Billionaire Baby Daddies: A five-book anthology

by Connelly, Clare

  “I know you hate him,” she said the words so quietly he almost didn’t catch them. “But he saved me.”

  Marco nodded, his head a movement against her hair.

  “I can’t imagine what would have happened to me if I hadn’t met him.” She shivered then, the words sparking revulsion inside of her.

  “You would have saved yourself.” The words were a deep rumble from the centre of his being, and he tilted her chin towards him, kissing her gently. “You would have saved yourself.”

  Grace surrendered to the kiss with every fibre of her being. It was a kiss that unfurled around her, slowly and wondrously, filling her with a sense of power and control even in the midst of sadness and exposure. It was a kiss that woke long-dormant parts of her soul.

  It was a kiss that woke her.

  “I love you.” She whispered the words into his mouth and he didn’t break the kiss; only deepened it, so she had no idea if he’d heard. But her heart thumped with the freedom and the intoxicating joy that finally speaking those words offered.

  She didn’t care that he was so angry with her.

  She didn’t care that he didn’t love her back. Well, not enough to hide how she felt for a moment longer. “I love you,” she said again, and a smile fanned across her face now.

  The clearing of a throat didn’t come from her, and she was pretty sure it hadn’t been Marco either.

  “I’m, uh, going to head off, guys.”

  Grace blinked her eyes open. Will’s voice seemed to be coming from a long way away. She heard him, but she desperately didn’t want that perfect moment to end.

  Marco broke apart from her. He separated with apparent ease, his gaze slamming into her for a long, frozen second and then he stood, completely dislodging their limbs; parting their bodies.

  The absence was profound.

  “I’ll walk you out.” Marco strode towards the villa without a backwards glance. Grace would have known if he’d looked back because she stared at him, watching as, with a panther like intensity, he crossed to the doors and swept inside.

  “Night, Grace. Thanks for the company.” Will lifted a hand in farewell, noting Grace’s weak smile as he turned, catching up with his brother-in-law.

  “I like her,” Will pronounced, when they were definitely out of earshot.

  Marco didn’t reply. His mind was reeling. From what she’d told him of her childhood, yes, but also from the words she’d offered when they’d kissed.

  She loved him? She loved him? Like hell she did.

  “She’s different to what I expected,” Will continued.

  “In what way?” Marco prompted, though he wasn’t sure he wanted to be talking about Grace. Or talking to her. Sex. Sex was where they made sense. Sex was where he could quiet the anger at what she’d done; the anger at how she’d betrayed him. Sex was where he could forget she’d married another man.

  And despite what she’d said, her motives must have been mercenary to some extent. Steve had been considerably older, and she’d owed him so much. How could she possibly have hoped to separate her feelings of gratitude from feelings of true affection and commitment?

  “When we learned about Ben, I couldn’t understand how any woman could lie like that. I thought I’d hate her for acting like you didn’t have a right to know…”

  “But you don’t?”

  “Hate her? No. I feel sorry for her.” Will stopped walking, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Listen, Marco. I know you’re angry too. But it’s the kind of anger that will destroy you, if you don’t move past it. And make her miserable. I don’t think you want that.”

  Marco grunted in response. “Don’t I?”

  “You can’t keep punishing her,” Will said, with the kind of insight that had always underscored their friendship. “If you’re marrying her, then marry her and let the past go.”

  It wasn’t that easy though, was it?

  * * *

  As soon as she was alone, she scraped her chair back, standing and lifting trembling fingers to her lips. The kiss was a ghost across her face. She reached for her wine, sipping it and moving slowly towards the railing of the terrace. Rome glistened at her, winking its encouragement, promising her a future she didn’t dare hope for.

  “I have to marry her.” Marco’s voice travelled through the night air even as hope still wrapped around her deliciously. “I owe that much to our son.”

  “Fine, but don’t hold her decisions against her, is all I’m saying.”

  “Come on. How can I ever forgive her for this? Would you?”

  Grace leaned further forward, her breath held, her every single nerve ending attuned to the conversation, far below.

  “No.” Will said finally, and Grace swept her eyes shut on an anguished pulse of remorse. “I wouldn’t. I’d hate a woman who did that to me. Hell, I wouldn’t be marrying her. I’d be taking the child and not looking back.”

  Marco grunted. “Believe me. It crossed my mind.”

  Grace drew in a sharp breath and retreated across the villa, not stopping until her back pressed against the glass sliding doors. Her heart was thumping hard against her ribs. She placed the wine glass down on the table and slipped inside, moving quickly to Ben’s room.

  He was fast asleep, his sweet little face tossed sideways on the pillow, his hair a dark mop of curls that tickled her nose as she lay down beside him, wrapping an arm protectively under his sturdy body and drawing him closer to her.

  He’d been a bad sleeper for so long and many nights had been spent like this: Grace cuddling him to sleep and then falling asleep herself. She breathed in unison with him and within minutes was fast asleep herself. When Marco peered in the door some time later, he saw them curled up together and something strange fluttered inside of him.

  Something he didn’t recognize yet instinctively didn’t want.

  He clenched his jaw and moved away from her, away from the danger of what she represented.

  * * *

  His head was bent over a newspaper when she entered the sweeping kitchen early the next morning. Her head was woolly and her eyes scratchy, but it was her heart that hurt the most.

  “Marco?” She didn’t meet his eyes when he looked up, so didn’t see the speculation that danced in them. She’d been awake for hours, staring at the ceiling in Ben’s room, listening to the sound of his breathing, wishing, with all her heart, that things were different. “I need to speak to you about last night.”

  How can I ever forgive her for this?

  “Go on.”

  And she was reminded then of when she’d first met him. She’d worked for him, and yet she’d never found him as intimidating then as she did now.

  “I don’t drink usually. Not more than a few sips. The wine last night … I got carried away.” She swallowed, her cheeks pink, her attention focused on the view beyond him, without taking any of it in. Not the way the sun was rising like an enormous orb of flame, nor the way the sky behind it was peach and gold.

  “I see.”

  Her eyes flicked to his and then sharply wrenched away. Her stomach spun wildly. She sucked in a breath, bartering with herself to be brave. It would be over soon. “I don’t think we can keep doing this.”

  The words held a plea he heard but didn’t understand.

  “Doing what?”

  “I can’t sleep with you.” The words were clogged in her throat and she dragged her focus to his face, even when it almost killed her. “It makes everything seem complicated when this is actually very simple.”

  He was silent, which she took as an invitation to continue. “We both want what’s best for Ben. He’s … he’s the product of a one-night stand. That’s all. So we can be grown ups about this. We can live together. We can be civil and polite and talk, take him to the zoo, or the park or whatever. But we can’t keep falling into bed because it’s not going to solve anything.”

  Especially not the sticky matter of her very broken heart. A one-night stand – if only. If only it
truly were that simple. But working closely with Marco for three months – how could she have not fallen for him?

  “I have a problem with that.”

  She closed her eyes and held her breath. Of course he did. Nothing would ever be so simple for her.

  “It makes sense.”

  “No, this makes sense.” He stood and moved towards her purposefully, every stride an indication of his intent. Grace waited, arms wrapped around her slender waist, her body trembling even when she knew she needed to be strong.

  “It makes sense,” she insisted, as if she was grabbing at a rope from the middle of a lake. Drowning was looking inevitable but she wasn’t going to give up yet.

  He pulled her arms away easily, placing them by her side and when she dared open her eyes, his expression was fuelled by a darkness that stole her breath from her body. “The only thing about us that makes sense is this.” And he kissed her. A slow kiss that tumbled her heart around in her chest and brought tears to her eyes and fire to her veins.

  “No,” she shook her head and moved backwards, staring at him as though he’d thrown down the worst kind of gauntlet. “We can’t.”

  “Really?” He laughed. A sound like warmed butter that proved her a liar. She stared at the floor, her chest rising and falling with each breath, her determination as slippery as wet soap. “You’re telling me you don’t want me to ever touch you again?”

  She shook her head. The idea chilled her to the core. “I can’t.” When she looked at him, it was with hollow eyes and a palpable sense of fear. What he meant to her was terrifying.

  “You don’t want me to touch you here?” He lifted a finger and traced her lips. They parted without her consent. Her brain was separated from her body. Permanently, apparently.

  She shook her head, but her tongue slipped out, meeting his fingertip. Daring it to continue. Her weakness for Marco was, apparently, never ending.

  “I thought so.” He ran his finger lower, to the vee of flesh exposed by her dress. His expression was mocking as he ran it lower still, tracing a circle around one of her nipples until it was hard against the fabric of her clothes.

  “And here?” He drew his finger downwards, to the core of her womanhood, and touched her so lightly that she pushed forward, seeking more. Needing more.

  “We can’t,” she whispered. “I can’t.”

  “The problem is,” he grabbed her around the waist, lifting her easily and throwing her over his shoulder as though she weighed nothing. “I have already spent two years not sleeping with you, Grace. I’m bored of that. What I want now, more than anything, is to have you in my bed; to have you over and over and over again.”

  She groaned softly, knowing she needed to stay the course. She’d spent hours going over what he’d said, what he felt, knowing how useless their relationship was. But his hands on her body were warm and her body wanted him.

  There was no denying that.

  He shouldered the door to his bedroom inwards and then backed up against it, clicking it shut as he lowered her to the ground and sought her lips. His fingers pulled at her clothes, lifting them just high enough to cup her naked rear.

  Fever tore her resolve into shreds. It burned her blood. Flamed her soul. Tormented her with its heat and desperation. Made her tremble all over.

  But she was Grace Cox. Grace who had run away from the foster families who’d hurt her. Who’d been prepared to live on the streets rather than live in misery. Grace who had been good enough for Steve to love. Grace who had raised a beautiful little boy.

  “Wait. Wait.” She lifted a finger to his lips, and her eyes sought his. Pleading. Needing.

  “I have waited.” The words were a husked groan. “I have waited for you for two years. Don’t you understand that?”

  “But …” She pulled her lower lip between her teeth. “I can’t … you … you said you hate me.” She lifted a hand to his chest, her fingers splayed wide. She could feel the beating of his heart; it answered every thump of her own. It hammered in her chest, waiting for him to deny it. To take it back. To explain that he didn’t hate her – of course he didn’t.

  “Does that mean I can’t still want you?”

  “No.” Sadness broke over her like a wave against the shore. “But it means I’d be stupid to give in to this.”

  “Because you love me,” he scoffed.

  She shook her head, the words traitorous husks she wished she could pull back. “Because this just complicates everything.”

  “I don’t care. And I don’t think you do either.” He dropped his head, pressing his lips against the sensitive flesh at the base of her neck, where he knew she loved to be touched, kissed, tasted. Her traitorous body responded instantly, swaying towards him.

  “I do care,” she whimpered, as his hands curved around her buttocks and drew her to him, holding her against his arousal.

  “Liar.” He lifted her again, this time carrying her only so far as his bed where he threw her down and stared at her. “Touch yourself for me.”

  The memories of the day in her office – Steve’s office – burned into her brain. She stared at him, her eyes huge, her lips parted, her desire scorching her.

  “Tell me this is more than sex.”

  “It’s more than sex,” he agreed.

  Relief flooded her, but it didn’t last long. “It is penance. It is righting a wrong. It’s unavoidable.” And he brought his mouth crashing down on hers once more. This time, she didn’t fight it.

  Because he was right.

  At least in one way.

  It was unavoidable.

  Whatever else there was between them, this was impossible to fight.

  Or perhaps she didn’t really want to fight it…

  Ten

  SHE WAS ALWAYS BEAUTIFUL. He’d thought that from the start. From the first moment they’d met.

  But when she slept, there was something magical-seeming in her face. The way her lips twitched with the hint of a smile. Her eyes fluttered as dreams filled her mind and her hair, like flax and sunshine, a pale skein across the white pillows of his bed.

  Cristo.

  Marco stared at her, his breathing uneven, his skin cold. What was he doing?

  Why couldn’t he let her go?

  She was giving him an out. Time and again she’d tried to establish boundaries to their relationship, to make it functional and consistent, and he’d steamrollered past every single one, making her beg for him over and over again.

  Humiliating her.

  Hurting her.

  Pain knifed him in the chest.

  Because he wasn’t just hurting her.

  Her pain was his pain and it was soul-destroying.

  He’d loved her.

  Two years ago, when she had worked for him, and finally, they’d slept together, he had been in love with her in a way he’d never known possible.

  “I can’t stay here with you. I have … I have … a boyfriend. I can’t. He wanted me to marry him and if I stay here with you, it will kill him. I owe him more than that.”

  Marco sat up straighter in bed, his mind pushing back against the past, wishing he could smooth the edges of it away. Forget about it. About her.

  Forget his reasons for being so angry with her.

  But he had been angry. So angry! When Steven had come to his office and told him they were getting married, Marco had believed it was done. Over.

  So why hadn’t he slept with another woman since? Why had he ploughed himself into his business, working twenty hour days? Why had he obsessively read about Aztec?

  The minute he’d heard of Steve’s death he’d resolved to buy the business. To what end? To get her back? Or simply to be in her life? Worse than that, he’d been euphoric. Euphoric that he’d been given a second chance, even in the rubble of tragedy he could see the silver lining.

  He expelled an angry sigh. Were it not for Ben, he thought with a shake of his head. Were it nor for Ben, would he have romanced her? Seduced her? Told her the tr
uth?

  Of course.

  He would have played to win the only prize he’d ever given a damn about.

  But … Ben. The child she’d kept from him. His flesh and blood.

  He stood, striding across his room naked, pausing inside the doorframe to turn back to the sleeping Grace.

  She stirred as a beam of light slid into the room.

  “What are you doing?” A croak from her sleepy lips.

  “Go to sleep,” he said.

  “Marco?”

  Her enormous eyes blinked open, and in her tired state, they were defenseless and mesmerizing. He saw so much of her in her gaze that he had to look away, his expression tight, his heart struggling to remain closed.

  “This is everything I didn’t want.” The words were broken. Exhausted. “That night… this is what I was afraid of.”

  “What is, Grace?”

  “You hold too much power. I would do anything you asked of me…”

  “That’s a lie,” he ground through clenched teeth. “Or you would have stayed back then.”

  “I can’t make love with you at night and pretend you don’t exist in the day. Please just … let me go.”

  “We have just established that is not what you want,” he pointed out with a confidence that would have been arrogant had he not been completely correct.

  “But I want so much more.”

  Marco propped an elbow against the doorframe, apparently completely at ease in his naked state. “I won’t give you more.”

  He wouldn’t.

  He’d wanted to, once. But now? Knowing how mercenary and self-serving she was? No. Marco would protect himself this time.

  Grace flipped onto her side, turning away from him, needing privacy even in the midst of such intimacy. She was naked to his stare but she was more exposed, even than that. Facing the wall, she spoke quietly.

  “Steve was the first person who ever loved me.” She reached for the sheet, pulling it higher up her body; but the coldness persisted. “I mean, my mom probably did too. Maybe even my dad. But I don’t remember them. What I remember is sixteen years of being an outsider. Of not being wanted. Of needing, so badly, to belong, and never knowing the certainty that came from that.”