The Tycoon's Secret Baby

by Clare Connelly

  His eyes fell to her breasts and she saw his harsh intake of breath. She wasn’t the only one burning up with need. So what was he waiting for?

  “Do you want me enough to show me?”

  “What … what do you mean?” She asked, her eyes latched to his.

  “I want to see you. I want to see you touch yourself. Here. Now.”

  “What?” Her eyes flew to the door but she wasn’t worried they’d be interrupted. Her office – Steve’s office – was a sanctuary. Rhiannon wouldn’t come in unless Grace called for her.

  “You heard me,” he bit out, and to Grace’s surprise, he sat down in the executive chair behind the desk, and he stared at her.

  “Make yourself come,” he commanded with soft intent. “And then you can have me.”

  “But I…” She didn’t finish the sentence. His challenge was doing something weird to her, making her heart tremble and her pulse race. He didn’t think she’d do it.

  Grace had never backed away from a challenge, and she didn’t intend to start now. Only she wasn’t going to let him call all the shots either. She moved towards him quickly, straddling him on the chair.

  He caught her wrists, his eyes cold. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m doing what you said,” she promised, the words a low throb. His arousal was thick between her legs, hot and strong through the fabric of his pants. She rolled herself over it and trembled as the first hint of the growing tidal wave surrounded her. His fingers dug into her wrists and she pushed harder, using his erection to stoke her flames. She moved rhythmically, fast, her whole body vibrating with what he was doing to her.

  He was completely still, watching her, and she didn’t care. She tilted her head back as the waves grew more insistent and still he watched. He watched as her breathing got louder and her cheeks grew pink and a fine line of perspiration beaded her upper lip. He watched as she began to roll her hips back and forth, her eyes fevered, her nipples hard. And then, he watched as her orgasm broke around them, absorbing him in its white hot perfection.

  He hadn’t intended to do this. Not yet. But seeing her again, so poised – seeing her here, in her husband’s office… any hint of will-power had deserted him – he’d needed to imprint on her in some meaningful way, to wipe away the years they’d spent apart— and now he’d claimed what was his.

  And she was his.

  As much now as she’d been in Rome.

  “Undress me,” he commanded throatily, releasing her wrists finally. In the last throes of passion, she nodded, lifting shaking fingers to his shirt button.

  But Marco shook his head. “Not there.”

  “Oh.” Her cheeks flushed brighter but she ran her fingertips lower, down his shirt, to the belt he wore at his waist.

  It made a heavy clinking noise as she undid it. She popped his button out and finally wrenched his zip lower. He was wearing dark grey underpants and her fingers stilled at the elastic band. A spear of reality perforated the divine cloud of fantasy she’d allowed herself to build.

  For a moment, she comprehended how utterly foolish this was.

  And then his hands took over, sliding into his underpants and lifting his arousal out. And her mind froze, her brain jammed. Some things were bigger in life than right, wrong and disastrous.

  This was one of them.

  Two years since a man had touched her. Two years since she’d known the pleasure of … this.

  “Please.” Her eyes locked to his.

  Marco could understand her desperation. But was she using him to get over the grief of her husband’s death? The idea turned his blood to ice, and yet he wouldn’t stop. The fact that he didn’t care, even if she was, should have been a warning.

  He only just remembered to pull a foil packet from his wallet and slide it over his length, his eyes holding hers the entire time.

  There was no preamble. No words. As soon as he was protected, she sat higher, moving herself above him and sliding over him, taking him deep inside of her and moaning as every single inch of her remembered this.

  His eyes widened as she moved and now his mouth took one of her nipples, his tongue lashing it as he thrust into her and she ground her hips lower and tangled her fingers into his hair. She groaned as he moved, needing this, him, all of him.

  Grace was already on the precipice of sanity, but when he rolled his tongue over her nipple and tormented the other with his fingers, she tumbled over the edge, squeezing her eyes shut as pleasure drowned her.

  He chased after her, his own need equaling hers. They clung together, breath rushed, brows fevered, utterly spent, until finally, calm and quiet resumed.

  And Grace realized that she’d just had sex with a man she hated.

  A man she’d sworn she’d never see again.

  A man she shared a child with.

  Sheer, animalistic passion had overwhelmed her, but it had receded just as quickly, leaving sharp confusion in its wake. She startled, looking down at Marco for a second and seeing only lazy amusement in his eyes.

  “Well,” he drawled, his hands still possessively around her hips. “That was… unexpected.”

  “That was stupid,” she corrected, moving away from him quickly, wincing as her body instantly reacted with outrage. How could she still want him? Crap, crap, crap, crap.

  She scooped down and picked up her skirt and shirt before remembering the way he’d undressed her. The shirt was ruined. Crap.

  She spun back to the desk; she always had a spare outfit in her drawer, for those small emergencies like spilled coffee or Ben-fingers on her collar.

  It was something Steven had taught her.

  Steven.

  Guilt besieged her.

  She’d just made love – no, had sex, passionate, wild, savage sex – with Marco in Steve’s office! In Steve’s chair!

  She didn’t meet his eyes as she crouched down and rifled through her drawer, pushing past the box of emergency twinkies stashed at the top and pulling out a black jersey dress, ripping it over her head. She didn’t bother with a bra. She didn’t really need one these days.

  “I can’t work for you.” She turned to face him only when she was confident she looked more or less like herself. She didn’t see the passion on her face, the mess of her hair, the pupils that took up almost her whole iris. “It would be a disaster.”

  He stood, so confident and un-changed that she wanted to punch him. Violence wasn’t in her nature yet the instinct curdled her soul.

  “Because that would happen?”

  “That?” She shook her head emphatically, the single word hissed from her lips. “That will never happen again.” And she stormed towards the door, knowing only that she needed to get away from him.

  But he was right behind her, his hands catching her just as she was about to reach for the handle. He laced his fingers through hers and pulled her, jerking her into his chest.

  “That,” he growled, “will happen whenever I say so. You know why? You want me. You need me, like you need air. Even now, so angry, you need me.” And he kissed her again, this time, a bitter kiss of heated passion that broke her and fixed her all at the same time.

  He was right.

  She groaned into his mouth and his hands found the hem of her dress, lifting it up and bunching it around her hips so that he could lift her and wrap her legs around his waist, pressing her back against the door.

  “This is how it’s always been for us,” he said, pulling her lower lip between his teeth and using his hand to free his pants once more. He pushed inside of her and she cried at the rightness of it, the need, and she cried because wild horses wouldn’t let this stop.

  “I hate you,” she said thickly, and she did in that moment.

  “It’s mutual, believe me,” he returned. She hadn’t been expecting it. She froze, the passion in her veins momentarily stilled by the foul, vile words. She had just delivered them to him without apology and yet having them volleyed back was excruciating.

  “But I want
you like I’ve never wanted another soul.” He pushed into her hard and fast and she was lost again, her ankles crossed behind his back, her lips seeking his. There was nothing gentle in the way they kissed. It was as though each was looking to possess the other. To own, punish, enslave.

  Is that what they were? Both slaves to this?

  Two years had passed and yet the same whirlwind of need that had consumed them was back.

  Grace cried as her orgasm mounted and she knew she should say something, anything, to explain her actions. But she didn’t. She simply rode the wave with him, her body feverish, her mind weak.

  They exploded simultaneously, their bodies wracked by the same urgent pleasure, their needs satiated but in a way that would be brief and temporary.

  “I will have you when I want you,” he said darkly. “I am not letting you walk away from me again.”

  The words were strangely discordant in the midst of what they’d just said and done, and Grace wanted him to explain. He almost made it sound as though he hadn’t wanted her to leave, and she knew for a fact that wasn’t the case. He’d sent her packing in no uncertain terms.

  Were you using me to expand your horizons, cara? Before going back to the man you love? Was that what you wanted me for? Well then, consider it done. Now get out of my house.

  And he lifted a finger to her lips, tracing the outline before sliding it deep into her warm, moist mouth. Her eyes were wide; she stared at him and then she bit down on him, just hard enough to show her anger.

  His laugh rumbled over her but he eased her down to her feet and then handed her the pale pink underpants she’d been wearing earlier. She hadn’t even realized he’d picked them up. She was too embarrassed to slip them on in front of him. She just needed to get away from him.

  “Sign the contracts,” he said softly, his head jerking towards the table.

  Indecision tore at her. She wanted to sell Steve’s company. Not just to sell it to anyone, but to sell it to someone who would see it go from strength to strength. She had every confidence Marco Dettori would do just that.

  But the complications that followed were impossible to accept. Her need for him; his for her. Ben! Ben was by far the biggest risk factor in all of this.

  She had to step away from Marco now and never seen him again.

  “I’m sorry,” she said with a shake of her head. “I can’t sell you Steven’s company.”

  His eyes narrowed but she didn’t wait to see anymore of his response. She turned and fled, wishing it were so easy to run from the past.

  *

  Marco stared at the house with a growing sense of anger. When he’d imagined her back here in America, he hadn’t imagined this. A mansion in Winnetka, on the outskirts of Chicago, surrounded by other enormous homes and well-kept gardens.

  No, he’d envisioned her in a penthouse in the urban heart, miserable because she loved flowers and trees and the feeling of sunshine on her skin. He’d imagined – hoped – her life here didn’t suit her.

  Because she deserved that.

  He hadn’t wanted to think she’d walked away from him and straight into everything she could ever want.

  That her life was so picture-perfect, like a damned advertisement for elegant family living.

  Though it wasn’t perfect, he reminded himself sharply as he stepped out of the Range Rover, contracts in hand. Her husband had died. He’d only met Steven Cox once yet the details of that conversation were etched in his mind.

  It had been a week after Grace had called him. He’d been drunk that night. And so angry with her.

  But when Steven had turned up at his office all American blond and tanned with those bright white teeth and green eyes, Marco had wanted to pulverize something. The emotion didn’t diminish when he realized Grace’s boyfriend was at least fifteen years her senior.

  “I know about you and Grace,” Steve said. “And I don’t care. We’ve been together a long time; I can forgive her a single indiscretion.”

  “An indiscretion?” Marco drawled, careful not to react visibly.

  “Sure. It was a one off. And I love her. I’ve loved her since she was a teenager.”

  Marco’s jaw clenched. “And you were what?” He couldn’t help asking, mentally calculating the other man’s age to be in his late thirties to Grace’s twenty-three.

  “Completely besotted by her the minute we met,” Steve inserted silkily. “Which is why I’m here. We’re getting married. Trying for a baby, too. I didn’t want you to give Grace another moment’s thought. I know she won’t be thinking about you.”

  Tension wound through Marco.

  He couldn’t say when he’d decided to take over Steven’s company. Before the man’s death, certainly. But the discovery that Grace had inherited the successful property empire and was in charge of its operations had given him an even greater impetus.

  He strode towards the front door, wilfully ignoring the signs that a happy child lived here. The tricycle tossed haphazardly on the front lawn, beneath the large American Elm that dwarfed the pale cream house with its slate grey tiles.

  He went to press the doorbell just as it opened inwards and a pretty young woman with dark hair and darker eyes stood on the other side.

  “Oh!” She startled and laughed good-naturedly. “Sorry. That’s good timing.” A frown tugged at her lips as her eyes scanned his face and then a sense of reserve seemed to overtake her easy affability. “Can I help you?”

  He nodded. “Does Grace Williams live here?”

  “Grace Cox?” The young woman queried. Marco stiffened; the use of her married name only firmed his resolve.

  “Yes.”

  Emma had worked as a nanny for Grace since Ben was a month old, and she’d never seen Grace anything but calm. Even when Steven had died and she’d been bereft and loaded with grief, she’d still been so dignified.

  But when Grace had returned from the city that afternoon, she’d been uncharacteristically perturbed.

  Emma would have put all the money she possessed on this man having something to do with that.

  “Um, let me go and check,” she said thoughtfully and was about to do just that when a familiar little shape came barreling down the corridor towards her. She couldn’t help but smile as Ben, dressed in his fluffy grey pajamas, came running towards her, his grin gleeful.

  “Oh, no you don’t, little opportunist,” she laughed, scooping him up and propping him on her hip. “No more bike today.” She turned to face Marco, her own amusement blinding her to his complete and utter shock. “He loves that darn trike. He’d be on it all day every day if he could.”

  Their eyes were identical. Their hair, too. But beyond that, this little boy was the spitting image of Marco as a baby. Heat spread through him, then ice.

  “How old is he?” The words came out as affably curious when his insides were shrieking, betrayal making his chest thick.

  “This little guy? He’s fifteen months going on fifteen years,” she laughed. “Come and wait inside. It’s getting cold out now. Grace is here somewhere.”

  And she padded down the hallway, as though everything was fine and normal.

  But it wasn’t. Marco’s whole world was tipping off its axis, his mind was tripping, his body shifting as though the very reality of his being no longer existed.

  “Grace?” Emma called from the bottom of the wide staircase. “Someone’s here for you.” Then, she spun back towards him and he had a split second to assume a look of unconcern. “I’m just going to get little master here settled for bed.”

  “Fine,” Marco nodded firmly.

  It wasn’t fine.

  Time seemed to stand still; silence echoed around him and through him, like the eye of a storm that had the power to tear him to shreds.

  There were photos on the wall. He was vaguely aware of them. A wedding shot – Grace beautiful in white, Steven just as he remembered. A baby photo of Ben. Was that his name? Was that what the woman had said?

  Marco moved t
oward the picture, and the ache in his chest grew.

  That was him alright. The baby was a carbon copy of Marco as he had once been.

  He was still staring at the enormous photograph when Grace spoke a moment later. “Emma? Did you need me for something?”

  He turned towards the voice, upstairs somewhere, and then Grace appeared. Something inside of him snapped. Something dark and angry.

  She’d changed into a pair of leggings and an oversized sweater. Her face scrubbed of makeup and her blonde hair was loose around her face, tumbling over her shoulders.

  Her eyes locked to his and he felt the surge of panic from her.

  It only solidified his anger.

  “She is putting our child to bed.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  GRACE BLANCHED, REACHING out for the banister to steady her. Only two years of worry and uncertainty, guilt and doubts rolled around her, and looking at his face and feeling his pain was too much.

  For the first time in her life, she began to faint. A proper, world-blackout, consciousness-losing faint. At the top of a sweeping set of timber steps, had Marco not reacted so swiftly, it could have been disastrous. But he saw the way all the blood drained from her face and instincts galvanized within him, pumping his legs before he was consciously aware of what was about to happen.

  He took the steps three at a time, reaching Grace just as she began to slide to the floor. His arms wrapped around her, almost knocking him off balance, but then he steadied her and she was safe. It was the last thing she felt before she completely passed out.

  A curse escaped him as he lifted her awkwardly, moving her away from the top of the stairs, deeper into the first floor of her house. He barely noticed the small signs of her that were everywhere. The bunches of old-fashioned roses that adorned the tables, the pictures of Steve, her, Ben. The sense that this was a family home.

  Her family home.

  He ground his jaw together as he lifted her properly, cradling her against his chest and moving further down the hallway. He stepped into the first bedroom he found, laying her down on the bed.