by Heidi Rice
‘I’m deadly serious. I need a reserve driver and I want you... You should be on the track, not behind it. Once you’re signed with Galanti we can discuss the possibility of getting a full driver spot for you, maybe next season. I’ll make it worth your while to break your attachment to Camaro...’ His gaze dipped, his perusal swift but no less insulting, and the heat ignited in my cheeks as I saw the spark of desire and realised he thought Renzo and I were lovers.
I knew rumours were rife on the track and in the Camaro team that I was sleeping with the boss. Renzo had been instrumental in advancing my career, hiring me for his R&D team straight after I’d finished my masters in bioengineering and alternative fuel technology last year. He had been remarkably flexible about my childcare commitments on the job, had befriended Cai—who idolised him—and I did sometimes wonder if he thought of me as more than an employee and a friend... But he had never stepped over that line and I certainly hadn’t encouraged him.
‘I’m not for sale,’ I said flatly, determined not to let my hurt at Alexi’s insinuations show.
I didn’t need this man’s approval. It had taken me five years to get over his rejection. When I’d arrived in the UK and discovered I was carrying his child, the grief for Remy and everything I’d lost the day he’d died had all but destroyed me.
My confidence, and my sense of self had been left in tatters but I’d dragged myself up off the floor, with the help of my wonderful second cousin, Jessie, and forced myself to concentrate on what mattered.
I’d had my child and dedicated myself to supporting us both with two jobs, while taking on a mountain of student debt and studying late into the night to realise a new dream that in the last year had finally started to take off.
I had been a fool to keep the news of his child from him, something about which I had become starkly aware in the last few minutes. I would have to rectify that as soon as I could manage the news in a way that wouldn’t hurt Cai.
But I didn’t have to defend my professional reputation to Alexi or anyone else.
‘That’s a shame,’ Alexi said, his husky voice sending goose bumps skittering over my skin. ‘Because, whatever Renzo is paying you, you’re worth more. And with the talent I saw on the track ten minutes ago it’s obvious you should be driving.’
‘I don’t want to drive, not competitively,’ I said, pushing past the sexual fog threatening to envelop me, to concentrate on getting him out of here. I didn’t have time for a negotiation. Or to obsess over the way he could still make me feel simply by looking at me.
Why did I have to be so affected by this man? It was as if a spell had been cast on me as soon as I’d hit puberty and I couldn’t escape the enchantment of my own body.
So not the point, Belle.
‘Why the hell don’t you want to drive?’ Alexi shot back, his frustration only making his dark good looks and intense gaze all the more overwhelming. ‘That was always your dream ever since you were a kid, wasn’t it?’
I was surprised he had remembered that much about me. As a teenager, and later as a man, he had always made a point of ignoring me. Until that night.
‘It was my dream once,’ I said. ‘It’s not my dream any more. Now, would you please leave before I call security?’ It was an empty threat, and we both knew it. No security guy in his right mind would eject Alexi Galanti from the track—the man was motor-racing royalty. But I was desperate.
Not surprisingly, he ignored the threat and, instead of leaving, stepped closer. Close enough for me to capture his intoxicating scent—spice, musk and the hint of pine soap. The aroma made my knees shake, propelling me back to that night—somewhere I so did not need to go ever again.
I stood my ground, though, because showing Alexi a weakness had never ended well.
‘Tell me why,’ he insisted, the frustration disappearing to be replaced with something much more disturbing—genuine interest in me and my life, something I’d yearned for all through my teenage years. ‘Tell me why you gave up on your dream, bella notte,’ he repeated, his voice soft, coaxing, as he used the nickname he had coined that night, no doubt to intimidate me more. ‘And then I’ll leave.’
I opened my mouth, determined to give him an answer, any answer that would make him leave and take this pointless yearning away again. But the only explanation I could think of was the real one.
Because I have a child, a son, who I love more than life itself. And I’m the only person he has. I can’t risk leaving him alone—dying the way Remy died. So I found a way to readjust my dreams. To feed my passion for racing—while also fulfilling my obligations to my child.
But I couldn’t tell him that.
As I racked my brains, trying to come up with a viable alternative reason Alexi would believe, it occurred to me I’d been hoisted by my own dishonesty.
And then the door burst open and Cai ran into the room ten minutes early, a four-year-old bundle of energy...and the black hole in the pit of my stomach imploded. For the first time in my life I was not pleased to see him.
My time had run out.
‘Mummy, Mummy, I saw the car!’ he cried, practically bursting with excitement as he raced towards me, oblivious to Alexi and everything else. ‘Mr Renzo let me touch it.’
He ran past Alexi, who stepped back, his dark brows launching up his forehead. Cai’s sturdy body barrelled into me and the love I had felt for him as soon as I’d held him in my arms after ten agonising hours of labour washed through me.
‘Mr Renzo said I could sit in it if I’m good.’
Cai’s arms wrapped around my legs as he peered up at me, the love in his eyes all-consuming and utterly uncomplicated. The blue of his irises was the same true, iridescent aquamarine as those of the man standing two feet away, staring at him as if he were an alien.
‘Can I, Mummy? Can I?’ he pleaded, completely oblivious to the tension now snapping in the room. I could almost feel Alexi’s mind working as he stared at my child and calculated dates and ages. Cai was tall for a four-year-old, probably because his father was six-foot-three, but that wasn’t going to help me.
With the light from the window shining onto Cai’s dark, wavy hair and illuminating his face and his Galanti bone structure—which had become more defined in the last year or two as he’d grown from toddlerhood into boyhood—the resemblance to his father was all the more striking.
Alexi was not a stupid man, and as my gaze connected with his over Cai’s head I watched as he figured out Cai’s heritage—the stunned disbelief turning to shock before a sharp frown flattened his brows and his sensual lips pursed into a tight line of accusation.
‘Can I, Mummy?’
My gaze dropped back to Cai, my thoughts in turmoil as my heart rammed my tonsils. I ruffled his silky hair, trying to stop my hand shaking. I needed to get my son out of here, away from Alexi. I didn’t want Cai to witness our impending confrontation. Whatever else I knew, I knew this was not his fault.
‘Of course you can, Cai-baby,’ I said, using the nickname which always made him giggle.
‘I’m not a baby any more, Mummy. I’m a big boy.’ The infectious laughter—so innocent, so delighted—only tightened the knots of anguish in my stomach. Whatever happened next, my only thought now had to be to protect my child from the fallout of this revelation.
I knelt down so I could hold Cai and momentarily shield myself from the accusatory frown of the man standing behind him.
‘Yes, but have you been a good boy?’ I asked.
Cai nodded furiously. ‘Yes, Mummy. Ask Auntie Jessie, she’ll tell you, I had my nap without making any fuss at all.’
‘Is that true, Jess?’ I asked my cousin, who had entered the lounge behind Cai and was glancing backwards and forwards between Alexi and his child.
I’d never told Jessie who Cai’s father was—and she knew nothing about motor racing, so she wouldn’t recognise my form
er employer—but it was obvious she had noticed the resemblance.
‘I wouldn’t say no fuss,’ she said, letting out a nervous half-laugh. ‘But certainly minimal fuss. Shall I take Cai back to the car hangar and see if he can sit in the car yet?’ she added, sizing up the situation.
Thank you, Jessie. You are my life saver. Again.
I nodded. ‘Great.’ I cleared my throat, my voice breaking on the word, my gratitude for all this woman had done for me and Cai over the last five years choking me. ‘I’ll join you in a minute.’
At least whatever I had to face with Alexi now would not be faced in front of Cai.
‘Yes!’ Cai jumped up and punched the air, his face beaming with triumph and happiness. ‘Come soon, Mummy, I want you to see me sit in the car too. And take pictures to show Imran,’ he said, mentioning his best friend at pre-school.
He went to run to Jessie but stopped abruptly, noticing Alexi for the first time. ‘Hello,’ he said with the confidence of a four-year-old who had never learned to be intimidated by anything. ‘Are you my mummy’s friend?’
Alexi stared at his son without speaking, and the guilt which I had tried so hard not to acknowledge for so long all but overwhelmed me.
Had I done a terrible thing, not contacting Alexi? I wondered as I watched Alexi’s gaze roam over his son’s features, absorbing every detail.
‘Yes,’ Alexi said at last, lifting his gaze from Cai to me, his voice a rasp of emotion.
The slow-burning judgement in his eyes—judgement I recognised from all those years ago by Remy’s graveside—made it clear that was a lie.
He wasn’t my friend. He was my adversary.
Thankfully Cai didn’t notice the harsh look as he rushed to join Jessie. But he stopped at the door and turned back, gifting Alexi one of his sunniest smiles. ‘You can come too and see me sit in the car if you like.’
Alexi nodded. ‘Okay.’
Jessie ushered Cai out of the room, sending me a concerned look. ‘Take as long as you need,’ she said.
It occurred to me that for ever might not be long enough as the door shut behind them. I had brought this on myself. Now I had to negotiate a way out of it. But was that even possible?
The silence descended like a shroud as I waited for the axe to fall but, when Alexi spoke, he said the last thing I had expected.
‘Your son’s resemblance to Remy is remarkable. Why the hell didn’t you tell me you were carrying his child when I kicked you out?’
For a moment I was confused, but then I remembered the accusation Alexi had flung at me at the graveside—that I had cheated on Remy, that we both had. That Remy and I had been more than friends...that we had been lovers.
For another moment, I considered letting Alexi believe that misconception. If I told him Cai was Remy’s child, he would have no real claim on my son. On our son.
But it only took a moment more for the mushroom cloud of guilt I had denied for so long to halt that line of reasoning.
There had been so many lies between us and so many omissions. I had kept Remy’s sexuality a secret for five years, just like the secret of our son’s existence, and it had brought us both to this point.
I had to tell Alexi the truth now, however hard. No more excuses.
‘He doesn’t look like Remy, Alexi. I never slept with your brother. You were my first lover...’ My only lover, I almost added, but bit into my lip to stop that truth coming out.
Alexi didn’t need to know no other man had ever made me feel the way he had. The way he could still make me feel if the heat pulsing deep in my abdomen was anything to go by.
I needed to tell him the truth now—but never again did I intend to make myself as vulnerable as I had been before. And my sexual history—or lack of it—was none of his business.
‘Cai’s not Remy’s son...’ I continued, because he looked suspicious now as well as confused, the brittle cynicism turning his features to stone. I took a deep breath, forcing myself to continue. ‘He’s not your brother’s son, Alexi. He’s yours.’
CHAPTER THREE
Alexi
I STARED AT Belle, stunned by her revelation.
I had known, as soon as the child had run into the room and grasped his mother’s legs, that the boy was a Galanti. His round, open face, thick thatch of dark curls and sunny demeanour as he’d bombarded his mother with questions and requests had been so like Remy at the same age, it had been like seeing a ghost.
A ghost of the brother I’d lost, the brother I still missed, the only person who had ever really known me.
Shock had come first, but my surprise had quickly been overcome by the rush of an emotion I couldn’t name and, more terrifyingly, couldn’t control. It was sharp like the grief, loss and guilt which had dogged me for five years but was tangled up with joy—the joy of seeing that happy, uncomplicated face I’d thought I would never see again once more.
Not Remy’s child, my child. That was what she’d said. But I didn’t believe her. Or, rather, I didn’t want to believe her.
How could this child be mine? I was not a father, could never be a father, did not deserve to be a father.
How did I know she wasn’t lying? She said I’d been her first, but how could that be when she and Remy had been like each other’s shadows ever since her mother had first come to work for us? Remy had loved her, that much I did know. But...
The desire which had been lurking rippled through me as I recalled the intense physical connection of our one night together—the feel of soft skin, her staggered sobs as I’d entered her, the riot of pleasure cascading through me as I came...inside her.
I hadn’t used a condom—hadn’t been sober enough or smart enough to think about it. And the next day, when I had intended to check on her, Remy’s crash, his death, had made me forget everything except my guilt at taking his girl, at using her to salve my own loneliness...
I dragged a hand through my hair and studied her face, trying to get my thoughts in order and quell the rioting pulse of emotion, the relentless desire for her, that was still there despite everything.
Did it really matter which one of us had fathered the child? If he was a Galanti I needed to protect him, give him the family name, make him my heir. And find out why she had not told me of his existence until now.
Had she ever intended to tell me?
Her face was a picture of stubborn integrity, but I could see the flicker of guilty knowledge in her eyes.
My usual cynicism returned full force. What was I thinking? Of course she hadn’t told me the truth about the boy’s parentage. The same reasons she had come on to me that night still applied. I had no evidence of the innocence she claimed. Had she bled? I was fairly certain she had not. Although I’d been too ashamed of my own actions, the shocking pleasure of our union, to be absolutely sure.
One thing was certain, though. She had responded to me with an intensity that had taken my breath away. I still had dreams about her soft, breathy sobs as her body had contracted around mine, forcing me to a climax so staggering that just the echo of it had woken me up on so many nights since then, sweaty and desperate, my groin aching, my erection as hard as iron.
Was that normal for a novice? How would I know? I’d never been a woman’s first before. Had certainly never wanted that responsibility. And I didn’t want it now. So I rejected her claims in favour of the narrative I had settled on five years ago.
‘Seriously? You expect me to believe you never slept with Remy?’ I said, my voice carefully devoid of the emotions churning in my stomach and tightening my ribs.
She blinked, stiffened, the flicker of distress in the green depths quickly masked but there nonetheless.
What the hell? Was she really that easy to read? Or was she simply a consummate actress?
‘I’m telling you I know Cai is your son, not Remy’s—whether you believe it
or not is up to you.’
She went to walk past me but I grasped her arm, the emotion thundering so hard against my ribs now that the struggle to control it—to stop her from seeing it—was impossible. I couldn’t stay here. I needed to get away, to think, to clear my head and decide what needed to be done now. And most importantly of all regain the emotional equilibrium that had become an integral part of who I was since my brother’s death.
‘There’s a simple way to find out the truth. I want a DNA test done,’ I said.
I needed to know. Was the boy mine or my brother’s? Once I had the full facts at my fingertips, I could begin to figure out how I was going to deal with this staggering revelation.
She tugged her arm out of my grasp. I could see she hadn’t expected that demand. I could also see she wanted to refuse the request.
Satisfaction and a strange sense of regret powered through me.
I was right. I had not been her first. She didn’t know if the child was mine or Remy’s. Why else would she want to avoid a DNA test? Either she knew the boy was Remy’s or she didn’t know which of us had fathered her child.
For all I knew, she might have slept with us both that day.
The memory of her face from five years ago, so open, giving and compassionate, flashed before me. I dismissed it. Just another lie. Another act.
She blinked furiously, as if close to tears, but then her chin firmed and she stared back at me.
‘Okay,’ she said, surprising me with her capitulation. Clearly she had decided to gamble with the possibility I was the boy’s father.
I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, the emotions confusing me again.
Did I secretly want to be the child’s father? How could that be true when I’d never intended to become a parent? When I knew Remy had always been the best of us. That it would be much better if he could claim this legacy now not me.
I shut down the foolish rush of yearning that the boy was mine.
It made no sense. And, anyway, until I had the results of the test, I did not have to deal with this confusing tangle of emotions.