Читать книгу A Champagne Christmas: The Christmas Love-Child / The Christmas Night Miracle / The Italian Billionaire's Christmas Miracle - Кэрол Мортимер, Catherine Spencer - Страница 14

“SHE’S not here.”

Maksim looked up to see Alan Barrington staring down at him from the doorway of his town house. It was dark and gray, past twilight on Christmas Eve.

He’d been knocking on the door of Grace’s basement flat for the past five minutes without answer. He hadn’t expected to be so late. He’d promised he would take her to the airport for her late-night flight, but secretly he’d planned to talk her out of going home for Christmas. His private jet was waiting at a small nearby airport to whisk them away to the South of France.

But he was fifteen minutes late. Only fifteen minutes—that was something of a miracle, given all the surprises today! The merger was nearly a done deal. Thanks to Francesca, it had fallen into his lap, and he’d have been a fool to refuse. But he’d left the meeting halfway through. His people could mop up the details.

He wanted Grace.

He’d called her as soon as he got out of the meeting but hadn’t been able to reach her. “Where is she?”

Barrington glared at him. “Why would I tell you?”

“Her phone was disconnected. Any idea why?”

The man folded his arms. “The phone went with her job, which she lost this afternoon.”

“After all her loyalty, you fired her so quickly?”

“Loyalty? Some loyalty. Isn’t it enough you already took one woman from me? Now you want the other one?” Barrington turned his lips into a sneer. “I’m not her pimp.”

In three leaping steps Maksim had run up the stairs and grabbed him by the throat. “Are you calling Grace a whore?”

“Let me go!” the slender man croaked.

Maksim released him with a growl. “Apologize.”

“Oh, so now you’re her protector?” The blond man gasped, rubbing his neck. “You did this. You seduced and betrayed her. Not me.”

“I never betrayed her,” Maksim said, even as that strange, unpleasant prickle snaked down his spine. Guilt?

“Why bother denying it now?” Barrington snarled. “You’ve won. You’ve taken the merger. You’ve taken Francesca. You’ve gotten your payback—you’ve gotten rid of me for good. My shareholders have already issued a statement asking for my resignation.”

“Good.” But at this moment, Maksim’s revenge didn’t feel very satisfying.

“What do you care about some secretary?” Barrington looked at him with shrewd, beady eyes. “You have Francesca.”

Right. Francesca.

Maksim’s capricious ex-lover had shown up at his penthouse that morning, offering him Barrington’s head on a silver platter. “I’ve just told my father the truth,” she’d said, weeping artful tears from her lovely green eyes. “I never wanted Alan. It was you, Maksim, always you!”

Maksim’s furious retort had been interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone. Francesca’s father had moved swiftly. He’d always preferred that his company accept the offer from Rostov Oil; only his daughter’s fake engagement had made him consider Cali-West. Within half a day the merger proceedings had been well started, although it would take another several weeks before they would be fully signed, sealed and delivered.

Maksim had accepted the deal. But he’d chosen Grace. He’d never used the information she’d shared. He’d never betrayed her.

But he realized now it’d worked out exactly the same as if he had.

He clenched his fists. “Just tell me where she is.”

“Flying to Los Angeles, I expect, with the plane ticket I bought her. I hope it crashes.” Barrington slammed the door.

Coming down the steps from the Knightsbridge town house, Maksim dialed his private investigator to get her address. But that wasn’t all he discovered about her family’s situation.

An hour later he was on his private jet en route to California.

The little yellow cottage gleamed in the predawn darkness, a shining beacon on the cliff above the soft roar of the Pacific Ocean.

Breathing heavily after her uphill walk, Grace crept back into her house, tiptoeing as she walked past the artificial Christmas tree decorated with ornaments from her childhood, gleaming with colored lights.

“Gracie?” Her mother suddenly peeked around the kitchen door. “You’re awake early. I expected you to sleep in this morning.”

Grace hid the small purchase she’d bought at the twenty-four-hour drugstore half a mile away. “Um. Jet lag. I couldn’t sleep, so I went on a walk.”

“Oh, poor dear,” her mother said sympathetically, then brightened. “I’ll make you some coffee. Come chat while I baste the ham.”

“I’ll be right there, Mom.” Grace tried to calm her rapidly beating heart as she went to her childhood bedroom. She changed out of her jeans and back into her soft, comforting flannel pajamas and red chenille robe.

She set the bag down on her nightstand.

Her mother had been so happy to pick her up at L.A. airport last night, so joyful that she’d come home even earlier than expected. The boys had jumped up and down as they got her luggage from the carousel, and even seventeen-year-old Josh had hugged her, saying in a low voice, “I’m so glad you’re home.”

Her mother had driven them in the minivan back home to the northern beach town of Oxnard, an hour away, then made them all hot chocolate at midnight with marshmallows. Everyone finally went to bed to dream happy Christmas dreams.

Except Grace.

She hadn’t been able to tell them that they were about to lose the house they were sleeping in. She’d lied. No, not lied, she told herself angrily. Lying was for selfish bastards like Maksim. All she had done was put off the truth that would break their hearts. But she’d barely been able to stomach the hot chocolate, which was usually her favorite. A low-grade nausea had been with her for two days. As she went to bed late that night in her old bedroom still decorated with posters of rock bands and old teddy bears, even her breasts hurt.

That’s when the dreadful thought first occurred to her.

Nausea…dizziness…exhaustion. Painful breasts.

And so she’d sneaked off before dawn to buy a pregnancy test.

It’s a waste of money, she told herself firmly. She and Maksim had only had sex a few times—all right, many times—but only just that once without protection. Fate wouldn’t be so cruel, would it?

She’d been too carried away, too overwhelmed by sensation to even think of using protection that first time. If she’d thought about it, she would have assumed that a playboy like Maksim would naturally make sure he didn’t get his many lovers pregnant. Especially lovers he intended to betray.

Her heart still hurt to think about it.

But the pregnancy test would have to wait. She couldn’t take it now, knowing her mother was awake and waiting for her.

Grace went slowly into the kitchen. Sitting at the dining table, she could barely tolerate the smell of the creamy, sweet coffee her mother happily served her. But that was nothing compared to being forced to listen to her mother’s delighted praise as she tearfully thanked Grace for saving their family.

“I was silly to live in denial and hide from our problems. You’ve inspired me with your career, Gracie. I’ve run this home for twenty years,” Carol Cannon said as she put homemade biscuits in the oven. “After raising you four children, I can do anything!” She paused thoughtfully. “I might go back to school to become a tax accountant. I was always good at math.”

Grace gulped down a single sip of hot coffee, scalding her tongue. The coffee made her feel nauseous, so she put it down immediately. “I know you can do anything you want, Mom.”

Her mother’s eyes glistened at her. She leaned forward to kiss the top of Grace’s head. “I’m so proud of you, Gracie. I want to come with you tomorrow when you take the check to the bank. I’m so grateful to have such a strong daughter to lean on.”

Grace rubbed her temples, feeling like a fraud.

They had no savings. No income now that she’d lost her job. In just one week, they would have to leave their beloved seaside cottage and beg their friends and family for a place to stay. And as there were five of them, including three boisterous teenage boys, they would soon wear out their welcome with even their most devoted friends.

I’ll tell Mom tomorrow, Grace promised herself over the lump in her throat. I just want her to enjoy Christmas.

The rest of the morning was agony for Grace, as she watched her younger brothers open their presents and saw their joy and the grateful hugs they gave their mother. The gifts would all have to be returned to the store tomorrow. They would need every penny to survive. Seventeen-year-old Josh would have to say farewell to his long-desired iPod. Fourteen-year-old Ethan would be forced to give back his new guitar. And twelve-year-old Connor would tearfully have to return his new drums. Even their mother would return the expensive cashmere sweater the boys had bought for her with their own money earned mowing the lawns of neighbors throughout the fall. When Grace opened her own present from her family, she found a large hardcover picture book about the Trans-Siberian Railroad. Looking up at their beaming faces, she felt like crying.

“Thank you,” she said over the lump in her throat. “I love you so much.”

“It’s ’cause you’re such a world traveler,” her youngest brother said happily. “I helped pick it out.”

At brunch Grace watched her mother serve the platter of ham and scalloped potatoes. The boys cheered the food, but all she could think was that the ham alone was worth two weeks of cheap dinners like ramen noodles and frozen bean burritos.

Tomorrow, she repeated to herself, pasting a frozen smile on her face. I’ll tell them tomorrow.

But after brunch, when her mother and brothers got ready to attend a Christmas-morning service of songs and carols, Grace pleaded jet lag and stayed home.

Now, finally alone, she stared at the pregnancy test, waiting for the results.

Be negative, she willed with every creative visualization technique she’d ever heard about on morning talk shows. Be negative.

Her hands shook as she waited for the results. She squinted in the dark bathroom. Would there be one line? Or two? She thought she saw the lines start to form. She couldn’t see.

She ran out into the front room with the sunny windows overlooking the sea. The prewar cottage was small and bright and cozy, with old striped couches and cushions they’d had since Grace’s childhood.

She looked down at the test. Negative. It would be negative….

Two lines. Oh my God. Two lines. Positive.

She was pregnant!

She heard a sound and turned to look.

Maksim stood in the open doorway. Brilliant sunlight cast him in silhouette, leaving his features dark. His wide, powerful frame filled the door, instantly filling their cliffside cottage with the force of his presence.

For a moment she thought her knees were going to buckle beneath her. In spite of everything, her heart soared to see him. She longed for him to take her in his arms and tell her everything Alan had said was a lie. To tell her he’d never seduced her to get information about the merger and win back a woman a thousand times more desirable than Grace could ever be.

Thrusting the pregnancy test in her robe pocket, she took a deep breath.

“What are you doing here?”

He stepped over the threshold, his eyes focused only on her. “I came for you.”

A shiver spread through her body. She could barely breathe as she faced him. She gripped her old chenille robe more tightly around her body. “You shouldn’t have come.”

He strode forward, his face tense. “You shouldn’t have left London.”

She lifted her chin.

“Why?” she said coldly. “Are there other secrets I might have forgotten to blurt out to you in bed?”

His handsome face closed down, looked grim. “I never betrayed you.”

“You didn’t take the deal with Exemplary Oil?”

He clenched his jaw. “I took it yesterday.”

She briefly closed her eyes. So Alan hadn’t lied. Everything he’d said was true.

“You must love her very much,” Grace said, her voice barely a whisper.

He shook his head. “Grace, listen to me….”

She sucked in her breath, hating him more than she’d ever hated anyone in her whole life. “What are you even doing here? Shouldn’t you be celebrating with Francesca?”

“No, damn you!” His steel-gray eyes blazed as he grabbed her by the shoulders. “I don’t want her. I want you!”

“On the side?” She gave a harsh, ugly laugh. “You really think you can have anything you want, don’t you? You always intended to seduce me for information, from the moment your car splashed me in the street!”

The rage in his eyes faded. His grip on her shoulders loosened.

“You’re right,” he said in a low voice. “You were nothing more to me then but Barrington’s secretary, and I thought you were his mistress. I intended to use you to take back what was rightfully mine.”

“You took my virginity for that.” She fought the angry tears rising to her eyes. She would die before she’d let him see her cry! “What is wrong with you? Don’t you have a soul?”

His jaw clenched. “When I made love to you, I gave up my plan,” he said, looking down at her. “I couldn’t use the information you’d told me in bed. I knew I would lose you. So I kept silent. Francesca was the one who told her father. It would have been foolish and useless for me to refuse the deal she brought to me yesterday.” He lifted her chin, holding her in his arms. “But I swear to you. On my honor. I never betrayed you.”

She wanted to believe him.

Wanted it so badly it hurt.

But she couldn’t.

“You mean the same word of honor,” she said evenly, “with which you swore you weren’t trying to use me against Alan?”

“My only lie,” he ground out. He looked at her, and his eyes glittered. “I hated lying to you. But I made the choice, Grace. I chose you.”

He stroked her cheek, looking down at her with emotion. She closed her eyes, her heart pounding at his touch.

“Come with me to Moscow,” he whispered. “I want you with me. As my secretary, as my mistress, whatever you—”

Her eyes flew open. “Your…secretary?”

She ripped away from him. After everything they’d been through together—the romance that had consumed her so utterly that she’d fallen in love with him and was about to have his child—that was still how he saw her. As a secretary?

And now that he’d won the merger with Exemplary Oil, he wasn’t even trying to hide it. He was no longer even vaguely trying to pretend that he cared for her.

“You mean because I’ve helped you steal a billion-dollar deal from my last boss,” she said scornfully, “you’ll kindly allow me to type your letters and make your coffee in Moscow? Except you’ll want different fringe benefits than Alan, I suppose. I assume I’m to spend my evenings and weekends earning my wages on my back?”

His dark brows lowered furiously as he grabbed her shoulders. “You know that’s not how it is—”

“You want to hide me away in Moscow, so you can enjoy Francesca in London!” The images she’d seen of Francesca with him outside the hotel went through her. “Marrying her is part of your deal, right?”

“Damn you!” he shouted. “I don’t want her! I want—”

“I saw you with her yesterday!” she shouted back. He dropped his hands from her shoulders. “What?”

Tears filled her eyes. She wiped them fiercely. “After I was fired, I went to your hotel. Stupid me, I actually had faith in all the lies you’d told me.”

“They weren’t lies, not all of them—”

“Oh, yes, I always get things wrong, don’t I?” She could barely speak over the lump in her throat. “Because I’m just a silly little secretary. That’s all I’ve ever been to you.”

“You little fool,” he ground out. “You know that’s not true—”

“Stop trying to have it both ways!” she shouted. “You never cared for me, you just took my virginity, you seduced me, you got me—” Pregnant with your child, she almost blurted out, but she stopped herself just in time. Humiliation gnawed at her, causing her cheeks to go hot.

She didn’t want to tell him about the baby. Ever.

She just wanted him out of their lives for good.

“I did you a favor to get you away from Barrington,” he ground out. “You were letting him walk all over you!”

He’d felt sorry for her?

“Oh, thank you. Thank you so much,” she said. Waves of acute misery continued to build inside her, making her feel more ill by the minute. “I wish to God I’d never let you touch me!”

Gut-wrenching nausea waved over her. Covering her mouth, she ran to the bathroom, stumbling on the floor to retch over the toilet just in time.

She heard him come in behind her. His voice was suddenly gentle as he said, “But Grace, you’re ill.”

“It’s nothing—the flu—just go!” She wiped her mouth, looking back at him with eyes of fury. “I hate you!”

“Grace—”

“Just go! You liar, you back-stabbing bastard!” She grabbed a bar of soap and threw it at him. He ducked it easily, enraging her still more.

“I’m not leaving you.”

“If I’m sick,” she bit out, “it’s because looking at your face makes me want to puke! My skin crawls when I think of how I let you touch me.” She looked at him with eyes of ice. “You’re not a prince—you’re not even a man.”

She’d finally pushed him too far.

He stiffened behind her.

“Fine.” His lip curled. “Now that I know your true opinion of me, I won’t fight to keep you. I see now there is nothing for me here…”

Turning to go, he stopped.

Bending over the carpet, he picked up something that had fallen to the floor and rolled across the carpet.

The pregnancy test had fallen from the hole in her pocket!

She gasped, rising quickly to her feet. “It’s not what you think. It’s nothing…an old test…a friend’s…left here,” she stammered helplessly.

“You’re pregnant.” He looked at her. “You’re pregnant?”

She stared at him. She wanted to deny it, but the lie stuck in her throat.

“Am I the father?”

She gasped at the insult.

“You know you are! Although I wish to God you weren’t. I wish any other man on earth was the father but you!”

His eyes focused on her coldly. “And I realize now everything I ever thought about you was wrong. I thought you were special. You’re not. You’re selfish and deceitful. Jealous and controlling.”

She gave a harsh laugh. “More than your precious Francesca?”

“Francesca and I broke up because she tried to push me into marrying her. You did something far worse. You were going to let me walk right out that door, weren’t you? You were going to keep my child a secret. You intended to sacrifice our child’s need for a father, and live in poverty without even a home, all for the sake of your own selfish pride!”

He knew the house was in foreclosure? She gasped, feeling as if he’d exposed her vulnerable jugular.

“How did you know?” she whispered.

“I told you. I protect what is mine. That means my child. That means his family.” His lip curled. “And whether I wish it or not, that means my child’s mother.” His eyes were cold as he looked down at her. “You will be my wife.”

His…wife?

She sucked in her breath.

His duty bride, the ignored spouse he would leave trapped in a lonely Muscovite palace while he continued to pursue the wickedly lovely Francesca in London?

“No,” she whispered desperately. She looked around the sunlit cottage. She desperately wanted her family to keep their home. Then she thought of the tiny life in her womb who needed to be protected. Better to remain in poverty in the warm sunshine of California, near family who loved her, than risk either of them anywhere near Maksim’s icy Siberia of a heart!

She shook her head hard. “How many times do I have to say it? I don’t want your money!”

“But now you will take it.” His voice was low, dangerous. His gray eyes glittered at her as he added maliciously, “As you will take my name. Today.”

“No! I won’t!”

He grabbed her painfully by the shoulders. “Apparently, I haven’t made myself clear. You have no choice.”

She was suddenly afraid of him, this dangerous man who seemed to control his anger with such icy reserve.

“Your wife in name only?” she whispered.

He gave a hard laugh. “And now you think to trick your way out of my bed? No. You will be my wife in every way. You will sleep naked in my bed and service me at my will.”

It was the final stab to her heart. He’d already made it plain he cared nothing for her. He expected her to surrender her body to his possession, without affection, without love?

“You’re worse than Alan,” she whispered. “A million times worse. Because, you’re not asking me to be your wife. You’re trying to make me your household slave, chained to your bed.”

He stroked her chin.

“I’m not asking you,” he said coolly. “I’m telling you. You are pregnant with my child. You will be my wife. Every jewel and home and luxury you could possibly desire will be yours. You are now mine.”

He was offering her money, in exchange for giving her body and soul to a man she hated—a man in love with another woman! “A gilded cage. You’re offering me the life of a whore!”

He grabbed her wrist, pulling her hard against his muscular body.

“Have it your way, then. You will be my pretty songbird in a golden cage.” He kissed her cruelly, punishing her. As she felt her lips bruise beneath his embrace, a whimper escaped her. He drew away with a hard smile, looking down at her with a gaze like frozen steel. “And, my beautiful one, you will sing only for me.”