Demanding His Secret Son

by Louise Fuller

  And now? Maybe if Aristo had been a different kind of man she would have caved, but she knew that no matter how insistent he was now about wanting to get to know their son, it was only a matter of time before he lost interest—like her own father had. But George would not grow up as she had, feeling as though he was at the bottom of his father’s agenda.

  ‘Our son is not some chess piece you can move about on a board to suit you, Aristo. He’s a person with feelings and needs—’

  He cut her off. ‘Yes, he is, and he needs to see me—his father.’

  Folding her arms, Teddie glared at him, anger leaping over her skin in pulses. ‘He needs consistency and security—not somebody offering him trips on a speedboat and then disappearing for days.’

  He shook his head dismissively. ‘I’m standing right here, Teddie.’

  ‘For how long?’ she countered. ‘A day? A week? I mean, when exactly is your next business trip?’

  His jaw tightened. ‘That is irrelevant.’

  ‘No, it’s not. I’m being realistic about your limitations.’

  Looking away, she clenched her fists. And her limitations. Her life might be bereft of romance and passion, but it was peaceful. The thought of having Aristo flitting in and out of her and George’s life was just too unbearable to contemplate.

  ‘I have rights, Teddie,’ he said quietly, and something in his voice pulled her gaze back to his face. ‘I’m guessing you can live with ignoring that fact—you’ve managed it for four years. But George has rights too, and I’m wondering what’s going to happen when he realises that he has a father—a father you kept at arm’s length. Can you live with that?’

  Teddie stared at him, her heart pounding, hating him for finding the weakness in her argument.

  ‘Fine,’ she snapped, her hands balling into fists. ‘You can see him.’ But it was absolutely, definitely not going to be in her apartment. ‘I suggest we find somewhere neutral.’

  ‘Neutral—that’s an interesting euphemism.’

  He suddenly sounded amused, and she felt her pulse accelerate as she realised that his anger seemed to have faded and he was now watching her intently in a way that made her breathing come to a sudden, swift stop.

  ‘If you’re trying to find a place where you and I will feel “neutral” about one another, then I think you might need a bigger planet. Maybe a different solar system.’

  She swallowed. His words were reverberating inside her head, bumping into memories so explicit and uncensored that she had to curl her fingers into her palms to stop her hands shaking.

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she said hoarsely, trying her hardest not to notice the way her stomach was clenching.

  She felt heat break out over her skin as he took a step towards her.

  ‘Yes, you do, Teddie. I’m talking about sex. And about how, despite all this, you still want me and I still want you.’

  An ache like hunger, only more insistent, shot through her and she stared at him, her green eyes widening in shock at the bluntness of his statement.

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘What? Are you going to lie about that too?’ He shook his head dismissively. ‘Then you’re a coward as well as a liar.’

  ‘I’m not a coward,’ she snapped. ‘I just don’t happen to agree with your unnecessary and rather crude remark.’

  His dark eyes locked onto hers and she knew that this time her lie might as well be written in block capitals across her forehead.

  ‘Yes, you do. You’re just scared that you feel this way. Scared that you want me.’

  Teddie breathed out shakily. He was close now—close enough for her to see the tiny flecks of grey and gold in the inky pools of his eyes. Close enough that she could smell his clean, masculine scent. So close that she could not just see the curves of muscle beneath his sweater but reach out and touch them—

  ‘You’re so arrogant.’

  He took another step closer and lifted his hand. Her pulse fluttered as he traced the curve of her jaw with his thumb.

  ‘And you’re so beautiful, but neither of those statements changes the facts.’

  She could feel his gaze seeking hers and, looking up, she saw that his eyes were shimmering with an emotion she recognised and understood—because she was feeling it too.

  ‘Like it or not, we still burn for one another, and I know you feel it too. There’s a connection between us.’

  She stared at him, hypnotised not just by the truth of his words but by the slow, steady pulse of heat in her blood. And then, in a split second of clarity, she saw herself, saw his hand capturing her face, saw where it was heading, and was instantly maddened by his audacity and ashamed of her weakness.

  Jerking her head away from his hand, she lifted her chin. ‘You’re wrong, Aristo. It’s all in your head. It’s not real,’ she lied again.

  He stared at her, his gaze taking in her flushed cheeks and the pulse beating at the base of her throat. ‘Not real?’ he softly. ‘It looks pretty real from where I’m standing.’

  Her whole body throbbing, she breathed out unsteadily. ‘That’s magic for you, Aristo. It plays tricks with the senses...makes you believe in the impossible. And you and I are impossible.’ Fixing her green eyes on her ex-husband’s breathtakingly handsome face, she gave him a small, tight smile. ‘You being George’s father changes nothing between us.’

  His expression was unreadable, but as his dark, knowing gaze locked with hers she knew that she wasn’t fooling either of them, and his next comment reinforced that fact.

  ‘You’re right, it doesn’t,’ he said into the tense silence. ‘So perhaps from now on we can both stop playing games.’

  He took a step backwards, his satisfied expression making her heart thump against her chest.

  ‘I’ll call you, but if in the meantime you want me desperately...’

  Eyes gleaming, he reached into his jacket and held out a small white card. ‘That’s my number.’

  ‘Well, I won’t be calling it,’ she snapped. ‘As the chances of me wanting you “desperately” are less than zero.’

  He smiled. ‘Of course they are.’

  She wanted to throw his remark back in his face, to claim that he was reading the signals all wrong, but before she had the chance to think of a suitably withering response he turned and strolled out of the room with the same swagger with which he’d entered it.

  Heart pounding, she waited until she was sure that he’d left the building before darting across the room to close and bolt the door. Only, like the stable door, it was too late, she thought as she sank down onto her sofa with legs that were still unsteady. She’d not only let him back into her home, but into her life.

  CHAPTER THREE

  WALKING INTO HIS APARTMENT, Aristo stared blankly across the gleaming modern interior, a stream of disconnected, equally frustrating thoughts jamming his brain. He’d barely registered the hour-long drive home from Teddie’s apartment. Instead he’d been preoccupied by that simmering undercurrent of attraction between them.

  They’d both been so angry, and yet even beneath the fury he had felt it, strumming and intensifying like the vibrating rails beneath an express train.

  Of course he’d known it was there since this morning—from that moment when he’d turned around in the Kildare and his stomach had gone into freefall. It had been like watching flashes of lightning on the horizon: you knew a storm was heading your way.

  And he’d wanted the storm to come—and so had Teddie—right up until she’d told him that it was all in his head.

  Not that he’d believed her. It had been just one more lie in a day of lies.

  He breathed out slowly, trying to shift the memory of her final stinging remark to him.

  ‘You and I are impossible. You being George’s father changes nothing between us.’

  Wrong, he thought ir
ritably. It changed everything.

  No matter how much she wanted to deny it, there was a connection between them—and it wasn’t just based on sex, he thought, his heart tightening as he remembered his son bumping fists with him.

  He still couldn’t believe that he was a father. A father!

  The word kept repeating inside his head like a scratched record.

  Suddenly he needed a drink!

  In the cavernous stainless steel and polished concrete kitchen, he poured himself a glass of red wine and made his way to the rooftop terrace that led off the living area.

  Collapsing into a chair, he gazed moodily out at the New York skyline. Even from so high up he could feel the city’s energy rising up like a wave, but for once he didn’t respond to its power. He was too busy trying to piece together the life that Teddie had shattered when she’d walked into his hotel.

  And if that hadn’t been enough of a shock, she’d then lobbed a grenade into his perfectly ordered world in the shape of a three-year-old son.

  Welcome to fatherhood, Teddie-Taylor style.

  Thanks to her, he’d gone from nought to being the father of a miniature version of himself in a matter of seconds, with Teddie presenting George to him like the proverbial rabbit being pulled from a hat.

  He ran his hand slowly over his face, as though it might smooth the disarray of his thoughts. It felt surreal to be contemplating even the concept of being a father, let alone the reality. He’d never really imagined having a child—not out of any deep-rooted opposition to being a father, but because work and the expansion of his business empire required all his energy and focus.

  He frowned. But maybe there were other reasons too? Could his father’s decision to opt out of his responsibilities have made him question his own programming for parenthood? Possibly, he decided after a moment’s thought. Apostolos Leonidas had been an intermittent and largely reluctant presence in his life, and maybe he had just assumed that he’d be the same.

  And up until now he’d more or less given his father a free pass—having been made to look a fool, his father had understandably wanted nothing to do with his adulterous wife, and that had meant having nothing to do with his son either.

  But even when Aristo had been blinded with shock and anger earlier he’d felt no resentment towards George, no sense of panic or dismay. Gazing down into his son’s dark eyes, he had felt his heart tighten in recognition—and love.

  His shoulders stiffened. The same love that Teddie clearly felt for George?

  Resentment still simmered inside him, but he couldn’t stop himself from reluctantly admiring his ex-wife. Whatever else she might be, Teddie was a good mother. George clearly adored her, and she loved their son—not with his own mother’s chilly, grudging variety of love, nor the nod of recognition that had passed for love in his father’s head. Just love—pure, simple and unselfish.

  Imagining how it must feel to be the focus of that kind of affection and tenderness, he felt something tauten inside him—not just a sense of responsibility, but of resolve. He was George’s father, and it was his job to make sure his son had the love and security that he himself had been denied as a child.

  His parents’ divorce and subsequent remarriages had left him rootless and unsure of his place in the world, and he knew instinctively that George needed both his parents. But if that was to happen then this time Teddie wouldn’t be running anywhere—ever. Only, judging by how quickly she had bolted from his life last time, he needed to make that clear sooner rather than later.

  * * *

  ‘Well, if you ask me, it could have been a lot worse.’

  Elliot raised his elbows swiftly off the breakfast bar as Teddie swept past him with a wet cloth, cleaning the evidence of George’s cereal from the surface and wishing she could wipe Aristo from her life just as effortlessly.

  Elliot hadn’t appeared the night before but had arrived at breakfast, bringing doughnuts and his usual reassuring patter, and she’d been both grateful and relieved to see him.

  It wasn’t that he could do anything to change what had happened, but he made her feel calmer, more rational. Less like the woman she’d been last night.

  Her fingers tightened around the cloth and she closed her eyes.

  That, in short, was the problem. Maybe it was because he was so uncompromisingly masculine physically, but Aristo made her feel like a woman—fierce and wild and hungry to touch and be touched. They’d felt so right together; he’d felt so right against her. And, even though she despised herself for being so shallow, she couldn’t pretend that anything had changed. When he was near her she was still so aware of his body, his breathing, the heat of his skin...

  Her insides felt suddenly hot and tight and, breathing out a little, she opened her eyes. She’d done everything she could to excise the memory of what it felt like to be held in Aristo’s arms, only for him to turn up on her doorstep and make a mockery of all her efforts. It wasn’t fair—but that didn’t mean she was going to roll over and let him turn her and George’s lives upside down.

  ‘It could?’ Turning, she stared at Elliot disbelief. ‘How, Elliot? How could it be worse?’

  He shrugged, his expression innocent. ‘He could have kissed you.’

  Remembering how close she’d come to letting that happen, she scowled at him, a blush of colour heating her cheeks. ‘He didn’t.’

  ‘Or you could have kissed him—Hey, it was a joke.’ Grinning, he caught the cloth that Teddie threw at him. ‘Where’s your sense of humour?’

  Collapsing onto the stool beside him, she shook her head. ‘It packed its bags and left shortly after Aristotle Leonidas arrived.’

  She felt a sudden rush of panic, remembering that stand-off between them—the prickling of her skin and the intensity of his gaze, his dark eyes scanning her face, all-seeing, hungry, unwavering... Her stomach tightened, her hands curling into fists. She might not have given in last night, but this thing, this ‘connection’ between them wasn’t going to just disappear.

  But she could.

  The thought popped into her head unbidden, fully formed, because of course that was still her gut instinct. Before Aristo, years of her life had been spent living out of suitcases, staying in hotels and motels, always ready to leave, to flee like a getaway driver after a heist. Running away had been her quick fix, her go-to solution for dealing with any problem in her life, any time things got hard.

  It was a hangover from a childhood spent dodging unpaid bills and bailiffs and a legacy from her father—not that she’d ever thought of him as that. Wyatt Taylor had never stayed around long enough for the name ‘Dad’ to stick. Just long enough to teach her a couple of magic tricks and to make her miss him when he left.

  Her heart began to pound.

  Only, how could she run with a child? George’s life was here, in New York. He went to nursery here, he had friends, a routine. He was the reason she’d stopped running.

  As though sensing her panic, Elliot reached over and pushed a stray strand of hair away from her face.

  ‘Come on, Teddie, I know he was a pig to you, and maybe it wasn’t ideal, him turning up here out of the blue, but...’ He hesitated, his expression becoming uncharacteristically serious. ‘But whatever you’re telling yourself, you’re wrong. You can’t run this time, babe.’

  As she glanced up guiltily he gave her a lopsided smile.

  ‘I’ve known you since I was twelve years old. I don’t need supernatural powers to read your mind. This isn’t something you can run away from, and deep down I don’t think you really want to.’

  She lifted her chin, narrowing her green eyes. ‘And yet strangely, on a superficial level, I feel completely certain that I absolutely do.’

  Elliot poked one of her clenched hands with his finger. ‘No, you don’t. I was there, remember? I know how often you tried to call him. I know how many messages
you left, how upset you were.’ His jaw tensed. ‘I’m no fan of Aristotle Leonidas, but—’ he frowned ‘—he’s still George’s father and he’s got a right to see his son. Right now it’s a shock, but once you get used to the idea it’ll be okay, I promise. I mean, loads of couples share custody of their children.’

  Teddie gave him a small, tight smile.

  Thinking about a future in which she would have to see Aristo on a regular basis, speak to him and have him turning up on her doorstep, was not her definition of okay. But maybe over time her feelings for him would diminish, like radioactivity—only didn’t that take, like, decades? Not that it mattered how she felt, or where she was. She could run but, as Elliot said, she couldn’t hide from the truth any more. Aristo was George’s father and she was just going to have to suck it up.

  Pushing back his stool, Elliot stood up. ‘I gotta go, but I’ll call you later.’ Sliding his arms into his jacket, he kissed her forehead. ‘And don’t worry. Leopards don’t change their spots, baby, and from everything you’ve ever told me about your ex he’s not the kind to stick around long enough for this to become a problem.’

  Watching Elliot let himself out of the apartment, she knew he was trying to reassure her. And she should feel reassured—it was, after all, what she wanted, wasn’t it? For Aristo to disappear from her life for good? Only, for some strange reason, that thought didn’t seem quite comforting as she’d imagined it would.

  * * *

  While George took his afternoon nap Teddie tidied the apartment, moving automatically to pick up the tiny toy cars and miniature dinosaurs that were scattered everywhere. Eventually she stopped beside her bed and, kneeling down, pulled out a cardboard box.

  Feeling a lump start to build in her throat, she hesitated, and then sat on the floor. Lifting off the lid, she gazed down at the contents.

  Was that it? Had her marriage really amounted to nothing more than a shoebox shoved under a bed?