Читать книгу The Blackmailed Bride's Secret Child / For Business...Or Marriage?: The Blackmailed Bride's Secret Child / For Business...Or Marriage? - Jules Bennett, Rachel Bailey - Страница 12

Nico woke slowly, wrapped around Beth. He blinked at the early morning sun slanting through the windows, feeling warm and content for the first time in years. Other women hadn’t given him anything like this, nor had financial success.

He pressed his face into her neck, smelling her alluring musky scent. Beth and heat and sex and wanting him. God, he’d missed this. Missed her.

Ever since she sold herself to his brother.

The contentment he’d felt only moments earlier evaporated, leaving the dark, heavy ache that had been his constant companion for five years. The ache of betrayal. Every muscle tense, he edged away from her sleeping form.

He’d badly needed one more night with her, but that had to be the end of it. He could never allow a relationship with her again.

Beth sighed in her sleep, nuzzling into the white pillow, her tousled pixie-cut hair partly covering her face. She looked so innocent as she dreamed in his bed, so vulnerable. A spark of doubt flared in his heart—could he walk away? Something in his chest shifted. Would she misunderstand their night together and expect more? Would she be hurt when he left?

He shook his head to clear it of worthless sentimentality. This was the woman who’d walked out on him without a backward glance. He would not let himself be fooled again. Clenching his jaw, he slammed the door to his heart closed. He wasn’t the same trusting person he’d been. He’d made sure of that, had built barricades and fortifications around himself that no one had penetrated. And they never would.

Without making a noise, he slipped from the room, grabbing his trousers on the way. He dialed the concierge while he zipped his pants.

“Good morning, Mr. Jordan. How may I help you?”

“I’d like a cab.” He glanced at his watch. Ten past eight. “To arrive in fifteen minutes.”

“I’m afraid there was a big event at one of the wineries last night and all the taxis are on airport runs. I rang them a few minutes ago for another guest and they said there’ll be a two-hour wait.”

Nico swore low and hard.

“Would you still like me to make the booking?”

“No, I’ll organize something else.” He hung up and rubbed his still-sleepy eyes with the heels of his hands. He should have thought of that—it wasn’t as if he hadn’t known about the function. Hell, he’d attended the damn thing with Beth.

He’d have to take her home. How could he face her after the night they’d shared—drive her all the way home, then say goodbye at her door? When he’d woken ten minutes ago, he’d come dangerously close to forgetting her betrayal—he couldn’t make that mistake. A clean break—sending her home by cab would have been perfect.

He’d just have to create a clean break himself.

He stalked back to the bedroom, slid on a shirt and leaned against the door frame as he buttoned it. The sight of her sprawled under his sheets triggered his groin to harden for her again, bringing back memories of the night before under those same sheets. And in the shower. And against the wall.

He bit back a groan. It was over and he needed her gone ASAP—before he did something stupid, like crawl back into that bed and make love to her again.

“Beth,” he croaked. Then cleared his throat and called again. “Beth.”

She stirred and stretched and he clenched his fists to keep from reaching for her. Slowly, she sat up and the sheet fell to expose breasts he’d worshipped last night.

“Nico.” One hand pushed her hair from her eyes and her lips curved into an uncomplicated smile. He tightened his mouth and watched the warmth and joy suddenly vanish from her expression and he knew she was aware things were different this morning. She blinked and gathered the sheet to cover herself.

He blew out a hard breath. “I’ll drop you home.”

She nodded, cynical understanding in eyes as blue as the ocean’s depths. “Of course.” She sighed, then cast a look around the room. “Just let me get dressed, or would you prefer to throw me out on the street wrapped in a sheet?”

He stared blankly at her. She was trying to get a rise out of him, but he wouldn’t let her get the upper hand—she’d had it five years too long. Realizing his hand was clenched, he deliberately released it.

“Your decision.” He shrugged to show her how little it meant to him. “I’ll be downstairs, starting the car.”

He grabbed his keys, phone, wallet and a jacket before slipping on his shoes. Then he walked out the door, not letting himself turn back. He hated that she still had so much power over him that he couldn’t even trust himself to stay in the same room as her and not make love to her again. But in five long years, he’d never let anyone—especially a woman—have any power over him. Beth had taught him the danger in that.

He pulled on his jacket in the elevator down to the underground car park. When the doors opened, he strode over to the Alfa and thumbed the keyless lock. After sliding into the driver’s seat, he began tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. How long would she take? Maybe she’d string out getting dressed to make him wait. To take back control. The old Beth wouldn’t have done that.…

His stomach dropped as he amended the thought—the person he’d thought she was wouldn’t have done that. How much of the persona she’d shown him had been real and how much fabricated? The question had tormented him to the brink of madness when she’d first left, but he’d buried it so deep that the only times he’d allowed himself to ruminate over it was when he woke in the early hours of the morning after dreaming of her.…

The elevator pinged its arrival and annoyingly, his pulse spiked. If that was her, she would have done little more than slip on her clothes before following him. The doors slid open to reveal Beth in the peach gown she’d worn the night before, her hair not brushed. Desire stirred at her just-from-bed look, but he suppressed it. He couldn’t afford to be distracted by lust now.

She walked toward the car, her heart-shaped face expressionless, as if she’d erected a wall of protection around herself as effectively as he’d done only minutes earlier. She sat in the passenger seat, head regally tilted, refusing to make eye contact with him.

Good. His hands tightened on the wheel before he turned the key and the car roared to life. He didn’t want small talk, either.

They traveled the short distance to her house in complete silence, the mood inside his car icier than the cold winter morning outside. The town was quiet this early on a Sunday morning, but he supposed it was never as busy as any place he’d lived. Its lines of suburban houses were modest, yet charming in their leafy streets. They passed a small school with murals of laughing children painted down one side. Was that where his nephew would go to class? He pressed his lips together. Another of his agendas for this trip. He wasn’t leaving until he’d met the child.

In coming to New Zealand, he’d intended meeting his nephew, and this time neither Beth nor Kent would stand in his way as they had done since Mark’s birth. The boy deserved to know his family, and as soon as Nico made contact, he’d ensure the next step happened quickly—his father, Tim, would meet his only grandchild as he longed to do. Nico would do anything for his father.

He pulled into the edge of the winery estate where Beth lived, then down her tree-lined driveway. When he reached the house, he left the car idling. He had a pithy exit line ready, but his attention was caught by another car and an older couple at Beth’s front door. He recognized her parents immediately, as they waved across to his car. Beth had said Mark was with them this weekend, which meant the boy was probably inside the house this minute. Triumph surged.

Finally.

He cut the engine, got out and made his way over to the older couple, Beth rushing behind him.

Too late to keep him from meeting his nephew now.

He held out his hand to her father. “Mr. Jackson.”

Her father didn’t move as he took in Beth’s disheveled appearance, then turned to Nico, his face a picture of rage and disapproval. “So you’ve come sniffing around again.”

Nico withdrew his hand, realizing a moment too late that he was dropping this man’s daughter home after having obviously loved her all night. Any father would be prickly. Nico squared his shoulders. “I want you to know—”

Her father’s stance was rigid as he cut Nico’s words off. “You abandoned our daughter when she—”

Tucking stands of mussed hair behind her ears, Beth inserted herself between them and grabbed her father’s hand. “Dad, Nico was just leaving. We don’t want to hold him up.”

She glared at Nico—which was obviously supposed to be his cue to leave. Nico looked from daughter to father. There was something missing here.

Mrs. Jackson looked flustered. “We just dropped in for Mark’s spaceship. It’s his favorite and he forgot to bring it for the weekend.”

“Nico,” Beth said, eyes determined, “don’t let us hold you up. I’m sure you have a million things to do at the winery before you leave.”

He held her gaze and found something deeper behind her determination. Her eyes had always been so clear to read, at least to him, and even though she fought now to keep her emotions covered, he could still sense a smothered desperation. Desperation to stop him.

Nico crossed his arms over his chest. “Firstly, I’m not going anywhere until I’ve met my nephew—”

“Nephew?” her father repeated, eyes narrowed.

“And secondly,” Nico continued, “I want someone to tell me what I’m missing here that—”

A small face peeped around the corner and lit up when he saw Beth. “Mummy!” He threw himself into her arms. “I forgot my space cruiser.”

Beth picked the child up and held him tight, her strawberry blond hair buried beside his mop of darkest brown. Nico frowned. That picture didn’t seem right. He had always visualized Beth and Kent’s child to be fair, like them.…

His stomach went into free fall and only his iron will stopped him stumbling backward as the pieces of the puzzle clicked into place. It couldn’t be possible, surely, and yet.

The boy struggled to be let down and when Beth complied, he grabbed his grandfather’s hand and tugged. “Let’s go, Granpa. You said we could go to the park when I got my cruiser.”

Mark’s eyes were the color of espresso, his face almost a replica of Nico’s own childhood photos. Could it be possible?

His mind flew back to their last night together before Beth had left, making love in the vineyard, her body bathed in moonlight. To the nights before that. Had they used protection? Every time? Could this small child be the product of his and Beth’s love all those years ago?

More than instinct told him he was right. Mark washis child, regardless of the age Kent and Beth attributed to him. Obviously a lie to keep him from the truth. To keep him from his son …

As the body blow slammed into him and the world tilted, Nico struggled to remain standing.

His son.

He had a child.

A small boy of his own flesh and blood. A thick ball of emotion filled his throat and he swallowed again and again, trying to move it. That perfect little person tugging on his grandfather’s hand was his. He’d wanted children so badly when he was younger, had wanted children with Beth.

It seemed his wish had been granted—goose bumps broke out across his skin as he felt a sudden chill—it’d just happened without his knowledge.

Mind reeling, he focused on Beth. “We have to talk. Now,” he said through gritted teeth.

Frowning, Mr. Jackson looked from him to Beth and back again. “You didn’t know, did you?”

“No,” Nico ground out.

For a suspended moment, everyone seemed shocked, either by the secret or its release. No one spoke a word or moved a muscle. Even Mark seemed to notice the unnatural stillness and froze, barely blinking.

Then, breaking the spell, Beth’s mother leaned over to kiss her daughter on the cheek. “We’d better get going.”

Her father held out his hand, offering the handshake he’d rejected only minutes earlier. Nico took the proffered hand and shook it once in recognition that this man hadn’t been part of the conspiracy of lies and secrets. He was glad of that at least—he’d always respected Beth’s father, both her parents.

He watched as the older couple bundled Mark into the car and drove away, too furious to dare look down at Beth.

Once they were gone and there was no chance of upsetting his son—his son—Nico turned to the woman who’d betrayed him on so many levels. “Well?”

In the distance, a falcon screeched as it flew up into the blue sky, possibly disturbed by the car carrying their son. Trying to hold back her panic at the menace in Nico’s voice, in his eyes, Beth’s gaze was momentarily drawn to the bird.

Then, resigned to the confrontation that surely must follow, she drew in a breath of icy air and nodded. She turned and led him through the door into her living room.

They were barely inside when he spoke through stiff lips, his eyes cold. “I want a paternity test.”

Beth felt her throat constrict. Of all the reactions she’d expected, she’d never considered this one. “You’re questioning his parentage?”

“Of course he’s mine,” he all but hissed. “But you’ll provide confirmation of the fact.”

She nodded. It was a reasonable request under the circumstances, even if it hurt that he’d ask. “I’ll call a lab first thing tomorrow morning.”

Then, all pretence of control gone, Nico threw his arms in the air and words exploded from his mouth. “How could you keep my son from me?”

Beth stood her ground, refused to flinch but, oh, how could she explain the unforgivable? “If I’d had a choice—”

Nico held up a hand, eyes blazing. “We always have choices.”

Every muscle in her body went limp. He was right.She had to tell him, despite the consequences.

At least part of the story—enough for him to understand. Heart racing, she walked on unsteady legs to one of the antique brown armchairs and sank into its soft comfort, trying desperately to compose words in her head. Words that had to make sense despite the trembling in every muscle and nerve of her body.

She took a deep breath and met Nico’s eyes. “Kent blackmailed me into marrying him. I had to leave that night and never contact you again.”

Two steps and he loomed over her, a wild intensity in his every feature. “So Kent didn’t pay you?”

Money? She felt sick. How could he have believed she’d been for sale? Though how could he not, given how she’d left.

“No,” she whispered. “All the money in the world …” Her voice trailed off as she felt the shame that he thought so little of her, when she still loved him.

Nico scrubbed both hands through his hair and dropped into the other armchair. “He told me that he bought you.” But it was no longer an accusation; instead he seemed to be analyzing the information.

“I’d never be with a man like Kent if I had a choice. And … and I didn’t know I was pregnant then.”

“Would it have changed your mind?” His eyes zeroed in, trapping her with his demand.

Would it? She pressed her fingertips to her temples. Pregnancy or no, Nico and his father would still have been in as much danger from Kent’s information. And yet family meant so much to him.…”I honestly don’t know. Once Kent found out I was pregnant, he added that as another condition to the blackmail. If I told you about our son, or if I had any contact with you, or if I told you what he blackmailed me with, then …”

Her voice trailed off, but Nico supplied the ending. “Then he’d make public whatever it was he was holding over your head.”

“Yes,” she whispered. And no matter how bitter and cold Nico had become, she couldn’t be responsible for robbing him of all he held dear. Or robbing his father of peace in his last days.

He leaned forward, forearms on his knees, eyes hard and suspicious, obviously still unwilling to believe her completely. “Tell me what he had on you.”

She’d known the question was coming, but still it sent a shiver down her spine. It would be so easy to tell him here and now, such a relief to share the burden she’d carried alone for five years. She licked dry lips, tempted almost beyond endurance.

But telling Nico he was illegitimate would be the ultimate act of selfishness. Robbing him of his family, heritage, career, everything, just so she could feel better? That would make her no better than Kent—not caring how actions impacted others. If she told him before Tim passed away, Nico would feel compelled to tell his father the truth, to allow his father to change his will—and stress could shorten Tim Jordan’s life, according to the doctors. If Nico couldn’t bring himself to stress his father, then their last days would be tainted by secrets not shared. How could she do that to either of them? At least if she held the secret for now, Nico and Tim’s goodbyes would be untainted and full only of the love they shared. It was what they deserved, and she wouldn’t let Kent’s manipulations ruin that.

“Beth, tell me what he had on you,” Nico repeated.

A hand crept up to circle her throat and she thought of the letters, still hidden somewhere. After Kent’s passing, she’d turned his bedroom upside down looking for them, before checking his office at work when she’d gone in to clear his personal items. The letters had been nowhere to be found, but she hadn’t given up yet. She couldn’t let them be found by someone else, just as she couldn’t let Nico know their contents.

“I can’t,” she said, trying to hide the anguish it caused to deny him. “Please don’t ask me that.”

Nico flung exasperated hands in the air. “But he’s dead! Anything you had to fear from him has expired.”

She shook her head in jerky movements. She understood his frustration at the situation—she’d lived with it day and night for so long she barely remembered how it felt to be free.

She exhaled and met his gaze. “I can’t.”

“Why not?” The set of his shoulders, the way his eyes bored into hers, the twist of his mouth all proclaimed his distrust of her words, and she had no weapons to challenge it.

She closed her eyes for several seconds, searching for composure in the face of his onslaught. How to make him understand? To let her tell him only once it was safe? “Not yet. One day …”

“That’s absurd.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Kent is dead.”

“I know … but—” She swallowed hard. “Nico, it’s so much more complicated than it seems.”

His jaw clenched and released before he spoke, as if gathering himself. “I won’t stay away from Mark. He’s mine. I wasn’t giving up when I thought he was my nephew—now I know he’s my own son, nothing could make me walk away.”

Her heart glowed with pleasure that Marco’s true father would fight for him even as it wept for the irrevocable damage in the relationship between his two parents.

Nico paced across the room and stood in front of the fireplace, which housed only ashes. The central heating had taken the edge off the air, but the fireplaces were what gave the house the perfect warmth and a sense of home. She hadn’t been here overnight to stoke them. That it was now full of cold cinders seemed appropriate.

Nico leaned an arm on the wall above the brick hearth, his back to her as he spoke in a rough voice. “I’ve already missed his first steps, his first smile—I can never recapture that. Betrayal has cost me seeing my son learn to walk and run.” He turned to face her again, eyes blazing. “And I’ve lost forever the chance to be the one to teach him to throw a ball. I won’t pass up any other firsts.”

His strong sense of family would never let him do anything else. Before this insanity had begun she’d dreamed of having children with Nico, and even then she’d known his commitment to those of his blood would be absolute. At the time she’d been thrilled by the thought. Now it was no less honorable, but the intensity of his devotion to family was bound to complicate everything dreadfully.

However, Marco would get to know his father, Nico would spend time with his son. It was the right thing to do, the best for both child and father. “I won’t ask you to leave him behind.”

But how would she survive being that close? Loving Nico and not having him. Wanting him and keeping a secret from him. It would be the worst kind of torture.

Her heart skipped a beat. “Nico, promise me you’ll leave things between us alone. You’ll have access to Mark, but you won’t push me on details from the past.”

His eyes widened as if she’d asked for the most ridiculous thing in the world. “I’ll promise no such thing.”

Oh, God. Rising panic squeezed her lungs. He had no idea how hot the fire he played with really blazed; she needed to make him see without giving away the secret that would destroy him. She had only one bargaining chip left. “Nico, please. Do it for Marco.”

He paused, eyes scanning hers. “Marco? I thought his name was Mark.”

Beth dragged in a shuddering breath and nodded. She owed Nico this information. “It is, officially.”

She walked to a carved wooden chest and opened the latch, revealing the collection of photos that were usually displayed around the room. The ones she’d rushed to take down yesterday after visiting Nico’s hotel. Part of her futile attempt to hide Marco’s paternity a little longer.

With tenderness, she picked up a framed print of Marco running in the park with her parents’ Dalmatian. It had always been one of her favorites, for the unbridled joy on her son’s face, and for the way he resembled his true father in it.

She walked to Nico and handed it to him, a peace offering. “In my heart, and when he and I are alone, I’ve always called him Marco. He thinks it’s my pet name for him. It was as close as I could come to naming him after you.”

As Nico raised the photo, his throat worked up and down.

Tears filled her eyes, but she blinked them back—this was Nico’s moment. “It was all of his father I could give him.”

He dragged in a breath, then another before meeting her gaze, his eyes filled with resolve. “But now he will have more. Marco will have me,” he vowed. “You’ve kept him from me for this long, don’t even think about standing in my way as I get to know my son.”

Emotion stung the back of her nose as she shook her head. “I won’t, I swear.”

Barely acknowledging her response, he continued. “And I won’t be a once-a-year father. You’ll have to share him equally.”

He meant it as a warning, she knew, and she took it as one … but not the way he intended. How would she cope with the amount of contact required to share custody? To be so close to the man she loved, yet so far away.