The Tycoon's Secret Baby: Forbidden lust. One stolen night. A secret baby!

by Clare Connelly

  She pulled the door inwards, wishing she’d taken longer to apply her makeup and neaten her hair, to attempt to look even slightly human. Not attractive, she assured herself emphatically. She didn’t want to be attractive to him anymore.

  But at least not awful.

  She’d dressed with care, at least, in a pair of dark denim jeans and a loose grey sweater that had a tendency to slip a little off one shoulder, she looked neat and casual. Like she hadn’t tried too hard.

  “Hi,” she spoke first, wrenching the door inwards. And she was glad then that she’d evicted a word before her eyes had landed on him, because speech felt, suddenly, impossible.

  It was a crisp morning. That explained his leather jacket. But combined with the black shirt he wore underneath and his own casual jeans, the effect was devastating. She realized then that she’d only ever seen him in a suit. Or naked. Best not to think of that. Her heart was a runaway rollercoaster in her chest, thundering towards the finish line. She could do nothing to stop it.

  “Is he awake?”

  Her heart sped faster. She nodded. “Of course. It’s nine o’clock.”

  His look was accusing. “I have no idea, do I?”

  A mix of pity and guilt assailed her. “Ben wakes around six most days. He’ll have a nap soon.”

  Marco’s eyes skidded to her as if he thought perhaps this was part of her plan, to continue limiting his access to the child, so Grace rushed on. “I thought you could spend some time with him now and then you and I could speak. Over lunch.”

  Marco’s face didn’t react and he said nothing, so Grace had no idea how he’d received this idea. “You made some pretty huge suggestions yesterday, about what you want to happen. I think we should probably talk them through, don’t you?”

  “What’s to talk through? It is decided.”

  Grace swallowed, forcing herself to be brave. Strong. To remember that more than anything else, she was a mom and her son depended on her. “I’m not going to uproot his life no matter how much you threaten me. And I don’t think you will, either. I think we need to talk. To compromise. And agree on the best way forward.”

  Marco’s eyes were glacial. “You say he’ll need to nap in an hour?”

  Thrown, Grace glanced a look at her wristwatch. “Yes. About that.”

  “Then I’d rather not waste any more time standing on your doorstep.”

  “Oh.” Chastened, she pulled the door wider, sucking her breath in as he passed, as though she could think-herself into the wall.

  “Where is he?”

  A loud crash followed his question and then the sound of Emma shooshing a crying Ben.

  “Never mind.” As he moved down the corridor, Grace noted, for the first time, the bag he carried in one hand. A large shopping bag, with brown paper poking out of the top.

  “I’m sorry,” Emma laughed as Grace entered the sunroom, just a step behind Marco. The room was enormous, part-conservatory, part-library, filled with light and books and, eclectically, the vintage leather sofas that Steven had adored. Grace had gradually added little bits and pieces to reflect her own taste. A few plants, a card table, a vintage type-writer and flowers – lots of flowers.

  Toys had migrated into the room as well. At first just a few duplo blocks but then, train tracks, puzzles, and finally, a full cache of mobilo. In the months since Steven’s death, the room had become an unofficial toy room. The sunshine suited Ben and it was close enough to the kitchen that Emma or Grace could easily dart in and make a cup of tea without feeling like Ben could do any mischief.

  “We’ve been bowling.”

  Grace’s eyes dropped to the bowling ball and skittles, set up against the glass doors at the very back of the house.

  “Who’s winning?” She asked weakly, striving for normality. It was impossible when Marco was staring at his child as though he didn’t know if he should hug him or kidnap him.

  Again, Grace reminded herself: She was the mom. This was her show.

  “Master Cox, of course,” Emma grinned, with no idea she was rattling an already perilous situation. Emma reached down and ran a hand through the toddler’s thick, dark hair.

  Grace felt faint. She dug her fingernails into her palm and moved deeper into the room. “Emma?” Her voice was hoarse. She cleared her throat. “Would you mind making some coffee?”

  “Of course,” she nodded. “How do you take yours?” She directed the question at Marco but he didn’t answer. His whole, entire attention was held by the small child in front of them. Ben was carefully setting the skittles back up, though as soon as he’d steadied one, reaching for another tended to knock the initial skittle over, meaning he was in an endless loop of picking up and placing the objects down.

  “Black with a dash of warm milk,” Grace supplied without thinking. Would he be surprised that she remembered such a small detail? Would he be surprised to know she remembered every detail about him?

  “Ben?” Grace walked towards her son, her heart swelling with pride as he looked up at her and smiled, a little dimple digging into his cheek.

  “Mama?”

  She returned his smile and crouched down, wrapping him into her arms and standing. He wasn’t too thrilled about being pulled from his skittles and made a rather abrupt move to reach for one, as a sort of souvenir. She waited for his fingers to grab it and then stood, breathing in his sweet vanilla scent. He was changing before her eyes. No longer a baby, and straddling toddler-hood with the little boy he would become. She could see already that he would grow fast, beyond his years.

  Had Marco been like that?

  “This is Marco,” she said simply, her eyes catching his over Ben’s head. “A friend of mine.”

  “Mama.” Ben said with a nod and Grace pressed a kiss to his cheek.

  “Hi, Ben.” Marco’s voice was thick with emotion and it prickled at her heart. He lifted the bag a little higher, drawing Ben’s curious gaze. “I have something for you.”

  “Me? Da?” He pointed to the bag and then dropped the skittle. It made a clickety clack noise as it hit the floor and rolled towards the others, knocking the two he had managed to set in place back onto their sides, like drunken soldiers at lockout.

  Marco’s eyes latched to Grace’s and they were loaded with silent, fuming accusation. “Yes, for you.” He spoke calmly enough though, his smile genuine for their son.

  “Wha?”

  “Let’s have a look.” Despite having very limited experience with children, at least so far as Grace knew, Marco had an easy, natural manner with the little boy. When he put his hands out to take Ben, Grace was about to demur. To explain that Ben was shy with strangers.

  But the little boy leaned forward, and before she knew exactly how it had happened, Marco was holding Ben and Ben was smiling, one hand propped along the back of Marco’s neck as though he belonged there. She’d imagined this; she’d dreamed it again and again, but the sight of the two of them together made her skin prickle with something like pain. Tears pricked her eyes and she spun away.

  “He’s heavy,” Marco said with undisguised pride. He reached into the bag and pulled out a box. It was the latest ‘it’ toy for children. A toy designed to look like an iPad that had bells, whistles, textural definition and was almost impossible to get. Ben made an appropriate squeal of delight and immediately began to run his fingers over the dials, laughing gleefully when it made a honking noise.

  “Where did you get that?” Grace couldn’t help asking, moving closer to see the details.

  “What do you mean?”

  “They’re waitlisted all over the city.”

  Of course, she knew the answer. He was Marco Dettori. What he wanted, he got.

  “I have a shopper,” he said dismissively, as though it were no big deal.

  “Okay, coffee!” Emma’s bright intrusion was welcome. Grace felt as though her nerves were stretched to breaking point. She turned to the nanny, relieving her of the tray. “Thank you,” she said, placing it in the midd
le of a table then removing her own cup. She took a large sip, savouring the flavor of caffeine and waiting for some hint of wakefulness to assail her.

  As the minutes passed speedily, Grace saw more and more similarities between Marco and Ben. The way they tilted their heads when deep in thought, a sardonic smile that came naturally to them both, and a bond that was as obvious it was heart-breaking. She caught Emma’s eye at one point, the curiosity unmistakable.

  Was there recrimination there, too? Did she also blame Grace for keeping this secret?

  Did she even know?

  Grace’s eyes drifted towards them again and her heart clenched. Of course Emma knew. It was patently obvious that these two men were father and son. She squeezed her eyes shut, turning away.

  “Emma?” Her voice quivered a little. “I’m going to take care of some emails. Will you let me know once Ben’s settled for his nap?”

  “Sure thing, Grace.”

  Grace walked from the room quickly, keeping her attention focused on the hallway beyond the conservatory before turning into the mudroom and slipping on a pair of Hunter boots. It was a cool morning and the grass would still be wet.

  She pushed outside gratefully, breathing in the crisp air, letting it saturate her lungs and blow out the cobwebs of her brain.

  Even at the time, she’d doubted her decision. But it had been so easy to believe she was making the right choice. Her own childhood had been filled with people who hadn’t wanted her. How could she inflict that same fate on her baby? And Steven had wanted Ben. He had made that obvious from the moment she’d told him of her pregnancy.

  I know you’re not in love with me, Gracie. That’s okay. I love you enough for both of us. And I love this baby. His hand had curled over her still-flat stomach. I want to look after you both.

  Hot tears slid out of her eyes. How pathetic that was! Grace had left that poor, fragile girl behind when she’d gone to college. She’d got her law degree, she’d worked her ass off, and then what? She’d sold out to an offer of help and support at her first true test of independence?

  But if we do this, it’s for real. I will be this child’s father. No one can know that’s not the case. Not the baby, no one. We’ll be a family, Grace.

  Just like she’d always wanted. A proper family. And who better to form a family with than a man who adored her? Who worshipped her?

  What do you say?

  “Grace? Grace?”

  Should she have said ‘no’? Steven had loved Ben, and Ben had adored Steven. For a short while, they’d been a family, and it had been a happy and good time in her life. But had she always felt this kernel of guilt? This sense that she had a grenade in her chest with a slow-burning fuse? Or had she believed her own press? That Marco wouldn’t have wanted a thing to do with a baby?

  “Grace?”

  She blinked, wiping away the last tell-tale tear and pasting a smile on her face as she spun towards the voice. Emma was making her way across the lawn.

  “Ben’s settled. Marco asked me to get you to meet him at his car.”

  Grace frowned. “His car?”

  “Something about house-hunting?”

  “Oh.” Grace’s cheeks flushed pink. “I’m sure you have a lot of questions…”

  Emma laughed and shook her head. “Not as many as you might think.”

  Grace arched a brow enquiringly and Emma shrugged. “I can put two and two together, you know.”

  “Right.” Grace bit down on her lip. “He’s parked …”

  “Out the front. You’ll need a coat. In case you haven’t noticed, it’s cold out.”

  Grace looked down at the sloppy jumper she was wearing and realized that yes, she was cold. Other senses were numbing her, preventing her from realizing. “We won’t be long.”

  “It’s fine. Ben’s exhausted. He’ll probably sleep ‘til noon.”

  Grace grabbed the first coat she laid her hands on, a navy parka with faux fur trim and wrapped it around her mid-section, swapped for normal shoes and then made her way through the house, towards the vestibule entrance.

  It was an enormous house, like all the others in the area. She’d loved it from the first moment she’d stepped inside. It so perfectly signified success, safety, security – all of the things that had been glaringly absent for most of her life.

  And she loved that Ben was growing up with that – those securities.

  She pulled the door shut behind her and stepped onto the paved path that led to the street. Marco was propped against his car – something black and sleek that looked like it would outrun a cheetah with ease – his legs crossed at the ankles, his eyes focused on her as she walked. How could she not be self-conscious? He didn’t look away as she got nearer, so she didn’t either.

  “I thought we were going to have lunch,” she said when she was right in front of him, the words coming out miffed instead of how she really felt – totally out of control.

  “If you are hungry, we will get food.”

  “I’m not.” She hadn’t eaten all day but her stomach was still in knots. He reached behind him and opened the door to his car for her. The simple gesture took her breath away. Not because he was generally lacking in chivalry, but because he was somehow able to imbue even that declaration of civility with a hint of impatient rage.

  She slid in and instantly wished she’d suggested she drive. In her car. A vehicle that was so much less him. The leather was black, the dash wood-panelled and polished to a sheen. And it smelled of him. Something indefinable and pervasive that set her pulse skittering and made her abdomen clench with reminders of how he had been inside of her.

  They’d never do that again.

  They couldn’t.

  “Where are we going?”

  “We need to speak.”

  “I… I said that,” Grace responded with frustration. “That’s what I said. I suggested lunch.”

  Marco pulled the car away from the house with ease, driving slowly out of consideration for the suburban nature of the street. “I didn’t know him last night,” Marco said softly. So softly that the words held a gentle threat.

  “And you do now?” She murmured, crossing her legs and resting her hands in her lap in an approximation of calmness.

  “I know that I can’t leave him. That we are right to raise him together. I know that I want him to grow up with my family, in my city, amongst his people.”

  “I’m his people,” she said with a shake of her head.

  His lips were tight, forming a grimace. “You’ll be there too.” As though it was the very last thing he wanted.

  She bit down on her lip. “I can’t. Marco, please, I know you’re angry with me but don’t take it out on Ben.”

  “Angry with you?” His fingers gripped the steering wheel until they were white. “Yesterday I was angry with you. I was angry at you for leaving Rome. For marrying Cox. What I am right now goes so far beyond anger. I have no word for it.”

  A shiver ran down her spine.

  “How could you ever think keeping him from me was the right decision?”

  “I told you, I tried …”

  “Don’t! Don’t say that again. We both know that was a pathetic attempt to assuage your conscience. If you had really wanted to tell me, you would have found a way.”

  Chastened, she turned and looked out of her window as the suburbs blurred past. He was right. She’d been grateful, in a way, that his response had saved her the necessity of being honest with him. It had been such an easy ‘out’. At the time, she’d been able to justify her decision, but now? She swallowed, the bleak sadness in his eyes ripping her heart wide open. “I wish I’d told you.”

  “Do you?” He grunted. “I would never have let you marry him.”

  She closed her eyes, pressing back into the seat, and more tears rolled down her cheeks. She’d cried a lot since Steven died. Not in front of anyone. She was always careful to wait until she was in the privacy of her own room. But she’d lost her husband, best friend,
co-parent and biggest support. More than that, she’d lost the security she’d thought she’d gained in marrying Steven. Her life had been marked by uncertainty and she had believed that Steven was safety and security all wrapped up in one sensible package. That he was an inoculation against anything bad ever happening to her.

  And then he’d died.

  “How did it happen?”

  She blinked her eyes, staring straight ahead. “Well, my guess would be a condom didn’t work.” It was a pithy response to a stupid question.

  “I meant, how did he die.”

  “Oh.” Her eyes fluttered closed once more. “I presumed you knew.”

  “Car accident,” he said with a grunt. And she wondered then if his uncharacteristic caution on the road was out of deference to her. She’d driven with him in Rome, when he’d treated every street like his own personal race track.

  “So you know.”

  “What happened, in the accident?”

  “Oh.” She swallowed, the details etched into her mind as well as her name and love for Milk Duds. “Someone ran a stop sign. He was already in the intersection.” She ran a finger over the hem of her jacket, feeling its little speed bump stitching. “The paramedics said he died instantly. I like to think he didn’t even know. Like he was hit and it was over. I hate to think of him suffering.”

  Marco’s fingers flexed on the steering wheel. “I’m sure it was quick,” he said, and she was surprisingly comforted by his assurances.

  “It was just a normal Tuesday afternoon. He was on his way home. Emma was with Ben. I was picking up take out on my way from the office…”

  “You didn’t work for him then?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “After … after Rome, I came back and got a job at Woodsworthss,” she named one of the biggest global investment banks.

  Marco nodded. He knew that. He’d been contacted for a reference personally. It had been strangely fascinating, the way he’d kept the woman from HR on the phone, just because in talking about Grace he was somehow feeding the obsession that had taken hold of him.

  “When I had Ben, I took just a month off. He was a good baby, but I loved my job, and we’d already found Emma to help with nights…”