Secret Baby Scandal

by Joanne Rock

  Of course, if she could have followed his thoughts, it would have made perfect sense.

  “I understand.” She brushed a dark curl away from her face, revealing an earring with a simple diamond stud in her ear. “I know the ranch is not a hotel. I’m just glad to have a place to stay.”

  The fact that she hadn’t protested the arrangement encouraged him. Since their blowup the first night at Gervais’s, they both seemed to tread a bit more cautiously. And, perhaps, respectfully. They had too much at stake to risk alienating one another.

  “Lucinda will share a room with César next door, but you might speak with her about the importance of remaining within her quarters as much as possible for security purposes.” He worried about what a leak to the press might do at this stage of their relationship. “We have weathered enough media scrutiny and conjecture for one week.”

  Outside the plane, he could hear the others arriving and more luggage being stowed beneath the passenger cabin. As the first of their party boarded, he could hear the nanny explaining to someone—Fiona, he thought—that Tatiana was feeding César.

  That would save him from having to greet his family for now. He’d far rather watch Tatiana nurse his son. He leaned closer to brush her hair from her shoulder, out of the way of César’s clutching hand. The boy seemed to meet his gaze over the high curve of Tatiana’s breast. Jean-Pierre gave the baby one of his fingers to grip instead.

  The action had been instinctual, sure. But as soon as he did it, he realized how the movement put his palm mere inches from Tatiana’s other breast. Still tucked safely in her dress, the soft curve called to him anyhow. This close to her, he caught the scent of her fragrance, something clean and lemony that made him hunger to find its source.

  Behind an ear? Along the slender column of her neck?

  “Jean-Pierre?” she whispered suddenly, her voice containing an unexpected hint of urgency while his family found seats scattered around the luxury jet.

  “What is it? Do you need anything?” Had she forgotten some necessity back at the house? Even now the door was closing to the passenger cabin, the pilot warning them to strap in for the flight.

  “No. It’s not—” She bit her lip, her green gaze sliding higher to meet his. He could see the heat there. The hunger. “You shouldn’t look at me like that in public places.”

  Understanding dawned. And with it came a need so strong he debated carrying her off the plane and finding the nearest hotel room. He might have done it, too, if not for César.

  In fact he had done something just like that nearly a year ago when they’d created their child.

  “The flight is blessedly short. And we have a good excuse for retreating directly to our suite since we have an infant to care for.” And then another thought occurred to him. “Although we need to wait until you see a physician—”

  “I did. Yesterday morning before we worked on the wine-bottle labels. That’s why I was late to Gervais’s house.” She lowered her window shade as the plane began to taxi toward the short runway.

  “You saw a local doctor?” He pried his finger from the baby’s grip, regretting not being there with her for that visit. She must have gone out while he’d been recovering from the midnight workout at the Hurricanes’ training facility. “Is everything...okay?”

  The barest hint of a smile teased her lips. “I’m cleared to resume normal activity, if that’s what you mean.”

  He sure as hell couldn’t miss what she implied.

  Heat scorched its way up his spine as the plane fired faster. His pulse kicked up speed, too, not just because of the green light she’d received from an obstetrician, but also from the green light he spied in her eyes.

  For him.

  “I care about more than that, Tatiana.” He cradled her cheek in his hand as the aircraft lifted off. “I am so grateful you are healthy and that you did a beautiful thing in delivering our son. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t extremely interested in touching you. Everywhere.”

  Her slow swallow intrigued him. She cleared her throat and then asked, “How long did you say the flight lasts?”

  * * *

  The flight went as quickly as Jean-Pierre had said it would. But the pilot couldn’t land on the island so they needed to ferry over from Galveston. Or, rather, the pilot could have landed on the Reynauds’ private island off the Texas gulf coast, but Gervais hadn’t wanted to draw that kind of attention to the wedding destination since the family’s every movement was being scrutinized. Bodyguards traveled with them now. Decoy limos had left the family compound at intervals all day to confuse the members of the media who’d set up camp outside the gates to the houses on Lake Pontchartrain.

  A Reynaud wedding garnered attention. A Reynaud wedding to a royal made for a media circus.

  So the trip to the island was purposely a bit longer than necessary to throw story seekers off their scent, which was a good thing for César’s sake as well as protecting the wedding secret. The private ferry ride from Galveston to the island went smoothly enough. As they reached the dock on the western side of the land mass, Tatiana wished it was daylight so she could appreciate the lay of the land.

  She hugged the rail of the boat while the others began debarking. Lucinda held César, who was fast asleep. But Tatiana didn’t feel even the smallest bit tired after her electrifying conversation with the man standing next to her. Her body still hummed with anticipation from just a few simple words.

  He’d said he wanted to touch her. Everywhere.

  His eyes had communicated his desires far more explicitly, however. And all the pent-up hunger she felt coursed through her tenfold.

  If they salvaged nothing else from their relationship, they would have César. And they would have tonight.

  “Ready?” Jean-Pierre asked, extending a hand. The lights from the dock behind him cast his features in shadow, but made him appear all the larger.

  If any paparazzi surprised them, she thought she would be able to hide behind his broad shoulders easily.

  “Very.” She laid her palm against his for a moment before interlacing their fingers, locking them together.

  “I’ll introduce you to my cousin Kimberly, then I’ll see about getting you and César both settled for the night.”

  She wanted to press herself into him and kiss him, then and there. Remind him that she didn’t want to be settled. That what she wanted was to have his arms around her, sifting through her hair and parting the zipper on her dress. She wanted to take chances and throw caution to the humid Texas wind.

  “That sounds good.” Realistically, she knew she didn’t have to wait much longer to touch him. But she didn’t know how she’d make it through much more social chitchat. To distract herself from the kiss she wanted, she asked him about his relatives. “Tell me about the Texas Reynauds. How come I never met any of your cousins when I visited your family at the big ranch?”

  Memories of the endless spread of hill country returned. There had been long afternoons of hiking trails or horseback riding, nighttime picnics under the stars, and the heady pleasure of being the only girl with four handsome older boys to keep her entertained. Before they’d grown older and started to pursue their own interests, leaving her to Jean-Pierre’s care, her ten-year-old self had been a little in love with them all.

  “My grandfather, Leon, did a great job stepping in to raise my brothers and me after our parents divorced. But the reason Leon worked hard to get it right with us is because he screwed up his own sons so thoroughly. His words, not mine, by the way.” Jean-Pierre’s gaze followed Lucinda, his sharp eyes missing nothing as she stepped into a waiting golf cart with César and they sped off toward the looming ranch house in the distance.

  Gervais commandeered a small luxury bus for the rest of them while giving instructions for the luggage. Tatiana admired that no matter
how wealthy and powerful the man was, he still oversaw details himself, taking no chances with his pregnant wife or his family.

  “Leon blames himself for his sons’ shortcomings? Keep in mind, I don’t know anything about your uncles and I’ve only met your father a few times.” She’d only spoken to Theo Reynaud once, at a long-ago birthday party for one of the boys. The man had touched down by helicopter, stayed long enough to have a few drinks and departed with his latest girlfriend within the hour.

  Tatiana had been decidedly unimpressed.

  Following Jean-Pierre toward the waiting vehicle, she noticed Adelaide tucked under Dempsey’s arm as they sat on a bench on the dock, her eyes closed as she tipped her head against his chest. Fiona and Henri were quiet, too, talking softly in the back of the bus when Tatiana entered with Jean-Pierre. So it didn’t feel rude to continue their own conversation while the family boarded.

  “Leon thought it would make his sons tougher to pit them against each other.” Jean-Pierre slid into a leather captain’s chair midway up one aisle of the bus. He reached up to turn off the reading lamp above the seat, plunging them into darkness before he tugged her closer, wrapping an arm around her waist. “He started rivalries when they were young, pushing them to outdo one another on the football field and on the ranch since he was based in Texas back then. Once, a bull-riding contest between them nearly killed my Uncle Michael.”

  “That’s awful.” She relaxed against him, her cheek pressed to the hard muscle of his chest, his body warming her.

  She felt the slow thud of his heartbeat beneath her ear and she couldn’t resist laying her hand on him, feeling the hard ridges of muscles in his abdomen beneath the thin cotton of his shirt.

  He responded by stroking her hair away from her face. A gentle gesture that might appear sweet to a casual observer, but the sensual heat it roused was enough to set her on fire.

  “Eventually, Christophe, Michael and my father cut all personal ties and moved to different states. But since the shipping empire is still a family business, they are bound together professionally.” He nodded to Gervais as his brother boarded with his fiancée. The couple took the front seat behind the driver and signaled him to begin the short trip to the main house while Jean-Pierre wound up his family primer for her. “Kimberly, who we’ll meet when we get to the house, is one of Christophe’s daughters. She doesn’t get along with her father, either, but she deals with him well enough that he lets her run this place. The island ranch is a self-sustaining subsidiary of the main ranching operation and also a stop on many of our cruise ships’ Gulf of Mexico itineraries.”

  Tatiana lifted her head from her comfortable position to peer up at him. “You’re such a successful athlete, I forget that you have a whole other side to you as an heir to the family’s business.”

  “It’s a lot to keep up with since the company interests are so diverse, but considering the short career of an NFL athlete, I know that the business will keep me employed long after football is done with me.”

  The luxury bus hit a pothole and pitched enough to one side that she fell against him again. Not that she minded. And from the way his eyes glittered in the dim lights outlining the walkway on the floor, she’d guess he didn’t mind, either.

  “You’re only a year older than me,” she teased, smoothing a hand along his shoulder and upper arm to grip his biceps. “I think you’ve got a few years left in your arm.”

  “If I’m lucky,” he said, in all seriousness. “Injuries can happen at any time in the game. I don’t count on a paycheck from the Gladiators or any other team, but no matter what my future is in football, rest assured our son will be well provided for. Always.”

  “I don’t want to think about you being hurt.” She closed her eyes tight, knowing he spoke the truth. She’d been around football long enough to understand the dangers, to see young, vital men halted in their athletic careers because of irreversible damage that decreased their speed or mobility.

  “I’m a realist. I account for as many possibilities as I can foresee, and that’s a skill that has served me well.” His hand slid beneath the collar of her cashmere sweater to massage the bare skin of her shoulder. “But I can honestly say César was an outcome I never accounted for and I should have. I’m sorry about that, Tatiana.”

  The soft words, spoken into her hair as the bus slowed to a stop, caught her off guard. She hadn’t expected him to apologize for not checking in with her after that explosive encounter ten and a half months ago, but she appreciated the thought nevertheless.

  “We were careful at the time. You had no reason to suspect—”

  “It’s always a possibility.” The brusque statement left no room for argument. “I should have called afterward, when I’d cooled down...” She sensed a hesitation. As if he didn’t want to confide whatever he was thinking.

  And he didn’t.

  Instead, he straightened, bringing her with him. As they followed his brothers and their significant others from the vehicle, Tatiana shoved aside her troubled thoughts so she could meet their hostess.

  The Tides Ranch was a massive complex with a central hacienda-style adobe main house that glowed a bronze shade of pink in the landscape lights. Native plantings on terraced beds hinted at the ranch’s self-sustaining practices, as did the solar panels on the roofs, evident even in the dark from the way they glinted in the moonlight. Although Tatiana had read that the ranch housed some of the owner’s family year-round, the front entrance had the feel of a hotel, complete with a staffed front desk, since the island received a high number of annual visitors thanks to being a stop for cruise ships.

  Warm mesquite wood furnishings and Saltillo tile floors enhanced the Southwest appeal of the house. Exposed beam ceilings and bright woven rugs drew her eye toward a large entertaining space, a family room that looked as though it would hold sixty people easily.

  “Welcome to the Tides.” A willowy blonde with cool gray eyes appeared in the reception area as they entered, opening her arms to Gervais and each of the Reynaud brothers in turn, then greeting the women briefly. “I can’t tell you how thrilled I am to host a wedding this weekend instead of our usual tourists,” she said, squeezing Erika’s hand warmly. “Not that we don’t appreciate all our visitors, of course. But it will be fun to take our level of entertaining up a notch. As a foreign princess, your options for wedding sites must have been limitless.”

  Tatiana knew how tired Erika was by that time, having recently survived her own narcoleptic second trimester. And she hadn’t even been pregnant with twins. But looking at the bride-to-be, you’d never guess she had fallen asleep on Gervais’s shoulder on the short bus trip from the dock to the ranch house.

  “Come on.” Jean-Pierre spoke into her ear, tugging her away from the conversation. “I grabbed our key from the desk. Kimberly knows about the baby. She’ll understand.”

  He tossed a brief “good night and thank you” over his shoulder as he pulled Tatiana toward the back of the main building. Her kitten heels clicked on the Saltillo tiles, her hand warm in his as he drew her up a short staircase decorated with Spanish tile mosaic. They walked out into a breezeway open to the elements, cloister-style. He paused outside a dark wooden door decorated with a blue-and-yellow tile motif that matched the card on the old-fashioned key he carried.

  Hearing it click into place in the lock made her temperature spike, the sound an audible reminder of what was to come with the utter privacy behind that door.

  “Should I check on César?” she asked, peering around the corridor as if she could guess what room he might be in.

  “Why don’t you let me. I’ll give you some privacy to get settled while I make sure Lucinda has the baby’s bags and we have ours.” He pushed open the door and held it for her. “I’ll get a baby monitor, too, so we can hear him tonight if he needs to be fed.”

  “Okay.” She nodded
, a nervous laugh escaping. “Is it strange to plan for baby care the second time we ever share a...um, romantic evening?”

  “No.” He drew her into the room with him, letting the door fall shut behind them. A small wrought-iron chandelier in the foyer area flickered to life on a dim setting as they entered. He stood, centered under that chandelier, and reeled her toward him. Closer. Closer. Until she was toe-to-toe with him. Breasts-to-chest. “It seems like everything I’ve wanted since I first saw you holding our son that night in New York is about to come true.” His hands clamped her forearms, holding her still. His voice dipped lower as he tipped her chin up with one finger. “It feels perfect.”

  Nervousness faded. Her pulse hammered faster as sensations skidded along her spine, tension coiling deep within her.

  When his mouth finally brushed hers, she thought she’d faint from the sheer pleasure of it. The warm slide of his lips was a sensual treat for a woman who’d had little enough romantic attention in the last year. The bay-rum-and-sandalwood scent of his aftershave teased her nose, calling her to taste his skin, but Jean-Pierre had taken full command of the kiss by then.

  Her head spun as he raised his hand to either side of her face, bracketing her jaw and tilting her chin to just the right angle. Her knees wobbled, her body seized with the need to melt into him. A moan simmered up her throat but didn’t escape, his kiss consuming it. His fingers sifted into her hair, sending tantalizing warmth along the base of her scalp even as shivers tingled along her nerve endings.

  She would have fallen into him completely if he hadn’t pulled away just then. As he glanced down at her, his breath came fast, his chest moving up and down as though he’d been sprinting.

  “Hold that thought.” He kissed her hard on the lips, like a warrior leaving to do battle instead of a new father retrieving a nursery monitor. But feeling the way she did, she could completely appreciate where he was coming from because pulling away from that kiss took a whole lot of grit and resolve, almost more than she could manage right now. “I’ll be right back.”