“Playing happy families,” he clarified.
“He doesn’t even have a passport,” she declared in a valiant attempt to fight his illogic with reason.
“I can arrange one,” he said. “I have been in touch with the embassy and explained the situation. The ambassador is an old family friend.”
Ellie felt hot and cold all over. “The ambassador?”
“To the United Kingdom,” he said with a nod. “He was shocked to hear of my situation. He has several barristers he can recommend who will make it possible for me to take my son away, this night.”
Ellie was weakened with shock but her maternal instincts made her strong and she launched at him, no longer a being of logic, but a creature of primal, soul-deep desperation. She pushed at his chest and her hand lifted, flying towards his face, her fist tight and small. He caught her wrist easily but her other hand connected with his chest, punching him, and he stood there, letting her hit him, his expression unchanging, his eyes watching every single flint of pain that glanced across her face. “You will not take him from me!” She sobbed, tears thick in her throat.
She hit him again and again and finally she shoved his chest and then spun away, lifting her hands to her mouth, covering her sobs and catching them in her palms.
“You took him from me,” he said finally. “What is good for the goose…”
“Oh, shut up!” She pleaded, spinning away and stalking to the kitchen, needing water, tea, liquor. Anything to provide a balm to this pain. “I didn’t take him from you! He was never yours!”
“He is my son,” he said with dark rage.
“Yes, but what does that mean? You slept with me four years ago. That doesn’t make a father.”
“And had I known about him I would have been been there for him! I would have been there from day one.”
“And your wife?” She asked coldly. “Would Arabella have been with me while I delivered the physical proof of your infidelity? Would you have wanted to raise our son with your bride? A woman who would surely never welcome him, would always hate him? How could I expose him to that uncertainty?”
“You think I would ever do anything to harm my son?”
“You’re threatening to take him from his own mother!” She said. “That would be devastating to Joshua!”
“I am giving you an option,” he corrected. “Marry me, be my wife, and the mother of our child.”
“And if I don’t, I’ll lose him,” she concluded the ultimatum.
His eyes narrowed and then he nodded.
“How can you think that’s even an option?” She asked, and the same thoughts that had been chasing her around all day were at her heels. She could ask Apollo for help. Money would be no issue – they’d fight hard for custody. But she doubted even Apollo would be a match for Xavier Salbatore – not when the latter’s son was at stake.
“I told you this morning, this is your choice. So?”
Her hands were sore from hitting him and when she looked down, she saw knuckles that were red, skin that was white from being clenched so tightly.
“You don’t want to marry me,” she said in an effort to stall for time.
“I will do whatever is necessary for our son.”
“So? Then live in London and spend time with him.”
His expression was flint hard. “You seem to be under the mistaken impression this is a negotiation.”
He was implacable; unyielding.
“You’re saying you refuse to listen to reason?”
“I’m saying I refuse to compromise.” He was unapologetic about the fact.
“How would it work?” She heard herself ask and immediately regretted that weakness for how it sounded like acceptance.
“The license will take thirty days to obtain. My assistant will organize the details. You and Joshua will move in with me tomorrow, so that by the time we wed, we have the act of tolerating one another perfected.”
“Not bloody likely,” she refuted, needing to cling onto some form of defiance. “No way am I moving in with you so soon! Josh will need time to adjust to all of this.”
His eyes narrowed. “You will do whatever is best for our son, as will I.”
“I am talking about what’s best for him!” She insisted. “He doesn’t even know who you are! You think it’s fair to upend his entire life just because you’re angry?”
“I am beyond angry,” he assured her with ice-cold determination. “He will adapt; he is a child.”
“You don’t know anything about him!”
“And whose fault is that?”
She glared at him.
“We are the adults in this situation. Our job is to do what is right by our son. That means putting on a united front in his presence.”
She swallowed. “And beyond that?” her cheeks were pale, her eyes huge, her lips swollen from the way she’d been biting down on them.
“Ask what you really mean,” he suggested, moving closer, so she caught a hint of his alpine, woody fragrance and almost buckled in two.
“You can’t seriously expect me to be your wife in every way…” she said, wishing she’d sounded cold at the thought.
“Oh, yes,” he said slowly, silkily, the words reaching into her veins and turning the ice there to lava. “You will be my wife in all ways, and what’s more, you will enjoy it.”
She swept her eyes shut, wishing she could refute that, wishing her body wasn’t so damned traitorous. “I’m not interested…”
“Liar,” he laughed, the sound discordant. “You fell into my bed last night, and you will do so again and again. Whatever else you might feel, do not lie about the desire that is between us.”
Her eyes slammed into his and she couldn’t reject his assertion, because he was right. There was lust there. So much lust.
“So?” He demanded. “Is it to be marriage, or not?”
Her eyes were loaded with bitter distress. “You give me no choice.” She swept her eyes shut, the words hurting her soul. “If I had any other option, believe me, Xavier, I wouldn’t go within ten feet of you ever again. But we share a son and I will always, always do what is best for him.”
He shook his head. “You’ve proven yourself wrong there – keeping him from his father was never going to be right for Joshua. That decision was motivated by self-interest alone.”
“How can you –,”
He shook his head and he spoke over her. “Let us argue over dinner. I have not eaten and now that our marriage matter is sorted, find I am ravenous.”
She darted her tongue out, licking her lower lip to moisten it. “I don’t have any food in the house,” she said truthfully. Usually she would have done the grocery shopping on that day, but she’d been too distressed by his ultimatum to think straight.
“Then we will order in,” he said with a shrug. “What do you like eating?”
She heard his question, but she was falling through the cracks of time, being sucked back four years, to a hotel room in central London, to a time of simplicity and hope.
“You’re telling me this doesn’t have every bit of the food pyramid represented?” She asked, pointing to an enormous bowl of strawberry ice cream with fresh-chopped bananas on top.
“Protein?” He teased, watching as she lifted a spoonful to her mouth and ate it, her eyes shut on a wave of appreciation.
“Eggs,” she answered, her mouth full.
“Grains?”
“Thickened with wheat syrup,” she grinned.
“Dairy is obvious,” he said, shaking his head. “But I still don’t think it’s an alternative to dinner.”
She pouted. “Nor do I, but seeing as we’re already throwing out the rule book this weekend, let me have this little indulgence too.”
He walked towards her and cupped her face in his hands. “I will let you have anything you want, querida. Ask me for it and it is yours.”
Her eyes sparkled. “Anything?”
“Anything.”
“Okay.�
�� She pushed up, standing so that their eyes were more level. “Try this.” And she scooped some of the ice cream and banana towards his mouth.
He arched a brow. “You have a man in your power who happens to be both wealthy and utterly under your spell, who has said he will give you anything you want, and you choose to squander your wish on ice cream?”
“Are you like a genie?” She teased, hovering the ice cream right near his lips. “Is this a one time wish scenario?”
“No.” His eyes held hers. “Consider it a long-standing offer.” And her heart had twisted and her lips had lifted and she’d pushed the ice cream into his mouth to hide the happiness his words had spread through her.
“Delicious,” he agreed. “But I think I prefer to watch you eating it.”
“Elizabeth? Dinner?”
“I don’t want to eat with you,” she said, frowning, the memory hovering on the periphery of her mind so that it was hard to reconcile the man before her – so stern, his face scarred, his expression somber – with the charming man who’d promised to grant her any wish, any time.
Something in the region of her heart panged to contemplate what she’d lost – the enormity of that.
But she hadn’t lost anything. It had all been a lie. He’d made that same promise to his fiancé, and God knew who else.
“Agreeing to marry you is about all I can stomach for one night,” she said honestly.
“Fine,” he said, through gritted teeth.
As though the matter was settled. As though marrying him wasn’t a recipe for utter heartbreak and disaster.
Because she knew first-hand what kind of power Xavier Salbatore exerted over her. She’d fallen victim to it once before, and it would take all of her resolve not to do so again.
But she was older and far, far wiser now than she had been then.
She knew who he was, and what he was capable of. The stars had fallen from her eyes and she saw it all clearly.
She wouldn’t love him again. And she’d never trust him with her heart; not for a billion pounds.
6
“I WANT TO SEE HIM.”
Ellie was still recovering from the fact she’d somehow agreed to his plan. That she’d agreed to a marriage that would be far from a cold one! A marriage that included her – all of her – in his life, as his wife; in his bed! All she could do was stand there and contrast his cold threats with the passion they’d shared the night before. With the affection that had been so easy between them four years ago.
Affection was a lie. Passion was easier to believe.
Their passion was honest and all-consuming. He was as lost to it as she.
Her expression was grim when she lifted her eyes to his.
“He’s asleep.”
“I’ll be quiet.” There was both a challenge and a plea in his eyes and it was the latter that gently began to unpick her resolve. She tried to imagine how desperate he must be to lay eyes on the boy they’d made together – a boy he hadn’t known about until twelve hours ago.
“Fine,” she said stiffly, accepting the necessity of this and yet wishing that in some way she could delay it. Indefinitely. “But only because I need to check on him anyway.”
“Which way?” He crossed his arms over his chest and the pleading look in his face was gone, leaving only ice-cold emotion.
Anger, she knew to be the root of it and it chilled her to her core.
It was a pervasive anger. Xavier felt it often. He felt angry when he reached for a fact or recollection and came up blank. He felt it when he tried to recall details of the months leading up to the accident and couldn’t. He felt it when he was practically crippled by a blinding headache, left bed bound for at least a day while it ravaged his body and left him nauseous from the pain – another hangover from that damned crash.
Discovering that he’d lost years of his son’s life was the last straw.
She stood there, hesitating, for several seconds and then finally nodded brusquely. “Here.”
She shivered as she pushed out of the kitchen, moving into the lounge area and towards the stairs. She kept her eyes trained forward and took the steps slowly – unconsciously delaying this as long as possible. At the door to Joshua’s room, she paused.
“Wait here,” she said, without meeting Xavier’s eyes. “I’ll check on him and tell you if it’s – safe – for you to come in.”
His eyes clashed with hers in fierce rejection of this directive, and in a way that made her wonder if he intended to ignore her request. But when she stepped into Joshua’s room, Xavier remained in the corridor, all dark and hard in contrast to the cream carpet and white walls of her townhouse.
And even though Xavier dominated every single one of her senses, the moment she crossed the threshold into their son’s room, Joshua had her entire focus. His breathing was heavy, thick with the effects of a chesty cold.
She crossed to him and lay the back of her hand against his forehead. His temperature was still high, and his sleep deep. She stroked fingers over his hair, and then dropped a palm to his chest.
“I love you so much, my darling. You know I’d do anything for you, don’t you?” And she leaned closer, pressing her lips to his forehead. “Even make a deal with the devil.” She swallowed, her mouth dry. “You deserve a father.”
A blade was slicing along the edges of her heart, and she endured every painful gash.
Four years ago, she and Xavier had slept together and she’d given him her heart and her hopes, and he hadn’t deserved them. And now? She was giving him so much more. But would he be a good father?
She had no reason to believe so, and yet she did. Some deeply-held certainty was slipping through her, reminding her of what he’d been like before. Yes, he’d been lying to her, but he’d been funny and smart, thoughtful and attentive. If he could fake those emotions, surely he could feel them genuinely as well?
It was a bitter pill to swallow, to accept that she hadn’t been enough for Joshua. With Eleanor and Apollo living in Greece most of the time, Ellie was seeing how alone she and Josh were.
A floorboard creaked and she startled, sitting up and tilting her head. Xavier stood in their son’s room, his darkly intent eyes blazing as they met Elizabeth’s. A thick wedge of light fell from the corridor into the room, so she saw everything as it played across his face. The anger and recrimination, the hatred, and then, the wonderment, as his gaze slid sideways and down, to Josh’s sleeping face.
“I told you to wait outside,” she said, but the words lacked bite. She couldn’t hold onto her temper. She was mesmerized.
Xavier took a step closer to Joshua and hovered, uncharacteristically uncertain. When he spoke, it was with a voice roughened by obvious emotion. “Is he okay?”
Ellie nodded. “He still has a temperature, and his chest is thick, but he’s sleeping well. I’ll check on him often tonight, and bring him into my bed if he’s fevered.”
He didn’t respond. She couldn’t even tell if he was still listening. His eyes were locked to Joshua’s face. And finally, he reached down and pressed his fingers to Joshua’s hair, lightly, gently, a gesture full of uncertainty.
Ellie couldn’t look away. In some ways, it was intensely private and she felt as though she were invading a moment to which she hadn’t been invited. But it was fascinating to look from one to the other and catalogue their likenesses – of which there were so many. Far greater than there were differences. She stood, somewhat awkwardly, and slipped from the room, checking the time on her slim wristwatch as she went.
It had only been an hour since she’d given him his paracetamol; mentally she calculated when she’d be able to administer another dose and then took one step down the hallway. But Xavier was right behind her; the clicking of Josh’s door into place alerted her to his presence and she waited courteously, spinning to face him.
And then wished she hadn’t.
There was a stone-cold determination on his face. “You will move in with me tomorrow.” His
eyes were loaded with intensity and determination. “If you think I am missing another day of his life, then you don’t know me at all.”
“I don’t know you,” she whispered the first thing that came to her mind, even though it wasn’t an answer to his statement at all.
His eyes narrowed, and his expression darkened, if that were possible. “Then know this. That boy is my son.” His voice was lowered but it reverberated as though he’d yelled. “I want him in my house, under my roof, and I want him there tomorrow.”
Or else.
He’d issued the ultimatum often enough to leave Ellie in little doubt as to how strongly he meant it.
She shivered at the threat, but she didn’t bother to argue. She suspected there’d be plenty of things to argue with Xavier about, and suddenly she wanted to save her energy for things that really mattered.
“Fine,” she said, nodding softly, her eyes focused on the carpet at her feet.
But it wasn’t enough to placate him. With a growl of frustration, he put a hand in the small of her back and guided her down the corridor and through the next door frame they came to. It just happened to be her bedroom.
Her cheeks flamed, but it wasn’t necessary – seduction was apparently the furthest thing from Xavier’s mind.
“How could you have kept him from me?” he demanded, his expression grim, his lips a thin line in his handsome face, his teeth white and evenly spaced.
“I-I’ve explained that,” she repeated with an air of patience that was belied by the trembling of her fingertips.
“Not well enough!” He ground out. He took a step towards her, his manner unknowingly menacing, so that she flinched. “There is no explanation you can offer that will make up for this.” His fingers curled around her arm, pulling her to his body. “You have taken so much from me, Elizabeth. I thought I had lost everything I cared for.” The words were shredded by despair and her heart twisted painfully in her chest. She stared up at him, seeing his heartbreak, and hating beyond words that it had been caused by another woman. That he still pined for his ex-wife.
Claiming his Secret Baby & Blackmailed by the Spaniard (Clare Connelly Pairs Book 4) Page 7