An Heir to Make a Marriage

by Abby Green

  She’d known that this meeting was inevitable. She guessed she’d known it as soon as she’d had the confirmation of her pregnancy about two months ago.

  And, if she was completely honest with herself, she’d known far sooner than that—because they’d made love again that night, in the half-light of the moon, in the hazy, dreamlike moments between sleeping and waking.

  Rose might have believed it to have been a dream if it hadn’t been for the indelible memory of the pulsing strength of Zac’s climax inside her. When she’d woken again as dawn had been breaking, she’d weakly tried to convince herself that it had just been a dream.

  But it hadn’t.

  And, as terrified as she’d been to contemplate the fact that the night would have repercussions, she’d also felt an immediately fierce sense of acceptance and protectiveness for her unborn child—even before she’d missed her first period and her fears had become real.

  Still, it had taken all of her guts and courage to go and have the pregnancy confirmed, because she’d had a very strong sense of foreboding that as soon as someone else knew about it she would be putting her child in some kind of perilous danger.

  At no point—even when the pregnancy had been confirmed—had it occurred to her to go and tell Mrs Lyndon-Holt. Her only thought had been how she would eventually tell Zac. The fact that she now possibly had a way to save her father was something she hadn’t allowed herself to contemplate, because she had known she wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she used her unborn child as some kind of bargaining chip...and her father would never want his own flesh and blood used in that way either.

  It had brought home to her just how distraught she’d been even to consider that this might be a solution to her problems in the first place.

  But she hadn’t had to worry about going to see Mrs Lyndon-Holt because the woman had ambushed Rose. Just as she had before, and just when Rose had finally felt she was off the woman’s radar after not seeing her in months.

  Far from not being on the woman’s radar, Rose discovered she had been very much on it. She hadn’t figured on the ruthlessness of the woman, or her vast influence. And now everything had been taken out of her hands in the worst way possible.

  In the back of that same sleek black limousine, parked on a quiet Queens street, Mrs Lyndon-Holt had swiped through photo after photo on a sleek tablet. The pictures had documented Rose and Zac leaving that luncheon function and walking through Central Park. They had shown the moments by the subway, when Rose had obviously made her fateful decision to stay. And then they’d shown her leaving his apartment the following morning as dawn had broken, looking dishevelled and with a mortifyingly dreamy and wistful look on her face. Wistful because she’d believed she’d never see him again.

  There was no need for any photos of what had happened in the intervening hours. It was glaringly obvious.

  And since then her every move had been followed. Mrs Lyndon-Holt had merely waited until Rose had passed the danger zone of early pregnancy before pouncing.

  When Rose had tried to get out of the car the woman had restrained her with a brittle but surprisingly strong hand. Rose had looked back at her, feeling numb all over.

  ‘Are you forgetting so easily about your payment?’

  Rose had answered with a coolness that had belied the fear she’d felt, ‘I don’t want anything from you.’

  The other woman had just smiled malevolently. ‘Perhaps not you or the baby right now—but your father could do with some help, couldn’t he? Or are you just going to let him die, knowing that you could have saved him if it wasn’t for your stubborn pride? Do I need to remind you that you signed a non-disclosure agreement? Which means you can never tell anyone about what we agreed? And don’t for a second think that my son will welcome this news. It’s common knowledge that he has no desire for a child. So you see, Rose, I’m really all the hope and support you have right now. All I have to do is make one call and your father will have a chance to live to be a very old man.’

  Rose had gone hot and then cold all over. As if she needed to be reminded of that conversation she’d overheard in the bathroom that fateful night. Zac Valenti was the last person she could turn to.

  And her father...

  Jocelyn Lyndon-Holt was right in some sick way—how could Rose live with herself, knowing she’d denied her father a chance to be well again?

  A sense of futility had sunk deep into the pit of her being. And the realisation that through her own choices and actions she was now trapped—for better or worse.

  And just like that, without having to say another word, Mrs Lyndon-Holt had had Rose exactly where she wanted her.

  With ruthless precision, Rose’s father had been transported to an upstate specialised medical facility, where he was due to undergo the preparation required before he had a potentially life-saving and prohibitively expensive operation in a couple of weeks. He’d believed the explanation that Rose had given him: that it was down to the fact that Mrs Lyndon-Holt felt charitable towards an ex-employee. Rose’s insides had curdled at the deceit.

  She stared out of the car window now, dry-eyed but aching inside. A kind of resolve had solidified inside her once she’d realised she had to see this thing through.

  She had been unutterably selfish, believing she could take something that should never have belonged to her— a night with Zac Valenti—and now she had to face the consequences of her actions. And if her father was the one who might profit from it all by regaining his health, then that would have to be the thing that would make this worthwhile.

  That and the new life growing in her belly. A life that she would never regret making, no matter what happened from this moment on. Whether or not her child did inherit a vast fortune was neither here nor there, because Rose had never set out to profit personally from the agreement with Zac’s mother, no matter what she’d signed.

  But she couldn’t blame someone else for her own actions.

  She just knew she would lay down her own life to protect her baby from any harm, and she vowed now that he or she would not suffer because of her actions, whatever she had to do to ensure that.

  Zac’s building appeared ahead, and the car drew to a smooth halt by the sidewalk. ‘Valenti Enterprises’ was written in stark black letters across the steel structure. Bold, uncompromising. Powerful.

  Rose shivered.

  She’d walked away from Zac in his bed that morning and had taken one last illicit look as he’d lain there like a fallen god, the sheet tangled around his lower body, seductively low enough to give a glimpse of the hair arrowing down between his legs to all that potent masculinity that had sent her into orbit.

  It had been a wrench to tear her gaze from him, and an even bigger wrench to walk away, expecting never to see him again. Expecting to hold that night in her memory like a perfect precious secret.

  But now there was no hope of it staying perfect or precious or secret. It had been shattered to pieces and she had no one to blame but herself.

  * * *

  The journey up to Zac’s office seemed to take a nanosecond. Rose had barely had time to recognise the irony of the fact that time sped up when you least wanted it to, when a smartly dressed young man was opening a huge door and ushering her into a vast office.

  She saw him immediately, which caused her to stumble to a stop barely inside the door. Zac was sitting behind a big solid wooden desk. She hardly heard the door close behind her with a soft click. His chair was high-backed. All the furniture was big...imposing. He looked bigger than she remembered, even though he was sitting down.

  He wore a white shirt, open at the throat. Stubble shadowed that firm jaw and his hair was tousled, as if he’d been running his hands through it.

  And then he stood up and her brain froze. He placed his hands on the desk in front of him, leaning forward
slightly. Rose had the uncomfortable sensation that he was deliberately keeping his desk between them.

  Those bluer-than-blue eyes raked her up and down. His lip curled. ‘Do you think you can fool me with another demure outfit, Ms O’Malley?’

  Ms O’Malley. Rose’s heart had slowed to a thump-thump of shock and guilt and misery. Of course he knew her real name now. She felt very self-conscious in plain black trousers and the white shirt that she wore for her work at a small local restaurant in Queens—one of the three jobs she’d been juggling. Her hair was up in a functional ponytail. No make-up.

  Heat prickled up her neck and she gripped her handbag tighter in her hands, in front of her belly. ‘I’m not trying to fool anyone.’

  Her voice came out strong and she sent up silent thanks. She was determined not to let him see how hard this was for her. All she wanted to do was apologise, try to explain. Except she couldn’t explain. And the opportunity for any apology had long since passed.

  Zac made a rude sound. Then he straightened up and came around the table, and all of Rose’s dormant hormones started fizzing and jumping, oblivious to the waves of animosity coming from him across the room. He rested back against the desk and crossed one long leg over the other. And folded his arms.

  Rose had had tiny glimpses of this remote man, and they had been downright intimidating. Right now he might as well be a complete stranger, so far removed was he from the seductive man who had bewitched her so easily.

  Zac’s face seemed to get harder, and his mouth compressed, as if he was recalling something distasteful. ‘So, I’m curious...what’s the going rate for a virginal prostitute these days?’ And then he said, ‘That’s assuming you were actually a virgin? The blood was an ingeniously authentic touch if you weren’t.’

  His crude words shredded Rose inside. ‘It wasn’t like that.’ She begged silently, Please don’t ruin it.

  Zac stood up and said icily. ‘That’s exactly what it was like.’

  Rose drew herself up, even though she felt mortally wounded. Already. And she was sure that he hadn’t even really started his attack. ‘I’m not a prostitute.’

  Are you sure about that? mocked a small voice.

  Zac sneered. ‘You’re sure as hell no meek and invisible maid either. You’re seriously expecting me to believe that both times we met were a happy coincidence, only for you to disappear into the ether and suddenly emerge from under whatever stinking place you inhabit months later, claiming to be pregnant with my child?’

  Rose opened her mouth to assert that this baby was his, but he wasn’t finished.

  ‘You seem to be forgetting that it’s common knowledge now that the house where you work as a maid was my family home.’

  She wanted to correct him—she wasn’t working there any more—but he laughed then, and it was harsh and cold.

  ‘I have to hand it to you both for such simple ingenuity, using the oldest trick in the book—the honey trap.’

  Rose recoiled inwardly, realising that he assumed she’d been in league with his mother... And of course she had. However reluctantly.

  He came closer and stopped dead in front of her, self-disgust written all over his face. ‘But your particular brand of honey came with a bitter aftertaste.’

  Rose immediately felt protective of her baby, hating the wounding words. She interjected before he could say more. ‘I haven’t worked there for four months. And it wasn’t like that. I swear...’

  Zac’s dead-eyed look told her what he thought of that little attempt to defend herself, so she closed her mouth. He started to walk around her, like a shark. She stared straight ahead, rigid with tension.

  He said from behind her, ‘Whether or not you currently work there is beside the point. Tell me—did you get a bonus for getting pregnant, or was it an all or nothing deal?’

  Rose’s hands were digging so deeply into her bag that she wouldn’t be surprised if she was gouging holes in the leather. She refused to turn around, and again said tightly, ‘It wasn’t like that.’

  Zac made a rude snorting sound. ‘Assuming that you are pregnant and that it is mine, I’d say you’re still on the payroll. So essentially that’s a transaction many would call—’

  ‘Stop it!’ Rose’s voice rang out harshly.

  Zac came back to stand in front of her, lifting an eyebrow. ‘Such a spirited defence.’

  His eyes dropped to where the bag covered her belly. She was at that slightly uncomfortable stage of pregnancy where her belly was finally looking more defined and less like bloated swelling, and she hated feeling that self-consciousness now. As if he cared how she looked. As if she should care!

  Rose gathered up her strength in the face of his utter condemnation, justified as it was. ‘I am pregnant with your baby and I was just a maid. I’m not saying those meetings weren’t engineered to bring us together...’ She faltered then, knowing that however she tried to defend herself she couldn’t deny that on some very crude level Zac was right.

  But he wasn’t even listening. He stood back, arms folded. Formidable and distant. ‘As much as I’d love to believe otherwise, I suspect you probably are carrying my child. Jocelyn Lyndon-Holt is so obsessed with the precious family bloodline that she would never leave something that important to chance.’

  No, she wouldn’t. Rose knew that all too well, feeling sick when she thought of his mother.

  Zac’s voice was harsh. ‘The moment you agreed to accept money from her to deliberately seduce me, you crossed a line that millions of women cross every day in this city. And each one of them probably has more integrity than you.’

  Rose fought hard to keep her chin up. This was the least she deserved. She knew that. But, even so, she couldn’t help saying, ‘I didn’t want to do it. I walked away that first night.’

  Zac took a step back, incredulity stamped all over his handsome face. ‘That was just a ploy to incite me to chase you. To want you.’

  Bitter gall burnt Rose’s insides. Of course he would think that. Why wouldn’t he?

  ‘I won’t ask again,’ he rapped out. ‘Tell me what the going rate is for playing God with my life and giving me a child I had no intention of ever fathering.’

  The futile anger that had risen up in a flash drained away again. He was right. That was exactly what she’d done. She’d played God. And still she couldn’t answer him. Because how could she say the price had been her father’s life when that life was held in such delicate balance at the moment? She couldn’t break the non-disclosure agreement... If she did, her father would suffer. She didn’t care what might happen to her. But it wasn’t just about her any more.

  In the face of Zac’s clear hostility all she could cling to now was the fact that she was doing this for her father. To save him. This had to be worth it. It had to be. And she had to protect the innocent baby she carried, who did not deserve this opprobrium.

  Zac was glaring at her now, silently demanding an answer, and Rose said the only thing she could.

  ‘I’m not telling you anything.’

  * * *

  Zac looked at Rose and the rage inside him reached boiling point. I’m not telling you anything. Of course she wouldn’t. She didn’t want to jeopardise the undoubtedly sizeable settlement she was due when her child—his child!—took that hated name and came in line to inherit the Lyndon-Holt fortune.

  Zac was dangerously close to the edge of his control, and he didn’t like to admit that even before, when his life had been ripped asunder, he hadn’t felt so volatile. He’d vowed never to let himself be put in that position again—at the mercy of secrets and lies. And yet here he was, teetering on the very lip of it.

  He turned abruptly away from that pale face and those huge eyes and stalked to the window. He couldn’t look at her and not fall over the edge.

  He wasn’t sure what he’d ex
pected, but he’d expected her to show something different from the innocent persona she’d projected both times they’d met before. He’d expected her to be confident. Triumphant. Crowing. Greedy.

  And she was none of those things. Or not yet, at least. She just had those huge eyes that looked so damn full of something that mocked him for his initial weakness. Because he’d believed in it. In her.

  The revelation that she’d used her physical innocence as a bargaining chip that night made him bilious. Her virginity might have been real, but every other moment had been a poisonous fabrication.

  He recalled persuading her to stay and those eyes looking at him with such unbelievable torment. As if she’d truly had to wrestle with her conscience. And then she’d run, perfecting her act, before popping up again the following week. What an unmitigated fool he’d been to trust that it had been mere coincidence.

  As much as Zac would have loved to have her escorted from his building and excised from his life for good, he couldn’t. She was pregnant. He’d noticed the barely perceptible thickening of her waist that she was trying to hide under that bag. And he hated that he’d noticed. And that it wasn’t having a cooling effect on his hormones. Hell, as soon as he’d seen her photo in the paper his libido had roared back to life.

  Pregnant. He was still reeling from that shock and coming to terms with the fact that he most likely was the father. He’d never contemplated this reality, too intent on making sure the Lyndon-Holt name died out with his grandmother. As he’d told her years before, she could take her bitter legacy to the grave or leave it to a cats’ home for all he cared.

  Yet he knew that as much as he might blame the woman in his office right now, and his grandmother, he only had himself to blame, really.

  He was the one who’d been weak. His hyper-vigilance had been blown apart as soon as he’d laid eyes on that pale, slender back. Her unadorned beauty. A beauty that would be tainted in his eyes forever now. He’d had moments of suspicion but he’d ignored them, too in heat for her. Like a rabid dog.