Proof Of Their One Hot Night by Emmy Grayson

CHAPTER SIX

ALEJANDROGLANCEDATCalandra out of the corner of his eye as they walked up the stairs of the Eiffel Tower. She moved with purpose, her gaze evaluating her surroundings with cool indifference, as if she wasn’t walking up one of the most iconic monuments in the world. He’d offered the elevator; weren’t pregnant women supposed to rest as much as possible? But she’d dismissed that idea with a shake of her head and started for the stairs before he had even finished paying for the tickets.

A gaggle of giggling young women hurried past them, their excited voices labeling them as American. One, a pert brunette with painted red lips and a deep V-cut shirt, flashed him a sexy smile and brazenly raked him from head to toe with her green eyes.

An invitation he normally would have leaped on in a heartbeat. He smiled slightly and shook his head. The girl shrugged and continued on with her friends.

It wasn’t just that the mother of his child was by his side. In the past four months, he’d had almost zero interest in other women. He’d only been on one date—dinner in London with a popular actress. When he accompanied her back to her hotel, walked her to her door and she’d kissed him, he’d experienced...nothing. He’d made an excuse. She’d flown into a rage, thrown a barrage of creative insults at his manhood and slammed the door in his face.

Production delays in the construction of Cabrera Shipping’s latest freighter had consumed much of his time the first four weeks after New York. Concerned clients, worried stakeholders and an increasingly hostile board had led to late-night conference calls, plane trips around the world and endless pots of coffee. Toss in his mother’s car accident, his older brother nearly drowning himself in alcohol and then Alejandro assisting Adrian in locking his future fiancée out on a balcony to propose to her, and he’d been downright swamped.

And the last three months...preparing how best to respond to his father’s interference and threats had occupied the majority of his waking hours. It never mattered how many times Alejandro met the bar Javier had set, there was always room for him to raise it further still.

This little jaunt into Paris was a welcome break from the crisis mode he’d been operating in since Javier had set out to ruin his middle son. Serious discussion looming in the near future aside, he took the time to enjoy the warm sunshine on his skin, the sight of Paris laid out in all her historic splendor and the classic beauty of the woman at his side. Dressed in her customary black, a pencil skirt and loose-fitting silk shirt, hair coiled into a bun at the nape of her neck, she looked every inch the modern French woman. Elegant, sophisticated, untouchable.

He’d expected more of a reaction when she’d entered the dining room this morning. A flustered mumbling, an openmouthed stare. Her ice-cold response had simultaneously flummoxed him and flamed the banked coals of desire that had been smoldering inside his chest ever since he’d seen her on the balcony last night.

Never had he had to fight so hard to retain a woman’s interest. It had always been that way with Calandra—perhaps it was why he’d sought her out over and over again at Adrian’s events. She’d been an anomaly, the woman who resisted his charms. Not only had it been fun to see how far he could push the boundaries, but it had been refreshing. Most women fawned over his wealth, his flashy cars, his familial connection to the internationally recognized Cabrera name.

Not Calandra. When she’d simply rolled her eyes at him and gotten breakfast in response to his half-dressed state, it had taken every ounce of self-control not to close the doors to the dining room, drape her across the table and kiss her senseless until she moaned his name.

His eyes dropped from her pert nose and nude lipstick to her belly. Possession reared its head. No matter what sins he’d committed, he would never abandon his own flesh and blood. His child would know their father, would know they were wanted.

“Stunning, isn’t it?” he asked, nodding in the direction of the grassy lawns of the Champ-de-Mars and, in the distance, the Corinthian architecture of the École Militaire school complex.

“Mmm-hmm.”

She’d barely said “boo” when he’d escorted her out the front door to his Jaguar convertible. She hadn’t batted an eye when they’d pulled up in front of the Tower and received exclusive valet service. All the tricks that normally worked on every other woman he’d met didn’t faze her.

Uncertainty tugged at him. If he couldn’t wow her with his wealth, with all the resources, gifts and support he could bestow upon their child, then what would work?

They reached the second floor. Calandra wandered to the edge of the observation deck and leaned against the railing. He pointed out the Louvre, the Champs-Élysées, lined with some of the most luxurious shops in the world, and the Arc de Triomphe.

She blinked in response.

“I’ve never met anyone more unimpressed by life,” he said with a shake of his head as he leaned against the railing.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the barest flinch in her shoulders. Had he imagined it? A quick glance revealed nothing in the stoniness of her expression.

Yet he’d noticed the same thing this morning when he’d told her point-blank he would not be offering marriage. A nagging feeling that he’d hurt her.

Unfathomable, given her stalwart personality.

But she’s not impervious.

He’d seen another side of her. A much more emotional and passionate side.

“Just because I don’t share the story of my life with you doesn’t mean I’m not impressed.”

He turned and faced her. “Then tell me.”

She frowned. “Tell you what?”

“What you’re thinking.”

“I don’t see how that’s relevant to the discussion we need to have.”

The more she resisted, the more he wanted to know. It hit him that, despite having been acquainted with her for the past three years, he really didn’t know anything about her. Other than that she had worked for Cabrera Wines, had a sister named Johanna and, until four months ago, she’d been a virgin.

“Humor me. Answer one question and then I’ll devote myself to an entire five minutes of serious discussion. Ten,” he conceded as she opened her mouth to object. “Ten whole minutes.”

“Probably ten minutes longer than you’ve ever gone,” she grumbled.

He started to correct her, to tell her about the hours he’d spent poring over numbers and reports with his chief financial officer or the seven board members he’d taken out to individual lunches, spending anywhere from an hour to three explaining why Cabrera Shipping should remain in his hands.

But he stopped. That part of his life, the reality that took place behind the media’s coverage of his supposedly glamorous existence, was private. Calandra had already shown herself to be difficult to impress on multiple occasions. The thought of sharing that little bit of himself, the one piece of his life he took pride in, only to be faced with her judgmental silence, was not something his pride cared to experience. God knew he’d faced enough indifference from Javier to last a lifetime. Setting himself up for the same disappointment with the woman who was carrying his child was not an option.

Coward, the little devil on his shoulder whispered.

Yep, he mentally replied.

“Well?” he asked, his voice light and not showing an ounce of his inner turmoil. “Ten minutes for your thoughts?”

She looked out again, her gray eyes roving over the rooftops of Paris.

“I was thinking...” She paused. Her chest rose and fell. He noticed the swell of her breasts—how could he not—but also the look of resolve on her pale face.

Again, that little flicker that he was missing something. There was so much he didn’t know about her.

“I was thinking how good it will be to bring my...our,” she amended with a glare in his direction, “our child to the top of the Tower one day.”

Her words surprised him. She didn’t strike him as the type to daydream or think about the future, unless it involved the seating charts she’d laid out oh so meticulously for Adrian’s events.

“That sounds nice.”

“I’ve met my part of the bargain.” She glanced at the silver watch clasped around her wrist. “Ten minutes starts now.”

Right back to business.

“I want to be involved in our...” His voice trailed off. “Are we having a boy or a girl?”

“I don’t know.”

He frowned. “Aren’t they supposed to be able to tell by now?”

“I want to be surprised.”

Another unexpected revelation. “But you plan everything. You counted how many roses were in each vase at that party in Switzerland. All fifty vases.”

“And now I want to be surprised,” she retorted.

He held up his hands in surrender. “I’m not opposed.”

Silence and that frigid stare. He sighed. This was not going well at all.

“Calandra, as I stated before, I have no interest in taking the baby away from you. I don’t know the first thing about kids. And I have no desire to part a child from a parent who obviously loves it so much already.”

Her eyes softened. The effect was almost jaw-dropping. Her face relaxed, her mouth going from its customary strict line to tilting up at the corners. Instead of rigid and powerful, she appeared...approachable. Feminine.

Desirable.

“Thank you, Alejandro.”

The words punched him in the gut. Her voice came out husky as her shoulders relaxed and she tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear.

“You’re welcome,” he responded dryly in an attempt to mask the effect she had on him. He glanced down at his watch. “I believe we ate through nearly three minutes with that little drama, so let’s cut to the chase—I have two proposals for you.”

Her guard immediately came back up. “Oh?”

Two proposals he’d stayed up until well past midnight contemplating. “Yes. My first—I will be involved in our child’s life.”

“Define involved.”

“I want to visit. Regularly. As in,” he continued as she opened her mouth, no doubt to ask for a definition, “a minimum of one week a month. Most likely two.”

A frown crossed her face. Irritation tightened his muscles as his lust ebbed. Did she truly think so little of him that she could barely stand the thought of him being around their child?

“I can’t just fly to France or Spain or wherever it is you jet off to for your parties.”

“First, I have my own jet. I’ll fly to you. I won’t be exposing a child to parties, either.”

He’d hoped she would refute his last statement, that she didn’t think him that stupid. Her silence gave him his answer. He should be used to rejection and low expectations by now. Why did hers feel like someone had just carved his heart from his chest?

“Second,” he continued, “an investigator friend of mine informed me you don’t have a job.”

Two bright red spots appeared in her cheeks. “You had no right to pry into my private life.”

“I had every right.” He kept his tone friendly but his voice firm. “You know so much about me. Fair is fair. Which brings me to my second proposal.”

The V between her eyebrows deepened. “You’re not giving me money.”

“I am giving you money, but for the child.”

“No.”

“There’s no room for disagreement on the money. I have more than I know what to do with. I’m not going to let our child grow up without the things they deserve—a good education, a nice home, security.”

“I can provide all that.”

“Without a job?” He knew the remark was harsh, but she had to understand, had to see the reality of her situation.

Her shoulders dropped. Just a fraction, but enough that guilt fizzled on the edge of his conscience. She turned to look out over Paris, her face averted.

“Your second proposal?”

Her voice was so quiet he instantly regretted his severe remark. Calandra was a fighter. She stood up to anyone and everyone, including him. To see her withdraw into herself was disheartening.

Before he could reply, a swarm of tourists disembarked from an elevator. A cacophony of languages swirled around them. Mothers grabbed onto errant children as excited couples, faces bright with awe and romance, grasped hands and rushed to the railing. One overly eager young man knocked into Calandra, and she stumbled. Alejandro moved fast, catching her in his arms and pulling her tight against his chest.

“Sorry, mate, I...” The young man’s voice trailed off as he took in the cold fury in Alejandro’s eyes. “S-sorry.” He swallowed hard, grabbed his wide-eyed girlfriend and steered her away.

Slowly, the thundering of his heart abated. There were protections all over the Tower to keep the millions of tourists who visited it every year safe. But for one horrific moment Alejandro had seen Calandra pitch to the side, had envisioned her toppling over the railing to the pavement below.

His arms tightened around her.

“I can’t breathe, Alejandro.”

He almost missed it, the faint breathiness beneath the frigid tone. But when he looked down and saw her eyes burning like molten silver, assessed the color blooming in her normally pale cheeks, he knew that she felt it, too. Not just the desire but the magnetic pull that had drawn them together night after night for the past three years.

A satisfied smile spread across his face. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so hard to convince her.

“Breathing is overrated.”

She pushed him back. “I know a few billion people who would disagree with you.” She smoothed the folds of her skirt as she turned back to the railing. Once again in control.

But not always. He had an effect on her. He wouldn’t hesitate to use their chemistry to get what he wanted.

“I believe you had a second proposal for me.”

He leaned on the railing and looked out over Paris. “Yes. I’d like to hire you as an event planner.”