by Heidi Rice
Had Maxim stolen them? Or hidden them? To keep her docile and trapped in this room?
Bolstering her newfound courage, she tightened the tie on the robe and eased open the bedroom door.
Expecting him to be waiting for her in the sitting room, she let go of the breath she’d been holding as she scanned the suite’s large, luxuriously decorated lounge area and couldn’t see him anywhere.
But then a gruff sound had her gaze zeroing in on the back of the three-seater sofa facing another large picture window, which was the feature aspect of the lavish room. A pair of bare feet, long and tanned, hung over the cream silk arm of the sofa.
Maxim?
Her throat tightened as she walked round the sofa to find his tall frame stretched out on the cushions, taking up all the available space. A thin blanket covered the lower half of his body, the waistband of his boxer shorts peeking out. Her heartbeat throbbed in her throat and the weight in her stomach plunged as her greedy gaze studied him unobserved. His bare chest looked as magnificent as she remembered it, while his flat stomach rose and fell in a steady rhythm which echoed in her abdomen. There was a tuft of dark hair under one arm where he’d lifted it over his head, probably in a vain attempt to get comfortable. His usually swept-back wavy hair was ruffled, and mushed on one side, while the shadow of beard scruff covered his jaw.
She assumed most men looked less intimidating while they were asleep.
Not Maxim.
If anything, the sight of him, his body relaxed and yet no less powerful, his nakedness making him all the more compelling, was having the opposite effect.
Her breath shuddered out.
The quiet huff had his eyes snapping open. Instantly alert, his golden gaze narrowed. And she found herself taking a step back.
‘Bonjour, Cara,’ he said, clearly having no problem remembering exactly what had happened the previous evening.
He yawned and stretched then sat up, his movements indolent and yet focused.
Why did she suddenly feel as if she’d ventured into the wolf’s den? Again.
Every one of her pulse points throbbed, the edgy tension in her body intensifying as he threw off the blanket to reveal hard thighs and long legs, furred with hair. She could also see the prominent length pressing against the front of his boxers.
The weight in her stomach became hot and achy, beating a chaotic pulse in her sex.
He thrust his fingers through his hair, sweeping the silky waves back, scrubbed his hands down his face—then sent her a humourless smile.
‘Ignore it. I get one every morning. Especially if I have been dreaming of you.’
The blush climbed into her cheeks, making her feel painfully gauche. And stupidly light-headed.
What on earth was that about? She didn’t want him to dream about her... Did she?
‘Where are my clothes, Maxim?’ she blurted out, unsettled, not just by the intimacy of the moment but also her ludicrous reaction to it.
She needed to leave. They could talk about everything later, when she’d regained her equilibrium. When she wasn’t standing in his hotel suite too aware of her nakedness under the robe... And his prominent morning erection.
Instead of replying, though, he stood and arched his back, then tilted his head to one side then the other. She heard the joints popping in his neck, making the tightness in her throat increase—at the thought that he had slept all night on the couch in his own luxury suite so she could get her first good night’s sleep in weeks.
‘I had them destroyed,’ he said, the husky tone completely unapologetic.
The statement had all her warm feelings evaporating.
‘You...what?’ She wanted to be outraged at his arrogance, but all she felt was more exposed. And wary. ‘Why?’
‘To prevent you from running away while I was asleep,’ he said without even a hint of remorse.
‘But... You... That’s... You had no right,’ she sputtered, finally managing to grab hold of some outrage. She’d had to pay for that uniform out of her own money.
‘I had every right,’ he said as his gaze strayed down to her midriff. ‘I don’t intend to let you vanish again until we have a few things settled.’
‘But I wasn’t going to vanish,’ she said, stunned by the inflexible tone. And the arrogance behind it. And wondering what things he intended to settle. ‘I told you last night I’d come back here to talk to you today.’
He didn’t even give her the benefit of an answer this time, simply lifted one sceptical brow, his expression saying in all but words: Do I look like an idiot?
She wanted to shout and rail against his lack of trust. But she was forced to concede he had a point, given her previous disappearing act. ‘Those clothes were my property. I paid for them and I need them because I’m going to have to find another job today. So thanks a bunch for that,’ she said, trying to hide her distress behind a wall of sarcasm.
Showing weakness to Maxim Durand was not a good idea. She’d shown him weakness last night in her exhaustion and he’d steamrollered over all her protests, not to mention destroying her property.
The cynical expression disappeared but, just when she thought she’d finally scored a point, he said in a voice so calm and forceful and pragmatic it took a moment for her to register the outrageousness of what he had said, ‘You do not need those clothes, as I will buy you better ones. And you don’t need a job, because we are to be married in France as soon as it is possible, in ten days’ time.’
* * *
‘Are you...? Are you crazy?’
Maxim watched the light flush on Cara’s cheeks deepen to magenta—and the wary concern in her bright blue gaze turn to panic.
Okay, perhaps that had not been the best way to propose. She’d retreated another step, as if trying to edge away from a dangerous animal which was about to pounce.
She was right to be cautious. His emotions had never been this volatile before, this uncontrolled. As soon as he’d opened his eyes, and seen her standing by his makeshift bed, her hair damp and her curves swamped in the fluffy bathrobe, he’d had to quell the primal urge to leap forward and claim her, scared she would disappear again, as she had so many times before in his dreams, and nightmares.
In fact, for one split second he’d thought she might be an apparition, caused by the loss of blood from his head fuelling the painful erection which had woken him every morning for five long months.
‘Let me explain, Cara,’ he said, taking a step forward. ‘Marriage is the obvious solution.’
She scuttled back another step. ‘Don’t... Don’t touch me, Maxim. I mean it.’ She held her hands up in the universal sign of surrender, her gaze darting across the suite to the door. ‘I have to leave. I can’t...’
She made a dash round the sofa. Without thinking, he leapt over the obstacle and captured her wrist, drawing her to a halt.
She struggled, trying to tug her hand free. ‘Let me go, Maxim... I want to leave.’
‘Stop, Cara. You will hurt yourself,’ he said, drawing her against his body, quelling her struggles in his embrace as he pressed her gently against the wall, caging her in.
He inhaled her scent, wild flowers and woman, the scent that had driven him mad last night as he undressed her—and forced himself not to touch her more than was absolutely necessary.
At last she stilled and he heard the stifled sob as her forehead pressed against his sternum.
He felt like a brute, a beast. The jagged sound of her breathing—the painful attempt to hold onto her tears, and the hopelessness that he suspected lay behind it—cut into his composure, his equilibrium. His heart expanded in his chest and his throat closed. But he couldn’t let her go, not like this. Not now he had found her. If he let her run, he might never find her again, and he wouldn’t be able to live with himself—knowing she was out there somewhere, surviving on nothing, enda
ngering herself, when he had the means to protect her. He had failed his mother once. He would not fail her.
‘Shh, Cara,’ he murmured against her hair.
She shuddered, the sounds of her breathing cutting off as she tried to hold onto her emotions.
‘I would never hurt you,’ he said, as softly as he could. ‘You have my word. But I cannot let you leave until you have agreed to marry me.’
She sniffed, the sound enough to unlock the strangling feeling in his throat.
How had they come to this? And how could they repair the damage between them? He had planted a child inside her. A child which had sapped all of her strength. Given her virgin state five months ago, he had to take full responsibility for that.
He brushed the damp hair back from her cheek, then cradled her face to lift her gaze to his. Her cheeks were dry but he could see the moisture in the deep pools of shattered blue.
Heat surged in his groin. He steeled himself against it. Now was the time to soothe rather than demand—not a skill he was particularly adept at. He must not ignite the passion between them, even if he could smell the musky scent of her arousal. And see the stunned desire in her eyes.
She did not understand the depth and power of their physical connection because she had so little experience. But he did.
He placed a light kiss on her forehead, felt her shudder of response and then forced himself to drop his arms and release her from the protective cage.
She stood watching him. Unsure, shaky, but he took it as a major concession that, rather than try to run, she simply wrapped her arms around her waist, as if attempting to hold onto the emotions cascading through her body.
Emotions he recognised because they were cascading through his body too. Emotions she probably didn’t understand any more than he did.
‘The marriage would be time-limited,’ he said, his voice rough as he struggled to get his mind to engage with the plans he’d made last night. Detailed, pragmatic, sensible plans before he’d managed to shoot them to hell with his knee-jerk demands.
Her eyes widened and her expression was still stunned, still confused, still a little panicked. But she didn’t speak and she didn’t move, so he forced himself to continue in a voice he hoped was more persuasive than demanding. Another new experience for him.
‘I want the child to be born with my name—and to always have my protection.’
And I want you to have my name and my protection too.
He swallowed, forcing himself not to add the qualifier, the truth of which surged through him as she stood before him, virtually naked, and utterly defenceless.
‘I want you to live in Burgundy at my château, to have the best possible prénatal care. No more working, no more hunger, no more exhaustion. I will...’ He paused, forced himself to counter the desire to demand. ‘I wish to provide for you everything you need while you bear this child. This is very important to me.’
She watched him but, instead of refusing his help out of hand as he half expected her to do—for she was nothing if not contrary, and fiercely independent—she simply said softly, ‘Why?’
‘Why do I wish this?’ he asked, confused. Was this not obvious? ‘Because I do not wish for you to put your life at risk...’ He breathed, paused, before blurting out too much. ‘Simply to survive, when I have the money you need.’
‘My life’s not at risk, Maxim.’ Her gaze softened, drawing him in, while only frustrating him more. ‘Why would you think that?’
His brow knotted. Was this a trick question? But she didn’t look conniving, she looked guileless and unsure, so he was forced to answer the question. To spell out the obvious.
‘Pregnancy and childbirth is dangerous, Cara. Women can be...’ He breathed, the memories burning like acid on his tongue. ‘Women can be weakened by childbirth, especially without the appropriate care. We shouldn’t have had sex without a condom.’ He allowed his gaze to stray to the pronounced bulge of her belly, the guilt he had tried to qualify and mitigate during the night starting to overwhelm him. ‘It is through my carelessness that you are now facing this danger. So it is my duty to ensure you are well cared for until the child is born.’
He lifted his gaze to hers, ready to demand, beg, cajole, even blackmail her if necessary into agreeing to the marriage. But he stopped, shocked by the sheen of tears in Cara’s eyes. ‘What is wrong?’
The stab of guilt lanced into his belly. He hadn’t meant to distress her more. Had only wanted to give her the explanation she sought—so she would see why marriage was the only answer.
* * *
‘Maxim, I’m really not in any danger,’ Cara said. ‘And, even if I were, you’re not responsible.’
‘Of course I am,’ he said, his voice prickly with impatience. But for once she welcomed the caustic reaction because it revealed so much.
Going with instinct, she pressed a hand to the rough stubble on his jaw.
A muscle in his cheek tensed before he drew back, his expression confused and wary, but also more vulnerable than she had ever seen him. Or ever suspected he could be.
‘How can you pretend this is not my fault?’ he said.
‘Because I made a conscious choice to have this child,’ she said, trying to pick her way through the minefield he had exposed. She had underestimated him in so many ways, she realised. That he should feel such responsibility for her health and well-being was ridiculous, but she had helped exacerbate it because of her own stubborn pride, her refusal to bend.
She should have contacted him as soon as she’d found out about her condition. If she had asked for his support she would not have had to work herself into exhaustion. And scared him to this degree.
‘I could have ended this pregnancy but I didn’t want to,’ she said. ‘You’re not responsible for the choice I made to have this child.’
She’d been a coward, scared he would object to her keeping the baby. And, because of her fear, she hadn’t given him a choice.
‘This is a pointless argument, Cara.’ His gaze slipped to her stomach again, and she could see the anxiety about her condition flicker across his face before his gaze met hers.
What was it about the pregnancy that disturbed him so much?
‘The fact is you are pregnant, you are having this child.’ She saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed and realised how hard it was for him to say the next word. ‘My child. I do not want you to be harmed.’
Her heart swelled painfully in her chest. ‘I won’t be harmed, Maxim,’ she said, struggling not to make too much of his determination to care for her, when no other man ever had. ‘I’m pregnant, not sick.’
‘Pregnancy is dangerous. My own mother...’
He stopped, his eyes becoming shuttered, the naked emotions she’d seen flash across his face ruthlessly controlled. But it was already too late. She’d seen the agony when he’d mentioned his mother.
‘What happened to your mother, Maxim?’
He shifted back, withdrawing even further. ‘It is of no importance,’ he said.
But she could see it was of considerable importance. Was this why he was so determined to marry her, to provide for her? Was his mother the reason why he was so concerned about the pregnancy?
‘Did she... Did she have a difficult pregnancy?’ she asked softly. ‘Is that why mine scares you?’ she probed gently, covering her bump with her hand.
He thrust his fingers through his hair. But she’d seen the shocking answer to her question, the shudder of remembered trauma in his eyes before he could mask it. ‘I was a big baby,’ he said. ‘She was a small woman. And he refused to pay for the care she needed.’ He looked away, his voice brittle with anguish. ‘And I was not the only child he failed to prevent. She had two miscarriages before he finally discarded her.’
‘Maxim, I’m so sorry,’ Cara whispered, touching his arm, feeling the muscles tense
. Had he witnessed these miscarriages? He must have, the shadow of trauma in his eyes was unmistakable. ‘I wish I’d known him for what he really was,’ she said forcefully, realising how foolish she had been to ever stand up for her old employer. ‘I never would have agreed to marry him.’ How could she have been so blind to Pierre de la Mare’s faults?
‘You are not to blame,’ he said, and she could see he didn’t blame her. ‘My father spent a lifetime manipulating women. He was very good at it.’ He blinked, the flush of colour on his cheeks making her realise how hard it was for him to talk about his parents’ relationship. ‘My mother never stopped loving him, despite the way he treated her.’ He huffed out an unsteady breath, the confusion in his eyes so poignant she felt her heart butt her tonsils. ‘But none of that is important now. What is important is that you do not suffer, the way she did. I cannot let that happen, or I will be no better than him.’
She nodded, tears welling in her eyes—he’d said yesterday that he wasn’t his father; she hadn’t realised how much he’d meant by that. ‘I... I understand.’
‘I would not have chosen to become a father, Cara,’ he said, gruff pain in his voice, devoid of accusation but so full of regret it made her heart hurt. ‘But I did not take the precautions I could have to ensure this did not happen, and now you must face the consequences of my actions.’ He made the baby sound like a terrible burden. And obviously to him it was, she thought miserably. ‘I also know what it is not to have a father’s protection, a father’s name and wealth. So I cannot allow my own child to grow up without these things.’
Cara nodded again.
But a good father could provide so much more than that. When her own mother had died, she’d looked to her father to provide not just financial but also emotional security. And he’d failed. He’d discarded her and rejected her—because she was too much trouble and he had never really loved her. The same way Pierre de la Mare had discarded and rejected Maxim.
‘Would you...? Would you be able to offer this baby more than that, Maxim?’ she asked, scared to hope, but more scared not to ask.
