The Alpha’s Gift_Bad Alpha Dads_The Immortals

by Monica La Porta

  “Then we must rectify that.” Max smiled at Vivienne, sending tingles all over her.

  10

  Max felt Vivienne’s gaze on him as he chopped and prepared the ingredients to make the pasta. It was a heady sensation to have someone watch him cook. He liked it.

  “You are the first woman I’ve let into my kitchen,” he said. “This is my haven.”

  Vivienne’s eyes widened, and an adorable blush colored her cheeks.

  “I thought you should know.” He gave her his back to turn on the stove.

  “Can I help with something?” Vivienne asked. Her voice sounded huskier than a moment ago. He liked that as well.

  “Sure. Bring me the cutting board with the guanciale,” Max answered over his shoulder.

  Her soft steps resonated through the kitchen. “Here.” She extended her hand and passed him the wooden board with the cubed meat.

  “Thank you.” He intentionally closed the distance she had carefully maintained, coming to stand at her side. His leg brushed hers as he poured the guanciale into the pan warming up on the stove.

  “No oil?” she asked, pointing at the pan.

  “No, this cured meat is fat enough.” Using a wooden spoon, he stirred the sizzling guanciale. “See, it’s already melting.” He removed the pan from the burner a moment later and opened the tomato sauce cans.

  Working with Vivienne at his side, he moved between the counter and the stove, explaining the recipe step by step. She interrupted him from time to time, asking questions that denoted she knew her way around a kitchen. He liked that, too.

  When the water boiled in the big pot on the large burner, Vivienne handed him the glass container where he kept the linguine pasta. “Do you remember the cooking time for this kind of pasta?”

  Max shrugged, adding the pasta and a big pinch of salt to the pot. “It’s always a minute or two less than what the package instructions suggest.”

  Vivienne laughed. “You like it al dente.”

  “No other way to eat pasta.” After checking that the tomato sauce was happily bubbling on the small burner, he went to the wine shelf. “What about a Montepulciano?” he asked, showing her one of his prized Italian wines.

  “You are the expert. Again, I wouldn’t know a great wine from a mediocre one, giving that I can’t afford good dining.” Vivienne laughed.

  “You are different from any of the women I usually hang out with,” Max couldn’t help saying.

  “Because I’m dirt poor?” Vivienne raised an eyebrow, but she was still smiling.

  “Because you don’t dissimulate.” He smiled back. “It’s refreshing.”

  Nowadays, Max’s experience with women was relegated to fancy restaurants and sex in expensive hotels afterward. He had sworn off relationships soon after he became one of the youngest billionaires in the world. Realizing that women wanted to date the tycoon but had no interest in the human being behind the money had burned him deeply. He preferred uncomplicated transactions where the expectations were set in stone for both sides of the equation.

  And yet, now that he was cooking for Vivienne, Max remembered he had, once upon a time, craved more profound human interaction.

  “Nonsense,” he said, uncorking the bottle of red. “Your nose and tongue will immediately rejoice at the scent and taste of this Montepulciano.”

  Vivienne’s brow rose even higher on her forehead. “If you say so, but I warn you that I might not be sophisticated enough for your high standards.”

  In the meantime, the pasta was ready. He drained the linguine and added the sauce to the big pot where he stirred the ingredients together before fixing two dishes.

  “You are perfect just as you are,” Max said as he set the kitchen table for two. He made it sound casual, but in truth, he had needed a few minutes to sort his thoughts.

  “You are a smooth talker, aren’t you?” She lowered her eyes to the heaping plate of Amatriciana pasta he had served her.

  Max sat as well. Reaching over the surface, he placed a finger under her chin and raised her face. “I’m just saying the truth.”

  When was the last time he had been on a date? A proper date, where he had complimented the girl and tried his best to impress her? Because that was exactly what he was doing now. And he wasn’t even miffed about changing his established habit of not dating. The opposite was true. He was enjoying himself and loved seeing the subtle blush on Vivienne’s cheeks become more pronounced.

  What was it about this she-wolf that made him lower his guard? He didn’t do girlfriends. Although Vivienne was different—he couldn’t deny that—he didn’t have time to build relationships. She was complicated, and complicated was another thing he didn’t do.

  He lowered his hand and stood, remembering to grab two crystal glasses from the cupboard. “The Montepulciano goes perfectly with the pasta. Its bouquet is rich, filled with nuances that explode in your mouth at the first sip.” After pouring the wine, he walked back to the table and offered her one of the glasses before sitting at her side. “Breathe in the aroma and tell me what comes to mind. Without thinking, what’s the first image you see?”

  Vivienne brought the crystal to her lips and tasted the red. A tentative sip at first, followed by a second. Swallowing, she closed her eyes, before looking back at him with a surprised light in her gaze.

  “Fields as far as the eye can see. Sunflowers and vines. An old house made of bricks,” she said.

  He couldn’t help but stare at her. “That’s what I see when I close my eyes.”

  Raw, sensual tension filled the air. Max’s dragon stirred inside his mind.

  “Let’s eat before the pasta turns into cold glue,” he said, pointing his chin at her plate.

  Vivienne dug in and moaned at her first bite. “I’ve never tasted anything so delicious.”

  Temporarily robbed of his ability to speak, Max watched as she ate with great relish. He barely touched his food and waited for her to finish.

  “This was amazing,” she said, bringing her glass to her soft, red mouth. “Thank you.”

  Max couldn’t stop himself and leaned in. Following his animal instinct, he closed his fingers around her wrist, guiding her hand to the table. Swallowing, Vivienne placed the glass down and turned to face him. Her eyes widened, and her breathing became fast. He pulled her to him, dipping his head. His mouth brushed her soft lips.

  The baby decided it was as good a moment as any to wail like a vengeful walrus.

  11

  Vivienne heard the screech and jumped, hitting Max’s nose with her head. A horrifying crunching noise followed as an awful curse escaped Max’s mouth.

  His hand left hers and went to his nose which was bleeding copiously.

  “I’m so sorry,” Vivienne cried, her hand flying to her mouth. “I’m so, so sorry,” she repeated, paralyzed on the spot.

  In the meantime, Amber Rose’s shrieks had only become louder, and a vile smell wafted from her carrier as she rocked, trying to escape her constraints.

  “Go check on the demon,” Max said, gesturing with his free hand toward the baby. The blood now covered his chin and had stained his shirt.

  Vivienne grabbed the towel hanging from the sink and handed it to him before moving to the other end of the counter were Amber Rose had almost managed to capsize her carrier.

  “You stink, baby girl.” Vivienne freed the baby and raised her up to her chest.

  Pressing the towel against his nose, Max howled, “Oh god, what’s that stench? Did something die over there?”

  “I’ll clean her real quick.” Vivienne reached for the diaper she had stashed in the pocket behind the carrier and spirited the baby to the nearest bathroom.

  In her arms, Amber Rose calmed long enough for Vivienne to enter the guest bathroom and place her on the tall marble counter. The sink was tastefully decorated with a crystal vase filled with fresh-cut hydrangeas.

  “Please, be nice to me and don’t break anything as I change you,” she said, smiling at
the baby. “I’m pretty sure that vase alone is worth more than my rent.”

  Amber Rose responded with a gurgle.

  “Do they usually foam at the mouth?” Max asked from the door. He had exchanged the bloodied towel for a clean one, but his nose hadn’t stopped bleeding yet.

  “You need some ice,” Vivienne said, looking over her shoulder. “And I suggest you leave before I open her diaper. You don’t want to be here when that happens.” Raising an eyebrow in challenge, she unstrapped the Velcro fastening.

  Max stepped back right away, his nostrils flaring. “Be right back.”

  His retreating steps echoed in hallway, and Vivienne couldn’t help but smile. Men, even as big and powerful as Mr. Prize, would flee before a ripe diaper. The horrified look in Max’s eyes had been priceless. While she cleaned and changed Amber Rose, she kept thinking of the billionaire’s reaction.

  “Are you laughing about me?” Max asked from the door.

  She looked over her shoulder. “I am.”

  “My sense of smell is very sensitive,” he said.

  Vivienne rolled her eyes. “Please, I’m a werewolf. My sense of smell is keener than yours.”

  “Not true.” Max’s eyes brightened, and his chest expanded.

  “You are just a big wuss.”

  “I am not—” he said as Vivienne closed the last button on Amber Rose’s onesies and turned toward him.

  “Can you hold her for a moment?” she asked.

  He hesitated before reaching for the baby. “See, I am not—”

  The rest of the sentence died in his mouth. Max’s big hands cradled Amber Rose closer to him as he looked at her. Shock, surprise, and something that looked a lot like love shone in his gaze.

  “Max?” Vivienne touched his arm. “Is everything okay?”

  “She’s mine,” Max answered a few seconds later, his big eyes still on the baby.

  12

  Max could barely think. Chaos reigned in his mind. His entire world had been changed by a single touch.

  “Is she your daughter?” Vivienne asked.

  The baby, Amber Rose, happily cooed, stealing a smile from him.

  “She is. I don’t need to wait for the results from the paternity test to know that she is my blood.” Max leaned in and dropped a kiss on the baby’s crown. “She even smells like me. I don’t know how I missed it earlier.”

  “You were sure she wasn’t yours,” Vivienne said.

  Max was grateful that she didn’t add the obvious: he had kept as much distance as he could from Amber Rose. Even when he made the gesture to bring her to the kitchen, he had been relieved that Vivienne didn’t let him.

  “I’ve always used protection,” Max answered. “Always.”

  “Oops happen.” Vivienne sighed.

  “Not to me, they don’t.” Max shook his head before amending, “Until now.”

  “How did it work? Is it the same for dragons as it is for werewolves? Did your dragon recognize hers?” Vivienne asked.

  Nodding, Max said, “When I touched her, I felt her voice—” He looked at Vivienne. “Not exactly Amber Rose’s voice, but her emotions, I guess. My dragon recognized her as ours.”

  “It must be beautiful.” Vivienne’s expression clouded.

  “It was. It is. I know that I would do anything to keep her safe.” Any other moment, words like the ones he had just spoken would have spooked him. Now, they felt right. One look at the little girl in his arms only confirmed the sentiment. Max would destroy the world over to protect his daughter. He slowly rocked Amber Rose, relishing the contact.

  “Do you have any idea who her mother is?” Vivienne asked.

  “Not a clue, but Wilson hired a PI to find her.” Anger rose fast in his chest. “Why hasn’t her mother contacted me? I mean, she thought it was okay to drop her over but not to tell me she was pregnant with my child?” It didn’t make sense.

  “Maybe she didn’t have a choice.” Vivienne gave him a sad smile, making him wonder what lay beneath her statement. He didn’t have time to explore that idea because his cell phone rang.

  He immediately silenced it, but the loud sound had disturbed Amber Rose, who started in his arms and fussed, ready to cry. He cradled her closer to his chest and rested his cheek on her head, whispering a few soothing words.

  “You’re a natural,” Vivienne said when Amber Rose relaxed in his embrace and closed her eyes, resuming her nap.

  “Let’s get out of this bathroom,” he proposed, needing something to drink.

  Without releasing the baby to Vivienne’s care, he reached the living room where his well-stocked liquor cabinet waited for him. He opened the antique furniture and pointed his chin at the bottles lining the shelves. “Would you like something?”

  “Do you have something sweet or fruity to drink?” Vivienne said and sheepishly added, “I’m not into hard liquor.”

  “Amaretto for you.” Max freed one hand and grabbed the square bottle for her.

  “I can hold her,” Vivienne offered when she saw him struggling with the shot glasses.

  “No, it’s okay,” he said.

  Max didn’t want to release his hold on Amber Rose. His daughter. It felt right to think of that little girl as his daughter. It baffled him how someone’s life could change in a matter of seconds. Yet, here he was, completely enslaved by this miniature she-dragon.

  Juggling the baby with one hand and the rest with the other, Max managed to make it work and poured some Amaretto for Vivienne, and aged bourbon for him. He then motioned for both of them to sit on the large leather couch facing the wall-to-wall window.

  As soon as he relaxed on the couch, his cell phone rang again. It was Wilson calling.

  “What?” he barked at his friend.

  “You better turn on the TV to King Six.”

  “Why?”

  “Just do it.”

  Max put Wilson on speaker phone and grabbed the controller sitting atop a stack of architectural magazines on the coffee table. With one push of the button, a screen lowered from the ceiling.

  “Wow,” Vivienne commented.

  Max turned on the screen and found the local channel that was known for biased news. A reporter talked about Max, and his face filled the upper portion of the screen.

  The reporter, a pretty Asian woman, said, “Amidst a judicial case that could mean the end for Prize Games, another scandal has hit the playboy billionaire. The mother of his daughter was found dead earlier tonight—”

  Max’s rumble woke Amber Rose.

  Vivienne grabbed the baby from his arms. “It’s okay,” she said.

  A roar echoed in his ears as Max tried to keep his dragon at bay.

  “Max?” Wilson called.

  “Is that true?” Max asked, his voice hoarse. “Is Amber Rose’s mother dead?”

  “I don’t know. Stamper doesn’t know either—” Wilson said. “Amber Rose?”

  “Vivienne named her.” Max’s mind was pulled in a thousand different directions. “How does the reporter know about her?”

  “I have no idea.” Wilson sighed. “A woman is found dead, and the reporter assumes that not only she has been murdered, but definitively assassinated, rather than killed in a robbery. That’s a big leap in logic.”

  Vivienne said, “If King Six is claiming Max is a murderer, they need to offer irrefutable proof, or they’re opening themselves up to a major libel suit.”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time the channel runs a defamatory piece about a celebrity. They strive for sensationalism to drive their ratings up. They don’t care about the truth and their sources are laughable at best,” Wilson said.

  “But how do they even know that the dead woman has any connection to Max, much less being the mother of his daughter?” Vivienne asked.

  “I’m as clueless as you are.” Wilson let out a frustrated sigh.

  Max’s heart beat fast, his dragon clamoring against his mental cage. “Who was Amber Rose’s mother?”

  “I don
’t know yet.” The sound of brakes resonated loud from the cell phone. Wilson cursed. “That bitch—”

  The reporter had disappeared from the screen, and Louise Dortmund took her place.

  “Of course Louise’s behind this,” Wilson said. “I should’ve known that she’s King Six’s source.”

  “It’s disgraceful how people with so much power abuse it. We have plenty of faith that justice will triumph, and Maximus Prize will pay for his crimes,” Louise said on the screen.

  The reporter reappeared, looking contrite. “We can only hope that his poor woman’s assassin will soon be behind bars.”

  Max couldn’t contain his dragon any longer and ran toward the terrace.

  13

  Vivienne’s eyes were glued to the big screen as she softly rocked Amber Rose, trying to soothe her into sleeping.

  The baby girl had sensed Max’s rage and started crying as soon as he stood up. Vivienne was glad that Max had stormed off, though, because the reporter couldn’t stop talking about him, and was painting him in the worst possible light.

  The woman’s words made Vivienne feel guilty. If the same reporter had asked Vivienne what she thought about Max Prize just a day ago, she would have probably added to the list of the man’s shortcomings. But now it was different. She had seen a different side of the man. Deep inside, Vivienne could even admit that she had judged him poorly.

  Max wasn’t the monster that woman thought he was. Far from it.

  Vivienne had witnessed the moment he realized Amber Rose was his daughter. A bad man would’ve discarded the baby girl like yesterday’s garbage the same way his biological parents did, but Max hadn’t even wavered at the discovery. The light in his eyes had shown pure, unconditional love for the baby. Certain sentiments are impossible to fake; a father’s love is one of them.

  The reporter tilted her head, looking like she was listening to someone. After a moment, she announced the next sensational piece of gossip, forgetting all about Maximus Prize.