Demanding His Hidden Heir (Mills & Boon Modern) (Secret Heirs of Billionaires, Book 26)

by Jackie Ashenden

  Enzo’s gaze roved over her as if she was a work of art he’d just bought and he was examining his purchase. ‘If you were mine, I’d definitely have something to say about you going and living in another country for four years. With another man.’

  If you were mine...

  Something trembled inside her. She...could be his. If she divorced Henry, there would be nothing to stop her. And why not? What was there in England for her, when she had to stay in Italy for her son?

  And wouldn’t it be better that she, rather than some other woman, belonged to Enzo? A woman who would then live with Enzo and Simon, leaving her to be nothing more than a glorified nanny while they became one, big happy family...

  No.

  The denial rang inside her like a bell. That would happen over her dead body. She wouldn’t let another woman be any kind of mother to her child, not while she was alive.

  If Enzo wanted a wife then maybe it was time she claimed the position for herself.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ENZO COULDN’T STOP staring at her. She was sitting on the couch in a soft, floaty dove-grey dress—one of the dresses he’d bought for her—and it matched her eyes, as he’d known it would, making the curls trailing loose over her shoulders gleam like flames. There were little buttons at the neckline and some were open, revealing her pale, creamy skin and the freckles that dusted it. If he flicked a couple more open, he’d expose the tops of her soft, round breasts...

  Dio, he shouldn’t have come to see her. He should have called her from the office, or sent her a text, or basically anything that involved keeping his distance from her, which was what he’d been trying to do for the past few days.

  But, no, he’d assumed that he’d be able to handle it, that his control could withstand her.

  Apparently though, all it took was the bright flare of heat in her eyes and that control was shredded all the way through.

  Because that was the way she was looking at him right now. With heat, with hunger and not an ounce of fear. The same way she’d looked at him all those years ago.

  She’d made a decision about something, clearly. What was it?

  ‘I could be yours.’ Her voice was very steady, her gaze level. ‘Didn’t you say you wanted me to be your wife?’

  Of all the things she could have said, that was the one thing he hadn’t expected, and it took him a moment to process it. ‘What do you mean? You’re already married.’

  ‘I asked Henry for a divorce.’

  Everything stopped.

  ‘A divorce?’ His heart was beating hard inside his chest, adrenaline coursing through his body. Because the hunter in him knew what that meant. ‘I thought you were in love with him.’

  ‘Perhaps I wasn’t...being entirely truthful about that.’ Her gaze didn’t flicker. ‘Perhaps I was only trying to—’

  ‘Make me jealous?’ He found he’d taken a step towards her. ‘Push me?’

  Her chin came up. ‘Maybe. The truth is that, for various reasons, Henry and I had a marriage in name only.’

  The deep possessiveness that he’d been struggling to keep leashed pulled hard inside him, along with an anger he didn’t understand. She’d lied to him about her marriage and why that should matter to him, why he should be angry about it, he had no idea. Because he didn’t care. Did he?

  ‘Explain,’ he demanded, not bothering to moderate his tone. All his muscles had gone tight, the ever-present need to reach out and grab her almost choking him.

  She got up from the sofa, the dress falling around her hips and thighs in a swirl of soft fabric. He wanted to rip it from her body, tear it to shreds and leave it on the floor along with the remains of his control.

  But he didn’t move. She might have asked for a divorce but that hadn’t been granted yet. As far as he was concerned, she was still married. And, aside from anything else, he wasn’t going to let that desire inside him free. Not with her. Not again.

  ‘Henry wanted a companion, but he didn’t want gossip or scandal about the reasons a young woman would be living with him. So he decided marriage would be a good option.’

  ‘And you agreed? Just like that?’

  She lifted one shoulder. ‘Why not? He told me he wouldn’t touch me and he didn’t. I got to live in his house and, when Simon came along, he supported me. But we didn’t love each other. We were just friends.’

  He studied her face, trying to see if she was spinning more lies. But this sounded like the truth. And it would certainly explain the strange distance he’d observed between her and St George. Not to mention the fact that he hadn’t protested when Enzo had dragged her to Italy.

  Except...something else was going on here. He could sense it.

  ‘Why are you telling me this?’ Enzo took another step towards her even though he hadn’t meant to. ‘You want something, don’t you?’

  She held her ground, her chin getting that familiar determined slant. ‘I don’t want to be here as Simon’s glorified nanny. I don’t want to stand on the side lines, watching him with a new stepmother, no matter how nice she might be. And I don’t want him to be part of anyone’s family but mine.’ And this time it was she who took a step towards him, that pretty grey dress floating around her, turning her eyes pure silver. ‘I’m his mother. Which means, if you want a wife to complete your little family, you need to choose me.’

  He wanted to laugh. Who on earth did she think she was to demand such a thing, after what she’d done? Did she really imagine that he’d simply say yes and marry her without any protest whatsoever?

  Dio, the audacity of her.

  ‘And what the hell makes you think I’ll do anything of the sort?’ He smiled at her, hungry and sharp. ‘You’re the one who left me, cara. Do you seriously imagine that I would now come running simply because you asked?’

  She took another step, getting right into his space, the soft heat of her body and the sweet scent of jasmine clouding his senses. He was getting hard, his pulse accelerating. He hadn’t had a woman since he’d first seen her in England, and not for weeks before then either, and now he felt every single second of that time weighing down on him.

  He should have indulged himself while he’d been going to the office every day—he had a few names he could have called, women who’d be happy to see him—but it had felt wrong to do so when Simon was only newly with him.

  A stupid decision.

  If he’d taken one of those women to bed, maybe he wouldn’t be feeling so desperate now.

  Liar. It’s her. It’s always been her.

  Matilda raised her hand and rested her fingertips lightly on his chest, and he felt her touch echo through him like a bell being struck. Heat gripped him, a raw desire that had the breath catching in his throat,

  ‘You want me, Enzo,’ she said quietly. ‘And I want you.’ Hunger glittered in her eyes, the same that probably blazed in his. ‘So why not?’

  Yes. Why not?

  There were reasons. Such as the fact that he didn’t like being told what to do by anyone, let alone a woman who’d first run from him and then hadn’t told him that he’d had a son. Who’d lied to him about the state of her marriage, making him feel things he hadn’t felt before...things such as jealousy...

  Then again, he did want a wife eventually, and it made sense for him to marry her, as Simon already knew and loved her. And Enzo wouldn’t have to put him through meeting various women, which would be stressful for all concerned.

  And of course the sex with Matilda would be incredible. He would insist on that. There would be no ‘marriage in name only’ nonsense for him.

  But look what happened to your parents’ marriage. To your mother. And you’re so like your father...

  A cold sensation he didn’t want to feel twisted in his gut. But he shoved it away.

  It didn’t matter. He wasn’t the same as Luca and neither was M
atilda like his mother. And this marriage wouldn’t be quite the same. She was free to live her own life; he wouldn’t stop her. He wouldn’t suck the life out of her like his father had his mother. His feelings were on total lockdown. Desire was all he felt, good, old-fashioned lust, and he could handle that no problem.

  So, yes. Why not? Though, there was one thing she’d need to be aware of: this wouldn’t be a marriage of a few years. This would be for ever.

  He’d lost everything once and, yes, he’d played a part in that. But he would not lose it again.

  But it wouldn’t do to look too eager. He would make her wait, punish her a little first.

  He didn’t move, trying not to concentrate on the slight pressure of her fingers on his chest or the fire inside him that she’d ignited. ‘What brought this on?’

  Her fingers trailed down the cotton of his shirt in a gentle stroke. ‘I just don’t want to subject my son to an endless parade of women.’

  ‘And I told you already that I would never do that to him.’

  ‘You don’t need to do that to him at all.’ She lifted her hand again to the top few buttons of his shirt and flicked them open. ‘Not if the endless parade of women consists entirely of me.’

  He allowed himself a smile, hungry and white as the material parted and she touched one finger to the bare skin of his throat. Her touch burned like a flame. ‘If you’re thinking I’m going to be happy with the kind of marriage you had with your Henry, you can think again.’ His voice had become rougher, deeper. ‘You will sleep in my bed beside me every night. And when I say sleep, I mean that you will be naked and I will be inside you.’

  A flush stained her lovely skin, her gaze on her finger where it rested against his throat. ‘I know. I want that too.’

  ‘You will not take lovers, cara. It will be me and only me, which means this is for ever, Matilda. Are you sure you’re ready for that?’

  * * *

  Enzo’s smooth, bronze skin was a hot coal beneath her fingertip and she could feel the beat of his pulse, strong, sure and steady.

  He was so close, his body radiating heat like a fire, the hard muscles of his chest visible between the parted fabric of his shirt.

  If she moved just a bit closer, the tips of her breasts would be brushing against him.

  The thought made her shudder, her nipples suddenly hard and aching.

  The delicious spice of his aftershave was making it difficult to think about much of anything but the hunger that seemed to pulse in time with his heartbeat.

  To be his wife. To be his for ever.

  It wasn’t a surprise that he’d said that, and she had to be honest with herself: part of her had known that was what he’d wanted back there on the island and, deep down, she knew that was why she’d run from him. Because she hadn’t been ready for a man like him, not then.

  She didn’t know whether she was ready for a man like him now.

  He’d been so demanding back then, drawing from her all the heat and passion she had to give, and then some. But even that hadn’t been enough for him. It had felt like he’d wanted her soul as well, but she hadn’t been ready to give it. She’d been too afraid of his intensity. Too afraid of the intensity of her own feelings too, especially after the emotional desert in which she’d grown up with her aunt and uncle. They’d always been emotionally reserved and after her parents’ deaths they’d only become more so.

  No one had talked to her about feelings or how to manage them.

  No one had talked to her at all.

  Being with Enzo, with all his ferocity, had been scary and she’d had no one to talk to about it. She’d never missed her mother more.

  Matilda could feel the pressure of his gaze on her like a breath of flame. Looking into it would probably burn her alive so she kept her attention on the white cotton of his business shirt instead.

  He was fierce now, but she knew it wasn’t like it had been four years ago. His intensity was purely to do with their sexual chemistry. And, when he’d said it would be for ever, it wasn’t because he loved her.

  A small part of her shivered at that thought, but she ignored it.

  She’d done without love for most of her adult life and she could survive the lack. And there would be consolations, after all.

  ‘Well?’ His rich, dark voice rolled over her like black velvet. ‘What’s it to be?’

  Consolations such as his hot, smooth skin beneath her finger. She couldn’t stop herself from running the tip of it down from the hollow of his throat to the hard muscle of his chest.

  No, for ever wouldn’t be so bad. Not if she could have this.

  You couldn’t handle him then. What makes you think you can handle him now?

  Easy. If there was no emotion involved then she’d do just fine.

  And, anyway, this wasn’t about her and her fears. Simon needed her. He needed a father. He needed a family. And she couldn’t deny him the chance of one.

  ‘For ever is a long time.’ She couldn’t stop staring at the contrast of the pale skin of her finger against the bronzed muscle of his chest. ‘Are you sure that’s what you want?’

  ‘If you’re in my bed, what more could I possibly need?’ The rough sound in his voice made her go hot all over. ‘I have lost too many things, cara. I will not lose anything more.’

  She swallowed and forced herself to look at him, forced herself not to be such a coward. And she had to catch her breath as the brilliant amber of his gaze hit her, surrounding her.

  There was no mercy in that look, just as she’d suspected there wouldn’t be. No softness. Only fire. Only hunger. He wasn’t going to give a single inch of ground. It was all or nothing with Enzo and it always had been.

  A small flame of anger burst to life inside her at him and how he’d somehow taken control of the situation. And at herself for the way she let him do it.

  ‘So I’m just a thing to you?’ She didn’t bother keeping the sharpness from her voice. ‘No one wants to be just a thing, Enzo.’ Certainly she didn’t. That was all she’d been to her aunt and uncle, a thing that they’d inherited, that they hadn’t wanted. And it was all she’d been to Henry too because, for all his assertions about wanting a companion, he’d still bought her.

  ‘And what more do you want?’ The ferocity in his expression just about ate her alive. ‘I was prepared to give you everything four years ago, but you left. You had your chance, Summer. That deal is now no longer on the table.’

  A whiplash of pain curled down her spine. Damn him for using that name against her. Damn him for even bringing up their affair in the first place.

  But she’d told herself in England that she needed to armour herself against him so she didn’t let the hurt show, allowing the flame of her anger to grow higher, hotter, instead.

  She wasn’t going to let him have control of the situation. Not here. Not now.

  Holding the scorching heat of his gaze, Matilda slowly pressed her palm down on his bare chest between the two halves of his shirt and spread all five fingers out on his bare skin. ‘Good,’ she said clearly, letting him see the challenge in her eyes. ‘Because I didn’t want that deal anyway. All I want from you is this.’ And she stroked him with her thumb, a long, slow caress.

  He didn’t move, but his muscles went tight and hard beneath her palm.

  He smiled his tiger’s smile and her heart fluttered in her chest, a strange combination of fear and excitement tangling inside her.

  Meet him on his own ground? You might as well try to rope a hurricane...

  The doubt pricked at her, but she shoved it away before it could settle.

  He wanted her, of that there was no question. Time to use that power to her own advantage.

  ‘Then we’re agreed.’ A thread of dark sensuality ran through his voice, raising goose bumps all over her skin. ‘But if you’re expecting this righ
t now you’re going to be disappointed. You’re still another man’s wife, in case you’ve forgotten.’ He lifted a hand, his fingers circling her wrist, pressing lightly against the sensitive skin on the underside of it, resting on her pulse. The scorching heat of his touch nearly made her gasp. ‘And you know what that means, don’t you? It means I won’t touch you until your divorce comes through.’ But he didn’t release her. His fingers tightened fractionally instead, the heat in his eyes becoming a blaze. ‘But maybe you need a reminder of exactly who you’re dealing with when it comes to making bargains with me.’

  She didn’t understand what he was talking about until he guided her own hand to her throat, letting her fingertips settle on the skin above the neckline of her dress. ‘This is where I will touch you, Matilda.’

  A shiver went through her, the sound of her pulse loud in her ears.

  She should pull her hand away, not let him tease her like this, because she knew what this was: he was taking control again. But...she couldn’t seem to make herself move. Every inch of her skin felt alive and acutely sensitive, and she wanted more.

  So she went still as he eased her hand down, trailing her fingers over the fabric, following the swell of her breast, watching her with that intense, sharp focus. ‘Then maybe here.’

  Her mouth went dry.

  He shifted her hand again, her fingertips brushing lightly over one tight, hard nipple, making pleasure arc through her, sweet and sharp, tearing a gasp from her throat.

  His eyes were molten as he shifted her hand once more to her other breast, letting her fingers brush her nipple again. ‘Next time, though, it’ll be my hand.’ The rough, sensual promise in the words was like a caress in itself. ‘My fingers touching you.’

  She shuddered as another intense jolt of pleasure washed through her, knowing that all she had to do to stop him from stealing her power was to pull away.

  Except...she didn’t want to. And that was the pleasure and the agony of it. There was something inside her, hungry, greedy and demanding. The part of her that he’d woken all those years ago, the part she’d put on ice when she came back to England.