And that was before she’d even started to worry she might be pregnant…

Don’t think about it! she ordered herself desperately. She couldn’t be pregnant. If she were, Rafael would never forgive her. He’d think she’d done it on purpose, that she’d lied to him!

She licked her lips. “I’m…glad you’re well,” she faltered.

His dark slate eyes traced her face, lingering on her mouth before he abruptly turned away, slinging his overnight bag over his shoulder. “Bring dinner to my room,” he barked.

He stalked into the house without looking back.

“At once, sir,” she whispered as the rain fell faster. Heavy droplets pounded against her face and body, plastering her hair to her head and smearing her glasses.

After her boss disappeared into the mansion, she was able to breathe again. Protecting the basket of roses from the rain with her gray woolen blazer, she fell into step behind the two male assistants carrying his suitcases from the limousine now parked in the carriage house.

The fading ribbons of sunset streaked red across the low clouds as Louisa entered the grand foyer of the nineteenth-century mansion. She carefully wiped her feet before noting her boss’s wet footprints across the marble that would now need to be meticulously recleaned. Her eyes followed the dirty footsteps up the sweeping stairs. She saw his dark head and broad-shouldered back disappear behind the landing to his bedroom suite.

The house felt so different now he was here. Rafael Cruz electrified everything. Especially her.

The men followed him up the stairs with the suitcases, and once she was alone, Louisa leaned against the wall, her legs sagging with relief.

Their first meeting was over. It was done.

It seemed that Rafael—Mr. Cruz, she corrected herself angrily. His first name kept sneaking into her mind!—had already forgotten all about their night of passion in Paris.

Now if only she could do the same.

Her eyes looked again toward the second-floor landing. But why had he seemed so troubled? Something was very wrong, and she knew it had nothing to do with their one-night stand. Women were interchangeable to him. Easily forgotten. Completely replaceable. No woman could ever touch Rafael’s heart.

So if not for a woman, what had brought him to Istanbul three days early—and in such a black mood? She stared up the empty stairs toward his room. She suddenly yearned to know what troubled him. Yearned to offer him solace, some kind of comfort…

No!

She stomped on the thought angrily. Every woman thought Rafael needed comforting. It was part of his seduction, something he used ruthlessly to his advantage. Women were drawn by his brutish, brooding charm, imagining him a modern Heathcliff with a darkly haunted past. They all yearned to comfort the world-weary Argentinian millionaire with the handsome face and whisper of a broken heart. Louisa had already seen endless women delude themselves into thinking they, and only they, could save his soul. Only Louisa knew the truth.

Rafael Cruz had no soul.

And yet she loved him. She was a fool! Because she, of all women, knew the kind of man he really was—cold, ruthless and unforgiving!

Swear to me you can’t get pregnant, Louisa, he’d said to her that breathless night. I cannot get pregnant, she’d said.

If it turned out she’d lied to him…

I’m not pregnant, she repeated to herself furiously. It’s impossible!

And yet, she was afraid to take the test that would tell her for sure. She told herself she was just late. Very late.

Leaving her wet shoes at the front door, she carried the basket of roses into a little mudroom near the large modern kitchen. She filled an expensive crystal vase with water, then arranged the roses carefully inside it. She cleaned the pruning shears and put them away in their drawer. Going up to her room upstairs, she removed her wet clothes, replacing them with a new gray skirt suit as plain and serviceable as the first. She tidied her brown hair back into a severe bun, dried the rain off her glasses with a towel, then gave a single glance at herself in the mirror as she passed. She looked plain and orderly and invisible—just as she wished.