“I HAVE YOUR PROOF.”
Alejandro unfolded himself from his chair, stood, cell phone pressed to his ear and prowled to the floor-to-ceiling windows of his Manhattan office, a spectacular view of the Hudson River spread out before him.
“How accurate are your results?” he asked Stavros.
“Indisputable.”
Satisfaction warmed his veins. “Courier them to me?”
“Already on the way.” His friend took a sip of what was undoubtedly a double espresso served extra hot by his ever efficient PA. “Does this mean you’ll have more time to devote to your friends now? At this rate it’ll be Sebastien’s thing before I see you.”
Alejandro scowled. “It’s his fault I’m so snowed under. If this damn party was anything but his anniversary celebration, I’d be saying thanks but no thanks.”
“Aren’t you even the least bit curious to meet my wife?”
Immeasurably. Meeting the woman who had somehow maneuvered Stavros into marriage was at the top of his personal priority list. Unfortunately, his hellish work schedule was derailing that plan.
“My curiosity will have to wait a couple of weeks.”
“Kala.” His friend took another sip of java. “I have a name to run by you. Guy by the name of Brandon Underwood—an old acquaintance of my wife’s. He’s in the race horse business.”
Alejandro’s lip curled. “Old money. Brandon’s a spoiled rich boy with aspirations to follow in his senator daddy’s footsteps. The Underwoods keep the rug swept so clean, you know there’s dirt underneath.”
“Good to know.”
“You jealous of boy Underwood?”
“Hardly.” Stavros shrugged the inquiry off as he always did anything that went more than surface deep. “You planning on bringing a plus-one to Sebastien’s thing?”
He hadn’t decided that yet. Given he was the only one flying solo, it had been tempting to pick up the phone and call the lawyer he’d met at the gym a few weeks ago, a beautiful brunette who’d made it patently clear she was waiting for his phone call. But he couldn’t seem to do it.
Not even a vision of Brigitte’s chic, chin-length bob, svelte figure and endless legs could strip his head of a certain voluptuous blonde who’d ridden him to within an inch of his life and left him wanting more. His body still seemed programmed for tiny, stacked females with an attitude.
“Might fly solo,” he murmured absentmindedly, as his PA, Deseree, stuck her head in his office and gave him a five-minute signal. “I have a board meeting, I have to go. See you next week.”
Stavros signed off. Pocketing the phone, Alejandro rifled through the papers on his desk. A frown creased his brow. “Des—” he called, walking to the door, “I can’t seem to find that European market report. Can you scare up a—” the words froze in his mouth as he recognized the woman standing in front of his PA’s desk.
Clad in a cream dress made of some soft material that hugged every memorable curve, a sky high pair of stilettos, her honey blonde hair a smooth silk curtain that fell over her shoulders, Cecily looked every bit New York chic. Gorgeous. But it was the icy glitter in her beautiful blue eyes that commanded his attention.
Por amor a Deus. She knew.
Dust in his throat, gravel in his mouth. What the hell was she doing here?
Deseree stared at them with unabashed fascination. He snapped his stunned brain back into working order. He needed to defuse this...fast.
“Tell my father to start the meeting without me.”
Deseree’s jaw dropped. Salazar board meetings were a sacred thing. His father, Estevao Salazar, the Chairman of the Board, was known for his legendary temper tantrums over the tardiness of its members to his strictly laid out quarterly meetings. A true professional, however, Deseree didn’t miss a beat, simply picked up the phone and started dialing.
Alejandro gestured toward his office. “After you.”
Cecily turned on her heel and stalked inside. Her back a band of pure iron, fire sparking from every inch of her tiny frame, her amazing backside set off to perfection in the form fitting dress, she sent a wave of lust coursing through him that defied rationality. Now was not the time.
He closed the door with a soft click. Faced the firebrand in front of him. Hands clenched by her sides, a flush staining her cheeks, she was clearly furious. He thought he might start with an apology.
“Eu sinto muito, Cecily,” he murmured, holding her gaze. I’m sorry. “I never intended to hurt you. I tried to take a step back, you know I did.”
Eyes darkening, she lifted her hand and slapped him across the face. Hard.
“I deserved that,” he said evenly, jaw reverberating with the force of it. “I deserve your anger. Now let’s sit down and be rational about this. Let me explain.”
“Rational?” She planted her hands on her hips. “You would like me to be rational? You came to work for my family under false pretenses. You lied to me and everyone else who trusted you, cared about you. You’re lucky I haven’t gone to the police.”
He forced himself not to smile at how cute police came out in her feminine southern drawl. That would not help matters. “I haven’t broken any laws,” he returned smoothly. Well, maybe one or two small ones. “I applied for a job, was accepted and carried out my responsibilities.”
“Why? What were you doing there?”
He leaned a hip against his desk. “Your family stole something from mine. I came to get proof.”
She frowned. “Are you talking about Zeus? Does this have something to do with that crazy rumor you mentioned on our picnic?”
“It’s not a rumor. Your grandfather illegally bred his mare Demeter to Diablo when Diablo was on loan to an American breeder, which means the whole backbone of your showjumping line is based on a lie. I have proof.”
The color drained from her face. “What kind of proof?”
“I had Bacchus’s DNA tested. He is irrefutably of Diablo’s blood, not Nightshade’s.”
“I don’t believe it,” she whispered, skin a chalky white. “My parents told me it wasn’t true.”
“The testing was done in an internationally respected lab. There is no doubt as to its veracity.”
She turned and walked to the window. Palm pressed to the glass, her slight shoulders stooped, body vibrating with emotion, he had to bite back the urge to touch her, to comfort her, because he couldn’t do that anymore. He was the enemy.
She turned and leaned against the sill, those dark bruises in her eyes he hated. “Even if this is true, it happened decades ago. It’s ancient history. Why can’t you let it go?”
“Because your family stole something from mine and built a legacy around it. You profited immeasurably from it not only financially but in reputation, while I might add, throwing it in my family’s face. It was a crime. It needs to be paid for.”
Her mouth twisted. “Adriana is operating on bitterness. She and my grandmother had the biggest rivalry in the business. Adriana could never accept that my grandmother ended up on top. But she is dead now, Alejandro. There is no more skin to flay.”
He lifted a shoulder. “Your family is still profiting from what it stole. My grandmother should have owned that glory. She will never rest until history is corrected.”
“Why didn’t she just move on?” She shook her head. “She had as many opportunities to breed Diablo as we did. Maybe we just did it better.”
He flinched at the typically superior Hargrove response. “Diablo fell ill when he returned to Belgium.” The words left his mouth on a scalpel’s edge. “He was never able to sire any more offspring. Zeus was his last.”
The blue of her irises expanded. Clearly she hadn’t been privy to all the history—the depth to which her family had so completely destroyed his grandmother’s legacy.
“What do you intend to do?”
“Take it to court. Extract all the damages my grandmother is due. Make it known the Hargrove legacy is built on a lie.”
Her eyes darkened. “My father will never allow it. All it’s going to do is create a media furor and drag both our family’s names through the mud, only to be left with a truth that no longer means anything.”
His blood heated. “It’s a question of honor, something your family would have little idea of.”
“Honor at what price?”
She looked so small, shaken, vulnerable, his heart contracted. “I’ve insisted Bacchus be left out of it. I will not see you two separated. That’s the best I can do.”
“How big of you.” Her mouth curled. “You will save Bacchus while you destroy my family.”
He studied her. Noted the dark shadows underneath her eyes. They were new—making her look even more bruised. Since he knew she’d finished in third place in Geneva, had checked the standings, he wondered why they were there. Why did she look as if a burst of air might blow her away?
“Why are you here?” he asked softly. “How did you know?”
“I hired a PI.” She stared at him for a long moment, as if waging an internal battle, then losing the war as a breath escaped her. “Was any of it real? Who you are? The way we were together?”
It was his chance, he knew, to restore sanity to the situation. To cut this off now. To let her think it hadn’t meant anything to him to make it easier for both of them in the long run. But he was as incapable of hurting her now as he had been from the beginning.
“Yes,” he said matter-of-factly. “What we had was real, Cecily. But it was a mistake on my part. It never should have happened.”
“That’s right,” she countered, hurt radiating in those big eyes. “I begged you to take me to bed and you are such a man, you kindly obliged me.”
He took a step toward her. “That’s not how it was.”
She held up a hand, stopping him in his tracks. “Just to set the record straight—in case you think I was pining away for you, so love struck after that memorable night you gave me, I couldn’t stay away—perhaps I should tell you the reason I hired a PI to find you. I am pregnant, Alejandro. How would you like to deal with that? How does that fit into this revenge plan of yours?”
His stomach dropped. “That’s not possible. We used condoms.”
“Condoms fail.” Her expression was utterly flat. “Clearly they do because two pregnancy tests and a doctor have now confirmed it is possible.”
His knees went weak. He wasn’t about to question if it was his because he knew it was. Knew her.
The room swayed around him in a dizzying array of colors, his life as he knew it unraveling so fast it was like he’d lost control of the delicate rigging on his boat and was plunging fast toward a murky bottom.
“This is clearly a development we need to discuss.”
Her eyes morphed to a deep, dark blue. “You think so? You intend on destroying my family, Alejandro. You lied to me from the first moment I met you. Why in the world would I have a civilized discussion with you about our baby? Seems to me, this conversation is over.”
“Cecily—”
She backed up, eyes on his. “I don’t even know who you are. How can I trust you with anything?”
Face shattering, she turned around, flung the door open and left.
* * *
Feeling as if a stiff whiskey was in order, Alejandro took himself to the executive conference room down the hallway instead, where the board meeting was in progress. But not before he dialed his driver and told him to follow Cecily when she left the building. Letting the little spitfire loose in New York with her explosive news wasn’t a risk he was willing to take with a potential scandal in the making.
His father held court delivering the opening remarks as he slipped silently into his seat. Estevao Salazar stopped talking as he did, his piercing dark stare directed at his son. Alejandro ignored it and motioned for him to continue, head spinning too much to contemplate delivering the agenda.
“Soliciting unnecessary grief?” Joaquim murmured from beside him.
He gave his brother a black look, the irony of the remark sinking deep. How could he have been so stupid to have risked something like this with Cecily? He had told himself it wasn’t a good idea to get involved with her. Had known the thin line he was walking. And what had he done? Let his lust and weakness for a blonde with big blue eyes and a vulnerable streak a mile-wide override his better judgment.
Maldita sea. Damn it to hell.
His father moved on to the first agenda item. He sat back in his chair. This was a disaster. Not an exaggeration when his grandmother refused to step foot in a room with a Hargrove. When Stavros had just delivered him the proof he needed to bring Cecily’s family to its knees.
What was his family going to say when he casually announced he’d fathered a child with a Hargrove? What was Clayton Hargrove going to say when his daughter revealed she was pregnant with his child?
If he was in a mess, Cecily was in a worse one. She couldn’t ride in the world championships now—at least she wouldn’t if she were wise. A massive blow when she’d finally made it back to where she needed to be.
He wondered how she was handling it. Not well, he ventured, recalling her pale face. Those dark shadows ringing her eyes... She’d been carrying this around with her, no doubt trying to figure out what to do, his deception compounding the problem.
He shifted in his chair, the room feeling excessively hot. Loosened his tie. They would have this baby, of course. He might be one of the most commitment phobic creatures ever to roam this earth, but this was his flesh and blood. His heir. Becoming a father was a responsibility he would never shirk, particularly given the poor example his own had been.
Estevao Salazar had only ever been interested in raising a successor, not a son. His insatiable lust for power and the adulation that came with it had torn his family apart, his father’s affairs driving Alejandro’s mother across the ocean to pursue her riding career when their marriage disintegrated, leaving he and Joaquim to fend for themselves in their American boarding school.
His child, he knew with a bone-deep certainty, would have the love and stability he and Joaquim had never had in those early years before his grandmother had taken them in. They would never know a moment of the alienation and fear he had. Never doubt how much they were valued.
Which, he acknowledged, meant the right thing to do would be to marry Cecily. To provide his child with that stable environment he’d never had. It would cause waves, no doubt. His grandmother would lose her mind. But what else could he do?
He liked Cecily—admired her courage and strength. Their chemistry was undeniable. And since he’d never intended on marrying for love, since his vision had always been about practicality, about making that leap when the time came—well that time had clearly come.
Which didn’t necessarily ease the haze enveloping his brain...the apprehension gripping his insides at having his life plan sped up by about five years.
His father pulled him aside on the break. Tall, still handsome at sixty with the smooth good looks he’d parlayed into a career of mistresses, Estevao Salazar’s dark eyes snapped with irritation as he regarded his son.
“Nice of you to join us.”
“My apologies. I had something urgent to take care of.”
“Well see that it’s taken care of before tonight. We have dinner with the Scandinavians. I want this deal done.”
“I can’t make it.”
His father’s gaze narrowed. “Com licença?” Excuse me?
Alejandro lifted a shoulder. “Take Joaquim. It’s his deal. He can handle it.”
A ruddy flush lit his father’s cheeks. “What the hell is wrong with you, Alejandro? Where are your priorities? First your impromptu two-week vacation during our busy time, then this? What could be more important than this meeting?”
Avoiding a family scandal. Finding Cecily before she got on a plane.
“A personal matter.” He met his father’s fury with an even look. “Since you’ve had more than your fair share of those, I’m sure you’ll understand.”
* * *
Cecily paced her hotel suite, wondering what to do.
Perched high atop Madison Avenue, the luxury boutique hotel’s Champagne Suite gave its occupant the impression of utter invincibility. But invincible was the last thing she felt at the moment. In fact, she was highly unbalanced from her showdown with Alejandro.
She should have come here with a plan. She needed a plan. But the fact was she had no plan, a problem when she was dealing with Alejandro Salazar, one of the world’s most powerful men. Utterly in command of his domain today in his sky-high office, inherently sure of the power he wielded, he was clearly a lethally purposeful creature capable of doing whatever he needed to do to achieve his goal. Which was to destroy her family.
Not in the least bit hungry for the dinner she’d ordered, she crossed to the slate of windows that made up the entire front wall of the suite. Manhattan in all its glory sparkled back at her—a glittering spectacle so different from her beloved blue grass, she was usually entranced by it. But not tonight. Tonight nothing seemed to penetrate the numbness encasing her.
Her entire legacy had been built on a fabrication. Her parents had been lying to her this entire time. What it could mean for her family, her career, scared the hell out of her. To lose all her horses but Bacchus, to have the Hargrove name left in ruin. But there was another emotion present too...an insidious one that lingered at the edges. Disappointment.
She crossed her arms over the hollow feeling in her stomach. What had she expected? She’d known Alejandro wasn’t Colt—the man she’d fallen for. Had known he was going to tell her something she didn’t want to hear. She’d been through this before—the crushing disillusionment of finding out someone wasn’t who they’d pretended to be. So what was the problem?
She’d wanted him to be that man who’d held and comforted her? Who’d made love to her so passionately as if it meant something? She’d wanted to be wrong about him? God she really was a fool.
His words echoed against the walls of her mind. I tried to take a step back, you know I did.
He was right. He had made every attempt to stay away from her—to demonstrate this thing between them wasn’t wise. Had tried to cut things off time and time again. It had been her that had pursued him—her that wouldn’t leave it alone—her that had seduced him.
He might have deceived her, but she held responsibility for this mess too.
A plan would have been helpful.
The peal of the doorbell jolted her out of her reverie. Her dinner. Pushing away from the window, she crossed the cream colored carpet on soundless feet, unbolted the door and pulled it open.
Alejandro, his sophisticated three-piece suit replaced by a pair of dark designer jeans and a red polo shirt, stood leaning against the door frame. Her heart hammered in her chest. His jaw smoothly shaven, sensual, forbidding mouth relaxed, dark eyes focused on her, he was no less intimidating than he’d been in the suit.
Pulse skittering, every cell affected by his blatant masculinity, she swallowed past the fist in her throat. “How did you find me?”
“I had my driver follow you.”
Of course he had. She lifted her chin. “I told you, I’m done talking to you.”
“If you were done talking you would have flown home this afternoon.” His eyes glittered with a purposeful, black velvet cool. “We’re having a child together, querida. We need to discuss what comes next. Or,” he drawled, lifting a brow, “will you go home and casually mention to your father you’re pregnant with my child with no game plan at all?”
“I hate you,” she hissed. Particularly this new version of him.
“Go right ahead,” he agreed in that smooth, reasonable tone. “But we still need to talk.”
He was right. She stepped back, antagonism tightening every inch of her body. He strode past her into the suite, kicked off his custom-made Italian shoes and surveyed his surroundings.
“Nice suite.”
“It was all they had to choose from.” She watched as he walked to the bar and poured himself a whiskey. “Why don’t you help yourself?”
“This is about six hours overdue,” he murmured, picking up the glass, swirling its contents and taking a long gulp.
She wrapped her arms around herself as he lowered the glass and subjected her to one of those intense, utterly focused perusals of his. “Did you eat?”
“I have dinner on the way.”
“Good. You look pale. You need to keep up your strength.”
“Because I’m eating for two?” she scoffed. “You don’t have to pretend you care, Alejandro. My eyes are wide open now.”
He cradled the glass in his palm, a ghost of a smile curving his lips. “I do care, Cecily. Thus the situation we find ourselves in. I told you that before I knew about the pregnancy. In fact, everything I said to you in Kentucky was true, every emotion I expressed real. The only thing I lied about was my identity and that I had to do.”
Her stomach curled with the need to believe him. To believe something in all of this was real—that what they’d shared had been real. But she’d be a fool to take what he was saying at face value—even more of a fool than she’d already been.
He gestured toward the cream sofa that faced the spectacular view. “Why don’t we sit down?”
“I’d prefer to stand.”
“Fine.” He lowered himself onto the chaise, splaying his long legs out in front of him. “We are keeping this baby, Cecily.”
“Of course we are. I am,” she corrected. “I would never do anything else.”
“Good. And just to clarify,” he drawled, eyes on hers, “when I said we are keeping this baby I meant us. We are both going to be parents to this child, which means we need to be together to do that.”
She frowned. “What do you mean together?”
“I mean we will marry.”
Her knees went weak. She slid down onto the sofa, a buzzing sound filling her ears. “You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, but I am.” An amused smile twisted his mouth. “That’s why I suggested you sit down.”
Her heart beat a jagged rhythm. “You think we can base a marriage on a lie?”
“What we had wasn’t a lie. We had something good—you said so yourself...an organic connection it’s impossible to manufacture.”
“A connection you destroyed with your lies.”
“A connection I damaged with my lies. I think we can repair it.”
“How?” She lifted her chin. “I gave Colt—the man I thought I knew, my trust and he threw it away.”
“I will earn it back,” he countered. “The fact that you are carrying my baby changes everything, Cecily. I don’t intend to give up my rights to this child and neither do you, which means we need to make this work. And since making this work means we need to smooth the way with our families, find a way to defuse this feud, I will begin the process.”
“You said earlier your grandmother will never rest until she has her pound of flesh.”
“If we present our relationship as a fait accompli, she will have no choice but to give.” He frowned. “Perhaps she will be happy with an apology on the part of your family—some kind of public nod to the crime committed.”
She shook her head. “My father will never agree to that. He would rather drag it through the courts for all eternity than tarnish the Hargrove name.”
“Then he’s a fool,” he said harshly. “The Salazars could buy and sell your family ten times over. He would fight himself into the ground, only to lose.”
She pressed her lips together. “You could make this concession regardless of whether we marry. We could find some peace between the two families and co-parent this child together.”
His jaw hardened. “This child is a Salazar, Cecily. My heir. He or she will not be illegitimate.”
The utter implacability behind that statement made her shoulders sag. “Even if we can negotiate our way through this family feud,” she offered, “we hardly know one other. What’s to say we can even make this work?”
“Chemistry is ingredient number one for a good relationship.” His gaze speared hers, so familiar and yet so foreign. “We have proven we have that, both in bed and out of it. We have also proven we can be a great team. What more could you ask for?”
Love? That elusive thing she craved but wasn’t sure actually existed. For her at least.
“Practicality,” Alejandro murmured, sensing her hesitation, “is the thing to base a marriage on. Not this creative storytelling everyone is trying to sell these days of happily-ever-afters that don’t exist.”
“My parents were in love,” she said quietly. “That’s why he is the way he is, my father. Because he’s never gotten over her.”
“Isn’t it better to avoid that completely? To base a relationship on pragmatism and affection instead?” He shook his head. “I won’t lie and promise you things I don’t believe in, Cecily. But I do believe we can make this work. Think about how good we were in Kentucky.”
She didn’t want to think about that because she wasn’t sure if any of it had been real. That he wasn’t playing her right now to get what he wanted in his child. Except, she acknowledged, swallowing past the tightness in her throat, it was impossible to forget how patiently he had helped her and Bacchus reconstruct their relationship. How he had helped her reconstruct herself in those difficult weeks they’d spent together.
She studied the hard, uncompromising lines of his face. Could he really have manufactured the depth of caring he’d displayed? Why would he have when really, there’d been no reason for him to do it—every reason to do the opposite in fact?
“Why did you help me with Bacchus?” she asked.
“I couldn’t stand to watch you hurt,” he said quietly. “Even though I told myself it was a bad idea, even though I tried to make myself immune to you, you got under my skin.”
Her heart contracted. Emotions, feelings, she’d convinced herself had been a figment of her imagination, a product of her naiveté, flooded back in a storm of confusion. She would have preferred the cold, hard truth to this gray area she couldn’t process.
She pushed to her feet and walked to the windows, staring out at the lights dripping from the skyscrapers like tear drops hanging from their tall, imposing perches.
“This is insanity.”
“You aren’t in this alone, Cecily. I’m here.”
He who had never intended on saddling himself with a wife in this revenge plan of his...a notorious bachelor by anyone’s standards.
She turned around and rested her palms on the sill. “What about all the women you seem to possess for every different social occasion? I’m supposed to believe you will simply give up your bachelorhood to marry me because of our baby?”
He smiled, that whiskey-colored glimmer that did funny things to her insides lighting his eyes. “I find I like the idea of you as a wife. We would never be short of fireworks. I’m sure it would be more than enough to prevent me from straying.”
His arrogance hit her right in the solar plexus, right where Davis had torn her heart out. “If I am crazy enough to agree to marry you,” she stated icily, “which is doubtful at this point, I will not tolerate infidelity. Any hint of it and I walk.”
His gaze narrowed. Rolling to his feet, he covered the distance between them. “It was a joke,” he murmured. “My father is a serial affair artist. I would never do that to my own relationship.”
“That was the truth then, what you said that night about your parents’ dysfunctional relationship?”
“All of it was the truth.” His gaze held hers. “Now do you want to tell me why you have that look on your face?”
She shook her head. No way was she offering him her truths when he had withheld his.
“Fine. But you will tell me, Cecily, because we are going to repair these trust issues of ours.”
She sank her teeth into her lip, feeling far too vulnerable, fragile like glass. “If I were smart,” she breathed, “I would be getting on a plane right now and flying home, because this is not rational. I should not trust you.”
“But you do,” he countered softly. “You have from the beginning. You know me, Cecily. Trust me now. Do this with me.”
A haze of indecision clouded her brain. “I need time,” she rasped. “To process this. To figure out what to do.”
“Fine. You have a week.”
“A week?”
“It’s too explosive a situation to prolong. My grandmother wants action taken. Plus,” he added, “I am due to attend an anniversary party in England at the end of the month. If we are to be married, you should be the woman on my arm.”
“You mean you don’t already have one lined up?” She hated the sharp claws of jealousy that scored her insides. “I would have thought they’d be chomping at the bit to be at your side.”
“Funny that,” he murmured, eyes on hers. “I was having trouble getting a certain blonde out of my head. I kept remembering how she wrapped herself around me and took me for the ride of my life...those sexy moans she made when I took her apart...how sweet she tasted when I did.” His eyes were hot, black velvet now. “I find I want more.”
Her insides fell apart, a wild heat invading her cheeks. A satisfied smile curved his mouth. “We are good together, querida, you know we are. Now you just need to admit it.”
She lifted her hands to her burning cheeks. “I am not going to make a decision based on our...sexual compatibility. That would be foolish.”
“Then make it based on rationality. Your life has imploded around you, Cecily. You need me to take control and fix this. We need to make a home for this child. It is the only solution.”
A flustered denial bubbled to her lips. It died in her throat when he picked up his glass, drained its contents and walked to the door.
“Make a decision,” he said, swinging around to face her, “and let me know.”
And then he was gone.