Forbidden Seductions. India Grey

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      ‘Why don’t you take a proper look at this?’ Dominic suggested, handing her the birth certificate again. ‘Celeste insisted on having you registered before she died.’

      Cleo swallowed and reluctantly looked at the sheet of parchment he’d given her. There was Robert Montoya’s name, and her own, Cleopatra. She had been born in San Clemente, but her birth had been registered in Nassau, New Providence, both islands in the Bahamas.

      Smoothing the sheet with quivering fingers, she said, ‘If this is real, why did your father send me away?’

      ‘It’s—complicated.’ Dominic sighed. ‘Initially, I don’t suppose he intended to. Celeste would never have let him take you away. But…’ He paused. ‘Celeste died, and that changed everything. And there was no way Robert Montoya could have claimed you as his when his own wife was incapable of having children.’

      ‘But she adopted you,’ protested Cleo painfully, and Dominic felt a useless pang of anger towards the man who’d raised him.

      ‘I was—different.’

      ‘Not black, you mean?’

      Cleo was very touchy and Dominic couldn’t say he blamed her.

      ‘No,’ he said at last, although her mother’s identity had played an important part in Robert’s decision. He sighed. ‘Celeste Dubois had worked for my father. She was an extremely efficient housekeeper and when she discovered she was pregnant—’

      ‘Yes, I get the picture.’ Cleo’s lips were trembling now. She made a gesture of contempt. ‘It wouldn’t do for the household staff to get above themselves. What a delightful family you have, Mr Montoya.’

      ‘They’re your family, too,’ he said wryly. ‘And my name is Dominic. It’s a little foolish to call me Mr Montoya in the circumstances, don’t you think?’

      ‘I don’t know what to think,’ said Cleo wearily. ‘I just wish—’ She shook her head. ‘I just wish it would all go away.’

      ‘Well, I’m afraid that’s not going to happen.’

      ‘Why? Because my grandfather is dying?’ She sniffed back a sob. ‘Why should I do anything for a man who didn’t even acknowledge my existence for the first twenty-two years of my life?’

      ‘You don’t actually know how he felt.’ Dominic had noticed the way she’d said ‘my’ grandfather and not ‘your’. ‘It wasn’t the old man’s decision to send you to London with the Novaks.’

      ‘But he apparently went along with it.’

      ‘Mmm.’ Dominic conceded the point. ‘But what’s done is done. It’s too late to worry about it now.’

      Cleo sniffed again. ‘Is that supposed to console me?’

      ‘It’s a fact.’ Dominic spoke without emphasis. ‘It may please you to know that he’s going to get quite a shock when he sees you.’

      ‘Why? He knows who my parents were.’

      Dominic groaned. ‘Will you stop beating yourself up over who your parents were? They don’t matter. Well, only in directly. I meant—’ He broke off and then continued doggedly, ‘You’re a beautiful woman, Cleo. I’m sure many men have told you that. But I doubt if the old man has considered the effect you’re going to have on island society.’

      Cleo gave him a disbelieving look. ‘You don’t mean that.’

      ‘Don’t I?’

      She hesitated. ‘So—are you saying I have that effect on you, too?’ she asked tightly, a faint trace of mockery in her voice.

      Dominic sighed. ‘I guess I’m as susceptible to beauty as the next man,’ he conceded wryly. ‘But I don’t think your grandfather would approve of any relationship between us.’ He grimaced. ‘He doesn’t approve of the way I live my life as it is.’

      Cleo bent her head, suddenly despairing. She had never felt more gauche or so completely out of her depth in her life.

      She should have known he wouldn’t find her attractive. Despite what he’d said, she was convinced he was only being polite. Besides, a man like him was almost bound to have a girlfriend—girlfriends! He was far too charismatic for it not to be so.

      But she couldn’t help wondering what kind of woman he liked.

      One thing was certain, she thought a little bitterly. He wouldn’t choose someone like her, someone who hadn’t even known who their real parents were until today.

      ‘So—do you believe me?’

      Cleo didn’t lift her head. ‘About what?’

      He blew out a breath. ‘Don’t mess with me, Cleo. You know what I’m talking about.’ He paused. ‘I want to know how you feel.’

      ‘Like you care,’ she muttered, and Dominic had to stifle an oath.

      ‘I care,’ he said roughly. ‘I know this has been tough on you. But believe me, there was no other way to deal with it.’

      She moved her head in a gesture of denial. Then, unable to hide the break in her voice, she mumbled, ‘I still can’t believe it. Someone should have told me before now.’

      ‘I agree.’

      She cast a fleeting glance up at him. ‘But you didn’t think it was your place to do it?’

      ‘Hey, I didn’t know myself until a couple of weeks ago!’ exclaimed Dominic defensively. ‘Nor did Serena. She is seriously—peeved, believe me.’

      Cleo sensed the word he’d intended to use was not as polite as ‘peeved’ but he controlled his anger.

      ‘Are you seriously—peeved?’ she asked, again without looking at him, and Dominic wondered what she expected him to say.

      ‘Only with the situation,’ he assured her, aware of a feeling of frustration that had nothing to do with her. ‘I guess the Novaks had been told to keep your identity a secret. Maybe they would have told you—eventually. But they didn’t get a chance.’

      Cleo heaved a sigh, and when she turned her face up to his he saw the sparkle of tears overspilling her beautiful eyes.

      ‘I’ve been such a fool,’ she said tremulously. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just—too much to take in all at once.’

      ‘I can see that.’

      In spite of himself, Dominic felt his senses stir. She was so confused; so vulnerable. His grandfather should never have gifted him with this task.

      ‘Hey,’ he said gruffly, as the tears continued to flow. Leaning towards her, he used his thumb to brush the drops away. ‘Don’t cry.’

      He was hardly aware of how sensual his action had been until he felt the heat of her tears against the pad of his thumb.

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