Billionaire Baby Daddies: A five-book anthology

by Connelly, Clare

  “But you don’t know where you stand, if you think I hate you. Please let me show you.”

  “I didn’t buy Aztec because it’s a great company, though it is. As soon as Steve died, I made moves to acquire it. No way in hell was I going to let you go twice. I waited. I didn’t want to pounce too soon after you’d lost him, but Grace? I would have moved heaven and earth to make you mine again. I’m not going to lose you.”

  She was shaking from the force of her emotions, but she still didn’t know what to say. “How can you ever forgive me for what I did?” She looked at him now and her eyes were pleading and he understood. She was so close to believing him. He just needed to give her more.

  “Because I love you.” He walked towards her and he kissed her gently on the lips, his hands on her hips, holding her close to him. “Because I see you as you really are. Beautiful, kind, smart, funny, but not perfect. No one’s perfect. Your flaws are all a part of what I love about you. I love all of you. You made a mistake, and I know you’ll always wish you’d done it differently. But you didn’t. So? What are we meant to do? Live a lifetime apart because, scared and alone, you chose a course that was obviously safe, before a path that offered so few guarantees? Guarantees I should have offered you but didn’t? We were both at fault here, Grace. But do you know what you did right? What I will always, always be grateful for?”

  She sobbed and shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.

  “You put our son first. You made sure you gave him a good start in life. You believed I wouldn’t be the kind of father he needed…”

  “I was wrong,” she groaned, anguished, pained, hurting so damned bad Marco wanted to do whatever he could to erase that hurt.

  “You didn’t know that.” He spoke urgently, the words whispered from deep in his gut. “The choice you made at the time was the smart choice. You weren’t doing it to hurt me. You weren’t doing it to make me suffer. This wasn’t bitchy or vindictive. It sure as hell wasn’t selfish. You were doing it because you loved our child. I’m so grateful Ben had you, cara! Wonderful, wonderful you.” He kissed her lips again, parting them softly, showing her again with his touch just how much he loved her. “Selfless, sweet you.”

  “Not perfect though,” she reminded him.

  “More perfect than most.” He grinned. “Please stay with me. Let me date you, Grace. Let me make love to you like you deserve. And one day, when I think you really believe how much I adore you, how much I’ve forgiven you, how much I understand you and your decisions, let me propose to you again.”

  She couldn’t speak for the tears that were streaming down her cheeks.

  “Let me offer you the world when you know, beyond a shadow of any doubt, that I will give it to you. That’s the marriage I want to share with you.”

  Grace shook her head, her whole body trembling, her fingers shaking, her heart hurting. “I can’t believe it.”

  “I have spent two years celibate, because I believed, deep in my heart, that we would make this work. Two years, Grace, when my previous personal best without sex was probably two weeks.” He laughed roughly. “You are the only woman I want. The only woman I’ve ever loved. Let me try to make you believe in me. In us.”

  “I…”

  “You were right when you said Steve used you. I believe he loved you, but it was a selfish love. He didn’t want anyone else to have you, even though he must have known how you felt about me.” He compressed his lips, biting back the rest of the criticism he wanted to make. “You have never known the kind of love I want to give you. Freely given, simple, cannot-get-enough love. Let me teach you. Let me love you.”

  And now, she nodded. “I can’t leave you again, Marco. It nearly killed me the first time.” And because he was staring at her, somewhat dumbfounded, she said, awkwardly. “I did want to tell you. I knew that I should. I called, but I was such a mess and when you…”

  “I was a bastard. I wanted to make you pay. Of course, I had no idea about Ben, nor that you were nigh unto marriage.” He winced. “If I could, I would undo that. I would slip back through time and punch myself hard.” His smile was rueful. “But we can’t change the past. So? What do you say? Shall we just make our future count?”

  “And our present,” she grinned, tears still wet on her cheeks. “Let’s go to bed.”

  His eyes glimmered with amusement, but he shook his head. “Oh, no, Grace. It’s not going to be like that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I loved you enough to wait two years. And now I’m going to wait some more. Until I can hold you in my arms, lay you on my bed, and call you my wife.” He kissed the tip of her nose and felt her groan hit his lips.

  “But… don’t you think that seems a little unnecessary given that we’ve already had a baby together…”

  “I’m old-fashioned. If a little belatedly so.” He winked. “However, would you do the honour of joining me for dinner tomorrow night?”

  “Dinner?” She pulled a face. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Well, we have to eat…”

  “I mean about the no-sex thing.”

  “Ah.” He grinned. “I’m aiming for a quick engagement.” He winked and she laughed.

  “Like a week?”

  “As long as it takes. Because you’re worth the wait.”

  Epilogue

  The song had exactly the same tune, but it sounded entirely different sung in Italian.

  Buon compleanno a te, Buon compleanno a te, Buon compleanno cara Gra-ace, Buon compleanno a te!

  Grace laughed as Ben clapped his chubby little hands, sturdy and confident now he was three, before Esme lifted a finger to her lips. “Shush!” she whispered and everyone laughed, but Claudia most of all. Claudia who doted on her little daughter, who had been changed completely from the moment they met Esme at the airport and brought her home. They’d become a family – and their happiness was matched only by Grace and Marco’s.

  “What’s the matter, mi’amore?”

  Grace blinked up at Marco, a small frown pulling at her lips. “What do you mean?”

  His finger lifted to the corner of her eye; he dabbed at a single tear that was pooling there. “You’re crying.”

  “Oh!” Her smile cracked across her face and she shook her head. Everyone was looking at her and a blush spread across her cheeks. She burst out laughing. “They’re happy tears,” she explained, taking a step towards the cake – a two tier chocolate construction that had been decorated with all of the treats she adored: Reece’s, milk duds, sliced up twinkies – it was beautiful.

  She blew out the candles and everyone clapped, even Esme.

  “Happy tears are allowed,” Marco grinned, as Claudia swooped in to slice the cake up.

  “It’s just,” Grace shook her head. “I never thought I’d be this lucky.” She lifted her palm to his cheek, stroking his stubbled jaw, her eyes dropping to his lips.

  He turned his head so he could kiss her fingertips and Grace’s heart tripped.

  “You deserve all the happiness in the world,” he said.

  Grace’s smile was mysterious. She was so happy, and later, that night, when they were all alone, she was going to tell Marco the secret she’d been holding onto for twelve long weeks. A secret that she’d been waiting for the right moment to tell him – having never had the opportunity to discuss her pregnancy with him the first time around, this time she was going to make sure he was involved every single step of the way.

  Just the thought of what they had again, what they were going to share, filled her with a joy and a belief that sometimes, just sometimes, people did get given second chances.

  When they really, really deserved them.

  He drew her closer to his chest, pulling her a little away from the group, right before Grace could see Emma hand Ben a big, fat slab of chocolate cake that was destined to be squished down the front of the adorable white shirt he wore.

  Grace looked down at her wedding ring – a beautiful diam
ond circlet that ran around her finger – simple and understated as their wedding had been, only two months after their reunion on the balcony. They’d been surrounded by their loved ones, and Grace had felt the truth of that love beaming at her from every pair of eyes that watched her pledge herself to Marco.

  Claudia, who had seemed like such a likely adversary, had become a true sister to Grace and she counted her blessings every day.

  And suddenly, she didn’t want to wait until later to tell Marco about her pregnancy. She’d waited twelve damned weeks, and sharing her happiness with him was all she wanted for her birthday.

  But he spoke first, reaching into the pocket of his jacket and pulling out a small velvet pouch.

  “I have something for you.” The words were unexpectedly hoarse. “Only I’m not sure I haven’t completely stuffed up.”

  The admission was uncharacteristically self-doubting for Marco Dettori, so Grace was instantly eager to assure him.

  “I’m sure you haven’t,” she said with a smile.

  He pulled a face, and handed the pouch to her, almost as though he couldn’t wait to get it off his hands. “We’ll see.”

  She dipped her fingertips into the bag and pulled out a necklace. No, a pendant. It took her several minutes to understand exactly what she was looking at.

  “This is my engagement ring. From Steve.”

  He cleared his throat. “I noticed that you just have it sitting in the safe and …” He looked away, a dark flush staining his cheeks. “It didn’t seem right. I thought you should wear it. Like this.” He ticked his head slightly towards her hands, where she was holding the necklace and staring at it with wonderment.

  “I don’t wear it because I don’t want to upset you,” she said.

  “It doesn’t.” Marco turned to face her. “How can I feel anything for him but gratitude and sympathy? He saved you, my darling, and I am so glad. And he loved you, with all his heart.” His smile was distracted. “Do you mind?”

  Grace stared at her husband and, in that moment, she loved him even more than ever before.

  “He was your friend,” Marco mumbled. “We shouldn’t gloss over that. You shouldn’t ever feel that you can’t remember him. Speak to me about him.” He shrugged. “We should remember him. Make sure Ben does too.”

  Tears – real tears – sparkled on Grace’s eyelashes now. “You, Mr Dettori, are the most amazing man in the whole universe.”

  “The whole universe, huh?” He teased, the words thickened by emotion even though they were delivered in a joking way.

  “Uh huh.” She leaned closer, standing up on the tips of her toes and pressing her lips close to his ear. “And you’re going to be a daddy again.”

  He froze, his hand curling around her wrist, his face jerking up so he could see the truth of her words in her face. “You’re saying…”

  She grinned. “Yes. I’m pregnant.”

  Marco wrapped his arms around Grace’s still-slim waist, lifting her against his chest and spinning around, making a whooping noise of happiness. Unbeknownst to them, the party was silent, watching the Dettoris.

  Grace and Marco didn’t realise though. In that moment, it was just him, her and the future that shone before them, so bright, so right, and finally, resplendent with their very own happily ever after.

  THE END

  Marrying for his Royal Heir

  Prologue

  Change has a nasty habit of sneaking up on you. It can come right out of nowhere, blindsiding those who had not thought to brace for its arrival. Sweeping change, devastating change, loss and death. These events arrive unheralded, their very nature ensuring things will never again be as they once were.

  As though a line had been marked in the desert sands of Ishala, change arrived unexpectedly, placing normality on one side and yawning grief on the other. The kingdom mourned for this change was as unwelcome as it was inevitable.

  She was dead.

  And now it was the small, mundane things that were the cruellest haunts. The way she’d flicked her fingers against her coltish knees when she’d been lost in thought. Her habit of singing nursery rhymes to herself even as a grown woman. The way she’d run as fast as the wind, so that her long, dark hair flowed behind her as a super-hero cape. Her love of books and ability to sleep through the loudest interruptions. The hatred of their desert heat that had led her to seek comfort in faraway climates.

  He had only these simple memories. A collection of behaviours that would not mean a thing to anyone else. But to Sheikh Malakhi al-Sitar they breathed life back into his sister – her memory, at least.

  And with her body lifeless now for all eternity, memories were the only consolation he had left.

  * * *

  She hadn’t spoken to him in almost a year.

  In truth, if she’d known the strange cacophony of numbers that had displayed on her screen heralded his intrusion, rather than a welcome phone call from her brother or beloved sister-in-law, Evie might have avoided answering.

  Might have? She caught herself on the errant thought. Definitely would have. Sheikh Malakhi al-Sitar, with his brooding eyes, inherent cynicism and unmistakable arrogance, was a man she didn’t ever want to see again.

  “What do you want?” The question was brusque, even for how their relationship stood.

  “Where are you?” His voice. Oh, his voice. It was a goddamned invitation and it had the same effect on her now as it had then. Those spiced words with their exotic twists made her stomach roll uncomfortably; her insides clenched with longing.

  “Why? Are you planning on coming over for tea?” Evie forced the words to sound scathing, though suspected he could see past it. Her bright green eyes fixed to the photograph of Dave and a heavily-pregnant Sabra that was stuck to her fridge. Taken about seven months ago it showed clearly the strength of their relationship.

  “No.” There was a pause and it crackled with poisonous tension. Evie squeezed her eyes shut. The less she had to do with this man the better – for her sanity’s sake.

  “Look, Malakhi,” she muttered darkly. “I’m in the middle of something.” A guilty flush stole across her cheekbones as she thought of the romance novel she was halfway through reading. “Can you get to the point?”

  “Are you alone?”

  “Yes.” She straightened her shoulders. “Not that it’s any business of yours.”

  “There is something --,”

  A loud noise came from her front door. “Is that you?” She asked in disbelief, shaking her head as she crossed the room.

  “Is what me?” He was impatient, a dark warning frayed the edges of the question.

  “At the door?”

  “Stop.” The word rang with the authority that was not just his birthright but also his bearing. “Do not answer it.”

  Evie wasn’t usually so difficult and prickly, but something about Malakhi made her contrary to the extreme. Something? She knew exactly what it was. The night they’d made out and almost had sex.

  Determined to push that memory into the recesses of her brain, she wrenched the door inwards. Her spirit of jubilant defiance gave way almost immediately to confusion as dozens of photographers, littering the narrow staircase to her home, began to clamour forward like a tidal wave of invasion.

  Their voices rose as one and above the din she could discern only fragments of words. Crash. Brother. Ishala. Helicopter.

  She slammed the door shut and leaned against it, her auburn hair a spectacular cloud of colour framing her now-pale face. “Malakhi?” Her heart was hammering in her chest but she didn’t feel it above the squirming ache in her gut.

  “There’s been an accident.” Those simple words filled her with more pain than she had known possible. “It happened tonight. Hours ago.”

  “What’s happened? Is Dave … okay?”

  Another pause, this one radiating not with tension so much as grief. It throbbed with the stuff, strangling Evie around the throat.

  “No.”


  “What … Sabra?”

  “They are dead, Evie.”

  Her scream tore through the old house, high up on its hill in Brisbane. Her body slumped to the ground as reality began to shift strangely for her. A world without Sabra, Dave and their beautiful baby boy. “It can’t be true. What …”

  “I’m sending a driver for you from the embassy. You will come here to Ishala.”

  She sobbed but nodded. “Yes, yes. Of course. Thank you.” Her legs were shaking uncontrollably as she stood. Desperately she tried to marshal her thoughts into order but her brain was like uncooked fudge.

  “And your husband?” He enquired and in that moment of their combined grief, for once Malakhi didn’t speak of Nick with distaste.

  She shook her head, with no emotional room for the regrets she usually indulged when thinking of those two men. “No. I’ll come alone.”

  Another silence.

  “Evie? There is one other thing.”

  She physically braced herself on the kitchen bench as she passed it. “What?”

  “Our nephew was not in the helicopter.”

  Tears were falling thick and fast, dropping to the floor. “Kalem? He’s… do you mean…?”

  “Yes. The child lives.”

  One

  Two months later

  The heat was suffocating. Sweat trickled between Evie’s breasts despite the skimpy singlet top and pants she wore. The fan overhead did little but circulate the hot, dry air around the luxurious room. She banged her pillow and rolled over, her eyes focused on the large shuttered windows that framed a view of desert and the blanket of milky stars overhead.

  One of the Athalin-aî let out a telltale cry from the trees surrounding the palace and goosebumps danced along her skin. How frightened she’d been when first she’d encountered its deep, musical call! How eerie it had seemed, carried by the winds, telling of sadness and loss.