by Jennie Lucas
Let them suffer with the knowledge that the baby they’d thrown away could have made their fortune. He’d turned out to have some worth, after all. And they’d blown it.
He had a new family now. A beautiful wife here at home, raising their child, supporting him while he built his empire alone.
His heartbeat slowed to normal pace. He looked at his platinum watch. Guests had already started to arrive in the ballroom, without either host or hostess to greet them. Where was Hana? This was her party, damn it!
“Antonio.”
Hearing his wife’s soft voice calling from above, he looked up, and his jaw dropped.
There at the top of the sweeping staircase, he saw a princess.
Hana’s long dark hair had been twisted into a ballerina bun at the top of her head, surrounded by a delicate diamond tiara. She was wearing a blue gown, cut Regency-style, with a very low bodice that showcased a diamond and sapphire necklace, as well as her overflowing breasts. Layers of baby blue fabric skimmed lightly over her full, pregnant belly, and she wore white gloves that went up past her elbows.
Her brown eyes were guarded as she came down the staircase, her gloved hand skimming over the handrail, floating so lightly that he looked at her feet to see if she were being carried by doves, or at least glass slippers. No, just stiletto sandals in matching baby blue.
“You look stunning,” he said when she reached the bottom of the stairs.
She smiled, but it seemed strangely sad. Why? Because he’d informed her he wouldn’t give her half the company? No, that couldn’t be it. Hana was no gold digger. All along, she’d wanted to focus on their family and home. He was simply helping her do that.
But in this moment, she looked so glamorous he almost couldn’t recognize her. Hana’s lips were full and red, her brown eyes rich and expressive beneath the extravagant sweep of dark lashes.
She paused. “I read the post-nup.”
“And signed it?”
“And...we’ll talk about it later.”
“You will sign,” Antonio said, holding out his arm. He knew it was the only way they could both be happy.
Lowering her gaze, she gently placed her gloved hand around the arm of his black tuxedo jacket. “Shall we greet our guests?”
As they entered the palacio’s ballroom, Antonio saw it had been transformed. The gilded mirrors were now covered with red roses, like a romantic fantasy.
Strange. He’d owned this palacio for a decade. He’d bought it as a symbol of how far he’d come, a way to prove to everyone, especially himself, that he was no longer a scruffy orphan, a pathetic squalling foundling who’d had to be given a name by the shocked nuns at a church.
This palace had been commissioned in the early nineteenth century by a young nobleman who’d come to a bad end in a duel, dying for love, “which,” Antonio always finished smugly when he’d told the story, “shows he was too stupid to deserve such a magnificent home.” It had taken several years of remodeling to bring the palace into the current century, with modern comforts and technology.
But Antonio had left this ballroom almost intact, from the gilded mirrors to the vibrant frescoes of Cupid and amorous couples on the ceiling. The ballroom had seemed a useless anachronism, so ridiculously romantic he’d never bothered with it. And it had never been more romantic than now, covered with flowers and filled with guests in tuxedos and ball gowns.
But somehow, he didn’t hate it.
Antonio looked at his regally beautiful wife on his arm, listening as she greeted each guest courteously and intelligently, thanking them for attending CrossWorld Airways’s charity fund-raiser in several different languages. He felt a swell of pride.
The evening passed in a swirl of conversation and laughter, with three hundred people in the ballroom all charmed by his wife, unable to resist her sweet pleas that they should donate to the CrossWorld Kids charity, which in addition to raising funds for medicine and supplies would offer free transport to medical teams. As she told heartfelt stories of the good that could be done, he was mesmerized by her beautiful face and the tremble of her voice. He congratulated himself on marrying her.
Antonio felt strangely reluctant to leave her side during the ball. He was irritated when he was interrupted by Horace Lund, the recently divorced owner of the American avionics firm that had lately become a takeover target, the same company Hana had pleaded with him to leave alone. But how could he, when Lund Avionics was so ripe for the taking?
As the pudgy, sweaty, anxious man pulled him into a quiet corner of the ballroom, Antonio gritted his teeth. “What do you want?”
He braced himself, wondering if the man would burst into sobs and beg for money. Maybe he should call security before Lund ruined the whole charity ball.
Horace Lund took a deep breath, then said unhappily, “I want you to buy my company.”
Antonio’s jaw dropped, then he caught himself. “Because you know I will take it, whether you wish it or not.”
“My company is a picked-over bone being fought over by dogs. And there’s no way I can consolidate our debts, not in the middle of this divorce.” The middle-aged man wiped his eyes. “I’d rather sell my company to you whole than risk another corporation getting it. At least I know you won’t break my company up for parts and fire all our employees.” He took a deep breath. “As long as my employees still have jobs...”
The older man cut a pitiable figure. Antonio discovered he felt sorry for him. But why should he? The man had done it to himself. Lund had been an idiot for not asking his wife for a prenup before she divorced him. Just being around the sad, hunched man made Antonio feel edgy. It made him more determined than ever to make Hana sign the papers tonight, no matter how proud of her he was in this moment.
He looked back at Hana, glowing onstage as she spoke so earnestly about CrossWorld’s new charity. He remembered her voice. Plus, I don’t like kicking someone when they’re down.
“No,” he heard himself say suddenly. “I won’t buy it.”
“You’re going to let the other airline take it?” The other man’s eyes filled with fear. “They’re heartless. They’ll fire everyone—”
“I’m offering you a loan, Lund,” he said abruptly. “On reasonable terms.”
Lund almost staggered with shock. “You—want to help me?”
“You’re the best electronics supplier in the business,” Antonio said. “It would be inconvenient for me if you went bust.”
“How can I ever repay you,” the man whispered, choking up, reaching out to shake his hand.
Antonio pulled away, pushing a card into his hand. “Don’t thank me. Just contact my lawyers.”
Lund shook his head in wonder. “Why, Delacruz? You’ve always been a shark. Why would you save me?”
“It’s a business decision, nothing more,” Antonio blurted out, and fled. Stepping out into the privacy of the hallway outside his ballroom, he called his lawyers. Afterward, as he returned to the crowded ballroom, with all its music and flowers, he still couldn’t understand why he’d done it. He’d had an excellent chance of buying the shares cheap and taking control of the company at a stellar profit. What was wrong with him?
Hana. She was what was wrong. It wasn’t enough that she’d gained the loyalty of his employees and tried to take over his company. She was starting to make Antonio doubt his own priorities.
You’ve always been a shark.
His hands tightened. It wouldn’t be enough to get Hana out of his company, he suddenly realized. He needed her out of his soul. Out of his heart.
Antonio felt the shiver of ice down his spine, the one he always felt when he felt the air around him changing. Gritting his teeth, he pushed the feeling aside. He just liked the American company’s cockpit instrument displays, that was all. As Lund had said, the bigger airline would have consumed it whole. Their CEO was a corporate blood
sucker.
It had been a stone-cold business decision, nothing more. His priorities were strength and profit, like always. He hadn’t changed. He was his own man. He made his own fate.
Hana would sign the post-nup tonight, and tomorrow he’d fly off to New York. For the foreseeable future, he would be so busy building his empire that their only connection would be in bed, or to discuss matters regarding their child’s welfare. He’d give his wife free rein at home and she’d have no complaints.
Grabbing a glass of scotch, he drank it down in a single gulp and deposited the empty glass on a passing tray. He saw his wife speaking to some French aerospace executives he recognized. As he approached, he heard the executives eagerly telling Hana about their latest technology. She responded with sharp, incisive questions that made the other men laugh, with admiring glances. Coming from behind, Antonio kissed her softly on the temple.
Hana turned to look at him. “Where have you been?”
“Investing in avionics,” he said lightly.
“We’d heard about your wife,” one of the executives told him jovially, smiling at Hana. “But the rumors didn’t do her justice. It’s a pleasure, madame.”
She grinned. “Just remember that when we discuss that discount for our next order.”
“You drive a hard bargain.”
She was obviously still representing herself as a leader in his company. Repressing his irritation, Antonio gave the executives a bland smile. “Will you excuse me, gentlemen? My wife and I are supposed to lead the first dance.”
As he led Hana onto the dance floor of the palacio’s ballroom, a hush fell across the crowd. At his sign, music began to play from the orchestra. Pulling her into his arms, Antonio held her against his tuxedo-clad body, the two of them alone beneath a spotlight on the ballroom dance floor.
Her arms in long white gloves wrapped around the shoulders of his black jacket, as the skirts of her blue ball gown fluttered against his legs. Her baby bump pressed against his muscled belly as his hands went to the small of her back. He felt her sway. Her brown eyes glowed with warmth, and her diamond tiara and jeweled necklace sparkled with fire beneath the chandeliers high above.
Hana was so beautiful. His hands tightened on her back. In this moment, in spite of all his promises to himself to be his own man and make his own fate, all he could feel was her.
Right here, in his arms, Hana was everything he’d ever wanted.
* * *
I love you. Just three little words. Why were they so hard for her to say?
As Hana swayed in her husband’s arms, beneath the ballroom spotlight, as she looked up into his dark, unfathomable gaze as the orchestra’s music swelled around them, telling him she loved him wasn’t just hard—it was impossible.
All too soon, other guests joined them on the dance floor, bumping up against them, watching them, smiling at them—and the moment was lost.
She had to tell him. It was her only way to change the course of their lives. She had to be brave enough to finally speak words she could never take back.
Either Antonio would realize he loved her as well, and they could be happy...or else he’d tell her he couldn’t. And they wouldn’t.
The stakes were so high, it terrified her.
She couldn’t say the words.
Hours later, when the ball finally ended and the last guest departed in the wee hours of the morning, Antonio turned to her with a smile. “Are you pleased?”
“Pleased?” she repeated, searching his gaze.
“You did a good job, Hana.” He tilted his head. “You raised a lot of money tonight for charity, and gained goodwill and good press for CrossWorld.” He paused. “Perhaps you could continue running the kids’ charity. From home.”
“I suppose.” It had been a long day. They’d already told the house staff to go to bed. Tomorrow would be soon enough to tidy up.
Hana felt weary as she looked at Antonio in the darkened ballroom. The sweet smell of wilting flowers wafted around them as candles flickered to an end. She asked in a low voice, “Why don’t you want me in the company anymore?”
Antonio hesitated. “You know why.”
“Why?”
“Because I want you to have the freedom to be home. Taking care of our baby.”
“But there’s more to it than that, I know there is—”
“Did you sign the post-nup?”
“Yes.” Her heart was pounding. I signed it because I love you. Why couldn’t she say it?
“Where is it?”
“I left it in the bedroom.”
“So you agree to the terms?”
“Yes.” She’d barely skimmed the contract, as she’d been in a hurry to get ready for the party. But she’d have physical custody of their child, which was all she cared about. The money didn’t matter.
“Good.” He gave a brief nod. “I hope you feel the financial settlement was generous.”
“Yes. Thank you,” she said numbly, because he seemed to be waiting for a response. Did he expect her to be grateful to him for carefully planning their divorce, when all she wanted was for him to love her?
She had to tell him.
Her body temperature suddenly went up twenty degrees. Feeling hot and afraid, she pulled off her long white gloves. Abruptly changing the subject, she said brightly, “I heard a rumor this evening.”
“Rumor?” Antonio watched her peel the long gloves down her arms, one by one. A hunger came into his eyes.
“I can hardly believe it,” she continued.
“Believe what?” His gaze fell onto her lips, his hard-edged face half in shadow. He looked devastatingly handsome in his perfectly cut tuxedo.
She smiled. “I heard a rumor that you not only let Horace Lund off the hook, you gave him a loan so his company would survive.”
His dark eyes flashed up to hers, looking almost vulnerable, as if she’d caught him doing something wrong.
“So?” His tone was dismissive.
She didn’t understand. “I’m glad.”
His jaw hardened in the guttering candlelight. “You need to stop trying to interfere with my company.”
His company. For such a brief amount of time, it had been their company. The lump returned to her throat and she looked away. “You mean when I was discussing the new aircraft with Pierre.”
“It’s not your place.”
Heart aching, Hana lifted her gaze to his and said, “I don’t know where my place is anymore.”
Taking her hands in his own, he lowered his head and kissed the back of each one.
“In my home,” he whispered. “In my bed.”
Their eyes met. Still holding her hand, he led her out of the shadowy ballroom and down the hall. He pulled her up the sweeping staircase, beneath the chandelier soaring high overhead, and the gaze of the angelic cherubs regarding them from the painted ceiling.
The palacio was strangely quiet, in the darkest hours of night, with all the servants long gone to bed. Their footsteps echoed against the tile as he led her down the hallway to their bedroom.
Closing the door behind him, he set her back gently on the bed, then fell to his knees on the priceless Turkish rug in front of her. Without a word, he untied each of her stiletto sandals, one by one, sending them skittering to the floor.
Rising to his feet, he slowly undid his cuff links and pulled off his black tuxedo jacket. His hard, handsome face was edged with moonlight from the window as he unbuttoned his shirt.
Her heart started to pound, in rhythm to the words she could not say. I love you.
His hard-muscled chest was lightly dusted with dark hair, his skin hot and smooth beneath the rough bristles as he lifted her back to her feet as if she weighed nothing. Unzipping the back of her blue Regency-style ball gown, he let it drop to the floor, leaving her standing in front of him
in nothing but white lace panties, cut low to fit beneath her swelling belly, and a white lace demi-bra that barely contained her overflowing breasts.
Reaching around her, he undid the clasp, and her bra dropped to the floor as her breasts sprang free. With a flick of his fingers, he ripped the edges of the panties, and that white scrap of lace, too, fell to the floor.
“You don’t have to destroy them—” she protested, then her mouth went dry when she saw the heat in his dark gaze.
Antonio cupped her face with his hands. “This is just as I always pictured you,” he whispered. “Naked, filled with my child.” His fingertips lightly stroked the diamond and sapphire necklace above her bare collarbone. “Covered only with jewels.”
She could not make herself say the words. I love you. But perhaps she could show him...
Hana pushed him back gently against the bed. Surprised, he looked up at her with smoldering eyes.
Leaning over, she kissed him. His sensual lips were warm and intoxicating. She wondered if he, too, was trying to tell her he loved her, because that was how he kissed her. Oh, if only it could be true...
Looking down at him, she pulled off the sparkling diamond tiara and set it on the nightstand. As if it were a striptease, she slowly pulled off all the hairpins from her ballerina bun, one at a time, tossing them to the floor.
Lying on the bed beneath her, he watched her, his eyes wide, his lips parted.
Looking down at him through her sweep of black eyelashes, she deliberately pulled the last hairpin from the bun. Shaking her head, she let her long dark hair tumble down her naked shoulders in the silvery moonlight.
Lowering her head, she kissed him, as the dark curtain of hair fell around her, brushing against his chest. Reaching up, he gripped her shoulders and kissed her, long and hard, his tongue plundering hers.
“Careful.” Pulling back, she gave a low laugh, running the tip of one fingernail down his hard-muscled chest. “Remember I’m pregnant.” She let the nail dig a little deeper. “You have to be very, very gentle with me...”
“I’m always gentle,” he growled, his deep voice booming against the high ceiling of the nineteenth-century Spanish bedroom. Taking a deep breath, he repeated in a calmer voice, “I can be gentle.” But even as his grip on her shoulders loosened, she saw the barely restrained wildness in his eyes.