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Their Baby Surprise
Katrina Cudmore


A baby to bind them…Construction lawyer Charlotte Aldridge always keeps love at arm's length, so one night of passion with handsome billionaire CEO Lucien Duval is more than enough. Until it changes her life forever…Lucien doesn't make a habit of seducing his employees, but something about guarded Charlotte captures his attention and refuses to let go. And when she tells him she's pregnant, he's adamant that his child will have the one thing he never did—the love of two committed parents.







A baby to bind them...

Construction lawyer Charlotte Aldridge always keeps love at arm’s length, so one night of passion with handsome billionaire CEO Lucien Duval is more than enough. Until it changes her life forever...

Lucien doesn’t make a habit of seducing his employees, but something about guarded Charlotte captures his attention and refuses to let go. And when she tells him she’s pregnant, he’s adamant that his child will have the one thing he never did—the love of two committed parents.


‘Are you saying that I wouldn’t be a good father?’

Her head snapped back at his growl. Crossing one long leg over the other, she held her hands in a tight bunch on her lap. ‘Oh, come on—you’re constantly travelling, your social life keeps at least three celebrity magazines in business. Are you seriously telling me that you have time to fit being a father into that schedule? That you even want to be a father?’

Irritation tightened his chest. She might be right in everything she said, but a sense of being cheated out of something he hadn’t even begun to understand had him asking quietly, ‘And you think you have the right to make that decision for me?’

She grabbed her black leather handbag off the floor of the car and sat it on her lap. She lobbed her notebook into it and hugged the hard lines of the small rectangular bag to her stomach. ‘When it comes to protecting my baby—yes.’


Their Baby Surprise

Katrina Cudmore






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


A city-loving book addict, peony obsessive KATRINA CUDMORE lives in Cork, Ireland, with her husband, four active children and a very daft dog. A psychology graduate, with a MSc in Human Resources, Katrina spent many years working in multinational companies and can’t believe she is lucky enough now to have a job that involves daydreaming about love and handsome men! You can visit Katrina at www.katrinacudmore.com (http://www.katrinacudmore.com).


To Mum and Dad and the love you shared.


Contents

Cover (#u22c2c0c8-9ffd-599b-b6aa-c2d1dc30fbcc)

Back Cover Text (#u7115eb3b-b36f-5e91-bcbd-b5672a0c1f3a)

Introduction (#ubdac8093-e326-5135-ac24-8200b23ea4d3)

Title Page (#u8a39e76f-7391-533d-ad1c-bc412a04b786)

About the Author (#u24b202ce-d11c-5f8b-b517-818981426bec)

Dedication (#uefc35898-621c-50a4-9ddb-21879ff3b2d2)

CHAPTER ONE (#u8ba789d9-ecd0-5c29-9db1-7a11f451f88e)

CHAPTER TWO (#u727e67e1-cf25-5c7f-8088-b1e712707944)

CHAPTER THREE (#uf6658cc8-0060-5b02-ad26-951cc49ac6f2)

CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


CHAPTER ONE (#u84aa8ffb-41d6-5985-9a72-1828201ef2b5)

YOU CAN’T OUTRUN your past.

And right now Lucien Duval’s past was staring at him from the radio studio’s anteroom with as much warmth as a canister of liquid nitrogen.

That past being Charlotte Aldridge, the verbal assassin of Huet Construction’s legal department.

Ten minutes ago, like an avenging angel to his guilty conscience, she had stalked into the anteroom, presumably sent to monitor every word he uttered in his early morning radio interview.

Ash-blonde hair coiled into a tight bun. Dark suit with buttoned-up blouse. Professional. Serious. A walking, talking, breathing human Hands Off! sign.

The type of woman he typically gave a wide berth to.

But those sea-green eyes of hers, which always observed him as though he was a disappointment, somehow also managed to burn something hot and liquid through his veins. Every. Single. Time.

And two months ago, he had learned that that tense mouth of hers was capable of softening and sending his pulse into another year.

And that those sea-green eyes, so cool and detached normally, could melt into a gaze of vulnerability and caution that had tripped over his heart. Two months on and he was still trying to shake off whatever hold she had on him.

The old scar just above his right ear began to tighten and itch.

He already had his board of directors haranguing him for his outspoken criticism of how the UK housing and infrastructure crisis was being managed—he didn’t need the added disapproval of an employee he had recklessly slept with.

Charlotte had been an error in judgement, a slip in his usual strict self-control.

His honeymoon period as the new CEO and majority shareholder of Huet Construction was rapidly coming to an end. If he didn’t start producing the results the City expected, the share price and investor confidence of one of the world’s largest construction companies would soon be heading south.

And all of those who were sceptical of his buy-out of Huet, who said he was an opportunist, a maverick, would be proved right.

Never.

He shifted in his seat; he needed to get out of this radio studio.

Now.

He didn’t have time to be listening to yet more empty promises from a politician.

He had a gigabyte worth of emails waiting for him...and points to prove.

He leaned forward across the studio table and growled, ‘Enough.’

Mid-sentence, the Housing Minister, his fellow interviewee on the UK’s largest breakfast radio show, leapt in his seat, his studio headphones twisting around, momentarily leaving him unable to speak as he tugged them back into place.

A quick look towards Charlotte’s glacial gaze intensified his need to agitate, revolt, defy.

He switched his attention back across the table. ‘Minister, I think you have bored the listeners enough, don’t you? Let’s allow them to enjoy their breakfasts in peace. It’s the least you can do considering that the majority of them are actually having to live on a daily basis with the circumstances of this housing crisis: spiralling rents, the inability to provide a home for their families, couples unable to start families. And yet again, you’re waffling and making excuses while not taking a single worthwhile action. When are you going to actually tackle the issues around land banking, compulsory purchase orders and the transparent disposal of public sector land? Look at innovative ideas like pre-fab housing? I say never because you have neither the courage nor the ability to do so. I’d have more faith in a bunch of toddlers with a box of play building bricks to sort out this crisis.’

With the minister grappling for words, an amused-looking radio presenter took the opportunity to wrap up the interview.

Lucien stood and approached the minister, who reluctantly accepted his handshake. Lucien gave him a brief nod and turned away. His plane was waiting for him at London City Airport.

* * *

Lucien swept through the anteroom and out into the corridor without as much as a glance in her direction.

Charlotte tried not to wince.

They had not spoken since their night together. It had been excruciating enough the few times they had passed one another in the corridors of Huet headquarters to nod in his direction, knowing what it was like to feel the weight of his powerful, hard body on hers, knowing the havoc his hands could cause.

But now, knowing that this would be the only time she got him alone, she chased after him as he strode towards the elevators. Instead of waiting for an elevator, he headed through the double doors to the stairwell so she followed him. Out in the empty concrete space she called to him on the landing below. ‘Can I speak with you for a moment?’

He reached for the staircase handrail, looked at her impatiently and shook his head. ‘I have a flight to catch.’

She dragged down the humiliation that he wouldn’t even afford her a minute of his time deep into her stomach and followed him with resolve hardening her spine.

Struggling to keep up with him thanks to the narrowness of her knee-length pencil skirt, she called down to him, ‘It won’t take long.’

Now a full flight of stairs below her, he called back in a bored tone, ‘Speak to my PA.’

Cursing under her breath, while a new wave of nausea folded her stomach into a cube of horribleness, Charlotte yanked off her shoes and hoisted her skirt. They had to talk. Now. ‘I did yesterday evening—she told me that you will be away on business for the next fortnight.’

As he descended the last flight of stairs, she finally caught him up, with only the open iron bannister separating them. He slowed and his eyes ran the length of her bare legs. A surge of heat burnt in his eyes. She dropped her skirt. She moved down a step so that she was at eye level with him. Six inches or so taller than her, he usually towered over her.

The last time they had been like this, at eye level, was when they had been in his bed. When their senseless rushed, frenzied, unexpected, kissing and touching and exploring in his garden had been followed by him making the slowest, most incredible love to her in his bedroom.

Had it all been a dream?

She searched his eyes now for some remembrance, a hint that it too had been different for him...that she hadn’t been just another conquest of this renowned serial dater.

He blinked hard. Long dark eyelashes sweeping over narrowed, alert, brilliant green eyes.

A deep frown cut down through the centre of his tanned forehead, reaching the top of his perfectly straight nose. A nose at odds with the rugged handsomeness of his face, the thin line of his mouth, the boxer-like quality of the deep cleft in his chin.

Lucien carried himself with the street-savvy smarts of a man who had worked his way from nothing to being the CEO of a billion-dollar company. To not have acquired a broken nose or two on his journey from construction labourer to the majority owner of Huet Construction by the age of thirty-six proved his intelligence and shrewdness...and made the prospect of getting him to agree to her plans for the future even more daunting. He wasn’t the type to roll over easily, but hopefully in this instance he’d be more than willing to see her head off into the sunset.

He came a little closer, his hand almost touching hers on the handrail.

Her heart kicked against her ribs.

His green liquid eyes blazed into hers, sending burning heat into her cheeks.

His gaze dropped to her mouth. Her lips, useless traitors that they were, parted.

A door banged higher up on the stairwell.

She jumped and he jerked away before making his way down the remaining stairs. ‘Send me an email.’

She followed him out of the stairwell in her bare feet and ran after him as he swept out of the building, the receptionists and a group of visitors signing in, turning to stare at her.

Outside, seeing her opportunity to talk to him slip away, she reached for his arm and pulled hard.

He came to an immediate stop.

Eyes glinting darkly, he stepped towards her, lowered his head and murmured in that lightly French-accented voice that always managed to hold a sexy threat, ‘I’m not interested in having a lecture on libel laws right now.’

His nearness, his voice, his warm breath tangling on her hair played dangerous games with her long-held resolve never to let a man get to her again.

She stepped back and prayed her cheeks didn’t look as hot as they felt. She affected a laid-back air, in defiance of her galloping heart, refusing to bend to the blistering male chemistry swirling towards her. ‘Well, that’s lucky because I’m a construction lawyer, not a defamation one. I’ll travel with you as far as the airport.’

‘Didn’t Simon send you?’

Simon was her boss. ‘No. He did mention last week that he had threatened to send someone to monitor your interviews. So when my radio alarm woke me this morning to the news that you were to be interviewed alongside the minister, I decided it would be a good opportunity to get you on your own.’

A stalker alert flickered in his eyes. He stepped away. ‘I have calls to make.’

A fresh wave of nausea hit her.

Maybe she should just leave it for now.

Get her head straight first.

But she needed him to know.

The only way she was going to get through this sudden turn in her life was by having a clear plan for the future. She needed certainty in her life.

If they had to do this on the footpath, so be it. But he couldn’t leave without her personally telling him. She needed to keep him onside. ‘I wanted you to be the first to know that I’m resigning from Huet.’

He gave an impatient sigh, called to his driver, who was waiting by the open rear door of a black saloon, to start the engine, and then shifted his attention back to her, ‘Tu plaisantes? You’re kidding? Isn’t that an overreaction to my interview? I wouldn’t have been so easy on the minister if I hadn’t been in such a rush for my flight. I know you legal heads are born pedantic worriers but you really need to relax a little.’

‘This has nothing to do with the interview.’

Realisation dimmed his brilliant eyes to suspicious wariness. He walked to the car door and held it open, silently but grudgingly gesturing for her to get in.

His driver pulled out onto Regent Street and headed south to Oxford Circus. The stores on the iconic shopping street were still closed but the pavements were bustling with early morning commuters, coffees in hand, earphone leads dangling, heading to work. There was a buzz in the air; only now in late April were they having the first true warm days of spring.

He twisted to face her, drumming his phone on his knee like an insect at night tap-tap-tapping against a window pane desperate to reach the light inside. ‘I take it that you’re resigning because of our night together.’

She tried to stay impassive. She had been through worse. And survived. But having to share the most wonderful but scary news of her life with a man she barely knew had her rehearsed words stick in her throat and she only managed to eke out a pathetic, ‘Yes.’

‘I thought we had both agreed to put it behind us.’

Oh, God. There was no easy way to say this.

Get it over and done with. Then you can move on with your life.

A fresh bout of nausea joined her pounding heart.

The car was suddenly way too hot.

The panicked, terrified void that had almost consumed her in her doctor’s consulting room reared up again. How would she cope? She couldn’t possibly raise a child on her own. She knew nothing about child-rearing, being a parent.

And what if her depression returned? What would she do then? But it wouldn’t. She was strong now.

And then there were all those selfish thoughts that had eaten her up with guilt: what of her aspirations to become head of Legal, to move into a larger apartment in London, to travel?

She gulped in some air and forced herself to look into those green heartbreaker eyes. ‘I’m pregnant.’

He jerked away.

Behind him, they swept past Trafalgar Square.

Brow furrowed, he stared at her. ‘Because of that night?’

‘Yes! Of course it was that night. I wouldn’t be here telling you if I had any doubt about that. I’m eight weeks pregnant—it has to be you.’

Lucien was once again tapping his phone against his knee, the silver case banging against the charcoal wool of his trousers. She had wrapped her legs around his that night, felt the hard muscle of his thighs. A night of insanity that had knocked her life completely off course.

Lucien shook his head. ‘We used protection.’

She fiddled with the window switch on the door and lowered her window, needing relief from the heat rising in her. Not able to meet his eye, she muttered, ‘Not in the garden...’ She trailed off and looked at him, praying he didn’t need further explanation.

He winced and looked away.

Lucien had held a reception in his Mayfair home for all of his HQ senior management on the night of his first AGM. Lucien’s takeover of Huet had heralded a bonanza for the hairdressers and fashion stores in the vicinity of Huet HQ as the entire female workforce fell for his rugged looks and alpha charisma. But Charlotte knew a player when she saw one. And she refused to join his fan club. Having her heart broken once in a lifetime was once too often for her liking. No man would ever get the opportunity to do so again. In fact she went out of her way to ignore him whenever she saw him at work.

But a week before the party she had to meet with him to discuss issues on a bid contract. And, despite herself, his astute charm and lightning intelligence had threatened to melt her cynicism. At the end of the meeting, dizzy from the effect of being so close to him, she had almost tripped over a low coffee table as she had struggled to leave his office. While he had worn an amused lethal grin.

Brief glances were all they had shared the night of the reception. He had shown no interest in talking to her, and as the party had broken up she had gone out into the garden to find her phone that she’d left there, relieved to get away from her pretence that she was oblivious to him, but also a little miffed that he had spoken to practically everyone else except her. About to go back inside, she had felt her heart somersault when he had walked down the cobbled garden path towards her, his large frame even bigger as his shadow had moved towards her and engulfed her. She had offered a polite thanks and said she should leave with everyone else. But he’d told her that they were alone. Everyone else had already left.

He had smiled down at her. A kind, easy smile. A Well, what will we do now? type of smile. And she had foolishly stepped towards him, all thought and caution abandoned to that wonderful, what seemed sincere, glistening green gaze.

She had reached out her hand towards his open suit jacket with an unbearable urge to touch the dark grey material, to make contact with him.

And he had stepped towards her. Run his fingertips along her cheek.

And the next thing she’d known, his mouth had been on hers, hot, seeking, exploring.

In an instant her body had been aflame. His fingertips, his mouth, his scent, his hard, hard, hard body making her lose every inhibition, every memory, every protective layer she had grown over her heart and soul in the past six years.

Frenzied, they had unbuttoned and unzipped without thought, driven by a desperate hunger for one another. But when he had claimed her against that cold garden wall, she had stilled and her heart had gone into free fall. All of those memories of her ex’s betrayal, of how lonely and ugly and beaten she had felt during her depression, had gushed back and threatened to drown her. Lucien had gently drawn away and watched her with a soul-destroying questioning, as though wanting to understand. Only after did it dawn on her that this was a key skill of any Lothario. The pretence to care.

But that night he had brought her to his bedroom and, her body weak with longing though her heart had been afraid, she had willingly gone. And he had made love to her, slowly and tenderly. And after she had cried in his bathroom when she’d realised how empty her life was...and how stupid, stupid, stupid she was to have slept with her womanising boss.

Now, as he faced the consequences of that night, he ran a hand across the deep frown lines of his forehead and muttered, ‘Zut!’

Unexpected sadness pulled hard in her chest. A baby should bring joy, not this shock. What was he even thinking?

Did he hate her for this?

Bitterly regret the fire that had raged between them in the garden and the seconds when they had become one and senselessly forgot all thoughts as to the need to use protection?

Regret the baby growing inside her?

A fierce protectiveness surged through her.

Dismayed at how her hands were trembling, she pulled her notebook from her handbag and opened it to the pages where she had bullet-pointed her action plan. Needing the comfort of seeing in black and white her strategy for coping with this shocking but incredible turn in her life. ‘My doctor confirmed two days ago that I’m almost eight weeks pregnant. My apartment here in London is too small to raise a baby so I’ve decided I’ll move to the countryside, close to where my parents live. I will get work locally.’

He waved off her words with an impatient flick of his hand.

For five, ten, twenty seconds he stared at her intently, his gaze burning a hole in her heart.

He leaned a little closer, his shoulders tense, his eyes scanning her features like an interrogator searching for tell-tale body-language slips in a crime suspect. ‘Are you certain that I’m the father?’

The lawyer in her knew that it was a reasonable question. But the woman in her, the mother-to-be, the idealist who believed in truth, fairness and honour, felt his question like a slap. She felt her throat constrict, a heaviness invade her sinuses, a burning sensation in her eyes. She was not going to cry. She was strong. A fighter. She sucked in some air. He was the serial dater, not her.

‘I haven’t slept with another man in a very long time. What happened between us was not typical for me,’ she said fiercely.

She paused and cringed at having given him too much information and wondered why she felt she had to justify herself to him. Annoyed that she was doing so, she pulled in a steadying breath. ‘I want nothing from you. I don’t need financial support and I know a baby will not fit into your lifestyle. I want to give my child security and stability, a happy childhood. I’ve told you that you will be a father because you have the right to know but I don’t want or need you in our lives.’


CHAPTER TWO (#u84aa8ffb-41d6-5985-9a72-1828201ef2b5)

‘I DON’T WANT or need you in our lives.’

Charlotte’s words smashed into him.

His car, now opposite the entrance to the darkly historic Tower of London, was snarled up in a herd of London double-decker red buses and he had to rein in the desire to leap from the car and run. To run off the adrenaline twitching in his muscles, drying out his mouth, spinning his heart in crazy arcs.

He was going to be a father.

Something he’d never wanted to be.

Never wanting the responsibility, the fear of failing his child, never wanting to mess up, never wanting to have to face the fact that he was no better than his own father.

And he had always believed that a child deserved to be brought up in a loving environment with committed, responsible parents. Everything he didn’t have.

But a failed, tempestuous, torturous marriage when he was in his late teens had proved to him that he was totally incapable of any such commitment.

And now, before he could even start to process it all, to make sense of this turn in his life, Charlotte was trying to snatch it away.

Those sea-green eyes steadily held his stare when he looked back at her, the only hint of her nervousness in how she fingered the cream lined pages of her notebook.

He leaned a little closer to her. She backed away, her hand rising to touch against the edge of her delicate jawline.

Pain radiated in his own jawline, moving up through his clamped teeth and into his cheekbones. The scar above his ear throbbing, throbbing, throbbing. ‘As you’re pregnant, I’m going to ask you nicely to explain exactly what you mean when you say you don’t want me in your lives.’

She recoiled a little at first but then sat more upright in her seat, both hands running over the material of her black skirt. She settled challenging eyes on him. ‘You don’t want to be a father, not with your lifestyle and commitments... Let’s not get into an argument about this.’

‘Are you saying that I wouldn’t be a good father?’

Her head snapped back at his growl. Crossing one long leg over the other, she held her hands in a tight bunch on her lap. ‘Oh, come on, you’re constantly travelling, your social life keeps at least three celebrity magazines in business. Are you seriously telling me that you have time to fit being a father into that schedule? That you even want to be a father?’

Irritation tightened his chest. She might be right in everything she said, but a sense of being cheated out of something he hadn’t even begun to understand had him ask quietly, ‘And you think you have the right to make that decision for me?’

She grabbed her black leather handbag off the floor of the car and sat it on her lap. She lobbed her notebook into it and hugged the hard lines of the small rectangular bag to her stomach. ‘When it comes to protecting my baby, yes.’

He inhaled a deep breath. ‘Are you seriously saying that you have to protect this child from me?’

‘Well, you’re hardly “father of the year” material, are you? I don’t believe for one minute that you really want the responsibility of a child.’

She had to be kidding.

‘I’m a CEO of a company with a thirty-billion turnover, for crying out loud. Responsible should be my middle name.’

She gave him a satisfied look, the look of a prosecutor knowing they had caught the defendant out. ‘Tell me, just how many companies have you acquired in the past ten years?’

He folded his arms. ‘Sixteen.’

‘And how many countries have you lived in?’

‘What are you getting at, Charlotte?’

‘The way you constantly move around the globe is hardly the sign of a man able to give stability and commitment to a child, is it?’

This conversation had gone too far. He leaned closer to her and growled, ‘Let me get this straight. You want me out of your lives but yet are expecting me to blindly trust you in raising my baby?’

The words my baby leapt from his mouth unconsciously.

Charlotte looked at him aghast. ‘I’ll give my baby security, routine. I’ll be the best mother that I can be.’

Beneath her defiant tone, there was a nervousness she didn’t quite manage to disguise. Was she as confident about being a parent as she was trying to portray? ‘Did you want this—to be pregnant? To be a mother?’

She lifted one of the gold chain handles of her bag, the only hint of flamboyance in her entire wardrobe, and twisted it around her index finger, the metal tightening as she twisted once, twice, three times. ‘Not until now.’

‘Why?’

She gave a shrug. ‘I was focused on my career.’

Dieu! This was such a mess. A thought tugged in his heart and leaked out into his chest: this baby deserved better than this. He needed to start focusing on the practicalities, understanding just where they stood. ‘Are you seeing anyone else?’

She eyed him warily. ‘Why are you asking?’

He fisted his hands, a stab of jealousy sideswiping him at the possibility that she was dating someone. ‘I want to understand who will support you.’

She unravelled the chain from her finger, in one fast, furious movement. ‘You’re the father. There’s no one else in my life.’ She paused and vigorously rubbed the red welts the chain had left. ‘I know you might find all of that hard to believe given your social life, but it’s the truth.’

He itched with the desire to reach for her finger and soothe her skin himself. That night she had touched him lightly, tenderly, almost reverentially with those delicate hands. That feather-light touch just one of the many inexcusable reasons why he had broken his own ethical code that he never dated employees, never mind slept with them. Exasperated at his own weakness and lack of honour that night, he said sharply, ‘Don’t believe everything you read in the media.’

She rose a disbelieving eyebrow. ‘I saw a picture of you with Annabelle Foster online over the weekend.’

Yes, Annabelle Foster, a TV news reporter, had accompanied him to a Homelessness charity ball, but they had left early, his driver dropping Annabelle directly home. Alone.

Since his night with Charlotte he had dated a few women, but he had ended each date early, a restlessness making his bones itch as he had tried but failed to focus on his date across the restaurant table from him, images of Charlotte’s vulnerable, tender, passionate gaze when they had made love in his bed leaving him with no appetite. For anything.

‘It’s tiresome to attend functions on my own. I enjoy having company, but that doesn’t mean it’s anything more serious than a night out.’

She considered his answer with a suspicious frown but then, with an it doesn’t matter anyway shrug, swung her bag back to the floor. She gave him the faintest whisper of an understanding sigh. ‘I know this must have come as a shock to you. It did to me. But I want this baby... I want to give him or her the same happy childhood I had, with lots of love, laughter, happiness, certainty.’

All of the things he hadn’t had as a child. Instead he’d had arguments and accusations and animosity.

The worst being the night he’d woken to hear his mother sob downstairs that she hated her life, hated being married to his father, hated being tied down with a child with no way out.

His father had lashed back demanding to know if she seriously thought he wanted any of this, a nightmare marriage, his dreams of university, of a better life, long abandoned as he was now straddled with a wife and child to support.

It was another four years before they divorced, five years until his mother eventually threw Lucien out for punching her new boyfriend. Her boyfriend had caught Lucien stealing his beer and had flung a beer can at him. Lucien, sick of the controlling bully who spent his days belittling his mother, had launched himself at him, long past caring about the consequences of anything he did in life. He had ended up with a permanent scar over his ear and living in a fleapit in Bordeaux at the age of seventeen. But at least there, there wasn’t the constant silent, frightening tension of waiting for another bitter argument to start.

History could not repeat itself. This baby was never to feel unwanted.

That thought hit him hard in his gut, in his heart.

‘So who will support you in raising the baby?’

Her arms folded tightly on her waist. ‘My parents will be nearby. I know they will adore being grandparents.’

Which was something...but a feeling of loss, of not being in control of how his life was changing, of needing to make sure he got this right had him warn, ‘Being a single parent won’t be easy.’

She closed the window beside her and gave a shrug. ‘I’ll manage.’

But would she? He didn’t know her, not really. For a few crazy hours he had experienced a connection with her that had flummoxed him, but with hindsight he had recognised that it had been nothing more than a mutual powerful attraction.

And now she was expecting him to be happy with entrusting her with raising his child. What was the best thing to do? For the baby? Neither he nor Charlotte mattered in all of this. ‘Don’t you think a child has the right to know its father, to benefit from that support?’

White teeth bit down on the soft, tender plumpness of her lips. He cursed silently at the drag of attraction that barrelled through him.

She pulled on the collar of her plain lilac blouse and eyed him impassively before she answered, ‘Perhaps, but only if the father wants and is capable of doing so.’

Fresh irritation swept through him. He set furious eyes on her. ‘You’re making a lot of dangerous assumptions.’

She held his gaze, her mouth now a thin line of scepticism. ‘Am I?’

‘Let me be clear. I’ll make the decision as to my role in this baby’s life. Starting with understanding just how you propose to raise it. Are you going to work full-time? Who will take care of it when you do? Have you thought through the financial implications? Who else in your life will support you? What happens if something happens to you, you get sick or are in an accident—who will care for the baby then?’

‘Nothing’s going to happen to me.’

She spoke with a tremor in her voice. For a moment he paused, taken aback by the fear in her eyes...the same fear and vulnerability he had seen the night they’d spent together. Inexplicably he was hit with the urge to reach out for her again, to pull her soft body against him, to whisper that everything would be okay. Just as he had done that night.

Canary Wharf Tower, a touchstone for the command of commerce and finance in London, was now visible in the distance. Until thirty minutes ago he had thought of nothing but business and stamping his mark as the most successful owner in the global construction sector. He had worked for almost twenty years to achieve that position, moving from labourer to site management and then into operations. Moving companies, moving countries, working, working, working. Acquiring small companies in the early days and rapidly and aggressively expanding those by taking risks, all the time defying economic predictions. Needing to prove he was strong, that he wasn’t a failure, wasn’t a coward.

The feeling that he was at a critical crossroads in his life moved through him, dancing from his whirling brain down to the confusion plugging his chest. ‘How can you be sure nothing will happen? None of us know what the future holds—you need support in raising a baby.’

She reached down for her handbag again and, placing it on her lap, searched through it, not looking towards him when she answered, ‘I’m sure friends will help me.’

‘And your parents?’

Her fingers clasped the sharp, firm ridges of her handbag bottom. She eyed him warily before mumbling, ‘They’ll be supportive but they’re elderly.’

‘Have you siblings?’

‘No and I don’t see what the issue is here. Lots of people are happily brought up in single-parent homes.’

‘The problem is that I don’t like being given ultimatums. I will decide what involvement I want, when I’m ready to do so.’

She turned to stare out of her window.

When they passed a signpost for the Docklands Light Railway, Blackwall Station, he knew they were close to the airport.

Her gaze fixed on the outside world, she said in a low voice, ‘Even though I don’t want you in our lives.’

He closed his eyes for a moment, her words stinging hard.

He was another mistake in a woman’s life.

Too angry to speak, he willed away the remaining ten minutes of his journey.

He needed space and time to think.

He needed to get away from the woman next to him. The soon-to-be mother of his child. He see-sawed from an infuriation at her coldness, her icy assertion that she didn’t want him in her life, to a deep desire to tug her to him and kiss away that frozen exterior to the warm, passionate woman he had spent the night with.

When his driver pulled up at the departure terminal at City Airport, he turned to her. His words were lost for a moment when he once again was pulled under by her fragile beauty: the pale skin over high cheekbones, the plumpness of her lips, the high arched eyebrows over sea-green eyes that mostly belonged to the Arctic Circle but occasionally reminded him of the sun-kissed warmth of the turquoise sea by his villa in Sardinia. ‘What you want isn’t important. I’ll do what’s best for our baby. We’ll speak again when I return from my business trips.’

He jumped out of the car and stalked away but pulled up when he heard her call his name.

She stood behind the door he had exited, her hands clutching the frame. ‘I’ll still be handing in my resignation letter later today.’

He walked back to her and stared down into those defiant eyes. She pulled the car door even closer against her body.

He leant down close to her ear and whispered words that came from the very centre of his being. ‘Trust me, I’m not going to let you go that easily.’

* * *

Later that evening, Charlotte left the open expanse of the Thames river walkway in Bankside to scoot down Clink Street. The dark narrow cobbled street once again sent an involuntary shiver through her. Now a fashionable part of London, this historic area, famous for Clink prison, still held a hint of menace. And she loved it.

She loved all of London. It was why she walked to and from her work in St James’s to her home in Borough every day. Her journey took her past Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament. Then the London Eye, the giant wheel always making her smile when she remembered her mum’s terror when they had ridden it for her fourteenth birthday. And towards the end of her walk came her favourite, Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre. The timber construction embodying the history that this city was steeped in and the determination of its people to continue its rich and vibrant culture.

And now she was going to have to leave all of this. Leave her apartment, leave her challenging but exhilarating work, leave this buzzing city. She was leaving for all of the right reasons, but she would miss this life she had worked so hard to achieve.

Lucien’s question earlier that day as to who would care for her baby should something happen to her came back to plague her again. She yanked the strap of her rucksack tighter on her shoulder, her sports-trainer footsteps falling silently on the cobbled street. What if her depression did return? Not that he knew anything about her past illness.

A tight, tight, tight cord lashed itself around her throat.

How would she care for her baby if it did come back?

That’s not going to happen. I’m strong now.

She passed a noisy popular fusion restaurant and looked away from the smiling and animated couples and large groups of friends dining there. They all seemed so carefree.

In her final year at university she had been sucked deeper and deeper into depression. Not that she had understood any of that at the time.

At first it had just been a feeling of being overwhelmed by her workload, her looming exams and the self-imposed pressure of achieving a first-class degree. Unable to concentrate, constantly tired, her mind swamped by a sense of hopelessness. She’d kept it hidden for months. Not wanting to be thought of as weak. Feeling a complete failure. Not wanting to be a burden to anyone. Eventually she had told her boyfriend Dan and best friend Angie. And had somehow managed to drag herself through her final exams.

On the night of her final exam she had told Dan once again that she was too tired to go out. To her relief, for once he hadn’t become quietly irritated with her. But later she had changed her mind. Hoping that now that the exams were over just maybe she would be herself again.

With that glimmer of hope sustaining her, she had made her way to the riverside pub. And had found Dan and Angie in the beer garden. Kissing. Intimately. Lovers intimately.

Dan had been the first to see her. He had broken away and approached her with a guilty but almost relieved look on his face. Within minutes she had learned that they had been dating for weeks. And it was over between herself and Dan.

She had gone home to her parents that night. Broken. And had spent the following year slowly dragging herself out of the swamp of depression.

In the years since, she had wrapped up all the memories of that year into a tiny capsule that sat deep within her. Knowing that she needed to mind herself, protect herself against the depression returning. And she did that by telling herself that she was strong, protecting herself in relationships, and guarding herself against men who might hurt her again.

She passed an upmarket burger restaurant and walked on by. But a few steps on she came to a stop and turned around.

She needed a milkshake.

Twenty minutes later, she turned right onto Kipling Street, sucking hard on the thick sweet vanilla mixture, fears at bay for now, just glad to see her apartment block further down the street and the prospect of watching escapism TV for an hour.

The drink straw dropped from her mouth.

And her shock was much too quickly superseded by the hot heat of embarrassment and soul-destroying attraction.

Leaning against the door of this dark saloon, Lucien was talking on his phone. Earthy, menacing, sexy.

He hadn’t seen her yet.

She pushed away the impulse to run away and instead put the milkshake carton in a nearby bin, tidied the strands of hair that had escaped her ponytail, grimaced down at her purple and blue leggings and dark navy sweatshirt, and tightened her grip on her rucksack handle.

He became aware of her when she was twenty paces away. He continued to talk on the phone but he watched her intently. Every. Single. Step. Of. The. Way. Green eyes narrowed, lazily travelling down her body and back up again.

He was tieless, top button undone, his shirt sleeves rolled up. His dark brown hair was cut tightly into his scalp at the side, the top a little longer and curling slightly, adding to his air of menace. The powerful strength of his fighter body was clear in his muscular forearms, the broad width of his shoulders, the long length of his legs, planted wide apart.

Lucien didn’t look like the other suave CEOs that swarmed London. Instead he looked like a dock worker from Marseille who modelled and took part in mixed martial arts in his spare time.

She hated how attracted she was to him.

She hated how her body melted just seeing him, the tight longing that pulled hard within her.

She hated the physical hunger that froze her brain and all logic.

Destructive, crushing chemistry.

She came to a stop a few steps away from him and he finished his call.

They stared at each other and she raised an eyebrow. Determined not to be the first to talk. To ask him why he was here. To say that she thought he was away on business for the next fortnight.

His gaze dropped down along her body again. And stopped on her stomach. Heat blasted through her at the intimacy, protectiveness, ownership of his look.

Her heart thudded in her chest.

He was the father of her child.

They would be bound for ever.

A thought that was mystifying, incredible, terrifying.

She cleared her throat loudly and dropped her rucksack down in front of her, to swing against her legs. Her arms now shielded her belly.

‘We need to talk,’ he said.

She wanted to say no. This morning had been way more difficult than she had ever anticipated. In perhaps complete naivety she had thought Lucien would be shocked but accepting of her plans for the future. He wasn’t father material, after all. She had sat at her desk all day thinking about what he had said. And come to the realisation that she needed to reassure him of her ability to care for their baby.

He gestured down the street. ‘We can talk in a café on the High Street.’

‘The smell of coffee makes me nauseous.’ She hesitated for a moment as the lines around his eyes tightened. In concern or dislike at another reminder of her pregnancy? With a sense of inevitability and a need to get this over and done with, she added, ‘We can talk in my apartment.’

Lucien said something quickly to his driver and then she led the way into the 1960s redbrick block.

Inside the foyer, he reached for her rucksack. ‘I’ll carry your bag.’ For a brief moment their fingers met. Their gazes clashed and all of the intimacy, the intensity, the closeness of their night together rushed back.

She yanked her hand away and, not welcoming the prospect of being stuck in the tight confines of the lift with him, led him to the stairwell instead.

Walking alongside him up the stairs, she asked, ‘What explanation did you give Human Resources for wanting my address?’

He looked at her with a hint of bemusement. ‘The HR director has enough sense not to ask.’ Then his features fixed back into their usual hard shrewdness. ‘I also spoke to Simon. He made no mention of your resignation.’

They had reached the third floor and she paused on the stairwell and answered, not quite able to meet his eye. ‘I didn’t resign... I’ll do so tomorrow.’

‘Why?’

His now dispassionate tone, so in contrast to the heat of his gaze in the foyer, his lack of understanding of how her life was being turned upside down and his insistence on questioning everything she needed to do had her answer crossly. ‘Simon was busy, and frankly I couldn’t face it...not after this morning. I couldn’t take another difficult conversation today.’ She paused, and as the true realisation of what she was giving up hit home she grabbed her rucksack off him. ‘I love my job. I’ve worked so hard over the years to get to this position.’ A lump suddenly formed in her throat. She knew of her reputation as a tough negotiator within the wider organisation, but within her department, where she was one of the most senior staff members and often mentored the younger staff, she was more relaxed, more herself. ‘It’s going to be hard to say goodbye to everyone.’

She twisted around and stormed through the door into the corridor that led to her apartment. As she searched her rucksack for her keys he joined her at her front door and said, ‘You don’t have to resign.’

‘Yeah, that would work out just fine—me pregnant with the CEO’s baby and we can’t even bring ourselves to say hello in the corridors.’

‘That’s why I came back from Paris. We need to sort this out now.’

With tense fingers she opened the front door of her apartment, a heavy knot of anxious speculation landing in her stomach at his words, while simultaneously managing to worry about the trivial: what would he make of her minuscule apartment, especially in comparison to his vast five-storey Mayfair town house? But her love for her apartment’s bright open interior and pride that she had finally managed to get a foothold on the crazy London property market had her march in ahead of him.

In the open-plan lounge and kitchen she gestured to her grey velvet couch, silently inviting him to sit, and asked, ‘Can I get you something to drink?’

He didn’t sit but instead paced around the room. The room shrank around his restlessness, the power and strength of his body. Needing some oxygen against the tension in the room, she moved to the lounge window and opened it to the still-warm April air.

When she turned back to face him, he hit her with a non-compromising stare. ‘I want to be a part of this baby’s life on a daily basis.’

The knot of anxiety inside her twisted. ‘That’s not possible, you know that. I’m moving away from London.’

‘Don’t move away.’

She gestured around her apartment. ‘I need more space. I need to be near my parents. To have family close by.’

‘I agree, that’s why I believe you should move in with me...and, for that matter, why we should marry.’

She sank down onto the window seat below the open window. ‘Marry!’

‘Yes.’

A known serial dater was proposing marriage. This was crazy. He had the reputation for being impulsive and a maverick within the industry, but his decisions were always backed up with sound logic. And that quick-fire decision-making, some would even say recklessness, often gave him the edge over his more ponderous rivals. But he had called this one all wrong. She gave an incredulous laugh. ‘I bet you don’t even believe in marriage?’

He rolled his shoulders and rubbed the back of his neck hard, his expression growing darker before he answered, ‘It’s the responsible thing to do when a child becomes part of the equation.’

This was crazy. She lifted her hands to her face in shock and exasperation, her hot cheeks burning against the skin of her palms. ‘Have you really thought about what it takes to be a father? A child needs consistency, routine, to know that they are the centre of the parent’s life. Have you considered the sacrifices needed? Your work life, the constant travel, all of the partying—everything about the way you live now will be affected. Are you prepared to give up all of that?’

Standing in the centre of the room, he folded his arms on his wide imposing chest, his eyes firing with impatient resolve. ‘I don’t have a choice. This child is my responsibility and duty. I will do whatever it takes to ensure that it has a safe and happy childhood.’

‘I can give my baby all of that.’

‘You admitted this morning that you have limited support.’

‘I have my friends.’

‘Are they going to be there in the middle of the night when the baby is crying? Are they going to be there when you’re exhausted, when you’re sick, when you have work demands, when you need to be with your elderly parents?’

She flinched and lowered her head. Needing time to think.

Bitterly she accepted that he was right... She loved her two best friends, Tameka and Jill, both ex-colleagues from a previous employer, but she knew only too well the fragility of friendship.

When she’d had depression she had lost friends. Not wanting to be seen as being weak she had isolated herself, especially after Dan and Angie’s betrayal, but also their reaction when she had told them about feeling down and unable to cope. At first they had been understanding and supportive but as the weeks had passed she’d felt their impatience, their nervousness. Their eyes had said, Can’t you pull yourself together?

She stared down at the floorboards she had lovingly painted a pale pink last year, emotions sweeping through her.

Anger at those memories, anger at him for hitting so many raw nerves.

Frustration and guilt at being so daunted at the prospect of being the sole carer for a newborn, at the years that stretched out before her, knowing she was the only person protecting this precious life.

Fear about what would happen if her depression returned.

Anxiety about her parents’ slowly declining health.

Perplexity at how stupidly attracted she was to this heartbreaker.

Overloaded with all of those emotions, she rounded on him. ‘And are you going to be there in the middle of the night, when I’m exhausted, or are you going to be away travelling or out on a date?’

His expression tightened and he tilted his head back defiantly. ‘I will take my marriage vows seriously, including to be always faithful.’

The absolute resolution in his voice, the deceitful, guilt-inducing thrill in her heart at his words, blew her usual coolness even further out of the water. ‘Oh, please! You? Celibate? Are you kidding me?’

Heat entered his eyes, pinning her to the seat. ‘Who said anything about being celibate?’

She leapt up. ‘No way are we sleeping together again.’

He walked across the room and right up to her, inches separating them. He stared down at her, his eyes dangerously challenging her, daring her to lie about the attraction whistling through the air in the room. ‘Why?’

He spoke in a low whisper.

She swallowed hard, a shiver running through her. ‘Because you’re not my type.’

‘Which is?’

‘A serial dater who probably gets a kick out of breaking women’s hearts.’

A dangerous spark lit up in the corner of his eye. He moved even closer. She willed herself not to lean towards his heat, his gorgeous faint-inducing scent of leather and soap, his invisible pull that yanked on every cell in her body.

‘Afraid I might do the same to you?’

She stepped back. Away from his power. ‘No! Let me set you straight...my career and now my baby are all that matters to me. I don’t have time or interest in relationships.’

‘Good, so a working marriage will suit you perfectly.’

‘A working marriage?’

‘Think of it as a business relationship. We’ll both be clear that the only reason we’re married is for the welfare of our baby. Our mission will be to nurture and protect our child by working closely together and supporting each other in parenting him or her. It will be a team effort.’

He made it all sound so simple and logical. She shook her head and walked away, towards the kitchen counter, muttering, ‘I think I’m in a nightmare.’

‘This is the best solution. Our baby will have both parents in its life, you get to stay in London, stay working in the job you obviously love.’

Why was he doing this? There had to be more reasons than just because he felt responsible. Why would a player, a man known to live for his work, be willing to change his life so much when he didn’t have to? A horrible thought took hold. Was this proposal nothing more than appeasing his board and protecting his reputation? It wouldn’t look too good for a CEO to have got an employee pregnant. Even if he was the majority shareholder in the company. With a bitter taste in her mouth, she asked, ‘Do you want to marry so as not to damage your reputation?’

He considered her with amusement, a faint smile on his lips. ‘My reputation! Je m’en fiche complètement! I couldn’t care less. I’ll happily tell people that it was an accidental pregnancy and we decided to marry in order to raise our baby together. There is no shame in either. We’re simply being responsible and mature parents.’

Her mouth dropped open. ‘You’ll do no such thing.’

‘Why?’

‘My parents are elderly and conservative...they believe in the sanctity of marriage. They would be deeply upset if they knew I didn’t marry for love.’

Lucien threw his eyes upwards.

She eyed him angrily. ‘My parents have the most wonderful, loving marriage imaginable. Just because you’re totally lacking in any romance doesn’t mean that it doesn’t exist for other people.’

‘Don’t tell me that you were waiting to be swept off your feet.’

She fixed him with her iciest stare. ‘Hardly.’

He looked at her warily. ‘Do you want romance, love...all of that fairy-tale stuff?’

She folded her arms and threw him an unimpressed look. ‘And here I was thinking all Frenchmen were romantics.’

‘A lot of us are grounded in reality.’

‘You’re so grounded I can practically see roots emerging from your shoes. To answer your question, no, I don’t want romance. Thanks to a few too many run-ins with men like you, I’ve been cured of all such desires... What my parents have is unique, but certainly not for me.’

‘Good, so there’s no reason why we shouldn’t marry. My PA has set up a meeting for us at the marriage registrar’s office tomorrow morning to give notice. You will need to bring your passport and proof of address. She also provisionally booked a slot for us to marry there in a month’s time.’

She swallowed the yelp of disbelief that barrelled up inside her. And fixed him with a deadly stare. ‘Wasn’t that a tad presumptuous on your part?’

‘Simply forward planning in the knowledge that your logical legal brain would see the sense of this plan. We have only seven months to get to know one another, to establish an effective working marriage. I want any potential issues resolved before the baby arrives.’

His words should have brought comfort; what he was proposing could, just maybe, work...on paper. Her baby would benefit from having another person in his or her life.

But what if Lucien proved to be unreliable?

And what of her attraction to him, how vulnerable she already felt around him? How she was always waylaid by her attraction to him, abandoning logic and self-preservation to the sound of his voice, the sight of his rugged face, powerful body, the pull of his clean, masculine scent.

She paced the room.

Dizzy, overwhelmed, giddy.

She had to think of her baby. And one thought kept snaking around her brain, around her heart. What if her depression returned? Who would take care of her child then?

She went to the kitchen counter and poured a glass of water.

The cold liquid calmed the nausea swishing around in her belly. ‘Do you mean it when you say that it will be a business relationship and nothing more?’

‘Let’s call it a team effort—we will raise our baby together and support one another at home and in our careers.’

His voice was calm, conciliatory, at peace with the decisions he had taken. A red rag to all of the fears coursing through her. ‘But will we be a team...or are you expecting me to make all of the changes? It’s me who has to leave my home, my independence. The plans I had already made for our future, the baby and me. Will you accept my desire to have a career of my own? Will you accommodate my friends, my parents, my interests? Or will I have to flex to your way of life? Will you change the way you work, your socialising? Will you welcome me and the baby into your life or will you always begrudge us?’

She had spoken angrily, her fear sitting at the base of her throat. She expected him to respond just as angrily but instead he walked towards her. He held her gaze while gently fixing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. ‘I will never make our child feel unwanted.’

His expression grew even gentler; concerned eyes swallowed her up. Just as they had the night they made love. ‘Don’t be so afraid.’

‘I’m not afraid.’

His smile told her she wasn’t kidding anyone. So she added, ‘It’s just that this is the craziest idea ever. We don’t know each other.’

‘We’ll get to know one another. You don’t have to do everything in life by the book.’ He lowered his head closer to her and whispered, ‘We can make this work, trust me.’

Her heart dipped and then soared in her chest.

He spoke with such strength, determination, even kindness, she forgot every reason why this could never work and said with a gulp, ‘Can we?’

His hand reached out and for a moment rested just above her hip. She stopped breathing. She fought the urge to move in closer. Longing to feel his arms wrapped around her, his body pushed against hers.

His gaze moved to her tummy and then back up to hers.

He lowered his head, his lips not far away from hers.

She fell into the green burning depths of his eyes.

His breath whispered across her lips.

She swayed closer.

His eyes burnt even brighter. And then his lips brushed against her cheek until he reached her ear. In a low voice he whispered, ‘We’ll make this work.’ His hand cupped her hip even more. ‘I’ll make sure it does.’

And then he was moving to the door. ‘Our appointment is at nine-thirty tomorrow. I will collect you at nine-fifteen.’

Dazed, she stared after him.

A gut-wrenching thought hit her.

Had she just witnessed a master manipulator at work?

She followed him to the front door, resolute that she was going to say no to everything he was proposing. There was no way she was agreeing to marrying this expert schemer...player...heartbreaker.

But before she could speak he turned and, with a quiet, intent dignity, he said, ‘I will be the best father and husband that I can. I’ll change my way of working, my socialising. I will be faithful to all of my marriage vows.’ He paused and his hand moved close to where her belly lay beneath her sweater top, his fingers tipping against the navy cotton. ‘Why wouldn’t I, when I have something so special waiting for me at home?’


CHAPTER THREE (#u84aa8ffb-41d6-5985-9a72-1828201ef2b5)

Wednesday 20th April, 10:45 p.m.

This is my private number. Contact me any time you need me.

LATER THAT EVENING Lucien pressed ‘send’ on his text and went back to the never-ending stream of emails awaiting his attention. His stomach growled. He needed food. He had missed the gala dinner he had been scheduled to attend tonight in Palais Brongniart in favour of returning to London.

Knowing that decisive action was needed.

Knowing that he had to cut off any ideas Charlotte had of excluding him from their lives before that idea became entrenched.

And if that took marrying her, so be it.

He was doing the right thing.

He had a duty to his unborn child.

Unlike his own parents, he would be a responsible parent.

But that did not stop the whispers of doubts that were creeping into his bloodstream. Could he make this work? Would he mess up as a father, as a husband? He had failed as a husband once before. Would he do so again?

His phone pinged and the screen glowed in the low light of his home office. He grabbed it impatiently, annoyed to admit to himself that he had been waiting for her response.

I understand why you want to be part of my child’s life. But why do you want us to marry? C

After his first marriage had failed he had sworn never to marry again. Hurt and angry at the endless arguments, sick in his heart at his own weaknesses that led to the marriage imploding. Sick at the knowledge that he was no better than his own spineless father. He had been repulsed the day he had found his father in the act of betraying his mother with another woman.

But not repulsed enough to fight the weak nature he had obviously inherited from him. For Lucien had gone on to betray his first wife, Gabrielle. A betrayal driven by anger and jealousy and hurt and pain. He had found Gabrielle semi-naked in the arms of another man and in pathetic revenge had gone out and slept with another woman. Frantic to ease the panic and loneliness that had threatened to crush him, knowing that there was no one in this world he could trust.

But now an unexpected need to protect his own was hammering through him and it pushed even his fears of marriage, of how it would expose the coward at the heart of him, to the side. He stabbed out his response.

I don’t want our child to have any doubt about how much he’s wanted, or about our commitment to raising him together. This is a public commitment to our baby.

After ten minutes of waiting for a response, he gave in to his hunger and was cooking fresh spinach and ricotta ravioli he had found in his fridge when her response finally came.

It might be a girl. C

Puzzled, he checked back on his previous text and saw he had unwittingly referred to the baby as a boy.

He popped a white grape from a bunch he had also taken from the fridge into his mouth. And then crunched down on another. And another. The sweet but sharp juice easing the dryness in his throat. His heart did a funny little shiver. He was going to be the father of a boy. How he knew he had no idea. But he knew. The knot of tension eating into his neck all day tightened even more.

He texted back.

It’s a boy.

He was plating his pasta when his phone lit up again.

Do you really want to do this? I know you are impulsive in work, in the decisions you take, but this is about a baby, not a business deal you can walk away from if it doesn’t work out. C.

He dropped the bottle of olive oil he was holding onto the smooth concrete of the kitchen counter. He could still back out of this. See the baby at weekends. And at other agreed times.

He wouldn’t have the same opportunity to mess up his son’s life when he wasn’t a constant presence in his life.

He wouldn’t have the constant fear of his marriage descending into a toxic mess.

He wouldn’t have to deal with the fire that burned between him and Charlotte whenever they were in the same room. A fire that could easily derail their plans to raise their child together if expectations and emotions became confused.

But he owed it to his son to make him feel the most wanted child in this world. And he would do anything to ensure that his son never doubted his father’s love.

He punched in his response.

I will never walk away from my son.

He ate his pasta in silence. What was Charlotte thinking? Was she getting cold feet? He typed in another text.

Will collect you at nine-fifteen tomorrow. I’m travelling to Rome after the register office and then on to Asia and the US but I’ll keep in contact.

Again silence. He tossed his now empty plate into the dishwasher and grabbed his phone.

I will curtail my travel when the baby is born.

* * *

Sitting on her sofa in her pyjamas, Charlotte laid her hand on her stomach. Was it slightly more rounded than usual?

Was there really a life growing inside there?

She sighed in confusion at the conflicting thoughts looping through her brain: why would she want to lose her independence?

But then why would she choose to face being a parent on her own?

Why would she choose to marry a maverick heartbreaker?

But then why would she deny her child the right to have her father in her life on a daily basis?

And what of her career? She would struggle to get a job as challenging and rewarding and with so much potential for progression outside London.

But would Lucien be a feckless father?

Or could he love his child as much as her own father loved her?

A large lump swelled in her throat. She adored her father, his old-fashioned gentlemanly ways, his sense of fairness, his love for her mum, his dry sense of humour. The way his eyes lit up whenever he saw her.

But against all of this constant jabber and these conflicting thoughts, one solid feeling pumped in her heart.

She had to do everything to protect her child’s future.

Which had to include taking steps now to protect her baby should anything ever happen to her. She inhaled a deep breath and with trembling fingers managed to type.

The only reason I’m agreeing to this marriage is so that my baby has a hands-on, loving and attentive father in her life. If you aren’t those things, if work and your social life interferes, we are walking away. C

After pressing ‘send’ she switched off the phone and threw it into the far corner of the couch. Instead of resigning tomorrow she would be registering to marry her CEO. She stood and walked towards her bedroom. Praying she knew what she was doing.

Thursday 21st April, 11:10 p.m.

Why aren’t you answering my calls?

Sorry. Was busy. Had to work late to catch up after our appointment at the registrar’s office this morning. What do you want? C

To check how you are.

I’m fine. Thanks. Night. C

Friday 22nd April, 4:54 p.m.

Still busy, I take it? Or is it just my calls you aren’t taking?

I’m at work. Personal calls aren’t allowed. C

Funny. Ring me. I want to speak to you about the Poole project. It’s almost midnight here in Singapore so call within the next half-hour.

Sorry can’t. In a meeting. C

How are you?

Great. Got to go. C

Saturday 23rd April, 12:30 p.m.

Just arrived into Tokyo. What are your plans for the weekend?

Going to visit my parents. Will tell them about baby and our wedding. C

How will they react?

I don’t know. C

Wait for me to return to London. I’ll be back on 30th.

Why? C

I want to support you. And I’m guessing they’ll want to meet me.

I need to do this by myself. C

Why?

It’s easier to pretend to be in love with you when you’re not standing in the same room. C

Tuesday 26th April, 10:30 p.m.

How’s Tokyo? C

In Las Vegas now.

Mixing with lots of pretty showgirls? C

I’m on a construction site.

I told my mum and dad. They’re thrilled about the baby. Shocked but happy about the wedding. C

Good.

Wednesday 27th April, 9:14 p.m.

Won your fortune in Las Vegas yet? C

Moved on to New York last night.

Lucky you. Love New York. C

How are you?

I’m okay. Morning sickness still here. C

You didn’t tell me.

It’s not important—most women suffer when pregnant. C

Take time off work. You should have told me.

You didn’t tell me that you had been married before. C

You’re annoyed?

I’d have preferred not to have found out when we were in the register office. C

It was a long time ago. Have you seen a doctor about your sickness?

Yes. She assured me it’s completely normal. C

You have to take care of yourself and the baby.

We haven’t spoken about telling people at work yet. C

I have a plan that I’ll discuss with you when I’m back in London on Saturday. Come to my house for dinner.

There’s a new restaurant in Soho I’ve been wanting to try. Let’s meet there. I’ll book and send you the details. We also need to talk about a pre-nuptial agreement. I don’t want anything from you. C

We’ll have more privacy to talk in my house.

Somebody at the door. Have to go. C

* * *

Charlotte grimaced at the gingernut biscuit crumbs that had landed on her desk. And in her keyboard! Just—yuck.

Now she remembered why she had quickly given up eating at her desk as a young intern.

She twisted the keyboard upside down and shook vigorously. A woman in an online pregnancy forum swore that ginger biscuits kept her nausea at bay.

Charlotte wasn’t convinced but at least the biscuits might give her a temporary sugar high to beat the tiredness that sat heavy in her bones.

She wasn’t sleeping well.

In a matter of days she had gone from avoiding calls and texts from Lucien to being addicted to checking her phone to see if he had left a message.

In the first few days when he had gone, she had been unable to handle talking to him. Too overwhelmed with how her life had changed. And shocked to know that he had been married before. It shouldn’t have been a surprise, but it left her feeling more vulnerable. It brought home how little she knew him.

She had needed space and time away from him. Away from how she seemed to lose her ability to think logically when in his presence, even if that was an electronic one. So she hadn’t answered his calls and kept her texts brief, immersing herself instead in finalising the new mentoring programme she was introducing into the department for their new interns.

But when he had stopped texting over the weekend, she realised how much she missed hearing from him, missed knowing that he was thinking about her, even if it was only because she was carrying his child.

But last night when he had suggested that they meet at his house on Saturday to talk it had hit home just how difficult it would be to live under the same roof as him, especially in a house full of memories and reminders of their night together.




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