by Heidi Rice
Whatever his motives, the endorphins making every one of my pulse points pound relaxed as he stepped away from me.
He propped his elbows on the desk, those pure blue eyes skewering me to the spot as he studied me.
I waited for him to speak first.
‘Why?’ he asked at last. ‘Why didn’t you tell me about the boy’s existence?’ The words were clipped, his frustration clear, but unfortunately I didn’t have a straight answer for him.
‘I’m sorry,’ I apologised again. ‘I should have contacted you a long—’
‘I don’t want an apology.’ He cut in. ‘I want to know why. Is it because you weren’t sure if I was the father?’
The hurt at his mistrust of me was like a blow. So we were back to that again. I hated that he was forcing me to admit again how vulnerable I had been that night, but I refused to be defensive.
‘I told you, you were my first lover,’ I replied.
‘So you say, but you didn’t behave like a virgin. You were so...’ His gaze seared my skin, the memories pounding back to life.
‘I was so what?’ I said. ‘So un-virgin-like?’
‘So responsive, so eager.’ He growled the words as if they were an insult. But my stupid body didn’t take the comment as an insult. Instead the husky rasp made the fire inside me spark and spit.
‘How many women have an orgasm their first time?’ he added. ‘Unless you faked that too?’
I leapt out of the chair. ‘You bastard. I didn’t fake anything. I enjoyed it. I wanted it. I wanted you. I’d wanted to find out what all the fuss about sex was for a long time,’ I added quickly, in case he read too much into that bald statement. The truth was I hadn’t wanted sex with anyone. I’d wanted Alexi to be my first, had dreamed about what it would be like, and he had not disappointed me. I hadn’t just had one orgasm, I’d had several. But I’d be damned if I’d compliment him on his performance when he was already holding my response against me.
‘If I was really your first, why didn’t you tell me that?’ he countered and I wanted to scream. ‘Don’t all women want their first lover to know?’
‘Of course not,’ I shot back. ‘You’ve obviously never been a nineteen-year-old girl. The last thing I wanted was for you to know I’d never done it before.’ Duh. ‘You were gorgeous and sophisticated and six years older than me. I’d had a massive crush on you for as long as I could remember. I wanted you to see me as a woman. Not a little girl.’
‘You didn’t bleed,’ he said, still interrogating me.
The anger I’d carefully held at bay ripped through me to join the riot of inappropriate hormonal responses.
‘So what? I don’t have to prove my virginity to you. I don’t actually care whether you believe I was a virgin or not. I only told you because I wanted you to know how I knew Cai was your son.’
We were talking in circles, I realised. Pointless circles. I already knew I would never be able to break through the wall of cynicism that made him believe every woman was a cheat, an actress, a liar. And I had not come here to try.
‘But what about Remy?’ he said. ‘You expect me to believe you didn’t sleep with him when he loved you and you say you loved him?’
‘It was never like that between us—we were just friends.’ I wanted to say we’d been like brother and sister, but that would have been doing a disservice to our friendship. Remy and I had never fought, never argued. Unlike siblings, there had been no rivalry between us, only support and love. We had always had each other’s backs, had always been there for each other. God, I wished he was here for me right now, so he could knock some sense into his brother.
‘Don’t make me laugh. No man would be able to love you like he did and not want to take that friendship...’ he made sarcastic air quotes, making the anger thrum in my chest ‘...to its logical conclusion.’
‘Unless he was a gay man,’ I said.
‘What?’ he croaked.
Guilt ripped into me and I sat down again. I hadn’t intended to tell him about Remy so cold-bloodedly... I hadn’t even really considered telling him at all. Why would I reveal Remy’s secret now when I had respected my friend’s privacy for so long? But I hadn’t expected to be subjected to an inquisition about my virginity.
Why was Alexi so hung up about that detail of our liaison?
‘I’m sorry,’ I said grudgingly but, as I watched the truth he had never acknowledged about his brother cross his face, the guilt blossomed under my breastbone.
I had always known this would be hard for Alexi—finding out his brother had never confided in him, discovering that their relationship had not been as close as he’d thought—but I couldn’t hold on to the lies a moment longer.
‘Remy was gay,’ I reiterated, the anger fading and leaving me shaky and sad. ‘He had his first boyfriend when he was fourteen. He never wanted me in that way because he didn’t desire women.’
I sunk into the chair, suddenly exhausted. I’d got up at four that morning, left my child sleeping and been on a knife-edge of stress for days, but that wasn’t what was making my bones feel so weary. It was the renewed flicker of compassion as I watched the bone-deep regret cross Alexi’s face.
‘But if that’s true, why didn’t he tell me?’ he whispered. ‘Did he think I would reject him? That I would love him any less? That I was some kind of narrow-minded bigot?’
I hadn’t wanted to reopen this raw wound. Alexi was probably still beating himself up about Remy’s death, because that was the kind of man he was, jealously guarding his pain so he didn’t have to share it with anyone, or show any weakness.
‘No, of course not,’ I said. ‘Remy knew you loved him, because he knew all about the abuse you took from Gustavo to protect him.’
Alexi’s gaze hardened, as I knew it would. This was his private pain too. Stuff I was supposed to pretend didn’t matter, hadn’t affected him. But it was this secrecy which had made it impossible for Remy to confide in his brother. That needed to end now.
‘What are you talking about?’ he said.
‘We knew,’ I said. ‘About the extent of the abuse, Alexi. The back-handed slaps, the casual violence. We could hear the shouting, the things he said to you late at night when you both thought we were in bed. We saw the bruises, the split lips, the black eyes you pretended were caused by anything else but him. Remy knew how homophobic your father was. He kept his sexuality a secret because he thought he had to, to protect you from having to protect him from your father’s abuse. Again. That night...’
My breathing became ragged, the memories flowing back, the emotion, the pain, as real as the desire. ‘I came to you because I’d overheard your father shouting at you again. He hit you. And you didn’t hit him back, even though you could have. You were bigger and stronger than him, but you took it, the way you always did. I could see how angry you were, how humiliated, and I wanted to help, to make it better somehow.’
‘What are you saying?’ he demanded as he strode round the desk. ‘That the night we made our son was a pity screw? That you sacrificed your virginity to make me feel better about the fact my father hated my guts?’
I stood up and tilted my head so I could look into his eyes, brutally aware of the unyielding strength of his body, the tension vibrating through him and the pulse of desire making my knees dissolve. I shook my head because I had never pitied him, only loved him.
Going with instinct, I touched his cheek. I wasn’t infatuated with him any more, I could see all his weaknesses now, but a part of me still ached for that valiant young man who had always protected his brother.
The bunched muscle in his jaw clenched against my palm as he jerked his head free.
I dropped my hand. I should not have touched him. But, as I stared into his eyes, all I could see was the same rage and pain I’d wanted to soothe that night.
I didn’t want to soothe it an
y more. Because I knew I couldn’t.
‘Don’t touch me, Belle, or you’ll be sorry again,’ he said.
‘I’m not sorry,’ I said, the foolish urge to take away his pain getting the better of me. ‘I’ve never been sorry. I got Cai out of it, and the best sex of my life.’
The only sex of my life.
He swore viciously, but then his own hands cradled my cheeks. ‘Why do you tempt me still?’
I wasn’t sure if it was a question meant for me or himself, but I answered it anyway. ‘I can’t help it,’ I whispered.
His fingers threaded into my hair, sending flying the pins that I’d used to tame the red mass.
‘Tell me to stop,’ he said, his voice tortured as he tilted my head back.
‘I can’t.’ I shuddered, giving him the tacit permission he sought.
The wave of need slammed into me as his lips fastened on my neck, his teeth and tongue feasting on my throat as he sucked on the pulse point. I shivered as his erection pressed into my belly and my fingers gripped his shirt to drag him closer.
His arms banded around my waist at last, his fingers roaming freely under my blouse. Pleasure blossomed inside me, tightening my nipples.
At last his mouth found mine, his tongue plunging deep—tempting, taking, conquering.
I met his demands with demands of my own. It had been so long since I’d felt this need, this desire, so long since I’d been wanted in this way. But, just as my senses surrendered to everything I knew he could do for me, a loud knock sounded at the door.
We jumped apart so fast, it was as if a water cannon had been fired at us.
Alexi rubbed his chin, swearing softly as he stared at me as if I’d grown an extra head, while I struggled to get my breathing under some semblance of control.
It would almost have been funny, like the scene from a bad sitcom, if the implications of what we’d just done....or rather, had almost done...weren’t so catastrophic.
What exactly had I been thinking? I’d pretty much jumped him. I was a grown woman, and a mother. I should have been able to resist the desire that had flared like a firecracker as soon as I touched him.
Alexi was still my kryptonite—that much was obvious.
But I’d paid dearly once before for letting my desire rule my head. And for thinking that sex, especially the stupendous, incendiary sex that was clearly still our MO, was a substitute for emotional engagement.
I’d been emotionally engaged when I’d made love to him the first time. And he had not been. I wouldn’t get sucked into that vortex again.
‘Monsieur Galanti, there is an urgent call for you from the Paris office, and Monsieur Severo would like to know if you wish to delay the negotiations with Mademoiselle Simpson until tomorrow morning.’ I recognised the voice of his assistant and realised for the first time that the sun was beginning its descent in the distance. It had to be after six o’clock. Obviously Monsieur Severo and his team were keen to get the business portion of the day over with.
‘I’ll take the call from Paris, and tell Etienne Mademoiselle Simpson will be with them shortly,’ Alexi rasped, dragging his fingers through his hair as he continued to stare at me, probably struggling to make sense of what had almost happened just now as much as I was.
‘I should leave,’ I said, the panic starting to overwhelm me. Staying the night on this estate with this man, and all the memories, was fraught with danger. I’d thought I could hack it. I was a lot less sure now. But, as I went to pick up my bag, Alexi touched my wrist.
‘Don’t...’ He ran his fingertip up my arm. Could he feel my instinctive shudder? Probably... But I was way past being humiliated by my response to him. ‘Don’t go, I want you to stay.’
‘Why?’ I asked.
Desire blazed in his eyes for a moment and I was almost scalded by the intensity of it. But then he lifted his fingertip from my arm and tucked his hand into his trouser pocket. ‘Because there is much for my legal team to discuss with you...about our son. I have four years of back maintenance to pay, to begin with.’
I stiffened. ‘Is that why you brought me here, to offer me money? I don’t want your money.’
Did he still think I was a gold-digger?
‘I know that,’ he countered, and the clutching sensation in my stomach released. At least I wasn’t still beating my head against that brick wall any more. ‘But that doesn’t alter the fact I owe you money,’ he added. ‘You and my son. I know it hasn’t been easy for you both since you left Monaco. That you have student loans, a mortgage and other debts. I wish to set up a trust fund for the boy, and give you a generous allowance for his care that will be backdated.’
How did he know so much about my finances? But as soon as I’d asked the question I could guess the answer. He would have had me investigated. I’d expected as much.
But I didn’t want his money. It would compromise me. I didn’t want to give him any ownership of my life, and that included allowing him to pay my debts or give me maintenance. But I forced myself not to reject the suggestion out of hand.
A trust fund for Cai, I could accept. But before I did that we needed to talk about our son. That was why I was really here. And that was what I should concentrate on now. Not the heat between us that would not die.
‘Your son has a name,’ I said quietly.
He frowned. And I realised we had a very long way to go before I could introduce him to Cai. Was he even curious about his son? He hadn’t really asked me anything personal about him yet, hadn’t once referred to him by name. Jessie had been right—this was a relationship for which he wasn’t remotely prepared.
‘You’re right, I know nothing about Cai,’ he said, the deliberateness with which he made himself say his son’s name making me want to weep. ‘If you stay, we can work out the financial arrangements and also have a chance to talk about him. I have missed all his formative years,’ he went on and, while the edge of accusation was no longer there, I could still hear it in my head.
I was the one who had denied them both that emotional connection with my silence. Whether or not Alexi was capable of being a father, how much he even wanted to be one, remained to be seen. But it was no longer for me to make those decisions for him or Cai. ‘I never expected to become a father, so this is new territory for me,’ he added. ‘And I accept that where the boy is concerned I will need your guidance—which is precisely why I’m asking you to stay...’ He paused, his stance stiff, uncomfortable and oddly defensive for a man who rarely, if ever, admitted a weakness. ‘I’m not sure how much of a father I can be to him.’
He shoved both his hands into the pockets of his suit trousers.
I had the weirdest feeling he was trying to prevent himself from touching me. The thought was disturbing on one level, but oddly comforting on another. At least I wasn’t the only one struggling here.
‘So what is your answer?’ he asked. ‘Will you stay so we can continue to discuss this?’
I looked past him, out into the villa’s grounds, the landscaped gardens, the pool, the beach. However hard this was for me, it was time I faced my past—and started preparing myself and my son for our future. A future with Alexi Galanti in it. And learning to rationalise and control my body’s response to him was as much a part of that as anything else.
Turning back to him, I nodded. ‘Okay, I’ll stay.’
My stomach chose that precise moment to rumble louder than the helicopter in which I had arrived. Not all that surprising, given that I hadn’t eaten today, the nerves having got the better of me on the flight over, but still mortifying.
Alexi let out a strained laugh as he watched my face ignite. ‘I will arrange for some supper to be served while you meet with my legal team.’
‘You’re not joining us?’ I asked, then wished I could pull the question back. Why had my voice sounded so eager?
‘Etienne has
my authority to outline my wishes. If there is anything you are not happy with, we can discuss it tomorrow.’
I nodded. ‘That makes sense,’ I said, trying to sound pleased and not stupidly bereft at the thought of not seeing him until tomorrow.
What was wrong with me? Speaking to Etienne and his team without Alexi there would make it much easier not to let the knot of emotion in my stomach override my reason again.
But, just as I was congratulating myself on my pragmatism, he took his hand out of his pocket and tucked a tendril of hair behind my ear.
The sizzle of reaction shot through me, as shocking as it was debilitating.
‘I will see you tomorrow, bella notte,’ he murmured, his voice as husky as my wayward thoughts. ‘Sweet dreams.’
As he walked away, the yearning surged and I knew this relationship was going to be much tougher to negotiate than I had ever thought possible.
I might have grown up in the last five years, but unfortunately I hadn’t grown immune to Alexi Galanti. Not even close.
And now he knew it.
CHAPTER FIVE
Alexi
AS I STOOD on the balcony of my suite of rooms, I imagined Belle in the cottage where I had insisted she be accommodated after the combustible moment we’d shared before her meeting with Etienne and his team.
The guest house on the edge of the property was as far away from me as it was possible to put her. But, as I gazed down onto the pool terrace below my balcony, the site of our torrid liaison all those years ago, the night we’d made our son, I knew geographical distance was not going to control the yearning still pounding through my system.
What an arrogant fool I’d been to think she had no hold on me any more. How could I have kidded myself that my demand to bring her here—a place where I’d rarely stayed since my brother’s death—was all about the boy? A clever tactic to unsettle her which would help me get the upper hand in any negotiations...
Yes, it had unsettled her. But it had also unsettled me.
So much for having control of this damn situation. I felt less in control now than I had when I’d met her again a week ago and discovered I had a son. The night was warm, but not as warm as my skin, or the pulsing ache in my groin which had refused to subside ever since our kiss in my office four hours ago.