CARRIE awoke to the sound of her baby crying. The light of dawn flooded the room as she covered her face with a pillow, yearning for one more moment of sleep.
Then the mattress swayed beneath her. She heard a heavy footstep, and the sobs abruptly stopped with a hiccup.
That alarmed her as nothing else could. She instantly sat up, her pillow dropping softly to her lap.
Théo, shirtless and wearing only drawstring pajama bottoms slung low on his hips, was cradling their son against his bare, hard-muscled chest, crooning softly to the baby in the warm light of morning.
The baby’s chubby face peered up at him with a frown. Then, as Théo sang, rocking him in his arms, Henry’s face lit up. Théo’s deep masculine laughter provided a low baritone counterpoint to his son’s baby giggles.
For Carrie, the sound was sweet misery.
The past five days had been full of so many small joys. The three of them had enjoyed playing outside, eating a picnic lunch in the garden beside the stone fountain, lying out amid the sunshine and scent of flowers beneath the wide blue sky.
Small joys. And endless pleasures. Always she felt Théo’s dark, smoldering eyes upon her, his hot gaze promising a world of delights the moment their son was asleep in his crib. Every instant they spent together Carrie was so stretched with awareness she could barely take a deep breath. Shivers filled her body every time she felt his eyes upon her, every time his fingers brushed hers as they held their child between them. She’d given up trying to resist his seduction. Every night they spent together in bed was a revelation as he held and stroked every inch of her body, making her feel beautiful and new. Making her feel she might die from wanting him. From loving him.
She’d felt happy.
Too happy.
Thank heaven for his housekeeper, Lilley Smith. The plump, plain young housekeeper, who’d returned three days ago from her vacation, looked nothing like her distant cousin Théo. At twenty-three, she had light brown hair and brown eyes, was motherly and kind, and best of all she adored babies almost as much as they adored her.
If not for Lilley bustling around the castle, tidying the baby’s toys behind them or racing to fold laundry or bring out the picnic basket, who knew what insanity might have occurred.
Actually, Carrie knew exactly what would have happened. Sometime when she and Théo were just sitting outside with the baby, lying on a blanket beneath the warm summer sun and feeling the hot breeze blow through the sunflowers and vineyards, she would have broken the silence in the most disastrous way possible—by blurting out that she’d fallen back in love with him.
There could no longer be any doubt. Even when she’d hated him she’d never stopped loving him completely. Now, passion and longing infused her whole being, practically shining like light out of her fingertips and toes. She loved him.
Carrie’s heart turned over in her chest as she watched Théo, so masculine and powerful, carefully holding the tiny baby in his footsie pajamas. Henry was beaming up at Théo as father and son smiled at each other. And she watched it with a sinking feeling in her chest. She’d been stupid enough to fall in love with Théo. How could she?
If he found out, he would leave her. And worse: he would leave their baby.
Once, that would have been exactly what she wanted. But not anymore. Not now that she saw the father-son bond growing every day. Was it possible she’d been wrong about Théo? Could he truly be a good husband and father, as long as she played by his rules?
The thought was like a razor blade as Théo moved toward her, leaning to kiss the top of her head in the early-morning light. She felt that tender kiss all over her body.
“Bonjour, chérie,” he said softly.
“Good morning,” she whispered miserably.
The baby heard her voice and immediately turned to her with a whimper and whine. Théo grinned. “I think he’s hungry. He’s a growing boy.”
The pride in his voice made a laugh escape Carrie in spite of herself. Sitting up straight against the pillow, she reached out her hands. “Give him here.”
Théo handed the baby to her where she sat on the bed in her oversize T-shirt. She was making no effort to be pretty this time. She wasn’t trying to impress him anymore, as she had last year with sexy clothes and elaborate hair and makeup. This time it was strictly casual, with no makeup, sundresses by day and ratty old T-shirts by night. And yet he seemed dazzled, intoxicated by her. Just as she was by him.
As Carrie started to nurse the baby Théo watched for an instant. His black eyes seemed to devour her. Then he abruptly turned away. “I’ll be right back.”
Some of the warmth drained out of the room with him. A sigh escaped her lips as Carrie stared after him.
With Théo around there was no such color as gray. He brought vibrancy to her life. He’d taken her from a drizzly life of clouds and rain and made her whole world a summer in Provence, with blue skies, and lavender waving in the hot wind beneath a yellow sun. After a year of winter, she’d opened to him like a sunflower in spring.
She looked down at her blissfully suckling child.
Only two days until they’d get the results of the paternity test, and they could leave. Two more days to keep silent about her feelings.
If she could hide her love for two more days, she and Théo might come to an arrangement. Henry would live with her in Seattle, but often visit his father in France, or Théo would come visit them. And somehow, eventually, when she didn’t have to see Théo every single day, her love for him would slowly die.
It was her only hope.
She heard a noise and looked up to see Théo in the doorway. Her eyes unwillingly traced the hard curves of his upper body, his wide shoulders, thickly muscled biceps and flat belly. Even the way he walked toward her caused a sensual shiver across her body.
He set down a breakfast tray near her on the bed. “Your breakfast, milady.”
She saw orange juice, coffee with cream, fresh fruit, toast and jam, and an assortment of breads and buttery French pastries. His kindness took her breath away. “You made breakfast?”
He gave her a crooked half grin. “Lilley made it.”
“Of course.” Carrie smiled up at him, still grateful for the thoughtful gesture, then looked back at the luscious tray. “I should have known it wasn’t you,” she teased. “It’s not burned black.”
He sat down beside her on the bed. His dark, half-lidded eyes seared through her. “I would burn toast for you every morning if that would win you, Carrie,” he said in a low voice. “I’d burn it morning, noon and night.”
Her heart thudded in her throat, but she tried to smile. “Sorry,” she said, trying to keep her voice light. “The ability to burn toast is not the top item on my list for a prospective husband.”
“So what is?” he asked, stroking back a tendril of her hair. He leaned forward, his eyes intent. “Tell me how to win you,” he whispered against her skin, and she shivered. “Tell me.”
Carrie closed her eyes. Love me. Just love me.
But she shook her head over the lump in her throat. “Forget it. I’m not going to lose this battle.”
He looked down at her. “We’ll see.”
A shudder went through her. She had to resist. Her fingers gripped the top of the white quilt. She had to!
Théo looked down at the baby’s downy head with a tenderness that made her heart leap to her throat.
“Is he finished?”
The baby had unlatched, and now pushed his head away from her breast. “I think so,” she said drily.
Picking him up, Théo cradled his son in his arms. “I’m going to teach you everything,” he told the baby. “How to play football, how to ride a bike …”
“How to buy a company and break it up for parts?” she teased.
Théo flashed her a sudden grin, and the way his smile lit up his darkly handsome face took her breath away. “Ben, oui.”
Still smiling, he sat down on the handwoven rug, holding the baby in his lap. Putting his large hands over his son’s feet, he played a French version of patty-cake, clapping Henry’s little feet together lightly. They were quite the pair—Théo so muscular and powerful, sitting bare-chested in pajama bottoms, with their tiny son cradled in his arms. A moment later, he was reading to Henry in French from a picture book about Babar the Elephant that she’d purchased from a bookshop earlier that week. Carrie drank creamy coffee and watched them as she ate pastries in bed, as a beam of golden sunlight hit against the bare skin of Théo’s muscular back.
And she wanted him. Wanted this. Forever.
The dream she ached for with every cell in her body and every longing of her heart felt more true than reality. She wanted the three of them to be a family.
But Théo didn’t love them. Correction: he didn’t love her. Carrie looked down at her breakfast tray. She couldn’t accept a life permanently without love, a marriage that was more like a business than a romantic blending of hearts and souls. She couldn’t! Especially when she knew he would soon tire of being a husband and father.
But would he? She’d thought he’d be fed up with them days ago. Instead, his attention to her and affection for Henry had only seemed to grow.
“We’ll leave you to have your breakfast, ma belle.”
She looked up to discover Théo had risen to his feet, cradling their baby against his tanned, muscular chest.
“What? Why?” she blurted out. “You don’t have to leave!”
“Enjoy some peace and quiet,” he said, smiling down at her. “Have a peaceful breakfast. Take a long shower. Have some time to yourself—as much as you need. Come downstairs when you’re ready to start the day. We have a busy day planned.” He grinned down at the baby. “Now, let’s go downstairs so you can say good morning to Lilley, shall we, mon petit?”
“A busy day today?” she called after him. “What do you mean?”
But he didn’t stop to answer. She took another bite of almond croissant and looked around her bedroom. It was beautiful, with clean lines and a lovely view from the window. A gauzy canopy hung from the wrought-iron bed frame. But, best of all, when she grabbed the pillow beside hers she could still smell the musky, clean scent of him …
Exhaling, she turned from the pillow. She took a last bite of croissant, then stopped chewing as she stared out blankly toward the windows showing wide fields of sunflowers.
If Théo could truly be a good father, if he wouldn’t ultimately tire of having a family and a home and toss them aside to become a globetrotting workaholic again, she had no choice but to marry him. Any decent mother would sacrifice her own life in an instant for a stable home for her child. She had to put her heart on ice. For Henry’s sake.
For Henry’s sake. Carrie scoffed a laugh at her own soul’s sly treachery. It wasn’t just for her baby’s sake, but her own. She was finding it almost impossible to imagine living without Théo now. She wanted to be his wife, to sleep in his bed every night. She wanted it more than anything.
But how could she accept Théo’s terms and be in a loveless marriage for life? How could she bury her love for Théo deep inside her soul, so deep that he would never suspect?
It wasn’t in Carrie’s nature to keep a secret. She had no talent for lying. Especially since every moment her love for him tortured her, begging for release.
If she married Théo and he discovered she’d once again broken his only rule, he would despise her. It could only end in despair. Even if Théo remained in their marriage, his manner toward her would always be distant, or worse—full of pity.
Was that the home she wanted for Henry? Caught between a cold, rejecting father and a weeping, broken-hearted mother?
No matter how much she yearned to be Théo’s wife, she could not surrender to her desire. Or to his constant, unrelenting pursuit.
Pushing her breakfast tray aside, she rose from the bed and crossed the cool tile floor to the en suite bathroom. She took a long, hot shower and closed her eyes, lost in thought and grief. Coming out of the steamy shower, her skin all flushed and pink, she hesitated over the clothes in her closet, then selected a simple sundress.
She brushed her hair, allowing the dark waves to tumble over her shoulders to dry in the warm air. She took her time—a novelty she hadn’t enjoyed since her baby was born. She took a whole hour to herself, procrastinating as long as possible before she finally left her bedroom, squaring her shoulders and repeating to herself, I do not love him. I do not love him.
Coming down the sweeping stairs, she saw Lilley disappearing into the main hallway of the château, singing a children’s song in her sweet, slightly off-tune voice to the baby cuddled in one arm, while carrying folded towels in the other. Carrie smiled and opened her mouth to call out.
Then she saw Théo at the bottom of the stairs.
He was pacing, talking on the phone in rapid French. He’d showered and was now dressed in a dark silk button-down shirt and black trousers. He looked sophisticated, sexy. He looked.completely out of her league.
Suddenly she wished she’d made a little more effort. Put on lipstick. A push-up bra. Gotten a new wardrobe and magically lost ten pounds.
Their eyes met, and as he gave her a hot, dark smile a sensual shiver ran through her body. He ended the call and came to her at the base of the stairs. Reaching for her hand, he kissed it.
She smiled at him, then bit her lip. “Why are you dressed like that?”
His dark eyes seared through her. “I’m taking you out.”
“Out?” She came slowly down the last steps with a nervous laugh. “Out where?”
She stopped with an intake of breath.
Paris. The city of lovers. The city of dreams. The City of Light.
As a teenager she’d had a picture of the Eiffel Tower that she’d ripped from a magazine on her wall—an image showing the rooftops of the city at the violet hour of dusk. She’d never stopped dreaming of seeing it for real, even when she’d grown older and the dreams had started to seem unlikely.
“Just—just the two of us?” she said hesitantly.
He gave her a single, sensual nod.
“But I couldn’t leave the baby—”
“Just for a few hours.” He leaned against the smooth wood of the banister, looking casual and debonair. “We’ll be back before dinner,” he promised.
Her heart pounded in her chest. She couldn’t possibly go to Paris. It was too dangerous by half. Between Théo’s desire for her and her own wanton dreams of them being a family she would find herself in a white dress in no time flat. And then her baby would be the one to suffer for the inevitable, painful, slow failure of their marriage.
She shook her head. “No. We’re going to wait here for the results of the paternity test tomorrow. Then I can go home… .”
The expression on his face became dark. Gone was the playful father who’d held their baby so tenderly in his arms. In this moment he looked hard and ruthless, like the corporate raider he was. “You are home.” “Théo—”
“We’re leaving in ten minutes for the airport,” he said shortly. “We’ll be there and back on my jet in a matter of hours.” He moved closer, and his eyes seemed to go right through her soul as he said softly, “Don’t you want your childhood dream?”
Yes. A million times yes. Carrie forced herself to shake her head. “I don’t have time.”
“There’s always time for dreams,” he said quietly. He took her hand. “I want to make them all come true.”
But there was only one dream she really needed. For him to love her. She closed her eyes, the truth hovering on her lips. If she told him she loved him, this all would end. He would stop asking her to be his bride. He would kick her to the curb, as he’d done before.
But would he also desert Henry?
“If we go to Paris,” he said, “we can go directly to the main lab and find out the results of our paternity test a day early.”
Her eyes flew open as she sucked in her breath.
A day early. That could save her—save everything!
One day less to hide her feelings. If she could get out of France without Théo discovering she loved him, he might still stay in Henry’s life. They could share custody—at a distance. Henry would have two parents to care for him. And Théo wouldn’t be miserable in their marriage, trapped by her love.
Carrie took a deep breath. She could feel the tears behind her eyelids as she surrendered to her only hope. “All right,” she whispered. “Paris.”
“There can be no doubt, Monsieur le Comte. This child is your son.”
The head of the main Paris branch of the lab spoke gravely, acting as if he expected this news to come as a surprise to Théo. Just as Théo had arranged earlier on the phone.
Feeling Carrie’s anxious gaze upon him in the white-walled office in the fifteenth arrondissement, Théo widened his eyes, as if it were news he hadn’t already heard. With a satisfied sigh, he pulled Carrie into his arms.
“I knew you wouldn’t lie to me,” he whispered in her ear. “I knew Henry was my son.”
Théo felt her shiver in his arms. Shivering with relief? Or something else?
As she pulled away, her hazel eyes were dark with a hidden mystery he couldn’t solve. He no longer knew how to win her. And so out of desperation, he’d brought her to Paris.
He could not understand why she continued to resist his proposal. He knew she no longer loved him—she’d stopped loving him long ago. So why did she refuse?
Théo had promised her she could take Henry back to Seattle once they had the results of the paternity test. His time was almost out. Only one day left. After almost a week together he hadn’t been able to convince her, in spite of his best efforts both in bed and out of it. He felt frustrated to no end. Didn’t she see how good it was between them? Didn’t she see how necessary it was for their son’s future happiness?
Last night, while he’d been holding her in bed after making love to her for two hours, a devious whisper had crawled through his brain. What if he lied and said he’d fallen in love with her, in that theatrical, fantasy-land, can’t-live-without-you way she wanted? Would that lure her at last?
But he couldn’t do it. A marriage based on lies was even worse than one based on emotion. And, more than that, he respected Carrie too much to lie to her. She would marry him with clear eyes, or not at all.
So he’d placed all his bets on one roll of the dice by taking her to Paris, to the city of her dreams. He intended to show her, once and for all, what it would mean to live as his countess.
They left the lab and he held open the Ferrari door for Carrie, then drove them into the center of the city. The wind blew against his face and hair in the convertible, even in the slow traffic down the Boulevard Saint-Michel, and the sun felt warm against his face.
He spent hours showing her the sights of the city, including a private tour that whisked them to the top of the Eiffel Tower with all of Paris at her feet. They visited the Arc de Triomphe and then skipped all the queues at the Louvre for a short private tour led personally by a museum curator. Théo had intended next to shower her with jewels and gowns in the exclusive shops of the Champs-Élysées, but when Carrie suddenly sighed and said she would kill for a snack, he shook his head with a laugh. “I know just the place.”
Carrie leaned against his shoulder as he drove, and his body tightened. As he drove toward the Ile St. Louis he couldn’t stop giving her little glances out of the corner of his eye. As he changed gears his hand brushed her knee. He felt her shiver, heard her intake of breath.
And he suddenly knew he couldn’t give her up. Not for honor. Not for anything.
She wasn’t leaving this city without agreeing to be his bride.
He pulled the low-slung sports car in front of a tiny, hole-in-the-wall restaurant on a winding street on the Ile St. Louis—one of the two tiny islands on the Seine in the center of Paris.
“Why are we stopping?” she asked, looking around at the slender streets.
He smiled down at her as a valet hurried around the car. “Lunch.”
“Oh, no,” she groaned. “Not more foamy quail eggs.”
“Don’t worry,” he said softly. “I know you better than that now.”
Handing his car keys to the valet, he came around to the passenger side and helped her out of the car. He touched her hand and didn’t want to let go. Once inside, they were guided to the most romantic table at the intimate, cozy restaurant, in a shadowy corner near the medieval fireplace. He held her hand across the table. It was as if they’d gone back in time, he thought, looking at her beautiful face in wonder. As if they were the only two people in the world.
They ordered the prix-fixe menu for fifty euros. It started with céleri rémoulade, was followed by coq au vin, all washed down with the house red. For dessert he chose a platter of cheeses, while Carrie had crème brûlée. And all throughout the delicious, intimate meal, in the dark, low-ceilinged old restaurant, he asked her questions.
As she spoke, he couldn’t take his eyes off her. The sound of her voice was like music. His sexy lover. The angelic mother of his child. Her lustrous skin was the color of cream in winter, and her chestnut hair cascaded in waves down her bare shoulders. Her laughter was the sound of bells. He felt lost in her in a way he didn’t understand, in a way he’d never felt before.
He couldn’t lose her. Not now.
Not ever.
Carrie was chattering easily, on her second glass of wine. Her cheeks had turned pink as roses. “This is the most delicious meal I’ve ever had.” She held up the glass. “To you knowing what I like.”
He grinned. After clinking glasses, they both drank deeply. “And to our son,” he said, lifting his glass a second time.
“Oh, that’s even better! Yes! To Henry.”
They both drank, and he leaned across the table to refill her glass. They smiled at each other across the table, the mood warm and happy, and with some other emotion he couldn’t quite understand. But it was now, he thought, or never.
With a deep breath, he pulled the black velvet box out of his pocket. He placed it on the small table beside the empty ceramic bowl that had once held crème brulée.
“This is the last time I’m going to ask, Carrie,” he said huskily. “Will you marry me?”
The color in her cheeks turned pale as she stared at the huge canary-yellow diamond surrounded by white diamonds, set in platinum. She lifted her chin, and her eyes glittered with unshed tears.
“I can’t.”
She looked up at him miserably. “If we ever really needed you … if we ever really—” she took a deep dragging breath “—loved you, you would leave us.”
His eyes darkened in a scowl. “I am getting a little tired of you always accusing me of this.” “Am I wrong?”
“The love between parent and child is sacred. It lasts. It’s different from the romantic foolishness you dream about.”
She set her jaw. “How long would Henry and I stay with you in the castle before you grew weary of our devotion and left us?”
“This isn’t about Henry. You know I would never leave him now. This is about you,” he said harshly. “And how you’re selfishly putting your own romantic dreams ahead of what’s best for our child.”
“I’m not!” she cried. “Us getting married would be a disaster for everyone—especially him!”
“How can you say that?”
“Don’t you see?” She took another deep breath. He saw her fingers gripping the edge of the table as if she were clinging on for dear life. “Living apart, sharing custody of our son while we live on opposite sides of the world, is his only hope for a happy life.”
He stared at her. “You’re making no sense!”
She pressed her lips together, her face pale. “Once we were married you’d treat me badly. Our home would become a misery.”
“How can you say that?” he ground out. “I will never treat you badly! I respect you—care for you! Don’t you know that by now?”
She started to say something, then choked herself off, midbreath. She looked away, looking across the shadows of the medieval setting. “I could say something that would make you go away.”
“No.” He grabbed her hand across the table. Her fingers were shaking and cold to the touch. He pressed her hand against the warmth of his cheek. Turning her hand over, he kissed her naked palm. “We’d be equal partners. Friends. Parents. There’s nothing you could say to drive me away.”
Licking her heart-shaped lips, she took a deep breath. Then she looked at him with eyes full of pain.
“I’m in love with you,” she whispered.
For a second Théo thought he hadn’t heard her right. He must have misunderstood. She couldn’t be in love with him. He held his breath, searching her eyes. She looked pale, like she might faint.
“You—love me?” he said finally.
Miserably, she nodded. “I can’t resist you. Not anymore,” she said in a low voice. “And this is the only way to make you understand. You would despise me. And I would feel … like my heart was ripped out.” She gave a tearful laugh. “Better this ends now. We’ll separate and share custody. Henry will always feel loved by both of us. You will be free. And I …”
“And you what?” he said sharply. Blinking back tears, she tried to smile as she looked at him. “I can at least live in hope.” “For another man to love you?” Her voice was almost too quiet for him to hear.
“Yes.”
Théo looked away. He thought of his son being shuttled back and forth between America and France, as he had been. He thought of his son being raised with stepparents and half-siblings, never quite feeling like he fully belonged anywhere. Some other man would raise his son at least half the year.
And every night that same man would have Carrie in his bed.
Rage ripped through him. He would die before he’d allow Carrie to be loved by another.
“I tried to hate you,” she whispered, leaning her head on her hand. “I tried so hard. But I can’t stop myself from loving you.” She looked up suddenly. “Don’t punish Henry for my weakness,” she pleaded. “We’ll find a way for you to spend time with him, but never have to see me again—”
“No,” he bit out, gripping his hands into fists.
Tears spilled unheeded down her cheeks. “Don’t do this, Théo. I know you must despise me, but Henry is an innocent child—”
“I’m not going to let you go.” Reaching across the table, he cupped her face and looked down into her eyes fiercely. “You will be my wife.”
“But, Théo,” she choked out, shaking her head, “it’s impossible. I can’t love you desperately while you feel nothing—”
“You’re wrong,” he bit out, and then, with a deep breath, he forced out the lie he had no choice but to tell. “I love you, too.”
Incredulous, slow-rising joy lit up her beautiful face, like golden dawn across fields of red poppies. “You—love me?”
“Yes,” he ground out.
Trembling, she closed her eyes. Then, bursting into tears, she stood up and reached across the table, throwing her arms around him with a heartfelt sob that made all the other patrons of the small restaurant turn their way.
He’d made her deliriously happy with his lie. He could hear it in her tears. He could feel it in the way her soft, curvaceous body swayed against his as she clutched him tightly, as if she never wanted to let him go.
“We’re engaged,” he announced grimly to the other diners, and there was a breathless awwwww, a scattering of applause.
Paris was the legendary City of Light. A city for lovers. And he’d ruthlessly used her dreams against her.
After her year of heartbreak and grief she truly believed all her romantic hopes had come true. And even though part of him recoiled at the lie he’d just told, he couldn’t quite regret it. Because he’d won. Now he could keep her forever.
Even if it meant he’d lost his soul.
“Come on,” Théo said roughly, grabbing her hand. “Let’s get you a wedding dress.”