Читать книгу Virgin: Undone by the Billionaire - Jennie Lucas - Страница 20

BE HIS wife?

Lia stared at him in the luxurious hotel suite, her heart pounding.

“You … want to marry me?” she whispered.

“I want to have you in my life.” His eyes were dark, intense. “At any cost.”

She took a deep breath. So nothing had changed. He still didn’t love her. He was merely willing to marry her just to get his own way.

But how long would that kind of marriage last?

And if he knew about Ruby …

He didn’t want a baby. And whatever he said now, he didn’t want a wife, either. A man like Roark would never settle down with anyone.

He admired Lia because he thought she was honest and good. If he ever found out how she’d lied all this time—lied to his face—lied to him as she surrendered her body to his …

He didn’t love her, and he never would.

And if he ever knew the truth, he would hate her.

Hot tears rose to her eyes as she grabbed up clothes from the floor. “I have to go.”

She dressed quickly, then turned to go.

“Lia.”

He rose before her, naked and strong and powerful. Her heart was in her throat as she remembered every inch and taste of his body. The way he’d felt against her.

“I know you want a home and family of your own,” he said quietly. “Those are things I can’t give you. But I’m offering you everything I have. More than I’ve ever offered anyone. I want you, Lia. Come with me. Be my wife.”

She swallowed back the pain of wanting him. Perhaps if she weren’t a mother, she might have been willing to sell herself short for the promise of the life he offered her.

But she was a mother. She had to put Ruby first.

Lia had already made a mistake by sleeping with a man who had no desire to be a father. She wouldn’t compound the mistake now by marrying him.

“I’ve made my decision,” she whispered. “Goodbye.”

“No!” He took her hand.

She turned away. “You gave me your word.”

Sucking in his breath, he dropped her hand.

“Yes,” he said dully. “I promised.”

“Goodbye.” She started running for the door so he wouldn’t see the tears streaming down her face.

But after she’d gotten into the hallway, slamming the door behind her, she leaned back against the door, wracked with silent sobs as she said goodbye to the only man she’d ever kissed. The only man she’d been tempted to love. The father of her child.

I’m doing the right thing, she told herself as she pressed the elevator button with a sob. The best thing for all of us.

So why did it feel so wrong?

She’d left him.

Roark couldn’t believe it. He’d been so certain that she would be his.

He’d just asked her to be his wife.

And she’d refused him.

Perhaps it was for the best, he told himself. He rubbed his head wearily. He’d been a fool to impulsively blurt out the offer. He would have tired of her in a week. In a day. Lia had done him a favor turning him down.

Hadn’t she?

The penthouse, with all its exquisite furnishings, echoed with silence. Marble, crystal, expensive hardwoods—all cheap and ugly now that she was gone.

His phone rang as he got out of the shower.

“The plane’s ready for takeoff, Mr. Navarre,” his assistant said respectfully. “Straight to Lihue with a brief fueling stop in San Francisco. I’ve had the driver pull around the front of the hotel. Shall I send someone up for your things?”

“Don’t bother,” Roark said dully. “I’m traveling light.”

Traveling light. Just as he liked it. He put on his black shirt. His platinum cufflinks. His black pants and black coat of Italian wool.

But as he stuffed a few items into his leather suitcase, he felt strangely numb in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time. Not since that frozen winter day so long ago when he’d lost so much in the fire.

It’s for the best, he told himself again. It was no good to get too attached. And Lia was the type of woman a man could get attached to. He didn’t want that. They would have driven each other crazy. And yet …

His hands clenched around the handle of his suitcase. He still couldn’t believe that he’d lost her.

Downstairs at the reception desk, he spoke briefly to his assistant who would be following him to Tokyo in a few days’ time. The main floor of the Cavanaugh Hotel was decorated with a thirty-foot-tall Christmas tree that was covered with red glass ornaments. All the joyful faces and colorful lights in the lobby irritated Roark, setting his jaw on edge.

As Murakami handled the hotel bill, Roark went outside. He blinked for a moment in the darkening winter afternoon, his breath turning to white clouds of smoke in the frozen air.

“Sir?”

Without a word, Roark handed the bag to his driver and got in the back seat. As the Rolls-Royce pulled away from the hotel circle, turning south on Fifth Avenue, his chauffeur said, “Did you have a nice visit in New York, sir?”

“My last visit,” Roark muttered, looking out the window.

“I hope you’ll be spending Christmas someplace warm, sir.”

He remembered the heat of Lia’s body, the warmth in her eyes.

The world is full of women, he told himself angrily. He would replace her easily.

And she would replace him. She would find a man who could give her more than Roark ever could. Maybe just some regular guy with a nine-to-five job who would come home every night to their snug little house. A man who would be faithful to her. A man who would be father to her children.

Roark’s body hurt with need for her.

But he’d given her his promise. He’d never thought he would have to keep it. But she’d made her choice to turn him down. He had to respect her decision.

And yet …

He suddenly realized he’d forgotten to give her the twenty-million-dollar check.

The thought whipped through his body, making him sit straight up in the leather seat. “Turn right up here,” he barked out.

“Sir?”

“Thirty-fourth and Eleventh,” he ground out. “As fast as you can.”

When his driver pulled up in front of the old building that held Lia’s office, Roark jumped out of the car. He was too impatient to wait for the slow, rickety elevator, so he raced up the stairs, taking three at a time. He reached the third floor and pushed open the door. His heart was pounding, but not from exertion.

Sarah the receptionist looked up at him in surprised pleasure.

“Mr. Navarre. Did you forget something?” She smiled. “Did you, um, did you want me to take you on the park tour after all?”

Lia wasn’t here. She wasn’t even here. His jaw clenched with suppressed disappointment as he took his checkbook out of his coat’s inner pocket.

“The countess already showed me the park. But she left before I could give her the donation.”

Bending over the table, he wrote a check for twenty million dollars to the Olivia Hawthorne Park Trust and handed it to her.

Sarah goggled at it in her hands. “I’ll get you a receipt.”

“It’s not necessary,” he said. He’d promised Lia he’d never contact her again, then he’d found a loophole to get around his own word of honor. And she wasn’t even here.

Nice, he mocked himself.

“The countess would insist,” Sarah said breathlessly. She quickly wrote out a receipt for a twenty million dollars. “How do you want this announced?”

“What are you talking about?”

“We’ll send out a press release announcing your charitable donation, of course. Do you want this ascribed to you personally, or to your company?”

“Don’t mention it. Don’t mention it to anyone,” he said grimly.

“Ah. Anonymous. Gotcha.” She winked. “You’re quite the do-gooder, Mr. Navarre. Families will enjoy this park for generations to come.”

He growled at her, then turned to go. As he reached the door, he heard her sigh, “Lia will be so sorry she wasn’t here to see this. But she always likes to be home when her baby wakes up from her nap.”

Roark froze, his hand already on the doorknob.

“Baby?”

“She’s the cutest little thing.”

Roark went straight back to the desk. Her eyes went wide as she saw the fierce expression on his face.

“How old is she?” he demanded.

“That’s the most romantic part,” she replied with a sigh. “Ruby was born nine months after the count died. A miracle to comfort Lia in her grief. And Ruby is the sweetest little thing. She’s crawling like crazy … Where are you going?”

But Roark didn’t answer. He pushed open the door, rushing down the stairs in a fury.

A baby.

Lia’d had a baby.

And she’d never told him. She’d deliberately kept it a secret.

He remembered how nervous she’d been when he ambushed her outside her town house that morning. At the time, he’d thought she was just afraid he might try to invite himself into her bedroom. But she’d been nervous he might find out the truth.

Perhaps the baby had been born nine months after the count died, but the man couldn’t be her father. It was impossible. Lia had been a virgin when Roark had first touched her!

She had told him herself at the wedding reception, there had been no one else since. He remembered the way the waiter at the café this morning had said, “We’ve missed Mademoiselle Ruby today.”

“Who’s Ruby?” Roark had asked.

A friend, she’d answered. Just a good friend.

God, he’d been stupid! Thinking he could trust a beautiful, clever, willful woman like Lia Villani!

He’d overestimated her good heart.

He’d underestimated the depths of her deceit.

She’d lied to him. She’d hadn’t even given him the choice to be part of their child’s life. Instead she’d been so ashamed of her baby’s true parentage that she’d lied about it. Rather than admit that Roark was the one who’d fathered her baby, she’d told everyone her elderly husband had risen from his sickbed to father a child days before his death!

Fury made Roark’s hands shake. She’d tricked him. Lied to him for a year and a half. All the time he was traveling the world, dreaming of her against his will at night, she’d been having his baby. Choosing to keep it a secret. Lying about the baby’s father.

Lying to his face.

Lying to him in bed.

Roark clenched his hands.

And to think he’d actually intended to let Lia go.

He’d meant to keep his promise and leave her alone, no matter what it cost him. He’d actually intended to try and be noble. To give up his own selfish desires for the sake of respecting her wishes.

Noble. He nearly laughed at that now. He climbed into the back seat of his Rolls-Royce.

As the driver made his way to her town house, Roark stared out at the passing traffic. His lips curled back as he barked a cold laugh. He’d admired her. He’d thought she was special. He’d thought she was honest and good.

Now?

He would keep her in his bed. She would stay there, his prisoner, for as long as he desired her.

The world was a selfish place. A man had to take what he could, when he could. And screw the rest.