Salazar's One-Night Heir

by Jennifer Hayward

  Suddenly she was upside down, thrown over his shoulder, Alejandro heading toward the bedroom before she had a chance to breathe. And then it was her battling to regain her equilibrium as he deposited her on the bed, took her mouth in a series of hot, hungry kisses in between which he ripped off his jeans and pulled his T-shirt over his head.

  “You are killing me,” he murmured, eyes holding hers in a suspended, searing moment she felt all the way to her toes, “slowly but surely.”

  She sucked in a breath as he rode her nightie up her body with his hands and pulled it over her head. This was an Alejandro she didn’t know, the intensity in him bubbling over the edges, seeping into her skin.

  She felt the burn of his gaze on her bare skin seconds before he pushed her back on the bed and braced himself on his elbows above her, a solid wall of sheer male power that made her mouth go dry.

  He ran a possessive hand down her body, lingering on the dips and curves he found. Her pulse stuttered, then took off at a dead run. This wasn’t going to be a languid, leisurely seduction. It was going to be something else entirely.

  Cupping her breasts, he traced his fingertips over the velvety points. Rolled the sensitive peaks between thumb and forefinger until she moaned and moved restlessly beneath him. Satisfying her demand, he palmed the curve of her belly with his hand, then drew his fingers down over the sensitive crease of her thigh.

  She opened instinctively for him, eyes on his as he slid a hard male thigh between hers, moving against her in a sensual, breathtaking rhythm. She reached up, curled a hand around his nape and brought his mouth down to hers for an intensely erotic, open-mouthed kiss.

  The friction achingly good, her body beyond ready for him, a low plea left her lips. Releasing her mouth, he slid a hand beneath her head to fist in her hair, sliding his other hand down her leg to urge her thigh up and over his hip. With a single, hard thrust he was buried inside of her, her breath escaping on a harsh gasp.

  He kissed her through the slow, deep ride he took her on, stroking into her body with deliberate, sweet slides until her insides were a hot shimmer and all she could feel was him. Every inch of her catching fire, she shattered apart, nails digging into his biceps. He came with her, his powerful body swelling, expanding, spilling his scalding heat inside her.

  She’d never been so lost and found all in one moment. So sure she’d made an irrevocable choice she could never take back.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  ALEJANDRO PACED THE floor of his lower Manhattan office the morning after his and Cecily’s return from Belgium, managing the delicate threads of the Columbian acquisition while simultaneously castigating himself for allowing his relationship with Cecily to devolve into the emotional affair it had become.

  Clearly he couldn’t be trusted not to sink into that realm with her, which necessitated a cooling off period while he figured out how to handle his vulnerable, irresistible fiancée. Because that couldn’t happen again between them—another of those charged encounters guaranteed to push their relationship off the track.

  His conference call droned on, digressing into legalese he couldn’t be bothered to follow. Stopping in front of the windows, he braced his palms on the sill and took in a gray, stormy-looking view of the Hudson. Most people would welcome that level of emotion in their relationship, he acknowledged. For him it was a place he would never go because he knew where it led.

  No matter how good he and Cecily were together, no relationship retained that shiny, newly purchased glow. Whether boredom, friction or simply like turning to dislike, all good things came to an end. He’d watched his parents reenact that vicious pattern over and over again and it never ended well, passion and happiness turning to anger, then to hatred and back again until he’d been begging for them to end it. It wasn’t something he’d ever subject himself or his child to. Nor would he raise Cecily’s expectations as to the type of relationship he could provide.

  Better to take his own advice and focus on the things he could affect such as attacking the root cause of all of his problems.

  His conference call mercifully came to an end. Discarding his headset, he sat down at his desk and messaged his lawyer.

  Is the letter ready?

  Just finished. Want me to bring it over?

  Please.

  Sam Barton knocked on his door just as he was taking a sip of his espresso. Waving him into a chair, Alejandro scanned the document his lawyer pushed across the desk.

  The letter, addressed to Clayton Hargrove, recapped the terms of the public apology the Salazar family was willing to accept from the Hargroves as compensation for the financial and reputational losses it had incurred as a result of the theft of its property.

  Should the Salazars not receive a written response by the date indicated on the letter, the family would proceed with its plans to prosecute the Hargroves to the fullest extent of the law, exposing the lies and criminal business practices the Hargrove dynasty had been built upon.

  A very persuasive letter. Satisfied with its contents, Alejandro strengthened the language in a couple of sections, then pushed the document back across the desk to Sam.

  His lawyer scanned the edits. Raised a brow. “That will get his attention.”

  “That’s the point.”

  “And if he doesn’t respond?”

  “We cross that bridge when we come to it.”

  He was hoping that day never came. That Clayton Hargrove’s lawyers would take the letter for the warning it was and advise their client accordingly. Because this had to end, this piece of history that was tearing his fiancée apart. This daily hope her father would call when the bastard clearly couldn’t care less, because it was dismantling him too to see her this way.

  It needed to be over.

  * * *

  Cecily resumed her life in New York determined to cultivate that unshakeable vision she had promised herself. She tuned out the newspapers and the gossip, focused on the future she and Alejandro were building together and refused to look back, only forward.

  Controlled the things she could.

  The week after they returned, their real estate agent found them a property in upstate New York that was everything they’d been looking for. Sitting in the shadow of the Catskill Mountains, Cherry Hill Farm, a two hundred and fifty acre spread being sold by its polo ground owners, was spectacular.

  Cecily lost her heart to its scenic views across the Hudson Valley, acres of riding trails up into the mountains and its elegant, eighteenth-century ranch-style house.

  “You love it,” Alejandro said, flicking her a glance as they made the drive home after viewing it.

  She nodded, excitement brimming inside her at the potential of such a special place. Warmer than the grand Esmerelda she’d grown up on, she knew it could be a wonderful home for her and Alejandro’s family, plus a great base for her business. Something as special as La Reve.

  And if that brought with it a host of questions as to where her relationship with Alejandro stood after that explosive night they’d shared together in Belgium, she ignored them just as she’d been doing all week.

  She didn’t want to examine the depth of feeling she had for him. How much she was coming to depend on him. The fact she’d unwisely allowed herself to care for a man who’d had no trouble playing by the rules ever since they’d returned to New York.

  Maybe it was the way he made love to her with such passion, then walked away afterward as if he’d been untouched by it. As if he could turn his feelings off and on for her as he pleased while she felt as if the world was shifting beneath her feet. As if whatever brakes he’d been attempting to put on them that night in Belgium were firmly in place and he was keeping him there.

  Or maybe it was because the very thing she’d been afraid of happening—that she would fall into love with him—was exactly what she
’d done.

  Bottom lip caught between her teeth, her attention was captured by the phone call Alejandro was having with their real estate agent. Buying the farm.

  She gaped at him when he’d finished. “Did you just do that?”

  “Sim. He was going to put it on the market tomorrow. Better not to take chances. Plus now we have a location for our wedding. We can get the invitations out.”

  Her stomach plummeted. Given the simple ceremony they’d envisioned and the wedding planner they’d hired to execute it for them, six weeks was more than enough time to execute it. It was not having it at Esmerelda that ripped open the jagged hole inside of her. The fact that there had still been no word from her father.

  “Don’t,” Alejandro murmured. “I am going to fix this, Cecily. I promise you.”

  How? Both sides were so deeply dug in, their pride ruling them, she didn’t see any way around it.

  She turned her head to stare out the window. Perhaps Alejandro had been right. Perhaps her father would see reason once he received their wedding invitation and acknowledged it as the inevitability it was. Because he wouldn’t let her walk down the aisle without him, would he? As rocky as their relationship had been, she loved her father and deep down, she thought he loved her too.

  * * *

  Fortunately, she was too madly busy over the next few weeks to ruminate about anything except getting the renovations done at Cherry Hill Farm so the wedding could go on as planned.

  The ceremony was to take place in the lovely wild flower garden at the back of the house, the reception, a barn party Alejandro had suggested as apropos for them. Which meant her priority was making sure the main barn—the showpiece of her new stables—was ready in time.

  The days passed in a flurry of frenzied activity, a small army working at the farm. It was surreal, magical, to watch her dream come true. Her stomach swooped with butterflies every time she thought of saying her vows to Alejandro in the beautiful garden. Dancing her first dance with him under the sparkling Murano chandeliers inspired by La Reve.

  If she worried she was committing herself to a man who might never love her, that those walls of his showed no signs of coming down, it was a reckless ride she couldn’t seem to stop because he was becoming everything to her, this man who always kept his promises.

  If she got too carried away, hot on its heels came the reminder her father had not yet responded to the deal Alejandro had offered him, nor to their wedding invitation. Neither had the better portion of the Hargrove clan for that matter—as if her father had orchestrated a family-wide boycott of their nuptials.

  If this kept up, there would be only Salazars at her wedding.

  It ate away at her insides, corroded her happiness. But she refused to show it.

  An unshakeable vision.

  * * *

  Two weeks before the wedding, she arrived home well after dinner, so exhausted she could hardly move, but bubbling over with enthusiasm with the progress of the day. Curled up in the chair beside Alejandro’s desk, she gave him a recap.

  “It sounds as if you’re almost there,” he said, leaning back in his chair, coffee cup in hand.

  “We are. It’s going to be amazing.” She set her gaze on the man who seemed intent on doing everything he could to help her rebuild her life alongside his. “Thank you,” she said huskily. “For this. For all of it.”

  He shook it off. “It’s nothing. It’s what I promised you.”

  “It’s everything and you know it.”

  An enigmatic look claimed his face. He took a sip of his coffee, set the cup down. “I have to go to Colombia tomorrow.”

  “Colombia?” She blinked. “Our wedding is two weeks away. We have the ultrasound tomorrow.”

  “It’s the acquisition...unavoidable, I’m afraid. I’ll do the ultrasound, then leave for the airport from there.”

  “When will you be back?”

  “Friday.”

  Friday. A week.

  “Okay,” she murmured, lifting her chin. She could hold down the fort for a week. She’d been doing it all along with his insane schedule.

  They discussed a few urgent wedding items. She lost the plot somewhere along the way, her eyes drifting closed. Alejandro took her cup from her hand, placed it on the desk and pulled her to her feet.

  “Bed,” he instructed.

  She stood on tiptoe, curved a palm around his nape and brought his mouth down to hers. “Come with me,” she murmured against his lips, “and I will.”

  He pressed a hard kiss to her mouth. Set her away from him. “I have to get ready for this trip,” he said quietly, “and you’re dead on your feet. You should get some sleep.”

  Her skin stung. He’d hardly touched her over the past few weeks. She’d attributed it to the pressure he was under with this deal that was making the papers, the crazy amount of work he had on his plate. But she knew in that moment she hadn’t been imagining the distance he’d put between them—it was a very real thing she’d been willfully avoiding. Testimony to his promise love wasn’t ever going to be on offer from him even if he did feel something for her.

  Too tired to face it now because she knew she was already in far too deep—she immersed herself in a long, hot bath, hating the hollow feeling inside of her. Hating that she’d come to need him so much.

  Curling up in bed, she picked up her tablet. Eyes blurring, emotions too close to the surface, she checked her email before she turned out the light. Everything on track with the wedding, she flipped to their RSVP inbox. Froze at the email from her father.

  She pressed a shaking finger to the screen to open it. It wasn’t from her father, it was from his assistant, Claire.

  Your father regrets to inform you he will not be able to attend your wedding.

  No explanation. No elaboration. He hadn’t even sent it himself.

  A tear slipped down her cheek. Then another, until they were a steady, inexorable flow.

  She had to go see him. She had to know the truth.

  * * *

  She and Alejandro attended the ultrasound together the next morning at her doctor’s plush Upper East Side clinic. Everything thankfully on track, their baby healthy and thriving with a vibrant heartbeat, Cecily found herself left with a remarkable sonogram and a whole host of emotions after her fiancé departed for the airport.

  Anticipation about her and Alejandro’s baby had replaced fear as her dominant emotion as she put her faith in the future. With it had come a desperately strong hope her baby would be a girl—that she would develop that same unbreakable bond with her child that she’d had with her mother and maybe it would fill some of the void still left inside of her.

  She flew to Kentucky the day before Alejandro was due home, the finishing touches on the barn almost complete, last-minute wedding tasks in her planner’s capable hands. Cliff, bless his heart, met her at the airport.

  She gave him a hug. “Thank you for coming.”

  “It was a good escape for me. How is New York treating you?”

  “Just fine.” She gave him a wary look as she drew back. “How’s father?”

  “Missing you,” he said bluntly, “although he refuses to admit it. The place hasn’t been the same without you.”

  “Kay?” She wrinkled her nose to hide the sharp stroke of pain that cut through her. “Left to her own devices, she’ll spoil everything.”

  “Yes,” Cliff said with meaning. “Kay.”

  They drove out to the farm. The familiar lush beauty of Kentucky’s horse country hit her like a brick to the chest. How had she survived without this?

  A vision of Cherry Hill Farm with its spectacular canopy of pink cherry blossoms and soaring views up into the mountains filled her head. That was why. Because she wanted that life she’d envisioned with Alejandro so badly it h
urt.

  She gave into the impulse to go see her horses when they arrived, which didn’t help her level of emotion as she rapped on the door of her father’s study.

  What if he wouldn’t speak to her? What if he threw her out?

  She let herself in at her father’s curt command. He sat behind the solid, cherry wood desk in a pose imprinted from childhood, head bent over the document he was reading, brow furrowed in concentration.

  Swallowing past the lump that formed in her throat, she took in the newly imprinted lines bracketing his eyes and mouth as he looked up at her.

  “Daddy.”

  His expression softened for a moment, a warmth entering his cool gray eyes, before his face closed over into an expressionless mask. “You didn’t say you were coming.”

  She crossed her legs at the ankle, wrapped her arms tight around herself. “I got your RSVP. I wanted to talk to you.”

  “You made your choice, Cecily. You chose to marry a Salazar.”

  She pressed trembling lips together. “So your pride means more to you than I do?”

  He rested his head against the back of the chair and regarded her with a hooded look. “I gave you everything...your career handed to you on a silver platter, the best coaches and horses in the world, every advantage you could ask for. You could have married a fine man like Knox, instead you chose to jump into bed with the man who is trying to destroy us. What do you want me to say?”

  Her temper caught fire. She moved forward until she stood flush with the edge of the desk, hands clenched by her sides. “I would like you to care for me like a father should. And for the record, I made my career, not you.”

  An emotion she couldn’t read flickered in those wintry gray eyes. “What I want from you, Daddy, is the truth. I want to know why you can’t make this apology and put it behind us so I can be happy.”

  He got up from his chair and rounded the desk. “You think Alejandro is going to make you happy? He’s marrying you to secure the Salazar you’re carrying, Cecily. He is loving taking you away from me, paying me back by stealing the one thing I value most, but he does not love you. Don’t be so damn naïve.”