Cinderella's Scandalous Secret (Secret Heirs 0f Billionaires)

by MELANIE MILBURNE

  Isla continued to undo the buttons on his shirt, leaving a kiss on each part of his chest as she uncovered it. She peeled his shirt away from his shoulders and set to work on the fastening on his trousers. His eyes darkened with desire and he sucked in a breath as her fingers skated teasingly over the hard ridge of his arousal. She lowered herself in front of him, uncovering him so she could tease him with her lips and tongue. His fingers dug into her scalp as if he thought his legs would go from under him without her support. His groans and heavy breathing were a delight to her and she continued her sensual exploration of him, enjoying the power it gave her to reduce him to the same level of longing as he had done to her. This was the balance of power she craved—to know he wanted her as much as he wanted his next breath.

  He pulled away from her with a desperate groan. ‘Stop. I can’t take any more. I want to be inside you.’

  His words sent a hot, pebbly shiver over her flesh. She took his hand and got to her feet, leading him to the bed, taking off her knickers as she went. Rafe kicked his trousers and shoes to one side and tugged off his socks and came down beside her on the bed.

  His mouth went to her breast, kissing, stroking, teasing her nipples into tight and aching peaks. He moved down her body, leaving a blistering trail along her flesh until she was gasping out loud and writhing to get closer, to have him where she most wanted him.

  ‘I want to taste you.’ His voice was rough with desire, his warm breath skating over her lower body to claim his prize.

  Isla grasped him by the hair. ‘No. I want you inside me. Now.’

  He gave her a devilish grin. ‘Say please.’

  ‘Please, Rafe. Make love to me. Please, please, please.’

  ‘With pleasure.’ He came back up to position himself over her, his legs entangled with hers. He drove into her centre with a guttural groan, his movements fast, feverish, frantic. She was with him all the way, welcoming each thrust with a gasp of pleasure. Isla gripped his taut buttocks, holding him to her, desperate for release as the sensations rioted through her body in hot pulsing waves.

  With the merest coaxing of his fingers on her swollen centre she was off and flying, her entire body thrashing with a cataclysmic release. Within moments, Rafe followed with his own deep and gravelly groan of desperation, his body shuddering as the ripples of pleasure went through him.

  Isla held him against her, stroking her hands over his back and shoulders, delighting in the spray of goosebumps that peppered his flesh. She had done this to him. Brought him undone with her touch, with her body—with her love.

  How could she call it having sex now? It was making love. Isla had been making love with him from the start. That was why sex had been so awkward with other people. She hadn’t been able to give all of herself, to feel comfortable enough to express herself physically. She had needed the connection to be deeper, stronger, more meaningful than just two bodies getting it on.

  And what stronger and more meaningful connection could there be other than love?

  Rafe propped himself up on one elbow, his other hand idly playing with her hair. ‘I thought of you every day after you left.’ His voice had a sombre note that matched his thoughtful frown. ‘Every single day. And night.’ His mouth twisted into a self-deprecating smile. ‘I was angry at you but over time I realised I was really angry at myself.’

  Isla stroked away the crevasse of his frown between his eyebrows. ‘Why?’

  He captured her hand and brought it to his mouth and kissed each of her fingertips, his gaze holding hers. ‘I hadn’t met anyone like you before. Someone who wasn’t in awe of my money or what gifts I bought you or places I took you. I liked that about you. It impressed me and, believe me, I’m hard to impress.’ His frown came back and he continued, ‘I was angry because...it...it hurt to lose you.’ A flicker of something passed over his face as if saying the word ‘hurt’ had caused him further pain. ‘I hadn’t felt like that before. I didn’t allow myself to get invested in relationships where it could even be a possibility. I didn’t take those sorts of risks.’

  Isla gently pulled her hand out of his and sent her fingers on a journey down the length of his richly stubbled jaw. ‘But you did with me.’ Her voice was barely above a whisper, her hopes barely above water. Was he about to tell her he loved her?

  He leaned down and pressed a soft-as-air kiss to her mouth. ‘You should come with a warning. Take care when handling.’ His tone was mildly teasing, his eyes dark and shining.

  Isla circled his mouth with her finger. ‘So should you.’

  The teasing light went out of his eyes and his frown came back. ‘I worry about how much your life has changed because of this—’ he placed his hand on the mound of her belly ‘—our child. You’re the one who’s had to make the most adjustments so far and that will likely continue.’

  She placed her hand over the top of his and tentatively smiled. ‘But you’ll be with me every step of the way, right?’

  His hand came up and cradled one side of her face, his expression grave. ‘Never doubt it, cara mio.’

  Why then was she still doubting? Not that he wouldn’t support her during the rest of the pregnancy and beyond. But what about love? What about the special emotion two people felt for each other that would last a lifetime?

  The special emotion she felt for him and had done so from the first moment she’d met him.

  For ever love.

  Isla wondered if she should risk telling him how she felt. But telling someone how she felt had always ended badly when she was a child, so over the years she had taught herself not to reveal and not to feel. Telling the first foster parents how much she loved them had been her first mistake. She had been moved within days to another home, to live with more strangers. Kind strangers who had also over time evoked such feelings of gratitude in Isla that she had told them she loved them too.

  And she’d been moved again.

  And again.

  And again.

  Her adult self knew it was the system. Kids didn’t always stay long in any one place due to other needy kids needing urgent placements, but as a child it had felt like she was unlovable.

  Rafe sent a lazy finger between her eyebrows and down the bridge of her nose. ‘What’s that frown for, hmm?’

  Isla circled her fingers around his wrist, pulling his hand down from her face. ‘I need the bathroom... Sorry.’ She wasn’t ready to tell him. She couldn’t tell him and risk being rejected.

  Or worse—being reminded she was unlovable.

  He rolled aside and got off the bed, holding a hand out to her, his features etched in lines of concern. ‘Are you feeling unwell?’

  Isla ignored his hand and pushed herself off the bed, sending a hand through the wild mess of her hair. ‘I’m fine, Rafe. I just really need to pee.’

  And I need to be alone to get my dangerously tempted-to-confess-all tongue back under control.

  * * *

  The bathroom door closed with a snick of the lock that somehow felt to Rafe like a slap to the face. He scraped a hand through his hair and turned back to look at the rumpled bed. He leaned down and straightened the covers and wished he could just as easily straighten his tangled thoughts. Why had he told her he’d felt hurt when she’d left? Hurt? No, hurt was an emotion he never allowed himself to feel. Another word he had deleted from his vocabulary. He made sure he didn’t care enough to be hurt by anyone.

  But somehow, in the afterglow of good sex, he had revealed things about himself he revealed to no one.

  Half the time, not even to himself.

  Making love with Isla had a strange effect on him and had done so from the start. In the moments after orgasm, when his body was relaxed and satiated, a guard lowered inside him. The locked vault around his heart developed a small fissure, letting in a tiny sliver of light. It was in that brief window of time he felt vulnerable.

&nb
sp; There, he had confessed to feeling the dreaded V word.

  Vulnerable.

  It didn’t last long—he didn’t allow it to, but the thought of that feeling lurking, waiting for another chance to catch him off-guard, was incredibly disquieting.

  * * *

  A few days later, Isla and Rafe flew to Paris for his charity dinner and he settled her into his penthouse at his hotel in the exclusive and gentrified Saint Germain. He had organised for her to have her hair and beauty treatments done in advance and spent a fortune on a new dress for her that would accommodate her baby bump. The glorious royal blue satin shoulderless dress draped her figure in all the right places, and Isla couldn’t help thinking even Cinderella would have been envious.

  And yet, now she was in Paris with Rafe, Isla sensed a clock ticking on a time bomb. As soon as the news spread about their impending wedding, as it would surely do after a high-profile event such as this, her private shame had a very real possibility of being exposed to every critical and judging eye. The impact on Rafe and his reputation couldn’t be underestimated. Not to mention the impact on her.

  Isla sat at the mirror in front of the dressing table in the penthouse, putting the last touches to her make-up, waiting for Rafe to come back to collect her for the ball. He had been called away to speak to his hotel manager downstairs but assured her he would be only a few minutes.

  The penthouse door opened and she heard the distinctive sound of Rafe’s footsteps approaching the bedroom and, when he arrived, met his eyes in the mirror. ‘Everything all right with your manager?’

  ‘Sì. All good.’ He smiled and took out a flattish rectangular velvet jewellery box from inside his tuxedo jacket pocket. ‘I have something for you.’

  Isla stood from the dressing table stool and gave him a mock-stern look. ‘You didn’t really need to speak to your manager at all, did you?’

  His smile became a grin and he handed her the box. ‘I had to ask him to unlock the safe for me.’

  Isla took the box from him, flicked the tiny brass catch open and lifted the lid to reveal a glittering sapphire and diamond necklace and matching droplet earrings. ‘Oh, my goodness. They’re beyond beautiful—they’re absolutely stunning.’

  ‘Like their new owner.’ His voice dropped in pitch to a deep rough burr that made her spine feel tingly.

  Cinderella, eat your heart out. How could Isla feel anything but beautiful wearing such exquisite jewels? She trailed her index finger over the sparkling diamonds and densely blue sapphires. ‘I’m almost too afraid to wear them in case I lose them.’

  ‘Don’t worry. I insured them three months ago.’

  Isla glanced up at him in puzzlement. ‘You bought these before? Before I...I left?’

  Something came down at the back of his gaze with the speed of a camera shutter click. He gave a loose one-shoulder shrug that was at odds with the sudden tightness of his mouth. ‘What of it? It’s just a gift I bought when I was in New York.’

  Just a gift? A pretty expensive gift to Isla’s reckoning. To anyone’s reckoning. What did it mean? She looked down at the gorgeous jewels and swallowed. ‘I don’t know what to say...’

  ‘Thank you will be perfectly adequate.’ His tone had a sharp edge that brought her gaze back up to his.

  ‘Oh, Rafe...’ she said, touching him on the arm. ‘It’s the most beautiful gift I’ve ever received. Thank you so much. I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you brought it back from New York. No wonder you were so angry with me.’

  He let out a long slow breath. ‘It wasn’t about that.’ He took the box from her. ‘Here—let me put them on you. Turn around.’

  Isla turned her back to him, her skin lifting in a delicate shiver as his fingers touched her skin in the process of fastening the necklace around her neck. The sapphires made her blue eyes pop and she had never felt more beautiful or bewildered. He had bought her gifts before, many gifts that were expensive and gorgeous, but something about this gift was different. She was no jewellery-valuer but this ensemble was clearly worth a fortune.

  And he had bought it for her months ago.

  Rafe handed her the earrings one at a time, waiting as she inserted them into her earlobes. His hands came to rest on the tops of her shoulders and he smiled. ‘They suit you.’

  Isla crossed her right arm over her body to place her hand over one of his, meshing her gaze with his. ‘Thank you. I will always treasure them, no matter what.’

  He bent his head to drop a kiss to the back of her neck. ‘We’d better get going, otherwise I’ll be tempted to see what you’re wearing under that dress.’

  Isla laughed. ‘Not very much.’

  His eyes smouldered with molten heat and he stroked his hand over one of her bottom cheeks. ‘That’s what I thought.’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THE BALL WAS being held in a grand hotel on the seventh arrondissement with spectacular views of the Eiffel Tower and the city beyond. Rafe led Isla into the hotel past the throng of the press but the rapid fire of cameras going off was distinctly off-putting. How was she supposed to act calm and poised and comfortable when she didn’t belong in Rafe’s world?

  His world was one of high finance, exotic destinations, glamorous events and even more glamorous people.

  Her world was one of salacious secrets and cringe-worthy shame.

  A journalist approached and asked, ‘Rafael Angeliri, we have heard rumours that the beautiful woman beside you is soon to be your wife. Is that true?’

  Rafe’s arm gathered Isla close to his side. ‘Yes, it is true. We are marrying next weekend in Sicily.’

  Isla swallowed and painted a smile on her lips and tried to look as if she was used to having forty cameras aimed in her direction. The journalist glanced at Isla’s abdomen and asked, ‘We have also heard congratulations are in order for another happy event. Do you have anything to say on that?’

  ‘Isla and I are delighted to be having our first child in December,’ Rafe said. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have a function to attend.’

  Several other journalists vied for Rafe’s attention but he led Isla inside the hotel with a firm arm around her. Once they were safely inside and away from most of the crowd of guests waiting to enter the ballroom, he took her hand and kissed the backs of her fingers, holding her gaze with his. ‘That wasn’t so bad, was it?’

  Isla gave a weak smile. ‘I seriously think I need to attend press-handling classes.’

  He squeezed her hand. ‘They’re just ordinary people trying to do their job. There will be official photos later but for now try and relax and enjoy the evening.’

  And, to her surprise, Isla did enjoy the evening. The food was a stunning example of French cuisine at its best, and the table and ballroom decorations had a Marie Antoinette era look that gave the night a step-back-in-time feel.

  Rafe was by her side until he got up to the podium to give his keynote speech. He spoke in fluent French as well as English on the importance of taking care of children in the community. Every community. The strategies he proposed for better care of the most vulnerable in the community were well-thought-out and practical, and Isla felt incredibly proud and deeply moved that he was so determined to bring about change.

  When he came back to the table after rapturous applause, Rafe leaned down to kiss Isla on the lips before he sat back down. He took one of her hands and rested it on his thigh. ‘I’m glad you came with me tonight. It wouldn’t have been the same without you.’

  ‘You were wonderful,’ Isla said, leaning her head against his shoulder. ‘I was so proud of you.’

  He turned his head towards her and smiled and something in her stomach swooped. He stroked the curve of her cheek with a lazy finger, his eyes darkening. ‘Dance with me?’

  ‘I would love to.’

  He drew her to her feet and led her to the dance floor just as the ban
d began to play a romantic ballad. Isla melted into Rafe’s arms and moved with him around the floor as if they were one person, not two. Dancing had never felt more graceful, more fluid, more natural than when in Rafe’s arms. One song turned into two and then three, and then Isla lost count. She was captivated by the feel of his arms holding her close, the tangy scent of his aftershave teasing her nostrils, the sheer joy of being his entire focus.

  Rafe looked down at her with a smile that made her legs weaken at the knees. ‘We’ll smash the bridal waltz next Saturday now we’ve had all this practice, sì?’

  A tiny tremor of unease tiptoed through her. This time next week she would be Rafe’s wife. Was she doing the right thing by marrying him, even though he had never said he loved her? When all was said and done, it was nothing more than a duty marriage. Yes, it was convenient for him that he desired her and enjoyed her company. But he had never claimed to love her and had even intimated he wasn’t capable of feeling that way about anyone. Was she being a fool for settling for care and concern and security instead of the love she desired and hungered for?

  Isla fought to keep her features in neutral but he must have sensed her disquiet and led her off the dance floor to a quieter area away from the other guests.

  ‘What’s wrong, mio piccolo?’ His tone was full of concern. ‘Are you not enjoying yourself?’

  Isla smiled her lingering doubts away. She had to stop stressing over what she didn’t have and enjoy what she did have. Rafe cared for her. He was prepared to provide for and protect her and their baby. ‘I’m having a wonderful time. It’s been a fabulous evening. I’m just feeling a little tired now, I guess.’

  And in love. Hopelessly, stupidly in love.

  He leaned down and gently kissed her forehead. ‘Then it is time for me to take my beautiful Cinderella home from the ball.’

  * * *

  Rafe was relieved to leave the ball in any case. He didn’t enjoy the spotlight at the best of times, and the last thing he wanted to do was make idle chat with people he didn’t know when the only person he wanted to be with was Isla. That was one of the things he’d missed most when she’d left him three months ago. The emptiness at the end of the day when he returned home to his empty villa, when before he had looked forward to their lively debates and verbal tussles that made his blood tick with excitement. Dancing with her made him realise yet again how in tune they were with each other physically. It secretly thrilled him he had been the only lover who had satisfied her. But in some ways the reverse was also true. He had never felt with anyone else the intense level of satisfaction he felt with her.