The Tycoon's Secret Baby

by Clare Connelly

  “No.” He shrugged, as though it barely mattered. “But it is the lesser of two evils, for me. If the alternative is not having him in my life, then I’ll do whatever the hell I need to. Even discredit you publicly.”

  Grace gripped the sofa behind her for support, but her shoulders slumped and her head dropped forward. She was the picture of despondency, just like the rose she’d been empathizing with earlier.

  “You can be in his life,” she whispered, but she knew he’d never go for the role of passing friend. Someone who was in and out. He wanted the whole thing. He wanted Ben. And she supposed she should be thankful he was willing to include her. The idea of sharing custody filled her with ice-cold dread.

  She didn’t want to see Ben only half the time! That wouldn’t be her son’s life.

  Marco ignored her statement, perhaps interpreting the play of emotions across her features, for when he spoke, it was as though her complicity was a fait accompli.

  “I will have one of my executives fly out and take over your role at Aztec immediately. You’ll need time to brief him. We’ll leave for Rome in a week.”

  *

  Eight days later, Grace stared out at Rome with a sense of bewilderment.

  “It’s glorious.” Emma approached quietly, Ben on her hip, a smile on her face that showed none of Grace’s own concerns and agonies.

  Grace nodded, because she could vaguely recall feeling that same sense of wonderment the only other time she’d come to the villa. When it had been new and marvelous and the sheer scale and size had overwhelmed her. Then there’d been the marble tiles, the decorative frescos, the ceiling roses, chandeliers, sweeping staircases and the fragrance of history heavy in the air.

  She’d been almost as in love with the grand old property as she had been with Marco Dettori.

  “Yes,” she murmured belatedly, when she realized Emma was waiting on a response.

  “I mean, your place in Chicago was big, but this is like … a whole other level of bigness.”

  Grace nodded. Yes, it was that, too. Of course, her time had been spent in Marco’s bedroom and the lovely little Juliette balcony that protruded from it. The city sprawled in front of them now, but she knew that the back rooms all offered glimpses first of his garden, and then the hills that surrounded Rome.

  She twisted her fingers around the balustrade, trying to get her bearings as she studied the ancient city.

  “You’ll have more free time here,” Grace said quietly, her eyes creased in the corners by worry, not happiness. “I won’t be working. At least, I won’t be working initially. So please make the most of that and explore.”

  “I’ve already looked into some groups little master Ben and I can join. Some baby yoga classes and an art club for toddlers. I’ll get plenty of exploring done.”

  Grace nodded, but emptiness chasmed inside of her.

  The life she’d carefully constructed had been blown apart. No Steve. No Chicago. No job. And her son, her son, suddenly felt a little less hers. She had to share him.

  But there was Marco.

  I hate that I want you, even after this. I hate you for what you have done. I want you in my bed, but I will never forgive you for keeping my son from me.

  Did he still want her? Did she want him? And would she ever act on those feelings, even if she did?

  CHAPTER SIX

  TWO WEEKS AFTER ARRIVING in Rome and Grace had to wonder what she’d ever worried about. Far from feeling like she’d jump at the chance to join Marco in bed, she’d barely had the opportunity to say ‘hello’ to him, let alone fight the desire that was swarming through her body.

  As before, she had to make do with dreams. Vivid dreams that recreated his every caress. The way he’d kissed her. Touched her. The way he’d felt. Her body was pure flame when she remembered.

  She knew from Emma that Marco was making a point of seeing Ben often. Her heart ached for that, but she stayed away, purposefully maintaining a distance when they were together.

  It hurt too much to see them as a pair. To know what she’d denied them both for so long.

  Despite the lateness of the season, and Autumn’s retreat, the morning was warm enough to sit outside and stare longingly at the pool – a pool that would, come Summer, glisten and shine. Only it wouldn’t be still. She could just imagine Ben splashing his little arms through the water, ruining its placidity with his enthusiasm.

  The smile that touched her lips was the first natural expression of happiness in weeks.

  “Ciao.”

  She startled out of her reverie, her eyes lifting from the water to the figure to her left. From her position in the pool lounger, her legs crossed at the ankles, he seemed almost to loom over her.

  Her mouth was instantly dry.

  Marco Dettori was devastatingly handsome at any time and in any clothes, but with a fortnight’s deprivation under her belt and with him wearing a pair of casual jeans and a black polo shirt he was mouth-wateringly hot. Her stomach lurched as she dragged her eyes from his head, down to his broad chest and lower still, to the bulge of his pants.

  God, this was impossible.

  When she lifted her gaze to his eyes, she saw sardonic amusement there. Embarrassment heated her cheeks but she didn’t look away.

  “I have given Emma the weekend off.”

  “Oh.” Grace nodded, partly resenting the way he’d developed total control of her domestic situation and partly welcoming it. Was it penance that she allowed him to do so? “Why?”

  “Because she works very hard and because she will not be needed.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I am taking Ben to visit my family.”

  I am taking… it was all she heard. Panic rose in her chest like a bubble that would pop at any point. “No.”

  “It is arranged,” he said, and the words, while firm, were somehow gentle, too. Compassionate. “He is my son. It was only a desire to allow him to adjust to his new surrounds gradually that has stopped me arranging this trip sooner. They are eager to meet him.”

  It was natural, of course, but Grace felt the sting of grief lace through her. He was no longer just hers. The child she’d grown and whom she would love forever; the child she had cuddled and kissed and nursed and cherished, was now Marco’s, and the whole Dettori family’s, as well.

  She had to come to terms with that.

  Her nod was clunky and she turned away from him, in case grief gave way to tears. She’d never been away from Ben. Not for more than a day, anyway. A whole weekend without him? Her arms ached; her heart throbbed.

  “Then why don’t you come?”

  She hadn’t realized, until then, that she’d spoken the words aloud. “Come?”

  “If you are so anxious to be parted from him, come to Tuscany.”

  Grace lifted her eyes to his, doubts filling her. “Really?”

  “Certamente.” He crouched beside her. “It complicates things, slightly, but if you are so anxious then of course. I have no doubt it would be better for Ben to have you there.”

  Gratitude was the last straw. Tears danced on her lashes and he made a short noise of frustration and stood again, spinning away from her, dragging a hand through his thick, dark hair until it spiked at odd angles.

  “Thank you.”

  He didn’t say anything for a long moment. The only sound was the gentle lapping of the water against the marbled coping of the pool, and the occasional tweet of a nearby bird.

  “Here.” He pushed a box towards her. Small and velvet, Grace’s heart sank. She knew what would be inside this little object, delivered with such an astounding lack of ceremony.

  She clicked it open, her heart squeezing at the sight of a large diamond solitaire with a circlet of pale blue gems.

  “I have told my family we are to marry. They’ll expect you to wear a ring.”

  She nodded – what was the point of arguing over such a small detail? It fit perfectly. She slipped it onto her ring finger, her eyes studying the crenulations of the band.


  “It’s beautiful.”

  It was. A stunning ring for a far from perfect union.

  “My family believes our engagement to be a happy event,” he said, turning to face her fully, his hands braced on his hips. “I wanted to protect them from the truth of this as much as possible.”

  Remorse was now her constant bedfellow. She was not surprised by the sense of shame that burst through her but she was almost made breathless by its intensity. “Fine. Whatever you’d like.”

  Marco ground his teeth together. He couldn’t say why her submission angered him, but it did. Her broken, depressed, miserable demeanor was beginning to grate. For two weeks he’d watched her mope around the villa and make an art of avoiding him, and an urge to shake that loose was growing.

  But it wasn’t his place.

  He no longer cared about this woman. If she was miserable, then that was her choice.

  “We’ll share a bedroom.”

  Grace’s eyes flew to his and remembered passions burned the edges of her nerves.

  But his smile was dismissive. “Obviously I’ll sleep on the floor.”

  Grace’s mouth was dry, her throat thick.

  Marco continued. “We don’t have to speak, but when my mother is around, or my sister, we’ll pretend to like one another. Understood?”

  “Yes.”

  He expelled a breath; a loud, angry noise that drew her attention. “What is it?”

  “This doesn’t bother you?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think I have any right to be bothered. I kept Ben from you – from all of you. However you want this to go is fine by me.”

  It was the right answer! It was just as she should have felt. But it infuriated him.

  “And if I kiss you, Grace?”

  Her eyes were huge in her face, her lips parted. But she made an effort to visibly calm herself.

  “I’ll know it’s just for their benefit.” She looked away determinedly. “I’ll understand.”

  *

  “He is just like you!” Rosa Dettori was tall and slim, wiry, with dark grey hair that shimmered in the afternoon sun, flicking as the breeze whispered past them on the wrap-around balcony. She had bright red lips, enormous brown eyes and skin like caramel, smooth and golden.

  Marco grinned. “He’s my son.”

  “He is, he is.” Rosa cackled, reaching down and pinching Ben’s curls between her fingers. “Spirited?” She directed the question at Grace, who’d felt like a complete bystander the entire afternoon. An outsider. If she’d thought Ben was like Marco, then seeing him with Rosa was even more confronting. She was beginning to feel as though she’d simply incubated the Dettori heir.

  “Intensely spirited,” Marco supplied with a smile that turned to a grimace as he lifted his attention to Grace.

  She shook herself mentally. They were supposed to be acting like a couple, and instead Grace might as well have come from the dentist’s. The smile she forced to her face felt false but she hoped it would do the job.

  “Yes, just like his father,” Grace heard herself say, the words normal enough.

  Marco’s eyes met hers and she blinked away.

  “May I lift him?” Rosa asked, clearly itching to do just that.

  “Of course.” Grace bent down and picked Ben up, squeezing his round little body to her chest before handing him to the older woman. He looked hesitant for a moment but then his attention was caught by the gold earrings Rosa wore and he was completely captivated.

  “Da!” He said excitedly, pointing to one of the dangly things.

  Rosa laughed. “He is heavy, too! He has a good diet?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Grace nodded. “He loves food.”

  “Do you? Oh, well, your nonna is going to spoil you, young man.” She pressed a kiss to his forehead and he laughed at the smacking noise.

  Two bright red lines were left across his young skin and, in the mood Grace was in, she felt like he’d been marked. Marked and branded: Property of the Dettori.

  It wasn’t a nice feeling. She looked away, the smile dying on her face.

  “Your sister will be here for dinner, Marco. I told her to come in time to see Ben. I hope she makes it.”

  “I’m sure she will.”

  “Why don’t you call her? To be sure? Perhaps she doesn’t know that children go to bed early.”

  “She’s not that clueless.”

  “Still…”

  “Okay, okay,” he grinned, standing and reaching into his pocket for his phone. He moved away from them, further down the balcony, propping his wrists on the edge and staring out at the gentle, rolling hills of Tuscany.

  “So,” Rosa moved to one of the wrought iron chairs and sat down, perching Ben on her lap. He’d transferred his attention to her bangles now, his fingers rifling over them with unapologetic curiosity. “You are the reason for my son’s transformation?”

  “His transformation?” Grace parroted, her eyes trailing over Marco’s back as he spoke into the phone.

  “From womanizer to saint.”

  Grace silently rebuked the term; Marco was definitely no saint. But she could hardly say so to his mother. “For two years he has been out of the papers, no women, no scandal, no flighty supermodels on his arm. This explains it.”

  Her heart thumped hard and fast against her ribs, demanding attention. She didn’t know what to say, and so stayed quiet.

  “I wonder that he never mentioned you.”

  “Our situation was complicated,” Grace said quietly, after a moment. “The timing wasn’t right.”

  She winced inwardly at the description, for the injustice it did Steven. “I see.” Rosa pressed another kiss to Ben; this time to his curls.

  “I knew there must have been someone special in his heart, however. For a man like my son to live as he has, virtually as a monk… and now it makes sense.”

  Grace tilted a glance at the older woman. She was obviously mistaken. It was true, Marco hadn’t been in the gossip rags, but it didn’t follow that he’d been celibate for two years. How absurd.

  Still, the idea played on her mind. Later, when Ben was ‘helping’ Rosa set the table for dinner, and Marco had just stepped out of the shower, Grace approached him distractedly. She’d changed into a black dress with a high neckline that fell to her knees, and had teamed it with a chunky gold necklace and a pair of heels.

  He let his gaze drift down her body, lingering on the curve of her breasts in a way that darted hot arrows beneath her skin.

  “What is it?” He asked after a moment, the towel knotted loose on his hips, his broadly-muscled chest a feast Grace wanted to enjoy with her hungry gaze.

  “I need to ask you something.” She cleared her throat. “Something personal.”

  “Go on.”

  Her teeth massaged her lower lip. “Your mother seems to think… I mean, she must be wrong, but she seems to think that you haven’t been … that …”

  “Spit it out, Grace,” he drawled.

  Grace nodded and cleared her throat once more. When she spoke it was barely a whisper. “She seems to think that the last two years you’ve been…”

  His face was carefully blanked of emotion. He stood impassively, waiting for her to finish.

  “That there hasn’t been anyone else for you. Since me,” she said lamely. “Why would she think that?”

  He reached down and undid his towel, dropping it to the floor between them. His nakedness was as perfect as her dreams remembered. She stepped back when every nerve in her body had wanted to propel her forwards.

  “Why does it matter?” He shrugged.

  “I … don’t know. I just … wondered.”

  His smile was sexiness personified. “Do you believe it?”

  “Of course not. I told you, I know it couldn’t be true…”

  “Yet you’re asking me about it.”

  “It was just a strange thing for her to say, that’s all. She thinks I changed you in some way.”

 
“My mother is trying to make sense of all this. She has written a love story in her mind, obviously.”

  “Obviously.”

  Grace turned away clumsily, moving back to the bed and reaching for the sheer scarf she’d chosen to loop around her neck.

  But his hands gently pressing her hair over one shoulder stilled her. His touch was gentle and familiar. He dropped his lips to the flesh on her neck, kissing her so that her stomach lurched and a moan escaped her lips.

  “What are you doing?”

  “What does it look like?” He brought his hands lower, to cup her breasts from behind and his fingers tormented her nipples through the fabric of her dress, stoking her to life. She arched her back, without realizing it, and then Marco’s fingers were finding the hem of her dress, inching it higher, up her legs, until it was over her backside and he had access to more of her.

  He dealt with her underpants easily, removing the scrap of fabric and groaning as he ran his arousal across her back.

  “Bend over.” The husky command made her veins hum. She knew she should say something. But words were no longer possible. Being touched by him was so right. So perfect.

  She did as he said, pressing her head to the crisp white duvet. His hands spread her legs, and then he was inside her. It wasn’t gentle nor was it slow.

  This was need. Pure, blinding need. He pushed into her, hard, fast, swift, and then he withdrew, before thrusting deep inside of her.

  Grace groaned, her fingers curling into the fabric of the bedlinen as she cried his name out and he tormented her by giving her everything she’d always wanted. Physically, at least.

  As he moved inside her, his urgency apparent, his fingers moved back to her nipples and he twisted them through her dress, through her bra, until she was melting. She was unprepared for the speed of her orgasm. It burst over her like a flash flood, a deluge of sensation she was powerless to resist.

  And she didn’t want to resist it.

  Like this, with him, everything was so perfect.

  He pulled out and she instinctively pushed backwards, not ready to relinquish the thrill of possession even as her body was shivering from the ebbs of her arousal.