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

by Jackie Ashenden

  Because he felt it too, that intense pleasure and deep sense of connection they’d both experienced back on the island. It was still there and it was still strong.

  ‘Summer,’ he murmured again, rougher, unable to help himself, watching sensation unfurl in her eyes.

  ‘Oh...yes...’ she whispered. ‘Enzo...’

  Pleasure uncurled down his spine in a hot, slow lick. And suddenly he was ravenous, desperate. Her hands were smoothing over his shoulders beneath his jacket, finding the collar of his shirt and pushing underneath it, searching for his skin, and he growled, his control slowly slipping out of his grip.

  He tried to hold onto it, cupping the soft curve of her delicious butt, squeezing her to keep her still as he drew himself out then slid back in, deeper, harder.

  Except her thighs clenched around his waist and she groaned, rocking her hips against his, her fingers fumbling with his tie and the buttons of his shirt as she tried to get them undone.

  She was so tight and wet. So hot.

  And abruptly the last of his control was gone.

  He buried one hand in her hair again, the silkiness of it sliding against his skin, and tugged her head back once more. Then he kissed her passionately, savagely, bending her back on the desk and thrusting inside her, something inside him howling for more.

  She put her arms around him and held onto him tightly, giving him everything as she lifted her hips to his, panting his name over and over.

  ‘You’ll never get this from anyone else, cara,’ he growled against her mouth, barely aware of what he was saying. ‘Only me.’ He slammed into her, making her gasp. ‘Only ever me.’ Another hard thrust. ‘Tell me you understand.’

  ‘I do.’ Her voice sounded cracked. ‘I understand. Oh, Enzo...please...’

  He wanted to keep it going to draw it out even longer, but he was at the end. So he took his hand from her back and slipped it between their heated bodies, stroking over the sensitive bud between her thighs, pressing down as he moved. She shivered and cried out, pressing her face against his neck, her inner muscles clenching hard around him.

  Finally he let himself go, one hand gripping her hair, drowning himself in the sweetness of her mouth and the heat of her body, slamming himself inside her until the pleasure exploded in his head like a bomb.

  Then he gripped her as the climax broke over him, holding her tight.

  Because she wasn’t going to leave him. Not again. Not ever again.

  He would make sure of it.

  CHAPTER NINE

  A WEEK LATER Matilda stared at herself in the mirror of Enzo’s bedroom.

  A woman dressed all in silver stared back, glittering from the soles of her feet to the top of her head.

  The gown Enzo had bought for her to wear to the engagement party he’d arranged was a work of art. She would have been happy to choose one for herself, but he’d insisted, and since she hadn’t felt that strongly about it she’d let him have his way.

  She turned in the mirror slightly, watching the light move over the silver sequins that were sewn into the bodice of the gown. The sequins were thick down to the waist and then became sparser, sparkling here and there on the skirt like a scattering of diamonds. It made her look as if she’d stepped out from under a shower of stardust.

  The neckline was deep—almost to her belly button—and there was a long tulle underskirt that swirled around her. The neckline and fitted shape of the bodice drew attention to the lush curves of her breasts and hips, making the most of her classic hourglass figure.

  She’d never had a gown before, not like this. It was beautiful. And the way the hairstylist who Enzo had called in had done her hair—pulled back into a gleaming red chignon—made her look...well... She was beautiful too.

  But she didn’t feel like herself, and she wasn’t quite sure why, as she’d been totally on board with the engagement party idea itself.

  She and Enzo had decided that a party was the best way both to announce their engagement and to introduce Simon to the world as their son. Then afterwards a big wedding would distract anyone from asking questions about where Simon had been for the first four years of his life.

  Matilda had been expecting the discussion about what they’d tell the press to be a difficult one, but either Enzo wasn’t angry at her about it any more, or he’d somehow locked it down, because he was very calm about it.

  They’d eventually decided that their story would be that they’d kept Simon’s existence out of the headlines deliberately to keep attention away from him.

  Enzo seemed to be sure they could keep gossip to a minimum so she’d let him handle it. Their relationship might be problematic, but she knew that he cared very much about Simon’s wellbeing and would do his utmost to protect it.

  Simon himself had been ecstatic when they’d both told him together that his mother would be marrying his papa.

  The excitement on his face had made a bittersweet feeling twist through her: regret that her fear had ended up denying her son a family right from the start and a kind of relief that she could give it to him now.

  But at what cost to you?

  She stared at herself in the mirror again, a woman she didn’t recognise.

  There was no cost, though, was there? She would never have to worry about money or about whether not having a father was doing her son harm. She would have a gorgeous husband and all the physical passion she could ever want. She would be wanted. She would belong somewhere and to someone.

  But...

  Matilda shut the thought down firmly as she sensed movement behind her.

  She didn’t turn around—she could see who it was in the reflection of the mirror.

  Enzo.

  He was dressed in a tux for the evening and the austere black suited him, the cut outlining his powerful shoulders and lean hips, while the colour made his black hair gleam and highlighted the brilliant gold of his eyes.

  Her heartbeat sped up the way it always did whenever he came near her, and she had to moisten her suddenly dry mouth.

  His smile was satisfied and hot as he came up behind her, staring at her in the mirror as his hands settled possessively on her waist. ‘Yes,’ he murmured. ‘I knew that would look beautiful on you.’

  Her chest hurt for some reason. The way he looked at her, the way he held her, made everything inside her tighten with instinctive yearning.

  It was difficult to fight the longing inside her that had somehow grown worse since she’d come to Italy, the need to belong somewhere and to someone. Because she hadn’t really had either of those things, not since her parents had died.

  And it was hard being with Enzo. Hard when every time he looked at her, every time he touched her, it was with possession. Except she knew it wasn’t really her that he was possessive about. He wanted her body and their intense physical chemistry, and the fact that she was Simon’s mother. But she was acutely aware that he wouldn’t be marrying her if she hadn’t pushed him into it.

  The knowledge sat inside her like a small splinter of glass.

  ‘It’s lovely,’ she said, trying not to think about it now.

  Enzo’s gaze met hers in the mirror. ‘I can hear a “but”.’

  Of course he could. He was so irritatingly perceptive about some things, annoyingly dense about others.

  Maybe today he could have the truth.

  ‘I feel...strange in it.’

  One dark brow rose in surprise. ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s very...grand. I feel a bit like an imposter, to be honest.’

  His hands tightened on her waist. ‘You’re not an imposter, Matilda. You’re my fiancée. And as for the dress being grand, yes, it is. If I still had my kingdom, you would be my queen.’

  They’d never discussed his royal past. He’d mentioned it back on the island and she’d been fascinated and full of questions. But sh
e’d sensed that the subject was a painful one and, because she’d also been too unsure of herself around him then, she hadn’t pressed.

  But now... Well, those questions were still there. And maybe she should ask them. She didn’t want to marry a man she didn’t really know, after all.

  ‘I remember you telling me about that,’ she said. ‘You never said how you lost it, though.’

  ‘I didn’t lose it.’ A sharp edge had crept into his voice. ‘That was my father’s doing. He didn’t care about the country he was supposed to protect or his subjects. He just wanted power. He made one mistake too many and the government decided they’d had enough and got rid of him. And his family too.’

  She studied him in the mirror, watching his expression. ‘What happened?’

  ‘We were told to leave.’ The aristocratic lines of Enzo’s face hardened. ‘Soldiers came one night and ordered us off the island. We only had a couple of hours to collect our belongings before we were put in a boat to the mainland.’

  Her heart clenched unexpectedly hard. She knew what it was like to have life change suddenly. To have to pack up your things and go somewhere else, with no idea what it would be like when you got there. That was what she’d had to do when her parents had died.

  Was that where his anger came from? Because she’d sensed it the day he’d taken her on his desk and had wondered if it had deeper roots than simply anger with her and what she’d done. She’d even asked him, but he’d never answered her question.

  She searched his face. Yes, of course he was angry about leaving his home all those years ago. That was why he was so single-mindedly pursuing this idea of building a home and a family on the damn island he’d bought from Henry, wasn’t it?

  No wonder he thought of her as his queen. He was trying to rebuild his kingdom.

  ‘That must have been hard,’ she said quietly. ‘You were only fifteen, weren’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’ Something glittered in his gaze and it was definitely anger. ‘Old enough to realise what was happening. And what I was losing.’

  Losing a home. Yes, God, she knew what that was like.

  ‘I was ten when my parents died,’ she said, wanting to offer him a little something of herself in return. ‘And then I was shipped off to my mother’s sister to live. My aunt and uncle were childless, and really didn’t want me, but they took me in anyway because there was no one else. So, I know what it’s like to lose the life you thought you’d have. It’s really, really hard.’

  His gaze was sharp as it met hers in the mirror. ‘You never told me that you’d lost your parents.’

  Had she not? Perhaps she hadn’t. When they’d talked to each other, they’d only spoken about the future and what they wanted from it, not about the past. Or at least, she hadn’t.

  ‘Well,’ she said, ‘it’s not a particularly happy story so you didn’t miss anything.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  That sharp expression gleamed in his eyes and the inevitable longing rose because she did want to tell him. She wanted to share herself with him. But along with it came a feeling of vulnerability, as if she’d just revealed a weakness to him.

  ‘You tell me about your family first,’ she said, prevaricating. ‘You know more about me than I do about you.’

  He’d tensed behind her, his posture stiff. ‘Yes, you do.’

  ‘No.’ She stared at him in the mirror. ‘All you told me was that you wanted a home because you’d lost yours. And that one day you wanted a family as well. You didn’t tell me anything else beyond that.’

  A muscle flicked in his jaw, his fingers tight on her waist. But then he said, ‘There’s nothing more to add. My father was a power-hungry, bitter bastard who didn’t know how to be a man, let alone a king, and my mother put up with his rages like a martyr.’

  She stared at him, watching the anger he couldn’t quite hide smoulder like coals in his eyes.

  ‘We had nothing when we came off that boat,’ he went on. ‘Less than nothing. Luca was more interested in making useless plans for trying to get his throne back than actually being a husband and father, and my mother cared more about her own unhappiness than she did about anything else. She left in the end and took Dante with her. I had to stay with him.’ Bitterness laced his tone. ‘He didn’t care, not about my mother leaving or about the fact that I stayed. All that mattered to him was power and he couldn’t reconcile himself to having none.’

  Her heart clenched. Her father in her memory had been loving and warm, which had made the loss of him and her mother so much harder. But at least she’d had them and at least they had loved her.

  Had Enzo had anyone who’d cared?

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, knowing it sounded ineffectual and useless, but not knowing what else to offer him. ‘He sounds awful. And your mother leaving... You kind of lost both parents, didn’t you?’

  The glittering look in his eyes focused on her all of a sudden. ‘Yes. I did. Tell me about yours.’

  Her heart clenched a little tighter. ‘There’s nothing much to tell. But they loved me and I loved them. They died in a car accident on the way to pick me up from school.’

  Slowly Enzo’s hands slid around her waist, his palms coming to rest possessively against her stomach. His body was at her back, a hot, hard wall of strength she could lean against if she wanted to, and there was something inexplicably reassuring about that.

  ‘And how did you end up marrying St George?’ There was a thread of warning in his voice, a protective anger. ‘To get away from your aunt and uncle?’

  ‘No. They...weren’t very demonstrative or loving, but they weren’t unkind to me. They gave me a roof over my head and paid for my schooling. They brought me up.’ She didn’t want him thinking that they’d been awful to her, because they hadn’t been. ‘And I married Henry because they didn’t have much money and were going to lose their house. Henry was a family friend. He said he’d give them the money if I married him.’

  Enzo frowned. ‘Why didn’t he just give them the money—without the marriage?’

  ‘Because he was lonely and wanted a companion. And he didn’t want the gossip that would come from a young woman living with a much older man.’ She paused. ‘I think he knew that I didn’t want to do it, so he made sure to attach a few strings.’

  Enzo’s frown turned into a scowl. ‘He manipulated you, in other words.’

  A defensive anger on Henry’s behalf rose because, no, the initial thought of the marriage hadn’t been ideal, but he hadn’t been awful to her and, after all, she’d agreed to it. ‘Well, I didn’t want to marry him initially. But the money he was going to give my aunt and uncle would help them. And they’d done so much for me—’

  ‘Done so much for you?’ Enzo interrupted harshly. ‘They took you in as a family is supposed to with an orphaned child. You don’t owe them anything. It’s not your fault you lost your parents.’

  Matilda felt herself flush. ‘I know that.’ Because of course she did. ‘But they didn’t have a lot of money and my schooling was very expensive. It didn’t seem like a big thing to do.’

  But there was a gleaming edge in his eyes, a scalpel cutting away the protective layers she’d placed around her soul. ‘Why are you defending them?’

  ‘Why do you care that I am?’ she shot back before she could help herself.

  A tense, thick silence fell.

  His gaze burned into hers, the muscle in the side of his jaw leaping.

  God, why had she said that? She didn’t want to fight with him, not again.

  She put her hands over his where they rested against her abdomen, wanting to push him away, uncomfortable all of a sudden, but it was like pushing stone. He didn’t move.

  ‘That’s why you were so upset when St George let you go, wasn’t it?’ he said, ignoring her question. ‘Because you cared about him. And you wanted him to care ab
out you. You wanted your aunt and uncle to care too.’

  A helpless pain twisted inside her. Of course Enzo had seen her reaction to the way Henry had let her go. He wasn’t a stupid man; he’d make the connection.

  She looked away from him, unable to bear his gaze any longer. Afraid he might see that longing she’d tried to hide. That longing for a place to be and someone to be with. To be more than just a thing that no one wanted, or passed on when her usefulness had come to an end.

  ‘Matilda,’ he said softly. ‘Look at me.’

  She didn’t want to. She couldn’t bear him knowing what was inside her. It shouldn’t matter to her that he knew, but he was right, she did care. And she didn’t want to.

  One of his hands moved, rising to grip her chin and lift her head, forcing her to meet his sharp, golden stare in the mirror.

  She trembled, feeling like she was being cut to shreds.

  ‘Tell me what you’re afraid of,’ he ordered, the words an irresistible command.

  There was no point trying to hide from him; there never had been. He saw everything.

  But she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d dragged it from her so she straightened against him. Met his gaze. ‘I’m afraid of not belonging anywhere.’ She flung the truth at him like a challenge. ‘Of not belonging to anyone. Of being just a thing that no one wanted to start with, or passed on to someone else when they lose interest.’ Her throat felt tight and she was trembling, but adrenaline was firing through her and now she’d started she felt as though she couldn’t stop. ‘I’m afraid of rocking the boat. Of putting a foot out of line. I’m afraid to disagree or protest, or even just voice an opinion. Because I know what will happen if I do.’ She stared right into his eyes, daring him to agree. ‘I’ll be got rid of as if I was nothing. Less than nothing.’

  She didn’t know what she expected, though there was a part of her that was terrified he’d sneer at her, or laugh and tell her she was being foolish.

  But he did neither of those things.