”

“Your child?” The venom in her words caught him by surprise and Raquel picked that moment to push away from him. “Your child?” she scoffed. “How do you even know it’s yours?” Outraged that he had the audacity to call her child his when he had ordered her to get rid of it, she lashed out. She wanted to draw blood—hurt him like he had hurt her.

She’d believed he was a good man, but he didn’t afford her the same courtesy. He thought she was immoral—a promiscuous woman who slept around whilst on the cusp of marriage.

Nothing could have been farther from the truth.

That night, she’d been vulnerable—had been confused, and terrified at the loss of control over her own life. It had been one night of recklessness, one night of rebellion, one night of unprecedented events that had resulted in her sleeping with him.

“Are you saying the child is not mine?”