by Heidi Rice
‘No, I don’t want him to be part of this PR stunt,’ she said, her voice firm, giving him a glimpse of the tigress he’d first met the night she’d confronted him at Blackstone’s Full Moon Ball.
The surge of desire was swift. But the surge of admiration was more disconcerting. Even if he would never be able to trust her any more than he’d ever been able to trust anyone, at least he knew she would make a good mother to his child. The way she’d already made a good mother, in all but name, to his brother’s son.
‘Nico doesn’t have to come,’ he conceded, forcing himself to hide his disappointment. The boy would have gotten a major kick out of some of the kids’ facilities at the resort, and he would have gotten a kick out of showing them to him. But she was right—they didn’t need to involve the boy in this subterfuge. ‘Garvey can put a spin on it either way,’ he added.
‘Can I ask you something?’ She hesitated after he nodded. ‘What happens after we get back from our fake honeymoon?’
The honeymoon wasn’t going to be fake. Not in any of the ways that mattered. He sure as heck wasn’t giving her a chance to back out of this marriage on a technicality because they hadn’t consummated it. But he didn’t figure there was much mileage in pointing that out now. Once they got to Blackstone Island, she’d be looking for a distraction as much as he was. Especially as the only people there were going to be the two of them and the staff.
‘Afterwards, I guess I’ll have to move into the place in Regent’s Park for a while.’
‘For how long?’ she said dully.
‘As long as it takes to convince people this marriage is real,’ he said curtly.
And I get over the dumb urge to have you in my bed—and watch over you, and Nico and our baby, every damn minute of every day.
‘Us playing happy families is going to be confusing for Nico,’ she said flatly, her expression blanker than he’d ever seen it.
‘Uh-huh, well, you should have thought about that before you lied to me about being on the Pill,’ he said. The thought of having to live in that house knowing he could never be a part of that happy family was a new form of torture he hadn’t even considered. She didn’t care about him, had never cared about him. It seemed so obvious now.
She stiffened and looked out of the window at the gathering night. Then she wrapped her arms around her midriff in a defensive gesture that had shame snapping at his heels.
He pushed it away as the hollow pain in his stomach twisted.
She should have told him about the pregnancy a lot sooner. What right did she have to look so fragile, so overwhelmed?
Cupping her elbow, he tugged her round to face him. ‘We’ll figure out a way to make sure it doesn’t confuse Nico. I do a lot of travelling, so I won’t be around much anyway.’ He allowed himself the luxury of glancing down at her belly. ‘Once the baby’s born, Nico will be far too busy welcoming his new cousin into the world to care about what’s going on with us.’
‘I suppose.’ She chewed her bottom lip—the shot of desire was swift and unequivocal. ‘But will you promise me one thing?’
He nodded, the tightening in his chest almost unbearable now. Why was this so hard? He was just doing what needed to be done. To protect his child.
‘Don’t let Nico know how much you dislike me.’
He frowned. ‘That won’t be a problem,’ he said because he didn’t dislike her, couldn’t make himself dislike her... Even if he should.
CHAPTER TEN
‘I WILL,’ BRONTE MURMURED, her whole body trembling as she stood on the white sand beach and shielded her eyes against the mid-afternoon sun.
The minister continued to talk, but the words seemed to float above her head and drift out over a sea so blue it hurt her eyes.
She jolted as Lukas gripped her fingers. His hold was sure and firm as he slipped the wedding band onto her ring finger. The expensive white-gold reflected the sun’s rays, mocking her, as a photographer appeared to take their picture.
The palm fronds fluttered in the warm sea breeze. And the feeling of unreality—of being in a deluxe but devastating dream—settled into her soul.
Lukas’s palm pressed into the small of her back as he led her towards the entourage of staff and hotel executives who rushed forward to congratulate them.
‘How are you holding up?’ he murmured in her ear, his hand sliding down to her hip as he led her across the sand.
‘Good, a little tired,’ she replied. He’d been unbearably solicitous ever since she’d agreed to this sham marriage two days ago—which only made the situation more agonising.
If only she could hate him for forcing her into this. But how could she? When she was already hopelessly in love with him.
She strained to keep a polite smile on her face during the hour that followed, as they sat down to an elaborate wedding feast. She barely swallowed a bite of the lavish array of dishes brought out with pomp and circumstance by the resort’s chef and his staff.
She would have to spend the next week pretending to be a happy bride for the cameras—and goodness knew how much longer pretending to be making a happy family with Lukas when they returned to London—while secretly wishing all the time for the impossible—that their marriage didn’t have to be a pretence. She was right back where she’d been as a little girl, standing on her father’s doorstep, hoping for a love she wasn’t going to get.
Finally the wedding meal was over and Lukas led her to a line of golf carts. She climbed into the lead vehicle with him. He drove past the hotel complex where she’d stayed the night before, alone in a luxury suite, after they’d arrived on the private island atoll in his jet.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked.
He glanced her way. ‘To our honeymoon villa—it’s on the other side of the island.’
But this isn’t a real honeymoon.
Pain pierced Bronte’s chest, slicing through the numbness that had enveloped her for the last forty-eight hours.
They arrived at the idyllic beachside villa. With a lap pool at the back and a large deck in front, the lavish three-room cottage looked like a romantic idyll.
The crystalline blue of the sea sparkled against the red and golds of the sun bleeding into the horizon as it began to set.
Bronte stood on the deck as a small troop of bell boys arrived to deliver their luggage. Her cases were packed full of the wardrobe of new clothes Lukas had employed a stylist to provide as a series of magazine photoshoots had been arranged over the next few days by his press chief Dex Garvey.
Just the thought of that exhausted her. But as she stood watching the sun sink into the sea, the thought of posing for the camera as Lukas’s fake bride didn’t feel anywhere near as overwhelming as actually having to spend six nights alone with him here.
Way to go, Bronte. Surely only you could manage to find yourself in one of the most beautiful and luxurious places on earth, living with a devastatingly attractive man who you’re already in love with and still be miserable.
The thought of their time alone together had terrified her over the last two days—while she’d prepared herself and Nico for her departure.
‘Will he be my daddy now?’
Nico’s wide-eyed question yesterday morning, just before Lukas’s car had arrived to take her to the airport, still haunted her.
She tuned out the sound of Lukas on his mobile phone, talking to one of his executives in the beach cottage’s lavish living area.
The quiet lap of the water against the deck brought with it the salty scent of the sea and the fragrant island flowers. But as she absorbed the beauty of their surroundings her hand strayed to her belly. She pressed her palm to the flat curve of her stomach and imagined herself in seven months’ time.
Her chest expanded. They were going to have a child together. A child that deserved to be loved and cherished by both its parents, the way she had never be
en.
Maybe Lukas couldn’t love her, but what about their child?
She’d been blindsided by his brutal decision to blackmail her into this marriage of convenience. She had been reeling ever since that devastating showdown in his office. She’d collapsed in on herself—all her confidence and hope had drained away and she’d become the same pathetic shadow of herself she’d been once before—when her father had rejected her.
But they were married now, for better or for worse. She’d agreed to do this thing, but why did she have to abide by Lukas’s rules? If she didn’t have the confidence, the energy to fight for herself, couldn’t she at least find the confidence to fight for their child?
She heard Lukas approach behind her. Her heartbeat pummelled her eardrums as his arm banded around her waist and he drew her back against him. His lips caressed her neck in the spot he knew would drive her wild. Shivers of awareness she couldn’t disguise bombarded her body.
‘How about we go straight to bed?’ he murmured. ‘This damn marriage ought to have some advantages.’
She turned and butted her forearms against his chest. She wanted him—it was pointless trying to deny it. But there was more at stake here than just sex.
‘So what’s the plan here? We sleep together, pretend to be married and then what?’ she said, her temper finally helping to snap her out of the fog that had descended when he’d insisted on this marriage.
‘We’re not pretending,’ he said. ‘This is a real marriage—it says so on the paperwork you signed.’
She tugged out of his arms. ‘That would be the paperwork that has a sell-by date on it, would it?’
His frown deepened.
‘When exactly is that sell-by date, Lukas?’ she continued, her heart hurting at the blank look on his face. ‘When the baby’s born? Once the press are convinced you’re not a deadbeat dad? When you’re bored with sleeping with me? Because I’m assuming you get to make that choice, not me.’ Why was she letting him turn their marriage into something cold and sterile and businesslike when it could be so much more than that?
‘Hey, calm down.’ He grasped her elbow, tugged her back to him. Then cupped her cheek in his palm. ‘You’re tired. It’s been a long couple of days, I get that. We don’t have to sleep together tonight. It can wait,’ he said, completely missing the point.
His lips tipped up in a tight smile, but still she could see the strain around his mouth.
‘But we are going to consummate it, Bronte,’ he said. ‘I’m not having you slip out of this deal on a technicality.’
She stared at him and suddenly something dawned on her that she hadn’t let herself hope for. What if this marriage meant more to him too?
Why had she accepted all his cold, calculating reasons for demanding this marriage? Was it because a part of that scared, rejected little girl still lurked inside her?
‘Sex isn’t going to solve this problem, Lukas.’ She shrugged away from his touch as she gathered all her courage and forced herself to face all the fears and insecurities that had lived inside her for so long, and held her back without her even knowing it. ‘Do you want to know why I agreed to this marriage?’
He stared at her, the look in those onyx eyes both wary and tense. ‘You agreed because I threatened to take Nico away from you,’ he said, but his gaze flicked away from her—and she finally acknowledged what she had known all along in her subconscious when he’d made the threat... He would never have followed through on it.
His gaze dipped to her belly. ‘And because you’re having my child.’
‘I guess I wanted to convince myself those were the reasons. But it’s actually much simpler than that. I agreed to marry you, Lukas, because I love you.’
‘What?’ The flash of fear in his eyes was all the answer she needed to all the questions she’d been asking ever since they had met. ‘Damn it, Bronte, don’t say that.’
‘Why not?’ she said as she finally admitted the whole truth to herself.
She’d been scared too, scared of admitting how she really felt about him—not just to him but to herself. Because of her father’s rejection all those years ago. And she’d been scared of telling him about the baby. Because she was terrified of his response.
And why was she so scared? Because she’d convinced herself, deep down, that she didn’t deserve love or respect. She didn’t deserve to be cherished. That she was better off alone. That she could fill her life with loving Nico—and loving this baby—and that would be enough.
But that was crap. Because the truth was she wanted so much more than that. She deserved more than that. They both did. And so did their child. But if she wanted more, she was going to have to fight for it.
If she allowed this marriage to start based on a lie, if she allowed Lukas to hide his feelings the way she had tried to hide hers, the chance of building something lasting, something strong and real and worthwhile would die before it could ever be born.
‘You mustn’t fall in love with me,’ he said and she could hear the fear plainly in his voice now. She wondered if he could hear it too. ‘You’ll only regret it when this marriage has to end.’
‘Why does it have to end?’ She finally asked the question that had been lurking inside her for two days. The question she’d been too cowardly to voice.
‘Don’t make me say it.’
‘You owe me an answer,’ she said.
‘Fine.’ He sighed, the sound so resigned it broke her heart. ‘It will end eventually...when you realise I can’t love you back.’
‘Why can’t you?’
* * *
Lukas’s guts felt as if they were being torn out. How had it come to this? How could he have not seen this coming? He was supposed to be the one in control and yet Bronte had blindsided him again.
Not with that sweet, sexy, responsive body this time, but with her far too open and generous heart.
She didn’t know what the hell she was saying. He hadn’t meant to hurt her like this. His anger at her deception over the pregnancy had died as soon as she had agreed to this devil’s bargain. And in the last few days he’d acknowledged the real reasons he’d blackmailed her into this... He wanted her even though he knew he could never deserve her. Or make her happy.
And now she would discover the truth. Because he would have to come clean with her. To tell her why he was damaged goods. Why, despite all the trappings of wealth and success he’d clung to for so long, he had been emotionally bankrupt—a broken human being—ever since he was seven years old. It was why he had never been able to properly grieve for his own brother, why he had found it so hard to bond with Nico, why he’d tried so hard to control any feelings he had for Bronte and the boy. Why he knew that, despite what she said, all he could ever really offer their child was financial security. And why this marriage could never be real, why it would never last.
‘What happened, Lukas? Was it what they did to you when you were kidnapped?’ She lifted her hand and touched her fingertips to the scar on his cheek. She stroked the ruined skin, the shimmer of tears in her eyes only destroying him more. ‘Is that why you’re so terrified of letting me in? You’re still traumatised by those events?’
He grasped her finger, dragged it away from his face and shook his head.
He owed her this much. She deserved to know how broken he was. So she could protect herself.
He stared out at the ocean, the ghostly shadows as the moon rose over the horizon shimmering over the sea. The luxury surroundings here were in sharp contrast to the dingy, dirty room where they’d once kept him—but he felt just as trapped, just as helpless.
His stomach tightened into hard knots, sweat dampening the linen of his shirt as pain seared his skin. But it wasn’t that memory that had haunted him in nightmares for years afterwards. And made him feel so worthless.
‘I used to wet the bed after it happened, afte
r I was home again,’ he said, his voice rough to his own ears. ‘I had nightmares, of course. I still struggle with elevators. I’m not great in confined spaces,’ he added, realising she was the first person he’d ever been able to admit that to. ‘They kept me in a root cellar. I was terrified—of course I was. But the truth is, apart from the one time they cut me, to persuade my father to pay up, they mostly ignored me.’
‘Did you get counselling?’ she asked, with the fierce compassion in her tone that he had somehow come to adore, to rely on, without even realising it. ‘To handle the trauma?’
He huffed out a laugh, the sound as raw and hopeless as he felt. ‘Not precisely. My father—who was generally a distant figure in my life—sent for me one day to go to his offices in Manhattan. It had been over a month since the kidnapping and he was annoyed that I was still wetting the bed. And that my school reports hadn’t improved. He told me, in no uncertain terms, to snap out of it. That I was his heir. And not just because I was the older of the two of us, but also because he believed I had the better temperament. Alexei was like our mother, he said. Wild and flighty and easily diverted. A hedonist who didn’t know the meaning of responsibility or restraint.’
‘But the two of you were only seven years old!’ she said, aghast.
He shoved his fists into the pockets of his pants, the evening breeze cooling the clammy sweat on his skin.
‘You know what’s weird? I never questioned that assessment. It never even occurred to me that maybe Alexei’s subsequent behaviour—the drinking, the drugs, the women, the reckless pursuit of pleasure at all costs—was as much of a plea for our father’s affection as my own behaviour. I always bought into the lie that it was because Alexei was infertile—or thought he was—that he never believed he had anything to live for. But the truth is, Alexei knew long before that, just like I did, that our father didn’t give a damn about either of us.’
‘What happened when you went to see him, Lukas?’ she asked.
‘He told me he’d chosen not to pay the ransom. The Feds had requested he make it available, to facilitate the sting operation they had in mind the day after they’d cut my face. But he refused. He boasted about it to me.’