The Tycoon's Secret Baby

by Clare Connelly

  “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…

  CHAPTER 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 truth?

  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.”

  He was silent. She didn’t even know if he was there. She wasn’t sure she cared. It was as important to Grace to hear her explanation as it was to Marco.

  “I knew I didn’t love him back.” A sob bubbled in her chest and she let it erupt. A single sound of grief in the coolness of his room. “But I thought I would learn to love him. I thought I would learn.” She closed her eyes, smothering a yawn. “He proposed. It scared the hell out of me. I did love him, Marco. But like a brother. Not a husband. Never a husband.”

  Marco was still. Her words were unfurling inside of him, whispering things he didn’t want to listen to. Promises. Seductive, tempting promises that would pull him apart if he didn’t take care.

  “But you married him,” he pointed out, confirming that he was, in fact, inside the door.

  “For Ben.” Another yawn. “So Ben would have a father.”

  Marco let out a sigh and stood straighter. “That just proves you’re willing to use a man to get what you need. And this, I already know.”

  *

  The toast was dry.

  She bit down on the corner, her mouth crunching on it without tasting it. What she wouldn’t do for a pop tart. Or a milk dud. Or a Reece’s. She looked dubiously at the pomegranate marmalade Marco had in his meagre assortment of spreads and pull
ed a face. It was so tart it was practically a punishment rather than a condiment. Hardly how a sweet-tooth like Grace wanted to start her day.

  “Morning!” Emma was outrageously chirpy for Grace’s mood, but somehow she forced a smile to her face. She had no idea how pale she was. How different she looked. But Emma did, and she frowned. “Are you okay?”

  That just proves you’re willing to use a man to get what you want.

  She nodded. “Fine.” The word was as crisp as her toast.

  Emma’s frown deepened. “What is it?”

  “I’m just tired,” Grace responded. And it wasn’t exactly a lie. Marco hadn’t come back to his bed and she’d laid awake for hours. Eventually, somewhere before dawn, she’d fallen asleep. But it hadn’t been a restful sleep.

  Marco’s opinion of her had become a force to be reckoned with. His anger. His hurt. His hatred. It had formed a glove that was smothering her. She wouldn’t ever be able to remove it, because it was how she felt too.

  Her actions were beyond defending.

  Nausea swirled inside of her and another sob threatened to make itself known. She bit down on her toast to swallow the audible emotion.

  “You’re making the right decision. I love you. I make you happy. And this child,” he’d put a hand on her stomach and she’d looked at Steve and seen all the comfort and safety he’d always given her. “He will be so happy with us, Grace.”

  “Well, we had a great sleep,” Emma cooed, reaching for an apple from the fruit bowl.

  “We?” Grace tilted her head towards Emma.

  “Ben and me.” She grinned. “Something about Italy agrees with him. Have you noticed how settled he is here? He’s hardly stirring overnight.”

  Grace nodded. She hadn’t consciously been aware of the fact, but now that Emma pointed it out, of course it was true. Ben had been sleeping through, something he rarely did in the States.

  “I’m sure it’s just his age and stage,” Grace murmured.

  “And all this sunshine,” Emma grinned. “Even today, it’s warm, isn’t it?”

  Was it? Grace looked towards the windows that framed the view of Rome in the distance. The trees had turned rust colored, and Autumn was afoot yet the city did seem to glow with heat. She nodded again. Emma apparently knew far more about this stuff than Grace did.

  “I thought I’d take Ben to the park when he wakes up. It’s the perfect morning for it and there’s a little coffee bar we’ve taken to stopping at.” Emma winked. “Ben can’t get enough of their cheese piadina.”

  Grace smiled distractedly. “That sounds like Ben.”

  “Do you want to join us?” Emma’s eyes skimmed Grace’s taut expression, her attention drawn to the cheekbones that were highlighted in Grace’s slender face. She’d lost weight, and she was pale. “Sit in the sun with a coffee?”

  The idea was lovely. It instantly warmed Grace and yet she shook her head. She wasn’t sure she deserved to feel warm.

  The self-flagellation instincts were new, but how could she not indulge them? Seeing how Marco had been hurt by her, Grace was reeling, trying to make sense of the decisions she’d known, one hundred percent, to be right – only to discover they were actually terribly wrong. Catastrophically wrong.

  “Grace?”

  Her eyes lifted to Emma’s and then she shook her head. “I can’t.” She turned her attention back to her toast so missed the frown that was on Emma’s face.

  “Okay. I’ll bring you back something yummy. Okay?”

  Grace nodded.

  “They make these incredible Nutella donuts. Bomboloni, I think they’re called. And so delicious.”

  Grace’s smile stretched across her face like a slit. “Thank you.”

  Emma blinked in surprise. If Grace couldn’t rouse herself to a degree of enthusiasm at the promise of a chocolate treat then something was wrong. She thought of the Grace she’d come to know since Ben was born; Grace who was determined and strong, who’d overcome such grief and sadness and always found a smile. Grace who she’d come to think of as a dear friend.

  And worry surged inside of her.

  “We’ll see you soon,” Emma murmured, reaching out and touching Grace’s shoulder.

  Grace didn’t react.

  *

  Marco sent the email with a hard push of his finger then sat back in his chair. The view of his garden did little to quell his dark mood. It had settled around him and he couldn’t shake it. He focused his attention back on the screen, opening the next email and reading its content.

  But his mind was elsewhere.

  She’d been crying when he’d walked out the night before. Not loudly. So softly it was possible she hadn’t even realized. Her shoulders had trembled and he’d ached to go to her. To lie behind her and wrap his arms around her and draw her to him, holding her tight against his body, whispering things into her ear that would make her stop crying. That would make her happy.

  That was the danger.

  The power she had over him.

  The power to make him a fool. A stupid fool.

  The knock on the door was so hesitant, he didn’t hear it at first. It disturbed his thoughts without penetrating his consciousness but the second time around it was louder.

  “Si.”

  He had expected – hoped? – to see Grace, but when the door pushed inwards, he was met by the sight of his son, perched on Emma’s hip. A large bag was over her shoulder.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said with a smile that seemed nervous somehow. Her eyes ran over the desk, obviously the sign of work, and she bit down on her lip. “If it’s not a good time…”

  “It’s fine.” He stood and moved around the desk, lifting the bag off her shoulder and placing it on the sofa.

  “Thanks,” Emma murmured, pushing the door shut and stroking Ben’s hair in one motion. “I won’t take long.”

  “It’s fine,” he repeated, sitting on the edge of his desk. “What is it?”

  “I don’t really know who to talk to. Or if I should even talk to anyone. I mean, I might be totally off-base.”

  “What about?” He prompted, and surprised them both by reaching for Ben. He grinned at the little boy and the smile was returned full-wattage.

  “I’m worried about Grace.”

  Marco’s eyes zinged to Emma’s, his surprise obvious. “Why?”

  “I’ve never seen her like this,” Emma said seriously. “And I’ve known her through a lot. I mean, she had it hard after Ben was born. It was such a difficult labor and delivery and then he didn’t feed well and she was exhausted.”

  “I didn’t know that,” he said with a frown.

  “Oh, yeah. This little guy was a nightmare, weren’t you, honey?” She said the words with an obvious affection. “Steve was great.” Her cheeks flushed pink, understanding the emotional undercurrents that caused Marco to stiffen. “But his room was at the other end of the house to Grace and Ben’s, so he didn’t really hear the night time waking. And she didn’t like to disturb him because of how busy he was, and how much he already did. I obviously did what I could but Grace was nursing and Ben just wanted her…”

  Marco’s eyes hadn’t left Ben’s face, but his mind was whipping across her words, searching them for meaning.

  “Steven moved to the other side of the house so the baby wouldn’t disturb him?”

  “No. That was his wing.”

  Marco nodded, but it didn’t make any sense.

  “Shoot.” Emma groaned. “I’m not meant to say anything. The confidentiality agreement… but … I guess that doesn’t count now, right?”

  “This stays between us,” he said simply, putting her mind at ease while his own was rioting out of control. “He didn’t live with Grace?”

  “Umm, I shouldn’t have said that,” Emma murmured.

  “But you did.”

  Emma’s eyes showed her discomfort and, at any other time, Marco might have taken pity on her. “They lived separate lives,” she said finally.
“I mean, they were friends. Good friends. And they doted on Ben…”

  Marco swept his eyes shut for a moment, letting her statement settle into his mind. And it still made no sense.

  “Anyway,” Emma continued awkwardly. “Even after Steve died, she wasn’t like this. Grace is tough. Tough as nails. But I’m worried about her.”

  Hadn’t Marco just been feeling the same thing? Only he’d thought it was his weakness; that he even cared was beneath him.

  “I thought you might be able to …” Emma let the words dwindle away, her eyes beseeching, and then she shrugged. “Help.”

  “Of course.” Marco tilted his head forward in agreement, though he had no idea how or what, and the part of him that had been hurt by her again and again told him to walk away. Even now, to leave her. To let her sort her own mess out.

  “So you’ll do something?”

  Do what? He groaned inwardly. What could he do? He’d looked at her the night before and every bone in his body had wanted to comfort her yet still he’d walked away.

  And now?

  “I’ll handle it,” he agreed, standing and handing the little boy back to his nanny. “Thanks for coming to me, Emma.”

  She nodded. “Of course.” And she lingered at the door, one hand hovering on the door knob. “I think of Grace like family. Same with Ben. I love them both very much. I hope you can see how special they are.” And she turned and left, her parting missive sitting in the middle of the room, a big steaming pile of dog turd that Marco didn’t particularly want to go near.

  But he couldn’t ignore Grace’s unhappiness much longer. And now he had questions that needed answering. He fired off a few more emails, mainly to prove to himself that he still had some autonomy, and then pushed back his chair and strode through the villa in search of Grace.

  But the house was empty.

  A search of their room showed her bag to be missing.

  He pulled his phone out and sent her a text. Where are you?

  The little dots appeared to indicate she was typing a reply. He held his breath without realizing it.

  In the city. Why?

  He sighed and told himself that was good. She was out and about, and she was hardly miserable in that text. He could detect the undertone of sass he’d always thought came instinctively to her.