Carole Mortimer - The From Paris With Love And Regency Season Of Secrets Ultimate Collection

“Did you get pregnant on purpose?” he demanded. “To force me to marry you?”

Emma couldn’t help herself. She laughed in his face.

“Why are you laughing?” he said dangerously.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you were making a joke.”

“This isn’t a joke!”

“No. It isn’t. But you are!” she snapped, losing patience.

He blinked as his mouth fell open.

She took a deep calming breath, blowing a tendril of hair off her hot forehead. “I’ve gone out of my way not to trap you. I’m raising this baby completely on my own. I wouldn’t marry you even if you asked me!”

“Really?”

She stiffened, remembering that she had indeed once yearned to marry him—even hinted at it aloud! Her cheeks burned with humiliation. She lifted her chin. “Maybe once I was stupid enough to want that, but I’ve long since realized you’d make a horrible husband. No sane woman would want to marry a man like you.”

“A man like me,” he repeated. He looked irritated. “So you’d rather be a housekeeper, slaving for wages, instead of a billionaire’s wife?” He snorted. “Do you really expect me to believe that?”

She glared back at him. “And do you really believe I’d want to sell myself to some man who doesn’t love me, when I can support myself and my child through honest work?”

“He’s not just your child.”

“You don’t want him. You said so in London. Right to my face.”

“That was different. You made it sound like a choice. You didn’t tell me the decision was already made.” He folded his arms, six feet three inches of broad-shouldered masculine stubbornness. “I want him tested. To have DNA evidence he’s my child.”

She ground her teeth. “You don’t believe me?”

“The woman who swore she couldn’t get pregnant? No.”

Ooh. She stamped her foot. “I’m not having Sam pricked with a needle for some dumb DNA test. If you don’t believe me, if you think I might have been sleeping around and now I’m lying just for kicks, then forget about us. Just leave. We’ll do fine without you.”

He clenched his hands at his sides. “You should have told me!”

“I tried to, but when I started hinting at the idea of a child, you nearly fainted with fear!”

“I absolutely did not faint—” he began furiously.

“You did! From the moment I found out I was pregnant, I wanted to tell you. Of course I wanted to tell you. What do you take me for? My parents were married straight out of high school and loved each other until my mom died. That’s what people do in my hometown. Get married and stay married. Buy a home and raise a family. Do you honestly think—” Emma’s voice grew louder, causing nearby people in the park to look at them “—that I wanted to be a single mother? That this is something I chose?”

Cesare looked astonished, his sensual lips slightly parted, his own tirade forgotten. Then he scowled.

“Don’t even try to—”

“Even now,” she interrupted, feeling the tears well up, “when I’ve just told you you’re a father, what are you doing? You’re yelling at me, when any other man on earth would be interested in—I don’t know—meeting his new son!”

He stopped again, staring at her, his mouth still open. Then he snapped it shut. He glared at her. “Fine.”

“Fine!”

Cesare turned to the baby. He knelt by the stroller. He looked into Sam’s chubby face. As Emma watched, his eyes slowly traced over the baby’s dark eyes; exactly like his own. At the same dark hair, already starting to curl.

“Um,” he said, awkwardly holding out a hand toward the baby. “Hi.”

The baby continued to suck the pacifier, but flung an unsteady hand toward his father. One little pudgy hand caught his finger. Cesare’s eyes widened and his expression changed. He moved closer to Sam, then gently stroked his hair, his plump cheek. His voice was different as he said more softly, “Hi.”

Seeing the two of them together, Emma’s heart twisted.

“You named him Sam?” he asked a moment later.

“After my dad.”

“He looks just like me,” Cesare muttered. Pulling away from the baby, he rose to his feet. “Just tell me one thing. If I hadn’t come to Paris, if I hadn’t seen you today—would you ever have told me?”

She swallowed.

“You really are unbelievable,” he ground out.

“You don’t want a family.” Her voice trembled. “All you could have given him was money.”

“And a name,” he flung out.

“He already has both.” She looked at him steadily. “I’ve given him a name—Samuel Hayes. And I earn enough money. Not for mansions and private jets, but enough for a comfortable home. We don’t need you. We don’t want you.”

Cesare ground his teeth. “You’re depriving him of his birthright.”

She snorted. “Birthright? You mean you’d have insisted on sending him to a fancy school and buying him something extravagant and useless at Christmas, like a pony, before you ignored him the rest of the year?” She shook her head. “And that’s the best-case scenario! Because let’s not pretend you actually want to be in the picture!”

“I might...” he protested.

“Oh, please.” Her eyes narrowed. “All you could have offered was money and heartbreak. Better no father at all than a father like you. My child will never feel like an ignored, unwanted burden.” She straightened her shoulders, lifting her chin. “And neither will I.”

Cesare stared at her. Then his mouth snapped shut.

“So that’s what you think of me,” he muttered. “That I’m a selfish bastard with nothing but money to offer.”

She stared at him for a long moment, then relented with a sigh. “You are who you are. I realized last year that I could not change you. So I’m not going to try.”

His handsome face looked suddenly haggard. In spite of everything, her traitorous heart went out to him. Living with him for seven years, learning his every habit, she’d seen glimpses of the vulnerability that drove Cesare to a relentless pursuit of money and women he neither needed nor truly wanted. When he came home late at night, when he paced the hallways in sleepless hours, she’d seen flashes of emptiness beneath his mask, and the despair beneath his careless charm. There could never be enough money or cheap affairs to fill the emptiness in his heart, but he kept trying. And Emma knew why.

He’d lost the woman he’d loved, and he’d never be able to love anyone again.

Even through her anger, she felt almost sorry for him. Because without love, what could there be—but emptiness?

“It’s not your fault,” she said slowly. “I understand why you can’t let anyone into your heart again. You loved her so much—and then you lost her...” At his expression, she reached her hand to his rough cheek. Her voice trembled as she whispered, “Your heart was buried with your wife.”

Cesare seemed to shudder beneath her touch. “Emma...”

“It’s all right.” Dropping her hand, she stepped back and tried to smile. “We’re fine. Truly. Your son is happy and well. I have a good job. My boss is a very kindhearted man. He looks out for us.”

Something in her voice made him look up sharply.

“Who is he? This new boss?”

She licked her lips. “You don’t know?”

He shook his head. “After you left, I tried my best to forget you ever existed.”

It shouldn’t have hurt her, but it did. Emma put her hands on the handlebar of the stroller. “That is what you should do now, Cesare. Forget us....”

But he grabbed the handlebar, his hand over hers. “No. This time, I’m not letting you go. Not with my son.”

She swallowed, looking up at his fierce gaze.