The Cost of Claiming His Heir

by Michelle Smart

  Emiliano gazed at the beautiful angry face before him, heart throbbing, head pounding, and tried to get a grip on himself. Staff swarmed around them, a few curious eyes watching.

  When Louise had blithely told him Becky had gone for a ride he’d had to stop himself from firing her on the spot. All he’d been able to see was Becky on the ground, helpless. If she hadn’t appeared at that moment he would have set off in search of her.

  ‘What if he’d bucked you off?’

  ‘Bertie’s softer than a marshmallow.’

  But that only brought to mind the softness and taste of her kisses, something he’d fought hard to forget. ‘What if he’d been bitten by something? Or trodden on something that lamed him?’

  ‘What if I’d slipped going down the stairs and broken my neck?’ she retorted. ‘Do you want to ban me from using them on a “what-if?”’

  ‘Don’t be flippant. If you’re pregnant then it is my job to protect you and our child and that means not allowing you to take any risks with your health.’

  ‘Not allowing me?’ Her face contorted into a host of incredulous expressions before she got to her feet and hissed, ‘Don’t you dare lay down the law to me. I’m not a child and I won’t tolerate being treated as one. And, while we’re on the subject, I understand Greta’s old rooms are still available. I want to move into them.’

  ‘Out of the question.’

  ‘Why?’

  Because there were no individual staff lodges or cottages here apart from his housekeeper’s. Everyone else was housed in the huge staff complex. Because his staff played as hard as they worked. If Becky was carrying his child she needed to rest.

  ‘Because I say so. In case you’ve forgotten, you are still in my employ until your notice period has been worked and what I say goes.’

  Mutiny flared over the beautiful face, plump lips pulling in and out before she deftly sidestepped him and stalked off in the direction of the ranch.

  The boys looked from Emiliano to Becky’s retreating figure and decided to follow her.

  Biting back an oath, Emiliano sucked a huge lungful of air in. When he turned at least a dozen figures suddenly jumped to attention and restarted what they’d been doing before he’d given them cause for diversion.

  Damn her, he thought savagely. Damn her for her flagrant lack of self-preservation and damn her for her obstinacy, and damn her for failing to show due deference in front of the other staff. That he’d never expected or wanted deference from staff before mattered not a jot.

  ‘Saddle Nikita for me,’ he ordered a passing groom, who started at his tone before hurrying off to comply.

  Time for him to go on a long ride of his own.

  CHAPTER SIX

  BECKY SPENT MUCH of the next week with the boys. She saw little of Emiliano. Their interactions were infrequent and always to the point and always about the dogs. When he’d curtly told her a couple of days ago that he was taking a short trip back to Monte Cleure, she’d breathed an inward sigh of relief.

  She tried her hardest not to dwell on their short hate-filled exchange at the stables. But she carried the remnants of it inside her, alternating between hating him for his arrogant, high-handed manner and missing the man he’d been before they’d stupidly slept together. She wished that old Emiliano was still here. The prospect of being pregnant with the old Emiliano’s child wasn’t as worrying as it was with this closed-off stranger.

  And yet, when she’d gone down for breakfast the day before, there had been a hollowness in her chest at his absence. That hollowness hadn’t left her. He was due back that evening and every sound had her heart contracting that it could be him.

  Feeling as if she would go mad if she rattled around the ranch with only her own thoughts for much longer, she was pleased to get out that evening for a staff party.

  It was in full swing when she arrived with the dogs at her side. All the stable staff and other workers were out in force, apart from those doing the night shift—Emiliano did not take any chances when it came to his horses, and the grooms rotated the night shifts—taking full advantage of the chance to let their hair down after a long English polo season and the stressful journey with the horses back to Argentina. Music pumped, beer and wine flowed freely and some of the meat being cremated on the barbecue was actually edible.

  Reluctantly, Becky stuck to lemonade. Alcohol was not something she could risk but she still hoped to enjoy herself. Thoughts of Emiliano made that impossible. She couldn’t stop her gaze flitting around in dread—or was it hope?—that he’d retuned to the ranch and decided to join the party. Would he stride into the garden armed with kegs of beer and boxes of fine wine, that lopsided grin on his face, lifting the mood even higher with his mere presence as she’d seen him do before?

  What was he doing now? Had he gone partying elsewhere? Gone on a date with one of the long-legged beauties who swarmed around him? The thought made her chest tighten painfully, just as it had during all his other absences that week. Strangely, in all the time she’d worked for him, she’d never seen him with a woman on his arm or witnessed a woman scurrying from his home in the early hours.

  After a couple of hours of attempting to party, her cheeks hurt from faking smiles and fatigue crept in.

  It was a ten-minute walk back but she barely noticed the stars twinkling above her in the dark sky, her thoughts too full of Emiliano and the horrible atmosphere that had developed and been sustained between them. She knew she was as much to blame for it as him. Neither of them had handled their night together and the possible consequences well.

  As she approached the ranch she noticed the front porch light was on, a dark figure in shadows. It wasn’t until the dogs gave happy barks and bounded forwards, triggering the security lights, that she saw the figure was Emiliano, sitting on a swing chair, a bottle of beer in his hand.

  But her heart had already known it was him. One glance at the shadowy figure had been enough for it to thump. For a moment, she was caught unawares enough to soak in his presence, every cavity in her body filling with a mixture of pleasure and pain.

  Wearing black jeans and a T-shirt, he looked like the old Emiliano. The crumpled appearance he’d adopted since his mother’s party had been smartened up, the dishevelment of his hair now by design rather than neglect. He’d even shaved.

  For the first time in a week their eyes locked together. Becky’s breath caught in her throat at his searing scrutiny.

  He petted his boys then took a long drink from the bottle. ‘How was the party?’

  She had to untie her tongue to speak. ‘Okay. Everyone looked like they were having fun.’

  ‘But not you?’

  ‘No.’ She sank onto the wooden step to take the weight off her weary legs and rested her back against a pillar.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I’m a day late.’

  She heard him suck an intake of breath. ‘Is that normal for you?’

  ‘No.’ Panic and excitement swelled sharply in equal measure as they did every time she allowed herself to read the signs that were all there. Tender breasts. Fatigue. The ripple of nausea she’d experienced that morning when she’d passed Paula’s husband outside and caught a whiff of his cigarette smoke. Excitement that she could have a child growing inside her. Panic at what this meant.

  Scared she was going to cry, she scrambled back to her feet. ‘Let’s give it another couple of days. If I haven’t come on by then, I’ll take a test.’

  She would have gone inside if Emiliano hadn’t leaned forward and gently taken hold of her wrist. ‘Sit with me.’

  Opening her mouth to tell him she needed sleep, she stared into his eyes and found herself temporarily mute.

  For the first time since they’d conceived—and in her heart she was now certain they had conceived—there was no antipathy in his stare, just a steadfastness that lightened th
e weight on her shoulders.

  Gingerly, she sat beside him but there was no hope of keeping a distance for Emiliano put his beer bottle down and hooked an arm around her waist to draw her to him.

  Much as she wanted to resist, she leaned into him and rested her cheek on his chest.

  ‘Don’t be afraid, bomboncita,’ he murmured into the top of her head. ‘We will get through this together.’

  Nothing more was said for the longest time and for that she was grateful. Closing her eyes, she was able to take comfort from the strength of his heartbeat against her ear and his hands stroking her back and hair so tenderly. There was something so very solid and real about him, an energy always zipping beneath his skin even in moments of stillness.

  He dragged a thumb over her cheek and then rested it under her chin to tilt her face to his. Then, slowly, his face lowered and his lips caught her in a kiss so tender the little of her not already melting to be held in his arms turned to fondue.

  Feeling as if she’d slipped into a dream, Becky’s mouth moved in time with his, a deepening caress that sang to her senses as she inhaled the scent of his breath and the muskiness of his skin. Her fingers tiptoed up his chest, then flattened against his neck. The pulse at the base thumped against the palm of her hand.

  But, even as every crevice in her body thrilled, a part of her brain refused to switch off and it was with huge reluctance that she broke the kiss and gently pulled away from him.

  ‘Not a good idea,’ she said shakily as her body howled in protest.

  Emiliano gave a look of such sensuality her pelvis pulsed. ‘Why?’

  Fearing he would reach for her again, she shifted to the other side of the swing chair and patted the space beside her for the dogs to jump up and act as a barrier between them. They failed to oblige. ‘Aren’t we in a big enough mess?’

  Eyes not leaving her face, he picked up his beer and took a long drink. ‘That depends on how you look at it. To me, the likelihood that you’re pregnant makes things simple. I want you. You want me. Why fight it any more when we’re going to be bound together?’

  How she wished her heart didn’t throb at his admission. And how she wished she could deny that she wanted him too. ‘Because it was a one-night stand.’

  ‘A one-night stand that has probably made a baby.’

  She raised a helpless shoulder. ‘We’ve hardly been on speaking terms since and the times we do speak we’re barely civil to each other.’

  Emiliano raised a heavy shoulder in acknowledgement. The past few weeks had been the longest and strangest of his life. The mess with his family would have been enough to screw with his head but the thing with Becky had swirled like a thick mist around him, tying him in a knot of self-recrimination that vied with kernels of excitement that he might be a father. But more potent than all of that was the hunger.

  His desire had not kept its distance from her. It breathed in him, in his blood, in his pores, a weight so heavy it threatened to suffocate him.

  ‘It’s been a difficult few weeks for me,’ he acknowledged. ‘I have not behaved as I should. I want to put things right.’

  Now that things with Damián were settled, he’d had time to think—something he’d had precious little time for in recent weeks, not in a clear sense. He’d found a clarity that had been missing.

  She pressed a hand to her belly. ‘Allowing things to become physical will not put things right. It will only muddy the waters more.’

  ‘You mean making love again?’ His loins, already tight from their kiss, throbbed at the memory.

  ‘We hardly made love, did we?’

  ‘What would you call it?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Her laugh was shaky. ‘Whatever it was doesn’t matter. If you hadn’t been in such a state you would never have come to me and it never would have happened.’ She twisted slightly to face him and hesitated before saying, ‘What happened to you that night?’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘You don’t know?’

  She shook her head.

  Sharpness pierced his chest. He’d wondered. Becky was not a woman to gossip. She didn’t use social media and only rarely had he seen her use her phone for anything other than making calls. ‘You must be the only person in the world who doesn’t know,’ he said wryly. ‘I discovered Celeste killed my father.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘I thought he passed away in his sleep?’

  ‘Clever, isn’t she?’ He downed the rest of his beer. So clever and cunning was the woman who’d given birth to him that he was surprised he’d felt any shock when he learnt what she’d done. If the afterlife existed, he doubted his father was up there scratching his head in puzzlement.

  And people wondered why he preferred animals to humans!

  Coldness had enveloped Becky’s brain. She gazed at Emiliano, trying to read his face, desperately hoping he was jesting with her. But what kind of sick joke would that be? ‘You really mean it? She killed him?’

  He exhaled through his nose and inclined his head, then reached under the swing chair for another bottle and used the attachment on his pocket knife to open it.

  She shook her head as nausea swirled violently inside her and her heart wrenched. She’d known something bad had happened that night but never in her wildest imaginings had she suspected anything like this. Who could imagine that?

  ‘I’m so sorry.’ What an inadequate platitude.

  ‘So am I. Sorrier that she will never pay the price for it.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘All the evidence is circumstantial,’ he answered with a shrug. ‘Damián hacked the villa’s old surveillance feed. He showed me the footage at the party. It shows Celeste carrying a drink from her quarters to my father—this is the woman who has never poured herself a glass of water in her life—and thirty minutes later he was dead. That same night, before his body was cold, she stole his will and a document giving my brother control of the family business. Those documents have been missing since. Presumably, she burned them. The police have seen the footage. They’ve issued an arrest warrant but unless she confesses there’s not enough to charge her, let alone convict her.’

  ‘But that sounds like strong circumstantial evidence.’

  ‘Not strong enough.’ He took a swig of his beer. ‘My father was cremated. He’d been ill for a long time so his death wasn’t unexpected. There was no reason for them to take blood for toxicology. I think even if there was a smoking gun, as it were, she would still get away with it. She knows too many secrets of Monte Cleure’s elite. They have to go through the motions of questioning her but she’s too big a threat for them to risk charging her.’

  She pulled her knees to her chest, trying hard to take everything in. ‘Why did she do it?’

  He raised his shoulders and rolled his neck. ‘For control. She was running out of time to stop Damián taking over the business so took matters into her own hands. You see, she had great influence over Father but on this he was steadfast—he wanted Damián to have it. Damián’s a control freak—any influence she had on the business would have been gone—so she killed our father and destroyed the documents with his legal wishes clearly stated because she knew the business would then fall to me.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Father had taken Monte Cleure citizenship. Under Monte Cleure law, if there’s no will then the eldest legal son inherits everything. That’s me. Celeste knew I wanted nothing to do with the business and that I would pass it to her to run.’

  ‘Would you have?’

  ‘If the truth hadn’t come out, yes. And I would have taken great joy in publicly sacking my brother from the company he’d helped make such a great success.’

  Her brow creased in disbelief. ‘You would be that cruel?’

  ‘Damián and I have hated each other all our lives.’ He paused for a moment before correcting himself. ‘I have hated him all his
life. His loathing of me was always a reaction to my own cruel behaviour.’

  ‘Why did you hate him?’

  ‘Many reasons. Jealousy that he was Father’s favourite and shared his blood, and then there was Celeste and the poison she dripped in my ear about him. I think she sensed from the moment he was born that he would take her place as Father’s chief confidante and went out of her way to make his life as uncomfortable as she could.’

  ‘And I thought my mother was bad,’ she murmured but, before he could ask what she meant, she added, ‘Do I take it from your tone that you two have made up?’

  He nodded and breathed out slowly. ‘We met again yesterday at the villa to finalise the legal documents. I’ve signed the business over to him.’

  ‘The whole business?’

  ‘I never wanted it. From as far back as I can remember I wanted to be outside with the horses, not stuck in an air-conditioned office.’ He’d spent more time in the stables at his English boarding school than in the classroom. Even then, he’d preferred animals to humans. Animals were loyal and uncomplicated. Even now he had special distrust for anyone who disliked animals. ‘I did work for the business once, a decade ago. I’d been struggling financially—truth is, I’d been living the playboy lifestyle but had no means to earn money for myself. In those days I played for another rich man’s polo team and burned through my sponsorship money so quickly it hardly scorched my wallet. I could barely afford to feed the horses. Celeste convinced me to join the business and convinced my father to hire me. He put me in charge of one of the investment funds. I’d worked there six months before he, with Damián’s backing, fired me.’

  ‘Why did they do that?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said dismissively. That was something he would never discuss. To remember how his father and brother had treated him in that period was to fill his head with darkness and his guts with poison. He would never forgive them but the grief in his heart for the relationship he’d never had with his father was something he never wanted to experience with his brother. For the sake of his soul he needed to put the past behind him and move on.