“And Malakhi and Evie. Our family.”
“Our hearts.” He kissed his wife and then his baby and all was right in the world, for now and all time.
Happiness was restored to the Kingdom and its King was happiest of all.
THE END
Claiming His Secret Baby
Prologue
“I KNOW YOU.” THE words came from behind her shoulder, and in the midst of a busy society fundraiser, Ellie shouldn’t have been able to discern them so perfectly. She shouldn’t have been able to hear them at all, really, let alone to feel every husky vibration of the simple statement trembling across her flesh.
But the voice was one she hadn’t heard in four years, yet remembered in every cell of her body.
The voice was the sound of her dreams and the tenor of her fevered, painful nightmares.
Her back was already ramrod straight but she stiffened her spine, squared her shoulders, and sucked in a desperate, aching breath, wishing her pulse would settle.
Perhaps if she ignored him, he’d go away.
No. A moment later, she felt him move closer, and she swept her eyes shut, knowing the next few seconds would be the most important of her life.
Seconds to convince him he was wrong, even when Xavier Salbatore was never wrong.
Seconds to convince him they’d never met, when in fact, they’d spent forty-eight hours together four years earlier.
Seconds to convince him they were strangers when they were, in fact, parents to a beautiful little three year old.
“I do know you, don’t I?” The question was soft and low, asked close to her ear so that the words seemed to glance across the exposed flesh of her shoulder and neck. The question husked right into her ear and buried in her heart.
Her traitorous heart. How could he make it race even after all he’d done?
He was a cheat. A liar. A man she never wanted to see again.
But fate, cruel fate, had other ideas.
Steeling herself to be strong, conjuring the image of Xavier as he’d been four years ago so that his gorgeous looks wouldn’t fell her at the knees in the way they had in the past, she turned slowly, her eyes swept shut, her breath held.
And then, she forced herself to look at him, and her world tilted completely off its axis and all her breath escaped on a rush of horror.
For this man was, unmistakably, Xavier Salbatore, but he was different too. His face was scarred on the left side in a way that marred the perfection he’d once boasted of – or enhanced it, if she wanted to be completely honest. Where he’d been absolutely symmetrical and film-star handsome before, there was a roughness to him now, a cynicism and air of danger that she knew matched the horrid turn of his heart.
When he looked at her now, it was with a sense of complete coldness – where, in the past, there had been only heated passion.
He’d forgotten her.
No wonder! He’d probably had lots of affairs. There was no reason to think she’d been anything special to him.
Her lip curled in a derisive dismissal. If he’d forgotten her then she saw no reason to enlighten him. None whatsoever.
“No.” She imbued the word with a cool crispness she was very proud of. “We’ve never met.” And she walked away from him as though her heart wasn’t pounding so hard and fast in her chest that it was in very real danger of escaping.
One
HE WATCHED AS SHE crossed the room, a frown on his face. A frown that was there more often than not these days. A frown that he was barely conscious of. To an outsider, Xavier Salbatore was six and a half feet of muscle and sin.
He was used to inspiring a reaction, if not of admiration, at least of awe.
He was certainly not accustomed to being walked away from.
And yet this distractingly stunning woman did precisely that, her back revealed by the low silk that draped just above the curve of her rear, her shimmering dark hair swept up into a low bun that he felt an almost visceral compulsion to loosen.
She was familiar to him – yet not.
Cursing the vagaries of his mind, the many, many black holes that were formed in the grey matter, he watched her leave without letting her go. She paused half-way across the crowded room, stopping to speak to someone. A woman who looked remarkably similar.
So they were twins?
Was that why she was familiar? Had he, in fact, met the sister instead?
No, it wasn’t that.
No sooner had the idea occurred to him than he dismissed it.
He dragged his gaze over both women, one with hair that was cut in a bob, both with matching, fine-boned profiles and dark red lips, both slim and petite. Both beautiful, to be sure, but it was only one that caused his body to stir, that caused a hardening in the region of his groin that would – that must – be satisfied.
He propped an elbow on the bar and ordered a single malt, neat, without taking his eyes off the woman. She’d said they didn’t know one another and yet he couldn’t shake the certainty that they did.
Had she forgotten him?
His ego said no.
But she hadn’t even blinked when she’d told him they were strangers. So?
Wasn’t that in and of itself unusual? Wouldn’t a more natural response have been to smile and apologise, to say that she wasn’t sure if they knew one another, and then introduce herself?
They had met.
He was sure of it.
There were so many blanks in his mind, and there was no sense obsessing over them. If willpower alone were enough to recall all of the days and weeks he’d lost then he’d see it all clearly now.
But those dark spots of his past were gone forever – swathes of his personal history had been lost to him.
And somewhere in the recesses of his malfunctioning mind, he was certain this woman existed.
His arousal strained hard against his pants; his body apparently remembered her just fine. She turned her head towards him, their eyes locked, and a mocking smile tilted his lips without his consent. She didn’t look away, as he’d expected. He could see the faint tremble of her pulse at the base of her throat, and noted with interest the way her breathing was rushed. Yet she kept looking at him, as though she couldn’t look away.
And a frisson of something like impatience tore through him.
He hadn’t felt anything like it in a long time, but he had felt it before – he just couldn’t remember precisely when.
Irritation with his own damned shortcomings had him throwing the scotch back and straightening.
She finally looked away, but not before he caught the unmistakable expression of wariness on her face.
As though she were trapped; hunted.
Fascinating.
He cut through the room, ignoring the two men who tried to get his attention along the way. Xavier was used to people attempting to ‘network’ with him at events such as this. In command of a billion-pound empire, there were many people who sought to curry favour with him. But in that moment, his focus was singular and unbreakable.
He strode through the room, and she moved away from him, weaving through the crowd in what he now saw as a determined attempt to evade him. A desperation to understand what they’d once been to each other took hold of him on a cellular level, so that he quickened his step.
She was no match for him. Much shorter and on spindly high heels that were the last word in eroticism, she took three steps for every one of his, so that he caught her when she was at the entrance to the grand ballroom.
“Excuse me,” he spoke with easy command. It was a voice that didn’t invite argument.
She stopped, but didn’t turn to face him, so he brought his body around in front of her.
And there it was again. He felt as though he’d been punched in the solar plexus; his whole body responded, every fibre of him pulled taut, every cell in him reverberated.
“Who are you?”
She tilted her beautiful little chin in a gesture of unmistakable defian
ce, and her eyes practically burned his when they lifted. “Nobody.” She spat the word with obvious contempt. “And I was just leaving.”
“Wait.” The word was imperious and demanding.
“Why?” She crossed her arms over her slender chest, and his eyes dropped to the swell of cleavage displayed by the pale yellow dress she wore.
“Because I’m sure you were mistaken just now. We’ve met before, haven’t we?”
A sharp intake of breath rocked her but she covered it quickly, concealing her emotions from him with frustrating ease. Her face bore a mask of inscrutable calm. “No.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Well, that’s your problem.”
He laughed, a sound as foreign to him as it was to her. It thundered from his lips as though a whip were being cracked somewhere in the region of his good humour, and it was startled back to life. “I think it’s both our problems.”
She frowned and a little divot formed between her brows. A slice of memory cut through him, elusive and yet tangible, all at once. His lips pressing to that divot, kissing it away. Her laughing and lifting a hand to his chest. It was so strong but simultaneously impossible to hold onto. Even as he saw the details they were sinking through the layers of his mind, impossible to reach, like searching for a key at the bottom of the ocean.
It might have been this woman, or it may have been another woman with a similar little forehead crease. He could never trust the recollections – he’d learned that time and time again.
“Excuse me, Mr Salbatore, but I was just on my way out.”
He pounced on the slip up. “So, you do know me?”
She gaped at the moment of recognition – the foolish slip of her tongue – but recovered with impressive swiftness. “I know of you,” she muttered. “But then, who doesn’t?”
His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Fine. So come for a drink. Get to know me.”
She took a step back then, as though he’d pushed her.
And he knew that they had a history; but had not a single idea as to what it involved. “A drink,” he repeated. “For old time’s sake.”
Colour flamed her cheeks, pale pink that set off the colour in her eyes and the rose-bud quality of her lips. When she swallowed, the delicate column of her throat shifted and something stirred within him.
“I… can’t,” she murmured, her eyes flicking towards the door.
It was hardly convincing. His smile was an attempt at niceness; it fell flat. “One drink.” And he put a hand in the small of her back, guiding her out the doors and into the foyer. It was an exclusive hotel in the heart of Mayfair – and the décor was everything such a hotel would boast. Shimmering marble tiles, gold features, crystal chandeliers and burgundy runners. There was a bar too, with a grand piano, and a great collection of scotch.
He ignored it, heading for the bay of elevators instead. And she went with him, her body close enough to his side that he could feel her curves. He pressed the ‘up’ button, his eyes seeking hers in the mirrored reflection of the doors without his consent.
Hers were there, haunted, nervous, and his own nervous system went into overdrive. He was awash with feelings he couldn’t understand. Protective instincts mingled with lust, desire, anger. It was all there, grating through him, stirring him to life for the first time in years.
The doors pinged open and he guided her inside. But it was only once the doors closed and they were alone that she seemed to rouse herself.
“Where are we going?”
“Somewhere we can talk privately,” was all he said, swiping his key and pressing the button for the top floor. There was no way he was going to risk having this conversation interrupted or overheard. He couldn’t, for the life of him, have said why he cared so much. But every bone in Xavier Salbatore’s body was telling him this mattered. This was important.
Her eyes flew to his and he met them, before turning resolutely away, staring ahead, trying to marshal his thoughts and wits. He suspected he would need every single one of them to get to grips with this woman – and the place she held in his life.
He was too big. Too overpowering. But then, he always had been. The first time she’d seen him, she’d been spellbound. Utterly and completely. She wouldn’t have described herself as shy around members of the opposite sex, and yet he’d walked into the theatre and she’d been lost – completely. She hadn’t been able to check tickets with any degree of composure. She’d simply gone through the motions, her eyes constantly seeking him out, searching for him, until he’d walked up to her, his ticket held out, his eyes boring into hers, and her knees had felt week and her belly had seemed to twist and knot, and the world had ceased to hum and spin.
All had been silent.
All had been lost.
But foolish deeds had been born in that obsessive moment, and she wouldn’t be a fool again.
Belatedly, her brain revived itself, and she registered the fact she was in an elevator with Xavier Salbatore, cruising towards the top of the hotel.
Survival instincts came to the fore. She had to put an end to this, before it was too late.
“I beg your pardon,” she murmured, pleased that the words sounded forged in ice. “I agreed to a drink. Nothing else.” Though heaven forbid, even the thought of that ‘else’ set a vibration racing through her body, heating her up from the inside out.
“Si. And there are drinks in my room.”
She snorted – having been fooled by his practiced flirtations once before, she could read all the signals a second time around. No way was she going to let him charm her again!
“Do you really think I’m going to fall into your bed?” She demanded, the question hoarse with indignation.
He turned to face her, one thick, dark brow lifted. She looked at it, and then her gaze dropped to the cheek that had been scared, presumably in the accident four years ago. His face had been bandaged when she’d gone to the hospital. She’d only been able to see his eyes, bruised and closed.
“I think you’re lying to me and I intend to get to the bottom of it,” he retorted with cool detachment.
Ellie’s heart ratcheted up a gear as a mental image of Joshua swam before her eyes. Joshua who was almost the mirror image of a smaller version of this man. Joshua with his dark eyes and thick curling lashes, chestnut hair and passionate Latin nature. Joshua who was a daily reminder of Xavier Salbatore.
How dared he have forgotten her? How dared he still be cheating on his fiancé? No! His wife!
She was his wife now. Nausea rolled through Ellie’s stomach at the predicament this man had landed her in. She’d become the other woman, and without having any damned idea that he was engaged!
He’d acted like a free man. He’d seduced her with determination and skill, and she had been no match for his expert flirtation.
What a naïve idiot she’d been – falling into his bed, just like that.
And all the while, he was engaged to be married! The doors to the lift pinged open and she stayed resolutely where she was, purse tucked under one arm, body frozen to the spot.
He stepped out, holding a hand to keep the doors open, his eyes watching her with lazy cynicism.
“Well?”
“I’m not coming with you,” she said, shaking her head.
He waited, without speaking.
“You can stand there all night, it won’t change my mind.”
And a muscle ticked in his jaw as he shrugged, and for a brief moment, she thought she’d won. She thought he’d simply accepted her decree and would disappear from her life once more – back to his perfect wife and perfect life, his money and career and doting parents.
Only Xavier Salbatore never gave up, ever. The accident he’d been in should have killed him; it was only through sheer stubborn determination that he’d managed to fight his way back to life.
He stepped back into the lift and without a single hint of what he intended, scooped down and picked her up around the waist, hoistin
g her over his shoulder with as little ceremony as if she were a sack of potatoes.
“Hey!” She shouted. “Put me down, you… you…”
“All the name calling in the world will not make any difference.” His accent was thicker when he was driven by emotion, and in that moment, it was heavy, coating each word in a Spanish summer. Oranges, jasmine, cloves and spices. She wanted to ignore it, she wanted to resist the tug on her senses, but he was drugging her, just as he had then.
No! Not just as he had then! She’d been younger, ignorant and so stupidly trusting. She’d been a fool then.
Now? She was a mother and a damned good one at that! She was strong and resilient – she’d had to be, and mostly because of this lying, cheating bastard.
“I will scream,” she said, kicking her legs and connecting with his torso. It was hard, like granite. Visions of his abdominal muscles danced in her head.
“Then I will find a way to silence you.” The threat was far less menacing than perhaps he intended, because it set off a reaction of awareness, cascading through her, so she was barely able to breathe when they entered his hotel suite and he slid her down his body and placed her feet on the floor.
Awareness zapped at her senses; to cover how easily he could affect her, she shoved at his chest, rewarded by the feeling of connecting with his body. Of pushing him. Of hurting him. Except she was no match for him physically; her violent action had barely shifted his body an inch.
“What is your name?”
“Of course you don’t remember,” she muttered, no longer pretending that they were strangers. What was the point? He mightn’t remember the specifics of their time together, but he clearly remembered something about her.
“I know you.” And he sounded relieved, but she was simply offended. Offended beyond belief.
“Yes, you could say that.” She pulled away from him, walking deeper into the penthouse suite.
“How?”
She stared out at London, unseeing. She’d wondered about him often since she’d walked away from him. She’d wondered if he thought of her. If he wished things had been different. She wondered if he felt guilty for sleeping with her when he was engaged to another woman.
Billionaire Baby Daddies: A five-book anthology Page 68
