The Tycoon's Charm: The Tycoon's Paternity AgendaHonor-Bound Groom

by Michelle Celmer

  Loren chose the thickest of her T-shirts and pulled it on, then swiftly wrapped the skirt about her waist and slid her feet into flat leather mules.

  The cotton of the batik skirt was soft against her buttocks and she was acutely conscious of the brush of fabric caressing her bare skin as she walked up the stairs. Maybe going commando hadn’t been such a clever idea after all.

  Out on the terrace Alex had set a small round table with a clutch of flowers and had lit a large squat candle that flickered in the gentle evening breeze. Knives, forks and two colorful serviettes completed the setting.

  “I’ll have to buy you a watch, I think,” Alex said as he walked toward her holding a flute of champagne in each hand.

  Loren took one and smiled in return. Not for anything would she admit what had delayed her.

  “I thought it was a woman’s prerogative to be late.”

  “When she is as lovely as you, then she’s always worth waiting for.”

  “Even ten years?”

  Loren couldn’t help it. The words had popped into her mind and past her lips before she could think. Alex tipped the rim of his glass against hers.

  “Especially then,” he said, a tone to his voice she couldn’t quite put her finger on. “To a better beginning, hmm?”

  “If you say so,” she replied, and took a long delicious sip of the bubbling golden liquid.

  She was certain the alcohol bypassed her stomach and went straight to her legs, because all of a sudden they felt tingly, the muscles weak.

  “I think I’d better have something to eat. That feels as if it’ll have me on my ear if I keep it up.”

  “Here, try the antipasto.”

  Alex crossed the few short steps to a stone bench next to the outdoor grill. He picked up a platter and offered it to her, watching again with those velvet black eyes as she selected a sliver of artichoke heart and popped it into her mouth.

  “How is that?” he asked as she chewed and swallowed.

  “Good. Here, try some.”

  Without thinking, Loren picked up another piece and proffered it to him. He paused a moment before opening his lips. She held the morsel, startled as his lips closed around the tips of her fingers, their moist warmth and softness sending a jolt of need rocketing down her arm.

  “You’re right,” Alex said after he’d swallowed and taken another sip of wine. “That was very good. Give me something else.”

  Her hand shook slightly as she chose a stuffed olive and held it before him. He bent his head and slowly took the fruit into his mouth, his tongue hotly sweeping between the pads of her forefinger and thumb as he did so. If she’d thought the wine had made her legs weak, the caress of his tongue made them doubly so.

  “Don’t!” she cried.

  “Don’t do what?”

  “That. What you just did. Just…don’t.”

  “It disturbs you, my touch?”

  Oh, far more than he could ever imagine, but she certainly wasn’t going to let him know that painful truth.

  “No, I just don’t like it. That’s all. Here, let me put the platter on the table, then we can help ourselves.”

  Loren relieved him of the platter and set it on the table next to the candle then settled herself on one of the wrought iron chairs before her legs gave way completely.

  The warmth of the sun-heated metal seeped through the thin cotton of her skirt—heating other, more sensitive places. Loren shifted slightly but the motion only enhanced the sensation.

  “Uncomfortable out here? Perhaps you’d rather sit indoors,” Alex suggested as he topped off their glasses before sitting down opposite her.

  “No, it’s okay. I’m fine,” Loren assured him, all the while forcing her body to relax.

  Maybe it was the wine, or perhaps it was merely the exquisitely beautiful setting, but Loren felt herself begin to relax by degrees. By the time Alex rose to bake fillets of fish, garnished with herbs and lemon and wrapped in foil, on the outdoor grill she was feeling decidedly mellow. She rose from the table and took the near-empty antipasto platter through to the kitchen indoors.

  The kitchen was very compact and narrow—a long row of cupboards down one side and the bench top and stove running parallel, with little more than a few feet between them. Loren searched the cupboards for a small dish to put the leftover antipasto into, and then the drawers for some cling wrap to cover it. She’d found a space for the dish in the heavily stocked fridge and was just about to rinse off the platter when Alex came through from the terrace.

  He squeezed behind her, far more closely than necessary, she decided with a ripple of irritation.

  “The fish is just about done. Can you grab the salad from the fridge? I’ll get our plates.”

  He was so close his breath stirred the hair against the nape of her neck. She could feel the solid heat of his body as he pressed up against her buttocks and reached past her to grab the jug of vinaigrette dressing from the bench top.

  She would not react to him; she would not. Loren clenched her hands into fists on the countertop, fighting against the urge to allow her body to lean back into the strength of his. It was almost a physical impossibility in the close confines of the kitchen.

  Thankfully, Alex appeared to be oblivious to the racing emotions that swirled inside her. He propped the jug on top of the two dinner plates he’d taken from the crockery pantry behind her and was already on his way back outside.

  She took a deep, steadying breath before opening the fridge again and lifting out the bowl of salad he’d obviously prepared while she slept. The crisp salad greens, interspersed with feta, olives and succulent freshly cut tomatoes looked mouthwateringly tempting, but nowhere near as appetizing as the man who was currently walking away from her.

  No matter how idyllic this setting, the next two weeks would be absolute hell on earth.

  Eight

  To her surprise, over the next few days, Loren began to relax in a way she hadn’t managed in some time. Yet beneath the surface a simmering tension lay between her and Alex.

  As yet, he’d made no overtures to force their relationship onto a physical level. By day she was eternally grateful for that, but every night as she lay tangled in her sheets aching for the man who slept only a corridor width away from her room, she wondered whether she had indeed made the right decision in denying him her body.

  He lied to you, she reminded herself. He appealed to you on an emotional level he knew you could not refuse. He manipulated you for his own ends.

  But he hadn’t done so for personal gain, she argued back silently as the moon traversed the sky and she wriggled against her mattress and stared out through the glass doors that led onto a small balcony off her room. He’d done it for his grandfather, to assuage the old man’s sudden and irrational fears about the family’s longevity.

  It doesn’t matter, she argued back again, thumping her pillow in frustration as she tried to get comfortable. He should have told her the truth from the start. How on earth did he expect to embark upon a marriage without even honesty between them? Without truth, they had nothing, because they certainly didn’t have love. At least, not a love that was reciprocated.

  Giving up on sleep, Loren rose from her bed and walked over to the French doors. She pushed them open and stepped out onto the balcony. The night air was balmy and still, enveloping her in a myriad of scents and sounds. She looked up at the clear night sky, observing the constellations so different to how they appeared back in New Zealand, and suddenly she was struck with a sense of loneliness that brought sudden tears to her eyes.

  A tiny sob pushed up from her chest and ejected into the darkness. She gripped the iron balcony railing tight beneath her hands, but no matter how hard she squeezed she could not stop the flow of tears down her cheeks.

  This wasn’t how she imagined her life would be. She’d expected happiness. A mutual respect between herself and Alex. Respect that would hopefully grow to become more. Loren dragged a shaking breath into her aching lung
s and blinked against the moisture that continued to well in her eyes. It seemed that now she’d started to cry, she was incapable of stopping.

  The air beside her shifted and she turned her head to see Alex standing on the balcony beside her. Wearing only a pair of silken pajama pants, he looked like some god risen from the sea in the moonlight. Silver beams caressed the muscled width of his chest and shoulders, throwing the lean, defined strength into shadowed relief.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I…” Loren shook her head, averting her eyes, both unwilling and unable to verbalize what ailed her.

  Warm, strong arms closed around her in comfort, drawing her against the smooth plane of his chest.

  At first she resisted—she didn’t trust him, she couldn’t—but his arms tightened around her and for just that moment she wanted to forget all her dashed hopes and give in to his silent support. She let her cheek settle against his chest, her gulped sobs calming as her breathing adjusted to his, her heartbeat slowing to his strong steady rhythm.

  She felt Alex’s chin drop to the top of her head, felt the slight tug of the bristles of his beard in her hair. She nestled in closer, relishing the feel of his body against hers. His masculine form felt unfamiliar to her and yet instantly recognizable—as if this was where she had belonged all her life, safe within the circle of his arms.

  Fresh tears sprang to her eyes at the foolishly irrational thought. She may have thought she belonged with him, but the truth couldn’t be more converse.

  “Hush, Loren,” he whispered against her hair. “We will work this out.”

  “I don’t think we can, Alex.”

  “One way or another, we will work it out.”

  With a powerful sweep of muscle, Alex lifted her into his arms and took her back into her room. Still holding her to him he settled onto the mattress and leaned back against the padded headrest. Loren’s head rested against his shoulder, her legs across his lap. She struggled to sit up and tried to push him away. With her defenses as weak as they were right now she couldn’t afford to give him any leeway.

  “Relax, I’m not going to try and force you into anything. You’re upset. Let me comfort you.”

  She hesitated a moment before allowing the slow circular motion of his hand across her back to soothe her. Eventually her eyes slid closed and she allowed her senses to be filled with the gentleness of his touch, the steadiness of his breathing and the delicious warmth and scent of his bare skin.

  * * *

  Alex felt Loren relax by degrees until she finally drifted back off into sleep. Inside, his thoughts were in turmoil. Each day that passed saw them spending practically every waking moment together, yet each day she seemed to withdraw from him more and more. So much so that tonight she hadn’t even felt as if she could accept his comfort.

  Ironically, that had hurt more than the days they’d spent together so far, where he’d fought to keep his libido firmly under control, and far more than the nights where he’d lain on his bed, wondering if a quick dip in the Adriatic Sea would help diminish the fire raging under his skin.

  He remembered back to a time when she’d been just a toddler. Her parents had been visiting his and for one reason or another she’d taken a tumble. Rather than seek consolation from either her father or mother, she’d tottered toward him, past them both, and offered her grazed palms for his inspection and reassurance that she was okay.

  His brothers had teased him mercilessly. He’d been all of ten or eleven years old and they’d thought it hilarious that Loren had come to him. But now, in the moonlit night, with her slumbering in his arms, he remembered how it had secretly made him feel. Remembered the sense of responsibility and duty he had to protect her and keep her safe from all harm.

  And here he was now, having harmed her in the worst way possible. He’d betrayed her trust and brought her back to a world that was no longer familiar to her, to people whose only memories of her were as a child and not as a woman with hopes and dreams of her own.

  Anger curled a tight fist deep in his gut. He should never have interrupted her life. Never have brought her back. She’d had a new world in New Zealand yet she’d eschewed all of that to return to the old one she’d left behind. For him. He owed it to her to somehow make up for that wrong.

  He knew that he still had to fulfill his duty to his grandfather and the people of Isla Sagrado. But for the first time, he admitted to himself that duty to family extended beyond his brothers and Abuelo. He was a married man now. His wife came first.

  * * *

  Bright bursts of morning light stabbed at Loren’s eyes, dragging her to full consciousness. Beneath her, her bed had grown increasingly lumpy as she stretched and squirmed awake.

  Lumpy? Realization and remembrance dawned with a rush. That lump was her husband; in fact, it was one particular part of her husband. Sometime during the night Alex had slid them both down onto the mattress and, as unaccustomed as she was to sharing a bed with anyone—let alone her husband—Loren had remained sprawled halfway across his body.

  Even now the delicious scent of his skin, that blend of spice and citrus tang combined with the heat of his own special smell, teased at her nostrils and warmed her in places that made her squirm again.

  “Loren, you will have to stop doing that or I cannot be answerable for my actions.”

  “Oh!” she exclaimed, springing away from him as if he’d delivered a high-voltage current directly to her.

  She jumped up off the bed and kept her eyes averted from his prone form, from the irrefutable evidence that her actions had not left him unaffected.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

  Alex sighed. She heard him stretch on the sheets and fought the urge to turn her eyes to him, to drink in the sight of his male beauty.

  “Yes, I am sure you didn’t mean to.”

  He sounded so tired and a pang of remorse plucked at her conscience. He’d come to her in the night when she was at her most vulnerable and he’d offered solace. No questions asked.

  “I’m sorry, Alex. Truly. And I…” She pressed her lips together, looking for the right words. “Thank you for last night.”

  “De nada. It is what couples do, after all, is it not? Offer one another ease?”

  Her eyes flew to his. She hadn’t misunderstood the double entendre in his remark if the look on his face was anything to go by.

  “Yes, well, I appreciate it.” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, unsure of what else to say or do.

  “Go and have your shower, Loren. You are perfectly safe walking past me. As I said last night, I am not going to force you into anything.”

  “Anything else, you mean.”

  Alex sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He stood and Loren’s gaze was inexorably drawn to his torso, to his taut stomach and the fine scattering of dark hair that arrowed down from his belly button to the waistband of his pajama pants.

  There was a thread of steel in his voice when he spoke, a thread that warned he was barely holding on to his temper.

  “Remarks like that are unbecoming to a woman of your intelligence. Whatever my sins, I did not force you into marrying me.”

  Loren dropped her head in shame. He was right. She had to stop treating him as if he was solely to blame for their position. He made a sound of disgust and she heard him walk past her and leave the room, his own bedroom door slamming shut behind him.

  She should apologize. Before she could change her mind, Loren followed him and knocked tentatively on his door. At his response she slowly opened it and stepped inside.

  “I shouldn’t have said what I did. I’m sorry.”

  Alex gave her a hard look but the small frown lines that bracketed his mouth eased a little. He gave her a small nod.

  “Apology accepted.”

  “Thank you.” Unsure of what to do next, Loren started to close the door again. “I’ll leave you to get dressed.”

  “Loren?”

  �
��Yes?”

  “I am not such an ogre, you know. I am merely a man. A man with responsibilities and needs.”

  There was something in the tone of his voice that spoke of a deep-seated longing that struck straight to her core. She felt the inexorable pull of it even as she started to move across the room.

  He stood still and watched her as she came toward him, his stance proud. There was a frankness in his eyes that spoke straight to Loren’s heart. In all of this she hadn’t stopped to consider what this marriage had cost him. He hadn’t married her for his own gain but for that of the people of Isla Sagrado and for the sake of his grandfather’s fears. Whether Alex himself believed in the curse was irrelevant. He’d married her out of his respect and love for Abuelo and in determination to do whatever it took to lift the spirits of the people who looked to the del Castillo family for so much.

  Loren lifted one hand and raised it to Alex’s cheek, her fingers gently cupping his whisker-rough skin. She slowly rose on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his. Softly, shyly, she kissed him. To her chagrin, his lips remained unresponsive beneath hers. Uncertain, she started to pull her hand away, but Alex’s hand shot up to hold it there and to press it against his face, his long fingers covering hers.

  “Don’t play with me, Loren. Even I have limits.”

  “I…I’m not playing, Alex.”

  She reached up to kiss him again, this time feeling a zing of power as she felt his lips tremble beneath hers. She traced the seam of his mouth with the tip of her tongue, feeling suddenly bolder than she’d ever felt before. He was a man who had everything and wanted for nothing. This was all she could give him. Her love.

  Alex’s arms wrapped around her, pulling her against his hard male form, showing her in no uncertain terms that he was more than prepared to accept what she offered. Loren stroked her hands across his shoulders, loving the feel of his leashed strength beneath her fingertips. His body burned into hers, making the light summer tank top and cotton shorts she’d worn to bed feel as if they were too much against her skin.