“Nor I you.”
His fingers eased from her wrist to her hand, which he raised between them, near his heart. His index finger slid up her bare ring finger. “I want to know everything about you. What’s happened to you since Venezuela. How you came to Barcelona. Everything.” His fingers tightened around hers while his green eyes, so much like Anna’s, searched her face. “I’ve thought of you often.”
The words warmed her cheeks, but how could she believe him? To him, their encounter had been only that—a brief encounter—carrying none of the emotion it had for her. Though she’d been on the same page as Stefano when they left Venezuela, knowing they each had their own lives and that it was best they go their separate ways, she’d been young and naive to think he’d felt the same depth of passion she had during those heady days.
If he had, he wouldn’t have ignored her attempts to contact him, let alone asked another woman to marry him less than a month later.
In one smooth motion, he pulled Megan into his arms, spinning her so her back was against the wall.
“Your Highness—”
“Stefano, please.” His face was only inches from hers. He smelled of warm skin and masculine cologne mixed with a hint of cava. She closed her eyes against the rising wave of her own desire. Mustering what little remained of her willpower, she placed both palms against his chest to give herself space.
Big. Mistake. Even through his finely-tailored jacket and shirt, she could feel the hard lines of his chest and the rat-a-tat thump of his heart.
Near her ear, he whispered, “Tell me you’ve thought of me, too, Megan. Tell me you’ve slipped into bed at night imagining a moment like this, one where we could pick up where we left off.” Even though he spoke English as well as she did, thanks to growing up with an American nanny, his Italian accent and lush voice sent her reeling. She had to stop this. Now.
“This isn’t—”
Then his lips were on hers, hot and demanding, a veritable sexual weapon. Better than in her memory, better than in her dreams. Then, he’d been young and wild. He’d matured into a force of nature, intense and skilled, able to overwhelm her senses with the slightest touch of his strong hands, let alone his glorious mouth. He nipped at her lower lip, surprising her, and a whimper of longing escaped her. For a brief moment she realized it should mortify her, but the thought was forgotten as she kissed him back. He was right. She had spent nights lying awake, tossing in her bed, thinking of what it would be like to return to those days on the beach, making love to Stefano Barrali with the abandon of youth.
He pulled her tight against him, deepening their kiss and allowing her to feel his erection as he melded his body to hers. Just when she thought she could take no more, he shifted to kiss her neck, then the spot just below her ear he’d discovered all those years ago, the one that made her mad with want.
“Come to my suite,” he whispered before his lips met hers once more, heating her to her core and sending her pulse into overdrive. Between kisses, he added, “We can take the stairs. It’s only one flight down.”
The world shifted around her as he whispered, “Please.”
It would be so easy. Her parents and Anna weren’t expecting her until late. Her parents likely wouldn’t even be awake, let alone Anna. She and Stefano were alone. No one would ever know. It was the perfect opportunity to relive one of the best experiences of her life.
Better, judging from her body’s reaction to his.
It would be wrong.
She squeezed her eyes shut, savoring the feel of his hot, talented mouth against her skin for a final moment before leaning back. Still trapped in the circle of his arms, she forced him to meet her gaze. “Stefano, I can’t. Things are different for me now. Very different.”
“You used my first name,” he teased, running his fingers along the outside of her arm. With a wicked glint in his eye, he added, “And perhaps things are not so different. You want me as much as I want you.”
“Believe me, I do. But…it’s not so simple.”
“It can be as simple—or as complex—as we choose.”
Her gut twisted. Never in a million years had she imagined this moment, not like this. But now, facing Stefano, she knew what she had to do. “There’s no easy way to say this. I wish I could’ve said it long ago, and I tried, I did. For months. But that night on the beach—”
“Was exactly what I told you then. A night I’d never forget.”
She took another step backward, but it only gained her an inch. She was trapped between Stefano and the wall. “Especially for me.”
Her serious tone finally seemed to register with him. His hands stilled. “What do you mean?”
“Stefano, I have a daughter. A wonderful, beautiful daughter named Anna.”
“You have a baby?” His voice registered both surprise and resignation. “I see. You need to go home to your daughter, then.”
She shook her head. “No, not a baby. Anna’s in fourth grade.”
“Fourth grade?” His eyes widened in shock, but Megan could tell he either hadn’t made the connection or didn’t want to. “That doesn’t seem possible. That would make her—?”
Her jaw shook, but before he guessed at Anna’s age, Megan managed to eke out the two words that needed to be said. “Our daughter.”
Chapter Four
Stefano’s stomach seized at her words. “What?”
He couldn’t have heard Megan correctly, given the slight tremble in her voice. And if he hadn’t misheard, perhaps she’d misspoken when using that word. Our.
Her gaze flicked to his arms in a silent request for space.
He let go, then took a step backward. The look in her eyes disturbed him as much as her words did. The adrenaline that pounded through his veins in anticipation of bedding the sexiest woman he’d been around in a long time stopped cold, leaving him ill at ease. “Clarify that last statement,” he demanded.
This time Megan’s voice didn’t waver. “After we left Venezuela, I started the fall semester in Minnesota just as I’d planned. About six weeks into classes, I stopped by the student health center. I’d been feeling nauseous and run down for nearly a month and didn’t seem to be getting better. I expected the nurse to tell me I picked up a virus or infection of some kind, given that we’d been working in rather filthy conditions. Instead, she informed me I was pregnant.” Megan paused, searching his face. “I imagine my expression when given the news was close to the way you look now. Stunned and horrified and upset. It was the last thing I expected. We’d used protection, we were careful.”
“Damn straight we were.” He rarely swore, but he’d been overwhelmingly careful in that regard his entire life.
“When I asked the nurse if she was certain, I received a rather curt lecture on the failure rate of various contraceptives. I walked back to my apartment in such a state of disbelief that I detoured to a pharmacy so I could buy a home pregnancy test to confirm it. When it came back positive, I went and bought two more and waited an entire week before I took them, in case something I’d eaten or been around had caused a false result. Of course, those also came back positive and…well, I couldn’t deny it any more.”
Stef swiped a hand over his face but said nothing as he tried to process her words. His knee-jerk reaction was to deny paternity. It wouldn’t be the first time a woman claimed he’d gotten her pregnant and not once had it been true. In both previous cases, he’d never dated the women, much less slept with them. But there wasn’t a shred of insincerity in Megan’s tone or manner, and the Megan he’d once known would never be so devious. It wasn’t in her nature. And after all these years—particularly in this situation—what would be the point?
She held up a hand to stop him from speaking. “Before you ask the obvious question, she’s definitely yours. There was no one else. Besides, you only need to look at Anna to know where she gets her DNA. She has your coloring. Your eyes. She even moves the way you do when she walks. It’s eerie.”
His ch
est clenched at her words. He had a child, a living, breathing child, and he had no part of the girl’s life. He couldn’t identify her if she stood in front of him. He didn’t know her middle name, let alone the names of her teachers, her friends, or her pets. If she had any pets. He huffed out a breath, trying to ease the pain gripping his chest, the sensation that he’d been hit square in the heart with a sledgehammer.
“I’m so sorry, Stefano. This isn’t the way I wanted to tell you,” Megan added, her voice quiet.
“Obviously not.” As he studied her, took in her serious expression and the regret in her eyes, his pain turned to anger. “Why didn’t you tell me immediately?”
“I wanted to, but it wasn’t that easy—”
“The words, ‘I’m pregnant’ come to mind. See? Easy.” He worked his jaw, trying to rein in his temper, but the enormity of the situation didn’t allow it. “Were you ever going to tell me? If I have a child, I have a right to know about it!”
“About her.”
“Her!” he thundered.
At the look of alarm on Megan’s face, he lowered his voice. “I doubt anyone is on this floor to hear. As you said, it consists of conference rooms.”
“Still.” She crossed her arms in front of her. “Would you like to go to a more private location to talk? I want to explain about Anna’s—”
“Now you want to explain?” He hated the bite in his voice, but damn it, he was justified. No explanation could replace what had been willfully kept from him.
“I understand your anger.” She held up her hands. “I’d be angry, too, if I were in your position. But it’s not my fault and I would appreciate the chance to explain. Somewhere that allows me to tell you the full story without either of us being overheard. Please.”
He shook his head in disgust. She’d hidden the girl for nearly a decade. There was no excuse for it.
And here he’d been dying to bed her again tonight.
“So my daughter, this Anna” —he paused, feeling the girl’s name as it rolled off his tongue— “is here now, in Barcelona?”
Megan’s lips thinned, as if she wanted to retort that Anna was her daughter, but thought better of the remark. After a moment’s hesitation, she replied, “Of course. She lives with me.”
“I want to see her.”
“No.” The answer was quick, decisive.
“If she’s truly mine, I believe I’m entitled.” How dare she refuse him?
“It’s not that simple. As much as you may be entitled, I have to do what’s best for her.” A deep grinding sound emanated from down the hallway as the service elevator descended past their floor. She looked toward the sound, then back at him. “I’m sure I can find an empty room so we can sit down and discuss this without being disturbed.”
“I have no wish to sit and talk.” Not when he couldn’t keep his words civil. How could she determine what was best for the child when she’d never even informed the father of the child’s existence?
“But—”
“I learned long ago never to have a conversation when I’m…enraged.” That was the most gentle word he could conjure for the emotional avalanche she’d triggered within him. “Give me twenty-four hours. Then we’ll talk and resolve this situation.”
“Resolve it? How does one resolve—?” Frown lines crisscrossed her brow. “Wait, aren’t you scheduled to fly back to Sarcaccia tomorrow afternoon?”
“The flight goes when I say it goes. At least that I can control.” He ground his teeth, then said, “For now, I’m going to bed. Alone.”
“Stefano, wait—”
“Tomorrow!”
He spun on his heel and strode the length of the hallway, then slammed through the fire door to the stairwell and pounded down the stairs. He’d never walked away from a woman before, but it beat yelling at one.
How could she?
He jammed his room key into the door of his suite, noting as he entered that the digital clock on the thermostat indicated it was well after two a.m. He let out a sarcastic laugh as the door slammed shut behind him. He’d hoped to be wrapped up in Megan right now, her legs anchored around his waist, his hands exploring every inch of her alluring body, making the kind of passionate love he’d not made to a woman since, well, since Megan. Sex with complete and utter abandon. He’d expected to be drunk on it.
Instead, he was alone in his suite, trying to comprehend the fact that he had a child. One old enough to hold a conversation with him, to voice opinions, to tell him of her hopes and dreams. Perhaps old enough to talk back to him, as he’d started to talk back to his own parents at that age. Or maybe not. He had no way of knowing her personality, did he? For all he knew, she’d be the type who’d cuddle against him every night, begging for a bedtime story long after she was old enough to read on her own, simply because she liked his company.
The mental image of a child in bed brought him to a sick realization. Dear Lord, what if the girl had been injured or ill at some point? He’d visited enough children in enough hospitals over the years to know how badly those kids needed all the love and support they could get. Yet if his own daughter had been hospitalized and in desperate need, he wouldn’t have known a thing. He could’ve been sitting on a yacht entertaining his father’s business or political associates, laughing over glasses of Sarcaccian wine, completely oblivious to her pain.
He smacked a fist into the palm of this hand, galled all over again that Megan kept such a secret.
It wasn’t simply that she’d denied her child. She’d denied him. How different might his life had been had he known? Would the fiasco of his engagement to Ariana even have occurred?
He ground his knuckles against his temple in frustration. He couldn’t allow his mind to go down the path of what-ifs, especially where Ariana was concerned. He could only move forward. And as angry as he was at Megan, guilt gnawed at him for walking out on the very woman who’d borne his child, leaving her to find her way home alone in the middle of the night. He hoped she’d had the good sense to call a taxi or ask the hotel’s car service to take her home so she’d be safe. It was too late for him to go back and rectify his mistake now.
He paced the suite’s sitting area until his breathing steadied and his mind cleared, then paused near the floor-to-ceiling windows, finally taking a moment to look around the room Mahmoud reserved for him. As expected, it contained every luxury. A compact kitchen outfitted with the latest appliances and sleek granite countertops fronted the main room, which contained a glass-topped dining table, several designer chairs, and a chocolate-colored sofa crafted with clean, modern lines. A flat-screen television sat atop a gleaming art deco bureau. Beyond that, an en suite master bedroom boasted grass cloth wallpaper, fine art, and high-end linens, all of which appeared carefully chosen to create a serene escape from the hustle and bustle of the city.
He raked a hand through his hair as he turned to take in the view from the windows, studying the strip of distinctly Catalan shops, restaurants, nightclubs, and high-rise condominiums lining the beachfront. Judging from what he could see of the lighted interiors, the neighboring condos were designed to the same modern standards as the Grandspire.
He wondered if Megan lived in one of them. She must live very close to the hotel, he rationalized, given her job. Someone with her position needed to be on call at all hours. She might even live in the Grandspire itself; Mahmoud mentioned that the manager lived on site, perhaps the director of business development did, as well.
Facing the room again, he studied the space with new eyes. The Grandspire’s suites were everything Mahmoud promised when he’d asked Stefano to take a look at the revitalized property. Its access to public transportation made it the perfect base for either a family or couple’s vacation, while at the same time it provided the ideal setup for a traveling businessman craving both work-friendly amenities and options for evening relaxation. It was exactly the type of location Stefano’s father, King Carlo, preferred for his functions. The entire city waited at the
hotel doorstep, pulsing with life even at this late hour.
It was no place to raise a child.
He strode to the kitchen, intent on grabbing a cold bottle of water for his nightstand. On the way, he slammed a hand on the dining table with enough force to cause the centerpiece of fresh fruit to shudder, sending an orange rolling out of the bowl and across the table. As he replaced it, the fragrance of citrus reminded him that he’d promised to meet Megan for breakfast. A business breakfast.
Well, they certainly had business now.
Chapter Five
Given the late hour at which the festivities ended, few diners occupied the Grandspire’s Jardín Alba restaurant at ten minutes past nine the next morning. Members of the waitstaff gathered in one corner, carafes of freshly-squeezed orange juice and hot coffee at hand, and conversed in low tones as they waited for more breakfast guests to arrive. The napkins had been laundered and folded, the silver polished, and even the exotic white flowers and greenery spilling from the central planter that served at the restaurant’s focal point had been misted.
One guest in particular hadn’t made an appearance. When Ramon Beltran stopped Megan outside the restaurant’s entrance en route to his own meeting, he noted that it wouldn’t be surprising for Prince Stefano to arrive a few minutes late and assured Megan that the breakfast would go well. Her sales folio contained a wealth of information on the hotel’s special events options, she’d prepared for every possible question one might have about the Grandspire, and the manager had received nothing but positive feedback from guests on the new conference facilities. Mahmoud Said had been especially impressed, he said, which should work to Megan’s advantage with the prince. Ramon even complimented Megan on her choice of dress, a soft yet professional cream-colored sheath in a style she knew flattered her figure.
“Don’t look so worried. Enjoy yourself now that the grand reopening is behind us,” he’d advised before leaving to catch a taxi to his own meeting. “Your passion sells the hotel like nothing else.”
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