Surprise Baby for the Billionaire

by Charlotte Hawkes

  ‘Is that why you brought me here, Malachi? Because of the baby and so that I could rest? Or to further the notion that you had back in the UK that I would marry you?’

  He eyed her neutrally, giving nothing away. It caused a thread of irritation to weave its way through her.

  ‘It seems daft to pretend it isn’t part of your plan,’ she asserted, ‘since it was practically the first thing Imelda mentioned when I stepped off that helicopter.’

  ‘I am not pretending anything,’ he replied, his voice calm. ‘I simply don’t believe this is the best time to be discussing matters which so...unsettled you last time, Saskia. As you just said yourself, you’re supposed to be resting. Stress-free.’

  ‘You’ve whisked me thousands of miles away, first by private plane and then by helicopter...’ She cocked her head to one side. ‘And now I’m sitting in a beautiful room, in front of a glorious fire, replete. I hardly think it’s the most agitating of circumstances. When do you expect this marriage of ours to take place?’

  He looked momentarily irritated, but then smoothed it away quickly. Oddly, the fact that he could master his emotions so easily only peeved her all the more.

  ‘When, Malachi?’

  He met her gaze, his eyebrows cocked slightly, as though she was a half-irritating, half-amusing nuisance.

  ‘We will be married by the end of the week.’

  Not a suggestion or a possibility, but a statement.

  Saskia shuffled in her chair, incensed. ‘Is that what you think?’

  ‘You’re getting worked up,’ he said calmly.

  ‘Do you wonder?’ she seethed. ‘So, tell me this—what is this marriage idea of yours going to look like? How do you suppose it will work?’

  ‘I think this conversation is best left for another day.’

  ‘I don’t,’ she objected. ‘I mean, are you suggesting staying married until the baby is born, or staying married beyond that? If so, then how long? Is it to be a marriage in name only, or are you still suggesting we enjoy certain...shall we say...benefits?’

  ‘So many questions...’ He clicked his tongue softly. ‘Yet you didn’t think to ask a single one of them before boarding my plane. Almost as if a part of you wanted to come with me regardless.’

  She wrinkled her nose, hating the way he seemed to be able to read into her mind and see her own questions which lay there, jumbled within.

  If she’d sought to shame him, she realised she’d misjudged him. He didn’t bristle, or take the bait. He merely stretched out his legs all the more, giving the illusion that he didn’t have a care in the world.

  She felt like launching something at him, but she only had a soft cushion. And, anyway, what good would that do?

  ‘You are not the only one who has spent every waking moment worrying about our baby, zvyozdochka.’

  His tone was like velvet, but she heard the hard steel beneath it.

  ‘But that isn’t what this is about, is it? The simple truth is that you don’t find the idea of marriage to me as objectionable as you’d like to make out. Or maybe it’s more that you no longer find it objectionable after what you’ve been through the past week. Tell me why that is.’

  Could he hear the sound of her blood rushing around her body? Because to her it was practically deafening. She couldn’t tell him that it was because she feared she was falling for him. That his care and loyalty these past few weeks had made her feel more secure than Andy had done in all their years together.

  ‘I never actually said I found it objectionable,’ she prevaricated.

  ‘I believe your precise words were “passion is overrated”. You were very certain that it shouldn’t be a business proposition, and then you proceeded to assert that, “We had a one-night stand. It’s over.” And that you didn’t even want me “like that” any more.’

  ‘Have you got a photographic memory or something?’ she demanded sarcastically, in an effort to hide how shaken she felt.

  She didn’t really expect him to respond. But it seemed that Malachi revelled in catching her off guard.

  ‘Eidetic, if we’re being accurate.’ He folded his arms across his chest. A move which only served to emphasis the broadness of his shoulders. ‘But that’s by the by. I’m more interested in how, moments after that bold little statement of yours, you ended up half-naked on my bed whilst I used my mouth to make you scream. I’m sure you remember?’

  Oh, yes, she remembered, all right. All too gloriously vividly. Indeed, it was galling how her mouth threatened to dry up just at the mere memory.

  She sent silent thanks for the fact that she was post-op. She might not have had the will to resist him if they’d been standing here under different circumstances.

  ‘We slept together. Again.’ She lifted her shoulders. ‘But I still don’t know what your intentions are for any marriage between us.’

  ‘My intentions?’ He barked out a sound which might have been a laugh, but she knew wasn’t. ‘You make it sound so old-fashioned and formal. Like you’re still waiting for some romantic declaration of love and commitment which I can’t give you. An echo of that profound passion your parents had.’

  ‘And you still scoff at me for that,’ she bristled, heat creeping into her tone as she tried to quash the sense of unease which was creeping up on her.

  Malachi couldn’t know the truth about her parents. She didn’t want his sympathy or his pity. She couldn’t bear it.

  ‘But just because you never experienced parents who loved one another it doesn’t mean you can disparage others who have. And just because you don’t believe in it, it doesn’t mean it can’t exist.’

  ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’ His face hardened instantly.

  With a thrill, Saskia realised she had somehow got under his skin. She didn’t know how, but if this was her one chance then she wasn’t about to back down.

  She softened her tone until it was almost breezily dismissive. ‘I think I know enough.’

  ‘You’re wrong.’

  ‘What is there to know?’ She made herself shrug. ‘You’re a tortured man, damaged by his past and a childhood in which he was never loved. It’s all terribly clichéd. And now you keep yourself emotionally unavailable and you mock those who might want something more from a relationship.’

  ‘You’re walking a very thin line, zvyozdochka,’ warned Malachi. ‘You don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Maybe. Maybe not. But whose fault is that?’

  ‘So you think by provoking me I’ll tell you what you want to know about me?’

  ‘I think you’ll either tell me or you won’t. Whether I support you or provoke you won’t change anything. I simply decided I didn’t want to sit back and let you disparage my memories just because you don’t understand them.’

  ‘You misunderstand.’ His eyes bored into her, practically pinning her to the seat. ‘I understand exactly what your memories are. I just don’t agree with the way you interpret them.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘You’re holding on to this great love affair between your parents and you’re searching for the same thing. But you’ll never find it because you aren’t as selfish and as cruel as they were.’

  ‘My parents were not selfish and cruel,’ she denied vehemently, because if she was forceful enough then maybe she could make it true. ‘They loved each other fiercely.’

  ‘And what about you?’ he pushed.

  ‘Of course they loved me.’

  He was pushing her dangerously close to the edge, and she felt as though she was clinging on with the tops of her fingers. But she couldn’t let him know that. She wouldn’t let him see.

  ‘They adored me!’ she cried, emotion threatening to clog her throat.

  Malachi opened his mouth. Then closed it. His face was shuttered again, and a fresh wave of f
rustration powered through her.

  ‘So that’s it?’ she challenged. ‘You push so far and then you back away when things start to get hot?’

  ‘I don’t think this is a conversation that will get us anywhere,’ he replied smoothly. ‘Especially not when you’re supposed to be recuperating. So, if you’ve quite finished making up objections, I suggest I show you to your suite, so you can clean up after the flight and rest, even sleep if you wish.’

  He stretched out his long, muscular legs and stood with all the grace and power of some glossy big cat in its natural habitat. And equally as lethal.

  When he reached out to offer her his hand she briefly considered refusing his help and getting to her feet by herself. But the truth was that between the flight, the operation, and the baby scare, she was feeling far more drained than she’d realised.

  Still, she plastered on a bright smile. ‘I’m fine.’

  Malachi looked unimpressed. ‘Your doctor may not have put you on bed rest, but if you don’t do what she said in terms of taking it easy, don’t think I won’t put you in bed myself.’

  Saskia swallowed, trying not to focus on the X-rated images which had instantly slipped into her brain at his words, or on the memories of what had happened between them every other time they’d been in the vicinity of a bed.

  Malachi had paused, too, as though he was fighting a similar battle.

  She followed him through the house, back to the imposing hallway, up the wide, sweeping staircase and along the first-floor corridor, in silence.

  Nevertheless, she was sure she didn’t imagine that his voice was fractionally hoarser when he spoke again.

  ‘This is your suite.’ He stopped outside a set of heavy walnut double doors. ‘Dinner will be ready at seven. I’ll wait for you in the hallway.’

  Saskia was torn between the elegant formality and the fear that it made things too clinical—too detached—between them.

  ‘I’m not entirely sure I’ll have anything appropriate to wear. I only brought a small case.’ She cast him a vaguely accusatory glare. ‘You didn’t exactly give me much of a chance to pack.’

  ‘I seriously doubt you had much to choose from, anyway,’ he eyed her shrewdly. ‘Or do you already have a full maternity wardrobe?’

  Her hand flew to her rounded belly on cue. He had a point.

  ‘Fortunately,’ he continued easily, ‘I had the foresight to have some clothes delivered once I decided we would be coming here. Imelda had them put away in your suite.’

  ‘I don’t know whether to feel flattered or insulted.’ Her voice was clipped.

  ‘I suggest you just accept it for what it is,’ suggested Malachi. ‘Rather than overthinking everything you come across.’

  Before she could answer he turned away and sauntered up the corridor, hands in pockets. Possibly to his own suite, which was no doubt located as far away from hers as it was possible to get, she decided.

  Which was just fine.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  SASKIA STARED AROUND her suite, slightly agog. It had been decades since she’d been part of Hollywood royalty, but she still recalled the beauty of the places she’d lived and the hotels in which she’d stayed.

  Malachi’s castello beat every one of those hands-down.

  The first room she’d entered was, she realised after rather a long moment, a living space. Her own private living space. The suite was already generous, but the high ceilings, with their ornate friezes, made it feel positively expansive. Carved wooden shutters framed huge leaded glass windows, and two oversized plush couches sat delicately in the space.

  Saskia crossed the room to the next set of double doors, opening them almost tentatively. Another high-ceilinged ornate space lay beyond, only in the middle of this one sat an enormous four-poster bed—arguably as big as her entire bedroom back in her apartment. Underfloor heating discreetly warmed the space, whilst the stunning parquet made her itch to walk across it in her bare feet.

  If it hadn’t been for her post-op state she might even have twirled around the room like a ballerina. It was such a beautiful, magical space.

  She opened a door on what presumably had to be the bathroom, only to find it was a walk-in closet about the size of her kitchen, full of carelessly beautiful clothes that her fingers ached to touch.

  Then, finally, she found it. The bathroom. A glorious limestone affair with practically a spa-sized tub for a bath and a waterfall for a shower.

  It was enough to make Saskia wish she never had to leave.

  Except, she reminded herself fiercely, for the fact that it belongs to Malachi.

  Wandering in, she found some pins to put her hair up, let her clothes lie where they dropped, and allowed the shower to call to her. It was a revival such as she had never had before. Not just sluicing away the drudge of the journey, but also the crud of the last few weeks.

  She washed it all down the long-grid gutter as though it had never existed. Including the last conversation with Malachi, which had seemed to go completely the wrong way. Like a giant step back after all the shuffling forward they had managed together this past week.

  It wasn’t how she’d wanted it to go. She certainly hadn’t wanted to argue...

  Saskia had no idea how long she stood there, letting the water pound down over her body, and letting her mind clear of some of its recent obstacles. She only knew that by the time she emerged she felt lighter, happier than she had in a while.

  She padded softly through to the bedroom, climbed up onto the high bed and sank back into the downy pillows, intending to stay there for only a few minutes.

  She fell into a deep, dreamless sleep within seconds.

  * * *

  It might have helped if she hadn’t looked quite so devastating, Malachi thought several hours later, as Saskia walked down the stairs in a figure-hugging maternity dress which showed off the growing bump—his baby—perfectly. It also made something thicken and tighten within him.

  But, more importantly, she looked well. As though she was recovering more from the operation with every single hour that passed.

  It was odd how terrified he’d been this past week. Strange how he hadn’t noticed this...this emotion which had been building up inside him ever since Saskia had told him that she was pregnant until he’d had to face the fear that she could be about to lose the baby.

  That had been the moment he’d realised that he was attached. That he wanted the child—and Saskia—in his life.

  Selfish, maybe, since he could never be the kind of man, or husband, she clearly wanted. And this afternoon’s conversation should have been a warning. The thing to make him reconsider this ludicrous idea of marriage.

  There was no avoiding the fact that Saskia wanted the impossible. She wanted a magical love affair, to be madly in love—and that was the one thing he couldn’t offer her.

  He didn’t even believe in it.

  He’d spent the past few hours stalking the castello in a grim mood. He had never intended the argument between them to get so heated. He shouldn’t have let her get under his skin the way she had. But that was what Saskia had been doing ever since their first encounter at the charity ball all those months ago.

  Feisty, and funny, and sexy. He’d been hooked from the start.

  Even if he hadn’t overheard her telling that silly nurse that she was pregnant, he would have found an excuse to slip back into her life. Him. The man who was famous for never getting too close to anyone.

  Now he would be tied to Saskia, and the baby she was carrying, for the rest of their lives—and it didn’t fill him with horror in any way, even though he knew it should.

  But that still didn’t mean he was able to spout all the poetry and words of love that she seemed to have decided went hand-in-glove with marriage.

  He couldn’t make those grand romantic gestures which meant nothin
g unless you treated the other person with consideration and respect every single day.

  No, he couldn’t give her the fancy words, but he could offer her loyalty. Commitment. Honour. He would care for their child, and for her, for the rest of his life. He knew from experience that that was far more precious than an intense, passionate fire which would eventually fade and die.

  It was only a shame that Saskia didn’t see it the same way. Yet. But Malachi was confident that, in time, she would come to appreciate the value in it.

  ‘You look beautiful,’ he murmured, holding out his arm as she reached the bottom few steps, and he wondered if he’d ever be able to let go.

  Her head snapped up. She eyed him suspiciously, as if looking for a trap, but he simply led her to the dining room, where the table was laid out just for them.

  It was time.

  * * *

  It was only when Saskia saw the ring box that she realised this dinner was a proposal. Malachi was going to ask her the question she’d spent months telling herself she didn’t dream of him asking.

  Dimly, she was aware that he was saying the words, but it was as though she was on her own operating table, succumbing to the effects of an anaesthetic: aware of what was going on, but not really present in it any longer.

  He was asking her to marry him. And, although almost every fibre of her hungered to say yes, the logical part of her brain knew she had to demur.

  What choice did she really have?

  Her body actually shook with the effort of holding itself together. Like the harmonic tremors you felt in the ground before a volcano erupted. Only Saskia wasn’t about to flare up. Instead she was terrified of breaking down. Especially in front of Malachi.

  When he finally finished speaking she forced herself to look up from the ring and into his gaze, and suddenly it was all worse.

  So much worse.

  She tried to suck a breath into her constricted chest. She’d been here once before, when she’d been ready to accept his proposal—such as it was—only for him to turn around and rescind it.