Rachel Bailey: The Blackmailed Bride's Secret Child / For Business...Or Marriage?: The Blackmailed Bride's Secret Child / For Business...Or Marriage?

She moistened lips that were suddenly dry. “The seating arrangements and catering have been finalized.”

“I sent an RSVP before I left Australia,” he said over his shoulder as he strode into the receiving room and picked up his jacket. “Seven o’clock, or do you have to be there earlier?”

She followed, with rising panic scrambling her thoughts. She only had one line of reasoning left. “Nico, we can’t go together.”

He slid his arms into the jacket and straightened his tie. “Nonsense. We’re Kent’s family, they’ll expect us to arrive together.” He checked his watch. “It’s two o’clock now, I’ll be back in five hours.”

In two steps he was beside her, dropping a kiss on her cheek. It lasted a little long to be platonic, and his lips moved almost imperceptibly on her skin, but before she could react he was gone, shutting the door behind him.

Beth collapsed into the couch and dropped her head to her hands. The hundred guests attending tonight would include Kent’s grieving friends and colleagues. Nothing improper could happen.

And her reaction to their embrace had proven one thing: if resisting Nico was her strongest line of defense, she was in deep trouble.

The sound she’d been dreading came at precisely one minute to seven. Beth walked on trembling legs to the front door. She knew it was Nico—no one else could make a simple knock so commanding. As her hand rested on the brass knob, she took a last glance at herself in her full-length peach gown. It was hardly a dress of mourning, but she loved the skirt of gossamer layers and sheer sleeves in the same shade of peach—and she needed every thread of help she could get tonight to feel strong. Between the celebration of her late husband’s life and her wildly unsettling escort, she’d be lucky to still be sane by the end of the evening.

She smoothed a trembling hand over the bodice, took a deep breath, then opened the carved wooden door.

In an instant, her mouth went dry. Nico stood before her, tall and broad, wearing a tuxedo and a come-to-bed smile. The only time she’d ever seen him in a tuxedo before now was in magazine photos—when they were younger, he’d mainly worn jeans and T-shirts, the clothes he worked in at the vineyards.

But now he was a mature man, and the intense reality of the promise in him called to a place deep inside her, the girl she’d been and the woman she was now. His jaw was shadowed, despite having been freshly shaved. His thick, black hair, though neatly combed, still twisted in the rebel waves she remembered so intimately.

His eyes swept over her, and every square inch of flesh he touched with his gaze quivered, begged for his hands to follow, then his mouth.

“You’re a princess.” His voice was low, husky.

She couldn’t speak, could barely think. Then he leaned in to kiss her cheek, and her eyes drifted closed to savor the feel of his lips as they lingered. In a distant corner of her mind, she was surprised by his tenderness but she refused to spoil the moment by dwelling on his about-face. When he broke the contact, her eyes opened and rested on his mouth.

“If you keep looking at me like that, we won’t make an appearance at all tonight. Which is fine by me.” His head angled and began another descent.

Without thinking, she raised her face to meet his kiss, then froze. What was she doing? She blinked once, twice, then pulled back, slowly shaking her head. This was a bad idea on so many levels, from Nico’s coldness since his arrival this morning, to her attending the launch tonight—the winery staff had worked hard for months to put this event together, and since Kent was gone, the least she could do for them was attend.

“We should go.” Her voice was a cracked whisper.

He lifted a brow, yet gave no other reaction, just stood there, filling the doorway with his intensely masculine presence.

Ignoring the heavy lassitude of arousal in her belly, she grabbed her coat and bag from the entrance table and closed the door behind her. Nico didn’t say a word, but his eyes smoldered. She swallowed, then, knowing it was now or never, she headed for his car.

In the ten feet to the passenger side, he overtook her and held open the door.

Careful to avoid touching him in case she set off another sexual showdown, Beth slid into the seat then watched him walk around to the driver’s side, mesmerized.

He moved with such a casual confidence, as if he was so sure of his place in the world. Yet, what would happen when she revealed the secret she held? He could lose that place, lose everything he held dear.

She swallowed around a lump in her throat. In some ways she wished she never had to tell him at all. He was the only man she’d ever loved. He meant too much to her to be unaffected by his pain. At least by waiting until his father passed away, she was saving him from heartache on that score … but only if she made no slips between now and then, and not let herself forget the stakes for even one moment. She had to ignore the fact she desired him like no other and keep her distance, stay out of his bed.

As he took his seat, he raised an eyebrow at her. “I told you to be careful about looking at me like that.”

She dropped her gaze to her lap, trying to bring her emotions under control. Five years ago, she’d shared her every thought, her every emotion with him, but now was the time for self-discipline. If she let herself fall under his thrall again, she might ruin everything.… One lapse when she wasn’t thinking straight, one careless comment about things that couldn’t be spoken, and he’d know there was more. And he wouldn’t rest until he knew everything.

He started the Alfa and pulled onto the private road around the vineyards. They traveled in silence for several minutes before he causally said, “Tell me about Mark.”

The air leeched from her lungs. Did he know? His eyes remained on the road, as if he hadn’t asked a loaded question.

“Why would you want to know about my son … Kent’s son?”

He spared her a hard glance. “Regardless of my feelings about his parents, that boy is my nephew. There’s nothing more important than family.” He squared his shoulders.

“Nico—”

“Tell me about Mark.”

Her hand snaked up to circle her throat. “He turned three last April.” Luckily, she’d remembered to lower his age by a year to maintain Kent’s story, and keep the secret of Marco’s paternity safe for now. “He’s bright and full of energy. He loves my parents’ Dalmatian, Misty—I suspect he’s conned them into letting Misty sleep on his bed tonight. He usually does.”

“Why doesn’t he have his own dog?”

She owed Kent no loyalty, but she wouldn’t speak ill of the dead. “It hasn’t been … suitable for us to have a dog yet.”

Nico’s jaw tightened. “Kent wouldn’t let him.”

She shrugged. “Kent didn’t like dogs much.”

“Every boy should have a dog.” He smoothly took a corner, then glanced over at her. “I noticed something strange at your house today.”

Dear God, the trip from her house to the winery on the other side of the estate had never seemed so long. “You did?”

His fingers tapped lightly on the steering wheel and a frown line appeared between his brows. “There wasn’t one photo on display of your son. I know Kent wouldn’t send photos to our father, but none in your own home? That strikes me as odd for a woman who had albums full of us when we were together. And albums more of family—and your dog.”

Her stomach clenched painfully. She’d rushed around and taken down all photos of Marco when she’d arrived home from Nico’s hotel room. She knew chances were high he’d follow her—he always had when they had fought. He’d never let anything between them remain unfinished. Now she suspected he’d always follow, because he had to win. And the only way to protect Marco from this mess was to keep him hidden—in reality and in photos—until all secrets were out.