“Tell me the truth.”

She shook her head, unable to speak. She felt burned, electrified by his touch. He leaned forward, his face inches from hers, and she knew he was going to kiss her—right there in the church! While she was standing in front of the minister with another man!

And yet she couldn’t lift a hand to stop him. Her knees trembled beneath her. Her bouquet dropped unheeded from her senseless fingers, falling in a splash of pink flowers against stone.

“Tell me, damn you!” His hands tightened on her shoulders. His voice rang through the church. “Am I the father of your baby?”

Three hundred people gasped aloud. She heard her grandmother give a little choked sob. She could feel the stares of the guests. Of the shocked minister. And worst of all, she could feel Timothy goggling at her, pitiful, humiliated fury on his face.

A slow burn went through her, making her cheeks feel hot as flame.

“You have no right to humiliate me like this,” she whispered. “You’re the bastard, Diogo. You’re the liar.”

“Him?” Timothy turned on her with a look of rage. “You’ve kept me at arm’s length for all these years—so you could give yourself to Serrador?”

“Ah.” Diogo’s lips curved darkly upward. His body relaxed, and his gaze glinted with sudden amusement. “So he’s never even touched you. Strange way to trap a man into marriage…”

Anger raced through her. “I didn’t trap anyone into anything,” she spat out. “Timothy loves me. He doesn’t care I’m pregnant. He said he’ll take care of it!”

Diogo’s eyes narrowed. In an instant, he became a totally different man.

“Take care of it?” He grabbed her arm. “What do you mean, take care of it?”

She felt the sizzle up and down her body. How was it possible to be so electrified by his touch—and yet so afraid? She struggled to pull her arm away.

“What difference does it make? It’s not your baby. It can’t be. You can’t get a woman pregnant, right?” she taunted.

His dark eyes seared through her. “I am the father. Can you deny it?”

She couldn’t. But she knew Diogo Serrador hadn’t come to take responsibility for the child he’d created—he just couldn’t bear for any other man to tread on his territory. With the arrogant machismo of a Brazilian fighter, Diogo Serrador believed he had the right to own everything and everyone. To keep them and discard them solely at his pleasure.

He didn’t deserve to be a father.

“Answer me.” Diogo’s hand moved down her neck to the bare skin on her collarbone, to the first swell of her breasts above the white taffeta bodice. The sizzle intensified, causing her breath to come in little gasps. All the faces of guests she’d known since childhood—some watching with shocked pity, others with malicious glee—seemed to whirl around her.

Then she saw her grandmother, chalky white with orange lips. Lilibeth was the one person who’d always believed in Ellie. She’d baked her cookies on the days her mother was mean. Told her she didn’t need a high school diploma to be smart. Supported Ellie during the long years she’d nursed her mother’s final illness. Ellie’s success had become Lilibeth’s.

And now it was all ruined. Lilibeth would never be able to hold her head high in the grocery store again. Because of her.

“I—I—” Ellie suddenly felt faint. “I…think I’m going to…”

She couldn’t even finish the sentence before her knees started to give way beneath her. Diogo caught her up in his arms before she could fall.

“Put her down!” Timothy cried furiously.

Diogo didn’t even glance his way. His dark gaze held Ellie’s, reaching down into her very soul.

“The baby,” he said in a low voice. “Tell me.”

“No,” she gasped.

He glanced at the audience gawking from the pews, then gave a single nod. “Tá bom.”

Turning on his heel, he carried her down the aisle. He held her so close to his muscular chest that she could feel the beat of his heart.

It felt like some strange dream. The sunlight from the windows shimmered and shone around her, blurring the bright colors of ladies’ dresses in the pews. Her ripped veil fluttered forlornly around her, her white taffeta train dragging behind them as he carried her out of the church, stealing her from her own wedding like a Roman centurion with a Sabine maiden.

“Come back here!” Timothy’s voice was a furious squeak as he followed behind them like a yapping terrier. “She’s mine, you Brazilian bastard! Do you hear me? Mine!”

Ignoring him, Diogo flung open the tall double doors.

The bright spring sun outside hit her like a slap in the face. Two of Diogo’s bodyguards slammed the church doors shut behind them, trapping all the guests inside as Diogo set her gently on her feet.

But she found herself face-to-face with Timothy.

“I can’t believe you did it.” His wire-rimmed glasses trembled on his nose. His eyes were red and wet, fog¬ ging up the glass. “I waited for you nearly ten years. I did everything I could to win you. And you spread your legs for Serrador, who treats his women like whores?”

Every word was like a stab in her heart. “I…”

“You are mine, Ellie,” he cried, reaching for her. “Mine—”

Diogo stepped between them. Carelessly, he tucked his hands into fists, widening his muscular legs into a confident stance that suggested he was ready for anything. Even in his perfectly tailored gray suit, he looked like a warrior who could fight—and kill—at will.

“Ellie’s not yours. Neither is her baby. What exactly were you planning, Wright?”

Timothy’s face blanched with fear. He backed away.

“Now,” Diogo said softly, turning to Ellie. He brushed a tendril of hair away from her face in a gesture that was deceptively gentle. “You’ll tell me the name of your baby’s father.”

She rubbed her forehead. “You swore on your honor you couldn’t get me pregnant,” she muttered. “Your honor.”

Diogo’s dark eyes swept her face, pulling out every secret she’d ever tried to keep, leaving her vulnerable and bare. He tightened his hold on her, causing her to cry out. “I’m the father, Ellie. Say it!”

“I hate you,” she whimpered.

“Say it!” he thundered.

“All right!” she shouted. Tears of grief and rage streamed down her face. “You’re the father!”

Timothy gave a loud, high moan. She turned to him desperately. “I’m so sorry. So sorry…”

She tried to reach for him, but he slapped her hand away. Bitterly, he turned to Diogo.

“Take her, and be damned. She’s filled with your child. It disgusts me. Another whore for you. Another bastard—”

Diogo punched him hard across the jaw. Ellie screamed as Timothy dropped like a stone into the lush green grass.

The Brazilian turned to her, and the rage in his eyes made her draw back in confused fear. He blinked, staring at her. His dark eyes suddenly looked sad, as if haunted by shadows and ghosts of long ago.

Then he abruptly turned away without a word. At his signal, two black sedans pulled forward on the street. As a bodyguard opened the door, Diogo pushed her gently into the backseat, holding her against the leather as he drew the seat belt over her body. She struggled, but his grip was implacable. His hands were like iron shackles wrapped in silk.

And every accidental brush of his fingertips made her feel fire in her veins. How could she fight her own desire? How? She swallowed, trying to control the pounding of her heart as she glanced through the back window.

“Timothy—”

“He’ll have a headache.” His teeth gleamed in a feral growl. “He deserves worse.”

Why? What had Timothy done? But she didn’t have the nerve to ask. She had far more pressing issues to worry about. “Where are you taking me?”

“To the airport.” He sat next to her as the driver pulled away. She could feel his thigh pressing against hers through the layers of her wedding dress.