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“For this,” he said harshly.
Shocked, Carrie took in the romantic scene, her eyes wide. She looked back at him. “You intended to seduce me?” she breathed.
Théo’s eyes were pools of molten heat. “Yes.”
A cold chill of fury went down her spine. She swept her arm toward the table. “You thought this was all it would take? That I would fall instantly into your bed?”
He came closer to her, his black eyes searing hers. “Yes.”
Her skin felt warm all over, being this near to him. She shivered as memories raced through her.
He’d swept her off her feet in a whirlwind affair. On their third date, a week after they’d met, he’d whisked her to his château via private jet and seduced her. But after the weekend was over he’d sent her back to Seattle, alone. Two weeks later he’d come back to the Emerald City for business and invited her to his downtown hotel.
She’d gone so eagerly. She almost wept to remember it now. She’d rushed to his penthouse suite like a girl whose sailor had just come into port.
He hadn’t sent for her now in order to finally meet Henry. All Théo wanted was a booty call—and he’d had her delivered to his house like a pizza. Racked with pain, she closed her eyes.
She felt his hand on her shoulder. Spreading his fingers wide, he stroked the bare skin of her collarbone and neck.
Carrie’s eyes flew open. She jerked away so fast that Henry gave a startled cry.
“I brought my baby across the world for you, and all you’ve done is insult me—and reject him.” She blinked back tears. She would not cry in front of him, she would not. “Thank you, Théo, for setting me free. As of this moment, I no longer consider you Henry’s father.”
His eyebrows lowered into a furious scowl. “Carrie—”
“Once I would have given you everything,” she whispered. She lifted her chin and her eyes glittered in the moonlight. “Now … you will have nothing.”
CHAPTER TWO
THÉO St. Raphaël had learned long ago how destructive the idea of love could be.
Love was a pretty fantasy, in his opinion. And yet it ruined real lives—especially when children were involved. A man and woman would imagine themselves in love, and in the throes of passion decide to have a child; but then just as quickly, after the baby was born, they’d realize they weren’t in love after all, and go elsewhere looking for that passionate, all-consuming fantasy. Leaving a young child without a real home, living with stepparents and half-siblings like a third wheel or a poor relation, tolerated at best.
When the love that created a child died, that child would never feel really home—anywhere in the world.
Not that Théo knew the feeling, of course. It was true his aristocratic French father and young American mother had divorced when he was eight, but he remembered that as a blessing. They’d fought constantly—his father cruel and sarcastic, his mother weeping helplessly—when they’d once been desperately in love.
As a child, he’d felt relieved when they’d finally split—his father to Paris, his mother to Chicago—and started shuttling their only son between them. His mother had quickly married again and soon had new children, another family. She was now on her fourth husband, while Théo’s father had simply given up the idea of marriage and instead kept mistresses half his age.
Love was a narcotic, Théo thought, that barely lasted longer than a cigarette. Who would be foolish enough to base marriage on such a feeling? A marriage, a home, should be run like a business. It deserved to be treated with the same care.
He’d always assumed that sometime around the age of forty—four years from now—he would select a woman to be his wife based upon her intelligence, beauty and her capacity for child-rearing, and initiate a merger. They both would enjoy the strengths of a solid home, assets such as companionship, partnership and sex. There would be no talk of love, an emotion no one could quantify and which would inevitably evaporate like smoke.
Théo hadn’t wanted children until he could give them a true home—a rock-solid foundation that would last for life. He’d always known how his life would be.
He’d never expected this.
“This is Henry, Théo. Your son.”
Carrie was lying, of course. She had to be lying. It was impossible. He’d always used a condom when they’d made love.
And yet …
He looked at her in the moonlit garden. Her big hazel eyes were dark in the shadows, almost haunted in the pale, beautiful face beneath the waves of her glossy chestnut hair. In her white jacket, tank top and floaty skirt, he saw that her slim figure had rounded into womanly curves that made it difficult for him to look away from her body. So he forced himself to look back into her guarded, resentful eyes.
The girl he’d known in Seattle had been a sweet, idealistic, fierce dreamer—an impractical young woman who worked as a waitress by day, scribbled poetry by night, lived with her parents and had a head full of fairytales. It had taken him a full week to seduce her—which was unusual for his affairs. And when he’d finally taken her in his bed upstairs he’d discovered the reason for her shyness: he’d been her first lover.
Théo still shuddered with the intense heat of the memory. Their time together had been far too short. Just a weekend here, then a night in Seattle weeks later, when he’d concluded the acquisition of a Japanese shipping company. Their brief affair had been the most amazing sexual experience of his life, and God knew he had a lot to compare it with. He’d never wanted it to end.
Then she’d ruined everything.
Carrie had been lying in his arms in bed, after a full night making love in his hotel suite. She’d suddenly looked up at him in the slanted gray light of a misty Seattle morning and out of nowhere she’d whispered, “I love you, Théo.”
Within seconds he’d been out of the bed and in the shower. He’d gotten dressed without answering any of her bewildered questions. Ten minutes later he’d checked out of his hotel room and was en route to the airport.
He’d known he would never see Carrie again. He’d told himself he didn’t care. No matter how mind-blowing the sex had been, he’d soon forget her—like all the rest.
Except he hadn’t. Not even close.
For the past year, no matter how spectacular his conquests—either in business or with women—he’d been eternally unsatisfied. Worst of all, it had started to affect his work. Recently he’d bought a steel business in Rio de Janeiro at a loss, taking it from his rival by overbidding a huge amount. He’d thought the empty gnawing in his gut would be filled by stealing the family business from his longtime rival Gabriel Santos.
Instead, all he’d gained was an aging Brazilian steel company he didn’t really want, and the knowledge that he’d wasted a great deal of money to get it. Even splitting up the most profitable divisions of Açoazul S.A. wouldn’t compensate him for the price he’d paid. And he’d lost one of his finest vineyards in Champagne in the deal.
He’d won, only to discover that he’d lost.
Finally, Théo had surrendered to his body’s demands. He’d sent for Carrie to propose a no-strings affair. He’d rationalized that she’d learned her lesson and would know never to mention the word love to him again.
He’d never expected a child.
And right now Théo saw the child being walked straight out the door in his mother’s arms.
“Wait,” he said harshly.
Carrie paused at the door, not looking back at him.
“If he is really my son,” he ground out, “why didn’t you tell me? How could you have kept him secret for a year?”
“Secret!” she gasped, whirling around in fury. “I left messages for months, begging you to call me!”
He set his jaw. “I ignored your messages because I thought you would repeat words I have no interest in hearing. I didn’t want you to embarrass yourself. Or me.”
Carrie’s cheeks went red. “I am embarrassed,” she whispered. Blinking fast, she looked away. “I’m ashamed every time I remember how much I loved you.”
Looking at her beautiful face, at the tight posture of her body as she held the baby against her chest, Théo felt a strange emotion—one he barely recognized.
Guilt.
Furious, he glared at her. “We had a deal, Carrie. From the day we met you knew I only wanted a physical affair, nothing more. You are the one who betrayed that. You are the one who crossed the line.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it again. She took a deep breath. “You’re right,” she said in a low voice. “We did have a deal. But I was too much of an innocent to know how making love to you would bind my heart. And I didn’t realize you’d be able to toss me aside so easily the moment I admitted my feelings.” Her voice trembled and she looked away. “The next man I love will be different,” she whispered. “He will be honest and strong. He will love me back.”
The next man I love. A low sense of unease went through Théo’s soul like a roll of distant thunder. The next man I love. The thought of Carrie taking a lover disquieted him. More than disquieted. Enraged. He tried to push away the feeling. Jealousy was just another form of weakness—of attachment.
He set his jaw, focusing on the facts. “Let me see the baby.”
With visible reluctance, Carrie turned her shoulder so he could see the baby in the moonlight. He frowned down at the child she’d called his son. It was possible, he admitted to himself grudgingly. The child had dark hair. But all babies looked more or less the same, didn’t they, with plump cheeks and big eyes?
“Your bodyguard didn’t even mention him?” she asked quietly.
He looked up at Carrie abruptly. “He did call about a complication. But I told him I didn’t give a damn. I just wanted you here.” He paused. “I just wanted you …”
Carrie’s wide-set hazel eyes looked up at him, limpid and clear as a mountain lake beneath the moonlight of the garden. Théo felt a current of electricity sizzle down his body. He still wanted her. More than ever. Licking his lips, he took a single step toward her.
She held out her hand. “No,” she whispered. She stepped back from him, her lips twisting bitterly as she glanced back at the table of candles and roses. “There will be no seduction. I’ll never be yours again. I’m here only for Henry.”
With a deep breath, he looked down at the child in her arms. “You named him Henry? After your father?”
She nodded. “Henry Powell.”
Théo blinked. Then he sucked in his breath as he looked at her, his eyes wide with shock. “You claim he is mine, but you did not give him my name?”
Her eyes narrowed. “You didn’t deserve it.”
The depth of the insult was a slap across the jaw. If there was any chance the baby was his son …
“I want to get a paternity test,” he said harshly. “Until I have proof either way, both you and the child will stay.”
She went pale. She swallowed.
“No,” she whispered. “I don’t want to stay here. I won’t.”
He exhaled. “So you admit you were lying? The baby will fail the test.”
She stiffened, her eyes looking large and luminous in the moonlight. “He won’t fail. He’s your son. But I wish to God he weren’t. All I want now is for us both to be free of you forever.” She turned her face, looking wistfully out into the night. “And we were so close …”
Free of him?
Théo stared at her in shock. Free of him. What a strange idea. Women always tried to stay in his life as long as possible. They wept when he left. And yet Carrie Powell was acting as if she truly didn’t want him in her life—or her child’s.
It wasn’t a pretense or a game. He saw that in her eyes. She was truly praying that he would let her go.
“If I’m really his father,” he said evenly, “I have no choice but to take responsibility.”
“You haven’t taken responsibility for a year, and we’ve all been very happy without you,” she said coolly.
“I don’t think you understand,” he bit out. “I would take care of the child. Financially.”
“I’m not interested in your money. I just want to go home.”
“If Henry is my son, your home is here.”
With an intake of breath, she looked around the fragrant green garden and shook her head. “There’s no love here.”
For a long moment their eyes locked. The two of them seemed suspended in time. Above them, unseen night birds sang mournfully from the black trees against the violet horizon, and his heart slowed in his chest.
Then his lip curled. “You would decide a baby’s fate on something that does not last? You would base your life on a fantasy like love?”
“It’s not a fantasy!” she cried. “It’s real. Love is the only thing that makes a home!”
Scornfully, he shook his head, exhaling with a flare of his nostrils. “I’m not letting you leave until I have proof whether or not he is my son.”
Her eyes went wide, as if he’d just suggested she swim naked in a crocodile-infested moat. “But a paternity test could take days! Weeks!”
Théo suspected that for the right price he could have an answer far sooner than that, but he didn’t share that information with her. “However long it takes, you will stay.”
Trembling, she lifted her chin. “You can’t keep me here.”
“No?”
“This isn’t the Dark Ages. I’m not some serf on your estate, Monsieur le Comte. You can’t hold me against my will, I’m not your slave!”
Théo’s lips curved upward. “Slave? No.” He came toward her. He saw the effort it took for her to stand her ground as he bent and whispered, “But I could make you my prisoner.”
He felt her tremble as his lips brushed against the flesh of her ear. Satisfied, he drew away.
She shrank back, even as she tried to toss her head. “I’m not afraid of you.”
“You should be.” He walked around her, slowly looking her up and down. “Do you understand what I do for a living? How I’ve made my fortune?”
“You buy struggling companies and break them up for parts. For profit.”
“Oui. I buy things. I buy people.” He paused. “That family you love so much in Seattle. What do you think I could do to them if I chose?”
She sucked in her breath, searching his gaze. “Nothing!”
He lifted a tranquil dark eyebrow. “Nothing?”
“It’s an empty threat! You couldn’t touch them!”
He looked down at her in amusement. “You really are an innocent.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “Do you have any idea of the influence I could wield against … peut-être … the bank that holds your parents’ loans? Or the companies that employ your brothers?”
Carrie closed her eyes, taking a deep breath near her baby’s soft dark hair. When she opened her eyes, they were full of grief. “To think I once loved you. I was a fool to ever think you were a knight in shining armor, or even a decent man.”
The same strange pang went through his chest. He pushed the feeling away, setting his jaw. “Decide.”
“I won’t let you blackmail me. I’m not afraid of you.” She lifted her chin. “I’m leaving. Go ahead. Do your worst.”
“So brave,” he murmured, “and so reckless. It would be better for you to give in to my wishes. Keep your family safe. Does one of your brothers need a job, perhaps? A loan? A gift? I could be a valuable friend.”
