Proof Of Their One Hot Night by Emmy Grayson
CHAPTER EIGHT
CALANDRASTRODETOWARDthe double doors of her boutique bed-and-breakfast. Beyond the glass and down the boulevard, the stone walls and elegant pillars of the entrance to the Louvre stood tall and proud.
Museums and tourist spots, from the Statue of Liberty in New York to the Eiffel Tower, had failed to pique her interest in the past. They were notable only in that others liked them, dreamed of them, crafted entire trips around seeing a monument. She’d worked plenty of icons into her events because the guests appreciated them—it had been good business, even if she’d failed to see the allure.
Yet when she stood on the deck of the Eiffel Tower yesterday, she’d meant what she had said to Alejandro. Some might say the magic of Paris had worked its way into her blood. Or perhaps she was just embracing the prospect of motherhood more as her waistline slowly but steadily expanded.
Whatever the reason, the thought of seeing her child squeal in delight as they saw Paris laid out before them filled her with a maternal warmth.
That she’d briefly entertained an image of Alejandro standing next to her, one hand intimately entwined with hers and the other on their child’s shoulder, had irritated her.
Weak. Foolish.
She steeled her spine as her heels clicked on the wood floors. One week. One week to do a job that might reopen all the doors that had been slammed shut because of her brief but disastrous foray into the world of emotions.
One week to let Alejandro live out whatever fantasy he’d concocted of being involved. At the first sign of morning sickness or a reminder of how little sleep new parents achieved, he’d be gone.
The possibility that he would stick around frightened her in more ways than one.
She pushed open the door and stepped into the warm French sunshine, a bag hanging from her shoulder and a suitcase in hand. A couple stops on the Metro and she’d be at the station in plenty of time to catch her train to Marseille. Unexpected anticipation lent a barely discernible bounce to her step. Even without a job keeping her tied to a rigorous schedule, she’d spent her weeks editing her résumé, following up on job leads and staying busy. As always.
An uninterrupted train ride through the French countryside sounded like heaven.
“Mademoiselle Smythe?”
Calandra’s head snapped up. A young man stood in front of her, dressed in a dark gray suit with a navy tie. Almost as young as Johanna, but with a much more serious air. A sleek black limo stood behind him, windows tinted so dark she couldn’t see the interior.
“Who are you?”
The man bowed his head. “Your chauffeur.”
“I didn’t order a car.”
“Monsieur Cabrera did, mademoiselle, with his compliments.”
Her fingers tightened on the phone. Suspicion slithered up her spine as she barely bit back the retort that rose in her throat.
“Did he now?”
If the man sensed the danger lurking in her tone, he didn’t reveal it.
“Oui, mademoiselle. I’m to take you to your destination before you continue to Marseille.”
Hard to be angry at a thoughtful gesture even though her instincts were screaming at her to be cautious. Warily, she allowed the chauffeur to put her suitcase in the trunk and open the door. Black leather and cool air welcomed her into the luxurious interior.
The chauffeur hurried around and pulled away from the curb before she could change her mind. They passed the glass pyramid outside the Louvre, the sparkling waters of the Seine and the vivid green storefront of the legendary Shakespeare & Company, the sidewalk outside the shop crowded with shelves of books and tourists.
Just as she started to relax and enjoy the sights, her phone pinged. She pulled it out of her pocket and frowned as she read the message.
“‘Your train ticket has been refunded’?” she read aloud. She looked up just in time to see the limo pass by the bridge that would have led to the train station.
Realization hit first, followed by a swift rush of anger so intense she barely stopped herself from cursing out loud. So much for Alejandro letting her make her own decisions. Did he think he could arrange everything to his liking?
By the time the limo pulled into a private airfield thirty minutes later, she had reined in her temper to a manageable level. The limo drove straight onto the tarmac and stopped next to a jet with the letter C emblazoned on the side in scarlet. Alejandro stood at the bottom of the stairs, eyes hidden behind his sunglasses, dark hair falling about his chiseled face. He looked like he’d just come from a magazine cover shoot—V-neck navy shirt stretched across his muscular chest, blue jeans hanging casually from his tapered waist. The grin he aimed at the window of the limo was playful. But beneath the casual smirk she now saw the edge, the determination in the firmness of his lips.
She’d underestimated Alejandro. Again. But, she reminded herself, each event like this gave her more insight into what she was fighting. It was a learning experience, not a failure.
“Buenos días, sol.”
She arched a brow as she drew nearer, hardening her heart with every click of her heels. “Sunshine?”
“You brighten up my day by accepting my invitation.”
“Invitation?” She returned his smile with a frigid one of her own. One that clearly let him know she would not be bought off nor controlled. “You and I have different definitions of invitation. Threat would be more accurate.”
He stepped closer and whipped off his sunglasses. The intensity in his dark blue gaze almost made her step back. Almost. She stood straighter, one arm instinctively crossing over her waist.
Alejandro’s gaze dropped down to her belly, and he frowned.
“Do you truly think I would harm you? Harm our child?”
“My child. And no, not physically,” she admitted at the flash of what almost looked like hurt in his eyes. “But I don’t appreciate you rearranging my schedule or canceling my train tickets. That’s a violation of my privacy.”
The hint of emotion disappeared as swiftly as it had appeared, replaced by something hard and unsettling. Not the affable, immature playboy, but the man who had brought Cabrera Shipping back from the brink of ruin. An intelligent, driven man who, she was finding out the hard way, went after what he wanted.
What did it say about her, that instead of being angry or afraid, a thrill shot through her veins at the sight of that strength?
“You agreed to spend time with me, Calandra. To get to know me better. A three-hour train ride by yourself is not the way to accomplish that.”
“You canceled my ticket,” she repeated.
“Of course. How rude of me. Next time I’ll just let you pay for a ticket you’re not going to use.”
She didn’t know which was worse—that he had interfered in her travel plans and was showing absolutely no remorse, or that he was at least partially right. When he’d brought up traveling to Marseille as he escorted her back to her bed-and-breakfast after their trip to the Eiffel Tower, she’d interrupted him with a plea of a headache and rushed inside, away from what she’d known would be his suggestion that they travel together.
Before she stuck her foot in her mouth or, worse, apologized, she started to climb the stairs into the plane. A hand settled on her waist, and she bit back a gasp as electricity skipped across her skin and sent frissons of crackling warmth straight to her thighs. She turned and nearly came nose to nose with Alejandro. He stood on the step behind her, but with his impressive height, they were face-to-face. He kept his hand at her waist, his touch burning through the thin cloth of her dress.
Could he hear her heartbeat as it galloped through her chest? Did he see the rise and fall of her breasts as she tried to keep her breathing steady?
Slowly, ever so slowly, his fingers trailed from her hip, delicious, traitorous shivers radiating from his fingertips throughout her body.
And then he laid his hand flat across her belly. Possession tightened his face as his lips parted and his eyes grew dark. She was caught in a whirlwind of conflicting desires—the need to run away, far away, and the desire to lean in, to let go of her control and let him in.
“This child is ours, Calandra.” He leaned in, and for one brief, horrific, glorious moment, she thought he was going to kiss her. “Ours.”
Before she could gather her wildly spinning thoughts and utter a retort, a voice called out from behind her.
“Ready to leave in five, Monsieur Cabrera.”
She turned away and walked up the stairs with measured steps. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of letting him see how much his touch, his words, had unsettled her.
She entered the plane, trying to ignore the mahogany wood floors, beige leather seats and computer screens installed in the back of each chair. A dim memory of flying in a similar plane when she was eight surfaced, her mother sitting limply toward the front and her father in back behind a curtain. When she’d sneaked out of her seat and peeked behind the curtain, it had been to see her father with his hands buried in the gold curls of the flight attendant as he’d kissed her.
Nausea rolled in her stomach. She quickened her pace, determined to get to her seat before she made a fool of herself.
And then stopped at the sight of the robin’s egg–blue package tied up with silver string sitting in one of the seats.
She glanced over her shoulder. “For me?”
Alejandro dropped into a chair and propped his feet up on the seat of another across the aisle. A casual move, but one that made her feel trapped. No last mad dash to the exit before they closed the doors.
“Perhaps.”
She rolled her eyes and leaned down to read the gift tag attached to the outrageous bow.
A mi bebe.
Her throat tightened. Her heart followed suit. For my baby. The passion Alejandro had displayed yesterday, his desire to be involved in their child’s life, this... He’d shown more interest in the little one growing inside her in the last twenty-four hours than her father ever had in his own children.
Swallowing her emotions, she picked up the box and turned. “Should I save it for the baby to open?”
Alejandro grinned. “I dare you to wait that long.”
With a shake of her head, she undid the bow and lifted the lid. Nestled inside among white and blue wrapping paper lay a chestnut-colored teddy bear with blue paws that matched the gift box and a silver heart around its neck.
The simple gift touched her. She hadn’t bought the baby any toys. Her fingers glided over the soft fur as she lifted it out of the box, then rested on the silver script on one of the bear’s feet.
Recognizing the luxury brand, she looked back at Alejandro. “These cost almost a thousand dollars.”
He shrugged. “I’m rich. I want our child to have the best.”
Her heart sank. He wasn’t her father, no. But he still rated things by how much they cost, placed value on the price tag instead of the intrinsic value. If her child were anything like Johanna, the teddy bear would be covered in sand and dampened by the ocean air in no time. The baby wouldn’t care if the teddy bear had cost five dollars or five thousand.
“What’s wrong?” Alejandro asked as she sat.
“Nothing.”
She didn’t like that he could read her so easily. Sometimes Aunt Norine and even Johanna had trouble discerning her moods. She’d liked it that way. Smooth, unreadable, unflappable. Less room for mistakes, for heartache, when you kept yourself locked up so tight no one could penetrate.
“Something’s stirring behind those daggers in your eyes.” He nodded at the bear. “Not expensive enough?”
She sat, the bear cradled carefully on her lap, as another possibility crept in, ugly and insidious. The limo, the fancy jet, the expensive gift...he’d said he wasn’t going to buy access to their child. But his actions said otherwise.
A flight attendant came by and set a drink on her table, green and frothy with a sprig of mint perched across the rim of the glass.
“Oh, I can’t—”
“It’s a virgin mojito, Mademoiselle Smythe,” she said with a smile. “Monsieur Cabrera provided us with your dietary restrictions and preferences this morning. But please let us know if there’s anything else you require.”
Calandra glanced at her watch as the flight attendant waltzed down the length of the plane, keeping her gaze on Alejandro out of the corner of her eye. To his credit, he didn’t even glance at the woman’s hips swaying beneath her tight skirt.
“Cocktails before noon?” she asked as the flight attendant returned and set before him a highball glass with thin ribbon of amber liquid at the bottom.
“Ten thirty here is three thirty in the morning in New York.” He shot her a heated smile. “I recall both of us having a refreshing beverage around that time.”
Oh, yes.He’d ordered champagne after their first bout of lovemaking. They’d sipped it in bed as he demanded she share something she’d never told anyone else. Her quip that she’d already given him her virginity had made him smile, but he hadn’t relented, pressing until she’d revealed her early-morning walks on the beach and the collection of shells beneath her bed. Silly, but a ritual she’d developed her first summer living with Aunt Norine.
She should have known then, the way he hadn’t let her pull away, that he was so much more. But she’d been in a first-time-sex-induced haze of euphoria, not paying attention to the warning signs like the tug on her heart.
Shrugging off the memories, she grabbed her mojito glass, took a sip and moaned. Her eyes drifted shut as the tart taste of lime mingled with the soothing scent of mint. She’d never thought to make herself virgin cocktails, but she’d have to make this a part of her evening routine. Utterly relaxing.
Her eyes opened, and she nearly choked. Alejandro’s eyes were fixed on her, blazing with intense desire.
And then it was gone, so quick she wondered if her own traitorous body had conjured up the image.
Apparently, pregnancy did not inhibit her libido.
“Tasty?”
“Yes, thank you.” She’d had her one night with Alejandro, just like dozens of women before her. If she ever entertained the possibility of succumbing to temptation again, all she had to do was conjure up the paparazzi photos of Alejandro getting out of a limo with that slim, dark-haired actress in a clingy red dress in the same week she’d found out she was pregnant.
The reminder dashed a much-needed splash of cold water on her passion.
“Tell me more about this project.” Business was a safe topic. “I understand wanting La Reina to be a success, but you mentioned something else.”
“Ah, yes.” Alejandro laughed, the sound unexpectedly harsh. “If the board doesn’t accept my proposal, I will be replaced as head of Cabrera Shipping.”
“What? By whom?”
Alejandro’s smile was so sharp it could have cut glass.
“My father.”