by Jennie Lucas
He cupped her cheek, looking up at her with a growl. “You didn’t seem unhappy a few minutes ago.”
She jumped up from his lap. “You’re taunting me for wanting you? Fine.” Her voice was small as she looked down at her hands. “I wanted you. But that doesn’t change my feelings.”
“You don’t hate me,” he persisted, rising to his feet.
For a moment they stared at each other in the darkened kitchen.
“I don’t hate you,” she agreed sadly. Her eyes were luminous in the shadows of the kitchen’s flickering fireplace as she said bitterly, “But I wish to God I did.”
He shook his head. “But why? You must know that our marriage would be best for our son.”
“It would be a disaster,” she said sharply, “when I know you will soon lose interest in being tied down by the ball and chain of a family. Better you abandon us now rather than later, when Henry is old enough to be hurt by it.” She lifted her chin. “Nor are you the role model I want for my son as he grows into a man!”
That stung. He stiffened with an intake of breath. “I’m not going to let you take my son from me, Carrie,” he said coldly. “You will marry me, whether you wish it or no.”
He saw her tremble. “Théo, be reasonable—”
“I will never let you go,” he bit out. “Accept that fact. Accept your fate.”
He looked down at her plate, at the lavish gourmet meal he’d tried to make that was now burned and inedible. He’d made a mess of dinner, just like his attempt to seduce her into marriage.
But he’d never thought it would be so hard. Angrily, he raked his hand through the back of his hair. How was it possible that the one woman he desired to marry was the only woman on earth who did not wish to marry him?
Carrie cleared her throat, and when she spoke, the tone of her voice had changed—as if she were deliberately trying to lighten the mood. “It’s been strange to have you serve me a meal,” she said softly. She smiled, and her eyes were endless pools of light in the flickering shadows. “Do you remember how we first met?”
He nodded. “I’d never seen any woman so beautiful,” he whispered. “I was mesmerized. I couldn’t take my eyes off you as you served our table.” He grinned. “And then you found out I’d just come from Paris, and you dumped half my food in my lap.”
“It was an accident!” she protested. She sighed. “You know I’ve always dreamed of seeing Paris. The Eiffel Tower, the charming little cafés, everything…” She looked down at her hands. “Someday I’ll see the City of Light. Someday.”
As he looked at her wistful face, a sudden jarring memory passed through Théo’s brain, like the echo of a whisper. It was possible that during their whirlwind affair he might have promised to take her to Paris. In Théo’s opinion, promises made in bed were widely considered not to be real vows—just fantasies used to heighten the pleasure. And yet he felt a certain regret looking down at her. Twice now he had brought Carrie all the way to the South of France, and yet she’d still never seen Paris—the headquarters of his company, only three hours by high-speed train, or less by private jet.
Pushing the uncomfortable thought away, he forced out a laugh. “Whatever the reason, you dropped a whole plate of food in my lap when I was in negotiation with my Japanese associates. Face it. Waitressing is not your true gift, chérie.”
“Yes. Well…” Her face fell even further. “I don’t need to worry about that now, since I have no job.”
He stared at her unhappy face and felt it again—that annoying pang of guilt. He tried to shrug it away. With his fortune, after they were married Carrie would never need to work again. But, looking at her eyes, he wondered suddenly if she’d had some childhood ambition. Strange that in their time together last year he’d never asked her. But then, during their brief affair they’d rarely managed to spend much time out of bed.
Taking her hand in his own, he leaned forward across the table. “What do you want to do?”
She lifted her eyes. “What will I do?” Her voice was listless. “Find another waitressing job, I suppose.”
“I don’t want to hear about jobs,” he said. “What is your dream?”
“Dream?” She frowned, as if he’d just spoken in a language utterly foreign to her.
Ironic, he thought, when Carrie Powell was the most dreamy, idealistic woman he’d ever met. How funny that he’d have to spell it out for her.
“When you were a child,” he said, “what did you want to be?”
“Oh.” She took a deep breath and her cheeks turned pink. “I never had a dream—not like that. Not really.”
“That can’t be true.”
“It is,” she fired back, then faltered. “Well, except…”
“Except?”
“Forget it. You’d just laugh at me.”
He leaned across the table. “Try me.”
She looked down at his hand over hers, then with an intake of breath she met his gaze. “All my friends dreamed of being doctors, teachers, lawyers. But not me. Ever since I was young there was only one thing I wanted to be.”
“What?”
“A wife. A mother.” With a strangled laugh, she tossed her head defiantly. “Go ahead and laugh. It’s pathetic, right? A woman in this day and age who just dreams of raising a family and taking care of the people she loves?”
“I’m not laughing,” he said quietly.
She still glared at him, clearly waiting for him to mock her. When he did not, she sank back into her chair, putting her head in her hands. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll find another waitressing job. Or maybe go back to school and train for something that will let me buy a little house of my own someday…”
Her voice trailed off.
“Let me give you your dream,” he said. “Let me help keep your family safe and secure—”
“You mean the family that you threatened, so you could blackmail me into staying here?”
He shook his head. “You will be a countess. With all my fortune at your command.”
She looked around the kitchen, from the elegant hardwood floor to the old paintings on the high ceilings above, flickering in the firelight of the eighteenth-century brick fireplace.
“You do live well,” she said ruefully. She rubbed the back of her head, and her dark hair seemed to cascade down her shoulders like chestnut silk. She looked up at him. “But the only rich family is one that is filled with love.”
A low ache settled at the base of his throat. “That sounds nice.” Turning away, he picked up his glass of wine from the counter. “Whatever love my parents once had for each other was long gone by the time I was eight. They often forgot me for days on end when they fought—or else they tried to use me as a weapon against each other. It was a relief when they finally divorced.”
“I’m so sorry,” Carrie said.
But he didn’t want her pity. “For the sake of love,” he said acidly, “my father left my mother to date girls half his age. For the sake of love, my mother has married four times and had children by three different men.”
Carrie shook her head. “No wonder you want a loveless marriage,” she whispered. “You have no idea what true love even is.”
He stiffened. “I know what it is. Illusion. Infatuation. People think marriage will make those feelings last. But it’s tricky magic. The harder you try to hold on to it, the quicker it will end. Love always ends. And it usually ends badly.”
“But—”
“Did you know that in many Asian cultures white is the color of grieving? The color worn to a funeral?” he interrupted. “A wedding is celebrated as the beginning of love.” He looked away. “In truth, it is the end.”
“So why did you ask me to marry you, then?” Her voice sounded sodden. “If you think marriage is so awful?”
He looked at her sharply. “I’m not against marriage.”
“But you just said—”
“I’m against marrying for the sake of romantic delusion,” he said. “Marriage
can be the foundation of a solid home, when done right. It’s a friendship. A partnership. The start of a family.”
“Without love?”
He shrugged. “Without heartbreak.”
For a long moment silence fell across the shadowy kitchen. Carrie raised her chin.
“Let me tell you about the kind of marriage that I believe in. A partnership—yes. But not based on mutual goals, as if we were entering into some kind of business arrangement.”
“But that’s exactly what a good marriage is. A business. Complete with a leadership board and a financial strategy and five-year goals. The company’s mission is raising children, ensuring the good of the household and the continuance of the family’s existence.”
She stared at him incredulously. “But the basis has to be love, or what’s the point?”
He looked at her. “Did loving me make you happy?”
Her mouth had been open to speak. She snapped it shut.
“Romantic infatuation brings ruin,” he said quietly. “You of all people should know that. Do it my way, Carrie. Just marry me now, without the delusion of romance, and all your grief and stress will melt away. And Henry will always be safe and happy, loved by both of his parents.”
She stared at him with an intake of breath, and for an instant he thought she would agree. Then she stood up quickly, swaying on her feet. Her cheeks were red, her hands balled into fists.
“I will never accept your devil’s bargain.”
Disappointment filled him, crashing down his hopes. He rose to his feet, looking down at her in the dying firelight. “I’m not going to allow my child to be raised by another man, Carrie. Accept this.”
“But you still don’t know if Henry is even—”
“One of us is going to win this argument.” His dark eyes ripped through hers as he leaned forward. “And one of us,” he whispered, “is going to lose.”
CHAPTER FIVE
CARRIE awoke to the sound of her baby crying. The light of dawn flooded the room as she covered her face with a pillow, yearning for one more moment of sleep.
Then the mattress swayed beneath her. She heard a heavy footstep, and the sobs abruptly stopped with a hiccup.
That alarmed her as nothing else could. She instantly sat up, her pillow dropping softly to her lap.
Théo, shirtless and wearing only drawstring pajama bottoms slung low on his hips, was cradling their son against his bare, hard-muscled chest, crooning softly to the baby in the warm light of morning.
The baby’s chubby face peered up at him with a frown. Then, as Théo sang, rocking him in his arms, Henry’s face lit up. Théo’s deep masculine laughter provided a low baritone counterpoint to his son’s baby giggles.
For Carrie, the sound was sweet misery.
The past five days had been full of so many small joys. The three of them had enjoyed playing outside, eating a picnic lunch in the garden beside the stone fountain, lying out amid the sunshine and scent of flowers beneath the wide blue sky.
Small joys. And endless pleasures. Always she felt Théo’s dark, smoldering eyes upon her, his hot gaze promising a world of delights the moment their son was asleep in his crib. Every instant they spent together Carrie was so stretched with awareness she could barely take a deep breath. Shivers filled her body every time she felt his eyes upon her, every time his fingers brushed hers as they held their child between them. She’d given up trying to resist his seduction. Every night they spent together in bed was a revelation as he held and stroked every inch of her body, making her feel beautiful and new. Making her feel she might die from wanting him. From loving him.
She’d felt happy.
Too happy.
Thank heaven for his housekeeper, Lilley Smith. The plump, plain young housekeeper, who’d returned three days ago from her vacation, looked nothing like her distant cousin Théo. At twenty-three, she had light brown hair and brown eyes, was motherly and kind, and best of all she adored babies almost as much as they adored her.
If not for Lilley bustling around the castle, tidying the baby’s toys behind them or racing to fold laundry or bring out the picnic basket, who knew what insanity might have occurred.
Actually, Carrie knew exactly what would have happened. Sometime when she and Théo were just sitting outside with the baby, lying on a blanket beneath the warm summer sun and feeling the hot breeze blow through the sunflowers and vineyards, she would have broken the silence in the most disastrous way possible—by blurting out that she’d fallen back in love with him.
There could no longer be any doubt. Even when she’d hated him she’d never stopped loving him completely. Now, passion and longing infused her whole being, practically shining like light out of her fingertips and toes. She loved him.
Carrie’s heart turned over in her chest as she watched Théo, so masculine and powerful, carefully holding the tiny baby in his footsie pajamas. Henry was beaming up at Théo as father and son smiled at each other. And she watched it with a sinking feeling in her chest. She’d been stupid enough to fall in love with Théo. How could she?
If he found out, he would leave her. And worse: he would leave their baby.
Once, that would have been exactly what she wanted. But not anymore. Not now that she saw the father-son bond growing every day. Was it possible she’d been wrong about Théo? Could he truly be a good husband and father, as long as she played by his rules?
The thought was like a razor blade as Théo moved toward her, leaning to kiss the top of her head in the early-morning light. She felt that tender kiss all over her body.
“Bonjour, chérie,” he said softly.
“Good morning,” she whispered miserably.
The baby heard her voice and immediately turned to her with a whimper and whine. Théo grinned. “I think he’s hungry. He’s a growing boy.”
The pride in his voice made a laugh escape Carrie in spite of herself. Sitting up straight against the pillow, she reached out her hands. “Give him here.”
Théo handed the baby to her where she sat on the bed in her oversize T-shirt. She was making no effort to be pretty this time. She wasn’t trying to impress him anymore, as she had last year with sexy clothes and elaborate hair and makeup. This time it was strictly casual, with no makeup, sundresses by day and ratty old T-shirts by night. And yet he seemed dazzled, intoxicated by her. Just as she was by him.
As Carrie started to nurse the baby Théo watched for an instant. His black eyes seemed to devour her. Then he abruptly turned away. “I’ll be right back.”
Some of the warmth drained out of the room with him. A sigh escaped her lips as Carrie stared after him.
With Théo around there was no such color as gray. He brought vibrancy to her life. He’d taken her from a drizzly life of clouds and rain and made her whole world a summer in Provence, with blue skies, and lavender waving in the hot wind beneath a yellow sun. After a year of winter, she’d opened to him like a sunflower in spring.
She looked down at her blissfully suckling child.
Only two days until they’d get the results of the paternity test, and they could leave. Two more days to keep silent about her feelings.
If she could hide her love for two more days, she and Théo might come to an arrangement. Henry would live with her in Seattle, but often visit his father in France, or Théo would come visit them. And somehow, eventually, when she didn’t have to see Théo every single day, her love for him would slowly die.
It was her only hope.
She heard a noise and looked up to see Théo in the doorway. Her eyes unwillingly traced the hard curves of his upper body, his wide shoulders, thickly muscled biceps and flat belly. Even the way he walked toward her caused a sensual shiver across her body.
He set down a breakfast tray near her on the bed. “Your breakfast, milady.”
She saw orange juice, coffee with cream, fresh fruit, toast and jam, and an assortment of breads and buttery French pastries. His kindness took her breath away. “You made b
reakfast?”
He gave her a crooked half grin. “Lilley made it.”
“Of course.” Carrie smiled up at him, still grateful for the thoughtful gesture, then looked back at the luscious tray. “I should have known it wasn’t you,” she teased. “It’s not burned black.”
He sat down beside her on the bed. His dark, half-lidded eyes seared through her. “I would burn toast for you every morning if that would win you, Carrie,” he said in a low voice. “I’d burn it morning, noon and night.”
Her heart thudded in her throat, but she tried to smile. “Sorry,” she said, trying to keep her voice light. “The ability to burn toast is not the top item on my list for a prospective husband.”
“So what is?” he asked, stroking back a tendril of her hair. He leaned forward, his eyes intent. “Tell me how to win you,” he whispered against her skin, and she shivered. “Tell me.”
Carrie closed her eyes. Love me. Just love me.
But she shook her head over the lump in her throat. “Forget it. I’m not going to lose this battle.”
He looked down at her. “We’ll see.”
A shudder went through her. She had to resist. Her fingers gripped the top of the white quilt. She had to!
Théo looked down at the baby’s downy head with a tenderness that made her heart leap to her throat. “Is he finished?”
The baby had unlatched, and now pushed his head away from her breast. “I think so,” she said drily.
Picking him up, Théo cradled his son in his arms. “I’m going to teach you everything,” he told the baby. “How to play football, how to ride a bike…”
“How to buy a company and break it up for parts?” she teased.
Théo flashed her a sudden grin, and the way his smile lit up his darkly handsome face took her breath away. “Ben, oui.”
Still smiling, he sat down on the handwoven rug, holding the baby in his lap. Putting his large hands over his son’s feet, he played a French version of patty-cake, clapping Henry’s little feet together lightly. They were quite the pair—Théo so muscular and powerful, sitting bare-chested in pajama bottoms, with their tiny son cradled in his arms. A moment later, he was reading to Henry in French from a picture book about Babar the Elephant that she’d purchased from a bookshop earlier that week. Carrie drank creamy coffee and watched them as she ate pastries in bed, as a beam of golden sunlight hit against the bare skin of Théo’s muscular back.
