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

by Clare Connelly

  “No.” Her smile was tight.

  “Why not?” The question came from Marco. Graveled and deep.

  Grace swallowed, her past something she had run from for so long that she couldn’t imagine speaking about it openly now. And yet, she heard herself say, without looking at Marco, “My parents died when I was little. I barely remember them.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  MARCO WAS STILL AS a rock, except for his eyes, which moved to Will of their own accord. His own surprise was mirrored there. “You never mentioned that,” he said quietly.

  Grace nodded. “I know. I don’t talk about my childhood.”

  It was a hint most people would have heeded. But not Marco. Marco needed answers. “You were adopted?”

  Grace had moved away from all of this. She’d left her past way behind her. The day she’d married Steve, she’d become Chicago royalty. Someone beautiful and rich and respectable. By mutual agreement, they’d buried her past, hidden the truth of her upbringing.

  “Yes.” A closed answer. One that didn’t invite further questions. Old habits died very hard.

  “Where did you live?”

  She compressed her lips and turned to face Marco. “Does it matter?”

  “Where did you live?”

  “Excuse me,” Will stood, reaching for the empty take-away containers and stacking them together. His departure was an obvious response to the tense line of questions Marco wouldn’t let drop.

  “Where did you live?”

  “Look,” Grace sighed, sitting back in her chair but averting her gaze. It was easier to speak when she wasn’t looking into his eyes. “My past is … my past.”

  “Tell me.”

  It was the pleading tone of his question that did it. If he’d simply demanded, in his dictatorial fashion, she might have resisted. But the softness of his question broke through her barriers and she nodded jerkily, with no idea where to start.

  “I was born in Florida,” she said softly and then, the truth of her parentage sat around her neck like an albatross.

  Trusting this man with it was terrifying, and yet she found herself speaking almost against her will.

  “My dad … my dad was,” she sat back deeper into her chair and drew her legs up, resting her chin on her knees. “He was a drug king pin,” she said finally. Her words were hollow, without emotion. “And by all reports, a horrible, violent, cruel man. He used to pimp my mom out. And then one day he killed her… and then he disappeared.” She swallowed, refusing to look at Marco. “A neighbor found me after three days. I wasn’t even four years old. Walking around this enormous mansion we had on the Glades.” She flicked her eyes to him but looked away when she saw the strength of emotion in them.

  “I don’t remember, of course. But I’ve heard the details often enough.”

  “Heard from whom?” The question was hoarse.

  “I was put into a sort of witness protection for orphans. My dad was a felon. Wanted for murder. Obviously there were concerns about what he might do to me, given his history.” Her voice cracked. “When I was eight, he turned up dead. So I was released from the program but by then,” she shrugged. “No one wanted to adopt a kid like me. So I was fostered out.”

  He nodded slowly, trying to reconcile this new information with the picture he had of Grace. She didn’t notice; the story was unfolding inside of her, finding release in the silence of his response.

  “I was bounced from home to home. For a lot of reasons. Sometimes I didn’t like them. Sometimes they didn’t like me.” She shrugged. “When I was sixteen, I ran away. I quit the system. It never did anything for me anyway.”

  “Where did you go?” Though he knew.

  “Chicago.” Her lips lifted in the ghost of a smile.

  “What did you do?”

  She expelled a slow breath. “What do you think? I had about a hundred bucks and that was it. I spent a few nights on the streets. There was this restaurant and I used to beg from right outside.” Shame brought colour to her cheeks. “Steve was there most days. Lunching. Wining and dining,” she said with a shake of her head. “He got me some food one day. Then the next. And after a week, I realized we’d become friends. That I was looking for him each day, waiting for him to arrive.”

  Marco’s jaw clenched. He hadn’t imagined Grace’s past had anything like this in it. A surge of protective instincts battled to the forefront of his mind. And jealousy, too, that Steve had been there to help her. That Steve had been given the opportunity to protect Grace. But did Steve take advantage of that? Did he abuse her? “And?”

  “You don’t need to sound so disapproving,” Grace whispered, instinctively understanding the direction of his thoughts. “It’s not like I prostituted myself to him or anything.”

  He made an effort to relax. “I wasn’t suggesting that. I’m just trying to make sense of how you went from begging on a street corner to marrying the guy.”

  “He had an empty apartment in one of his condos. He set me up.”

  “Out of the goodness of his heart?” Marco prompted with a hint of disbelief.

  “Yes, actually. He told me later that he’d just known I would be important to him. That he hadn’t been able to imagine leaving me there. He helped me enroll in a local school and I graduated with great grades. College was all Steve,” she said with a smile. “He helped me apply, paid my tuition. And somewhere along the way, we got together. But it was never a quid pro quo situation,” she emphasized.

  Marco nodded, though inside, rage seethed and festered. How could it have been anything but? How was it possible that she’d had any free will in the situation, when she’d owed Steve so much?

  But he didn’t say that. He could see how clearly her loyalties were split and for the first time since discovering the truth about Ben, something about her decisions made sense. Or at least, the fact they didn’t make sense made sense.

  “Steve’s the only person who knows – who knew – this. We agreed it was better for everyone – his business, me, Ben – if the truth of my upbringing remain in the past. I’ve become so used to not talking about it, I feel like I’m betraying him now.” She lifted enormous, haunted eyes to Marco’s face. “That must sound crazy.”

  “No.” He shook his head, and when he looked at Grace, he saw her hurts and worries, her insecurities and needs. And he hated that he wanted to protect her. That he wanted to take over Steve’s role as her protector and provider, to keep her safe and make her happy.

  Because he still wasn’t sure she deserved that.

  And yet, his arm wrapped itself around her shoulder, holding her tight, stroking her comfortingly.

  “I know you hate him,” she said the words so quietly he almost didn’t catch them. “But he saved me.”

  Marco nodded, his head a movement against her hair.

  “I can’t imagine what would have happened to me if I hadn’t met him.” She shivered then, the words sparking revulsion inside of her.

  “You would have saved yourself.” The words were a deep rumble from the centre of his being, and he tilted her chin towards him, kissing her gently. “You would have saved yourself.”

  Grace surrendered to the kiss with every fibre of her being. It was a kiss that unfurled around her, slowly and wondrously, filling her with a sense of power and control even in the midst of sadness and exposure. It was a kiss that woke long-dormant parts of her soul.

  It was a kiss that woke her.

  “I love you.” She whispered the words into his mouth and he didn’t break the kiss; only deepened it, so she had no idea if he’d heard. But her heart thumped with the freedom and the intoxicating joy that finally speaking those words offered.

  She didn’t care that he was so angry with her.

  She didn’t care that he didn’t love her back. Well, not enough to hide how she felt for a moment longer. “I love you,” she said again, and a smile fanned across her face now.

  The clearing of a throat didn’t come from her, and she was pre
tty sure it hadn’t been Marco either.

  “I’m, uh, going to head off, guys.”

  Grace blinked her eyes open. Will’s voice seemed to be coming from a long way away. She heard him, but she desperately didn’t want that perfect moment to end.

  Marco broke apart from her. He separated with apparent ease, his gaze slamming into her for a long, frozen second and then he stood, completely dislodging their limbs; parting their bodies.

  The absence was profound.

  “I’ll walk you out.” Marco strode towards the villa without a backwards glance. Grace would have known if he’d looked back because she stared at him, watching as, with a panther like intensity, he crossed to the doors and swept inside.

  “Night, Grace. Thanks for the company.” Will lifted a hand in farewell, noting Grace’s weak smile as he turned, catching up with his brother-in-law.

  “I like her,” Will pronounced, when they were definitely out of earshot.

  Marco didn’t reply. His mind was reeling. From what she’d told him of her childhood, yes, but also from the words she’d offered when they’d kissed.

  She loved him? She loved him? Like hell she did.

  “She’s different to what I expected,” Will continued.

  “In what way?” Marco prompted, though he wasn’t sure he wanted to be talking about Grace. Or talking to her. Sex. Sex was where they made sense. Sex was where he could quiet the anger at what she’d done; the anger at how she’d betrayed him. Sex was where he could forget she’d married another man.

  And despite what she’d said, her motives must have been mercenary to some extent. Steve had been considerably older, and she’d owed him so much. How could she possibly have hoped to separate her feelings of gratitude from feelings of true affection and commitment?

  “When we learned about Ben, I couldn’t understand how any woman could lie like that. I thought I’d hate her for acting like you didn’t have a right to know…”

  “But you don’t?”

  “Hate her? No. I feel sorry for her.” Will stopped walking, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Listen, Marco. I know you’re angry too. But it’s the kind of anger that will destroy you, if you don’t move past it. And make her miserable. I don’t think you want that.”

  Marco grunted in response. “Don’t I?”

  “You can’t keep punishing her,” Will said, with the kind of insight that had always underscored their friendship. “If you’re marrying her, then marry her and let the past go.”

  It wasn’t that easy though, was it?

  *

  As soon as she was alone, she scraped her chair back, standing and lifting trembling fingers to her lips. The kiss was a ghost across her face. She reached for her wine, sipping it and moving slowly towards the railing of the terrace. Rome glistened at her, winking its encouragement, promising her a future she didn’t dare hope for.

  “I have to marry her.” Marco’s voice travelled through the night air even as hope still wrapped around her deliciously. “I owe that much to our son.”

  “Fine, but don’t hold her decisions against her, is all I’m saying.”

  “Come on. How can I ever forgive her for this? Would you?”

  Grace leaned further forward, her breath held, her every single nerve ending attuned to the conversation, far below.

  “No.” Will said finally, and Grace swept her eyes shut on an anguished pulse of remorse. “I wouldn’t. I’d hate a woman who did that to me. Hell, I wouldn’t be marrying her. I’d be taking the child and not looking back.”

  Marco grunted. “Believe me. It crossed my mind.”

  Grace drew in a sharp breath and retreated across the villa, not stopping until her back pressed against the glass sliding doors. Her heart was thumping hard against her ribs. She placed the wine glass down on the table and slipped inside, moving quickly to Ben’s room.

  He was fast asleep, his sweet little face tossed sideways on the pillow, his hair a dark mop of curls that tickled her nose as she lay down beside him, wrapping an arm protectively under his sturdy body and drawing him closer to her.

  He’d been a bad sleeper for so long and many nights had been spent like this: Grace cuddling him to sleep and then falling asleep herself. She breathed in unison with him and within minutes was fast asleep herself. When Marco peered in the door some time later, he saw them curled up together and something strange fluttered inside of him.

  Something he didn’t recognize yet instinctively didn’t want.

  He clenched his jaw and moved away from her, away from the danger of what she represented.

  *

  His head was bent over a newspaper when she entered the sweeping kitchen early the next morning. Her head was woolly and her eyes scratchy, but it was her heart that hurt the most.

  “Marco?” She didn’t meet his eyes when he looked up, so didn’t see the speculation that danced in them. She’d been awake for hours, staring at the ceiling in Ben’s room, listening to the sound of his breathing, wishing, with all her heart, that things were different. “I need to speak to you about last night.”

  How can I ever forgive her for this?

  “Go on.”

  And she was reminded then of when she’d first met him. She’d worked for him, and yet she’d never found him as intimidating then as she did now.

  “I don’t drink usually. Not more than a few sips. The wine last night … I got carried away.” She swallowed, her cheeks pink, her attention focused on the view beyond him, without taking any of it in. Not the way the sun was rising like an enormous orb of flame, nor the way the sky behind it was peach and gold.

  “I see.”

  Her eyes flicked to his and then sharply wrenched away. Her stomach spun wildly. She sucked in a breath, bartering with herself to be brave. It would be over soon. “I don’t think we can keep doing this.”

  The words held a plea he heard but didn’t understand.

  “Doing what?”

  “I can’t sleep with you.” The words were clogged in her throat and she dragged her focus to his face, even when it almost killed her. “It makes everything seem complicated when this is actually very simple.”

  He was silent, which she took as an invitation to continue. “We both want what’s best for Ben. He’s … he’s the product of a one-night stand. That’s all. So we can be grown ups about this. We can live together. We can be civil and polite and talk, take him to the zoo, or the park or whatever. But we can’t keep falling into bed because it’s not going to solve anything.”

  Especially not the sticky matter of her very broken heart. A one-night stand – if only. If only it truly were that simple. But working closely with Marco for three months – how could she have not fallen for him?

  “I have a problem with that.”

  She closed her eyes and held her breath. Of course he did. Nothing would ever be so simple for her.

  “It makes sense.”

  “No, this makes sense.” He stood and moved towards her purposefully, every stride an indication of his intent. Grace waited, arms wrapped around her slender waist, her body trembling even when she knew she needed to be strong.

  “It makes sense,” she insisted, as if she was grabbing at a rope from the middle of a lake. Drowning was looking inevitable but she wasn’t going to give up yet.

  He pulled her arms away easily, placing them by her side and when she dared open her eyes, his expression was fuelled by a darkness that stole her breath from her body. “The only thing about us that makes sense is this.” And he kissed her. A slow kiss that tumbled her heart around in her chest and brought tears to her eyes and fire to her veins.

  “No,” she shook her head and moved backwards, staring at him as though he’d thrown down the worst kind of gauntlet. “We can’t.”

  “Really?” He laughed. A sound like warmed butter that proved her a liar. She stared at the floor, her chest rising and falling with each breath, her determination as slippery as wet soap. “You’re telling me you don�
��t want me to ever touch you again?”

  She shook her head. The idea chilled her to the core. “I can’t.” When she looked at him, it was with hollow eyes and a palpable sense of fear. What he meant to her was terrifying.

  “You don’t want me to touch you here?” He lifted a finger and traced her lips. They parted without her consent. Her brain was separated from her body. Permanently, apparently.

  She shook her head, but her tongue slipped out, meeting his fingertip. Daring it to continue. Her weakness for Marco was, apparently, never ending.

  “I thought so.” He ran his finger lower, to the vee of flesh exposed by her dress. His expression was mocking as he ran it lower still, tracing a circle around one of her nipples until it was hard against the fabric of her clothes.

  “And here?” He drew his finger downwards, to the core of her womanhood, and touched her so lightly that she pushed forward, seeking more. Needing more.

  “We can’t,” she whispered. “I can’t.”

  “The problem is,” he grabbed her around the waist, lifting her easily and throwing her over his shoulder as though she weighed nothing. “I have already spent two years not sleeping with you, Grace. I’m bored of that. What I want now, more than anything, is to have you in my bed; to have you over and over and over again.”

  She groaned softly, knowing she needed to stay the course. She’d spent hours going over what he’d said, what he felt, knowing how useless their relationship was. But his hands on her body were warm and her body wanted him.

  There was no denying that.

  He shouldered the door to his bedroom inwards and then backed up against it, clicking it shut as he lowered her to the ground and sought her lips. His fingers pulled at her clothes, lifting them just high enough to cup her naked rear.

  Fever tore her resolve into shreds. It burned her blood. Flamed her soul. Tormented her with its heat and desperation. Made her tremble all over.

  But she was Grace Cox. Grace who had run away from the foster families who’d hurt her. Who’d been prepared to live on the streets rather than live in misery. Grace who had been good enough for Steve to love. Grace who had raised a beautiful little boy.