The Consequence He Must Claim (8 page)

He doesn’t
love
me
, her heart cried. But her own upbringing had taught her that as wonderful as love was, you couldn’t eat it. Should she really dismiss his attempt to offer the support she’d always wished her father had provided?

Thinking about her father and that awful realization that he’d ultimately abandoned them to their own resources brought back all her old feelings of inadequacy, the ones she couldn’t put voice to because they were so lowering. Cesar really would think she was trying to trap him into marriage.

Lifting a cautioning hand, she said, “Think about that title of yours. I’m not like you. I’m working class.” Gutter class, more like.

“As the mother of the heir to my title, your stock improves. Certainly with my mother.” The look on his face told her he wasn’t saying that to be insulting. It was a fact. Status mattered to his mother.

And that was what she was afraid of. What would happen if her background came out? It had been humiliating enough to live through it once.

“I...okay I lied,” she belatedly conceded. “I only put your name on the paperwork because—”

The look on his face stopped her. The air electrified around them and she thought lightning was actually going to shoot out his eyes and incinerate her.

He gave the side of her bed a rattle of disgust, pushing away.

“
Dios
, Sorcha! You almost had me. Why would you say that?” His hand swept through the air to erase her claim.

“Because I don’t want to marry you!” Another lie. She covered her face, hiding from the truth. What if she married him? Hadn’t she dreamed of the chance to drill past all those tempered metals he’d hammered into a shell around his heart and find the man beneath? This was her chance.

And if she failed, he could turn out like her father, falling in love elsewhere.

“What are you really afraid of?” he asked in stern challenge. “Because I’ve never known you to be a coward. In fact, if anyone else was in this situation—if I was in this situation with another woman,” he said, coming across to her again, words coming out faster and hotter, “you would tell me to marry the mother of my child.”

She scowled. “And you would tell me there were more factors to consider and I should mind my own business.”

“In this case I’m telling you you’re right. Enjoy it,” he snapped back.

“Look, my father didn’t love his wife—”

He cut her off impatiently. “Loveless marriages can work. My parents are an excellent example.”

“Ha!” It escaped her before she could hold it back.

His brows shot up.

“Do you honestly think they’re happy?” she asked.

“I don’t think they’re unhappy. They each receive what they want from the union. In our case, you’ll have a father for your child. Tell me that’s not important to you. Tell me you don’t wish your father had lived and stayed with your family.”

That was hitting below the belt! Of course she did. She’d loved her father the way any daughter did. Losing him had been devastating. She’d been eleven, that painful age of beginning to develop and already not feeling like herself in her own body, moody and overwhelmed.

She’d also been old enough to understand what it meant that her father had two families and intelligent enough to grasp the full scope of disgrace as they were given a multitude of looks from former friends and neighbors, looks that varied from pitying to smug.

With her father in residence, he’d offered them protection from judgment. They’d lived their life as if they were his legitimate family. Without him, they were pretenders. Her mother’s family, already having disowned her over the scandal of her living with a man out of wedlock, had refused to help. The entire village had distanced themselves.

Sorcha had gone as hungry as her sisters that first year, while her mother sold her jewelry and begged for any job she could get. Sorcha hadn’t questioned or complained about any of it. She had comprehended all too clearly why they were living in one room and her mother was working in a hospital laundry and cried all the time.

She didn’t plan to ever wind up in circumstances that dire, but that’s where “love” could land you, she reminded herself. Her father’s other children hadn’t suffered like that. They were probably quite content, no matter how their parents had felt about each other, so why was she hesitating to give Enrique that same material security just because Cesar didn’t love her?

“What would
you
get from the union?” she asked warily.

“Besides my son?” he asked facetiously. “A wife who excites me sexually.” His brows went up when she gasped. “Why does that surprise you? I slept with you that day because I’d been attracted to you from the first time we met. That much I know without question. You know what else I know?”

She caught her breath, shaking her head, scenting danger as he came around to the open side of her bed.

“You wouldn’t have let anything happen between us if you hadn’t been suppressing the same attraction. You know what I keep thinking? You were quitting because you were jealous of Diega. Sexually. You knew that once I married, you and I would never sleep together.
I
knew that. It was bothering me. I wasn’t ready to get engaged because I had promised you to myself before I went off the market.”

“Do you hear how arrogant you are?” she managed to reply, heart stumbling. “You were
planning
to make me your last hurrah? That’s incredibly insulting.”

He ran his gaze over her in a way that drew the blanket down, exposing her to his roving eye. “I’ve always expected we’d be very compatible. How was it?”

“Are you serious?” She burned alive as he shoved her back into that sensual fire with a look. “
Ask Diega
. She seems to have all the details on what we did that day.”

“The things I let you say to me,” he muttered, touching her chin to force her to look up into his eyes.

All the emotions she used to be able to disguise in a blink flooded behind her eyes with hard pressure. She couldn’t breathe.

“Of all the memories I’ve lost, the most maddening is not remembering what it’s like to make love to you. I cannot
wait
for our do-over.” He bent and covered her lips with his own, hard, but not hurtfully. He seemed to catch himself at the last second and decide whether he wanted to plunder or merely sample.

Maybe he was waiting for a rush of memory, trying to remember how their first kisses had tasted. She remembered. She wanted to protest and turn away from his kiss, but her body knew him in a primal way that made her soften in welcome. Her hand lifted to caress the stubble on his cheek, urging him to linger, playing her mouth against his in invitation.

With a gruff sound deep in his throat, he took control of the kiss and ravaged, but gently, his stubbled beard lightly abrading her skin. He claimed in a way that felt familiar, yet new. He stole, but gave back at the same time, started to pull away, then returned as if he couldn’t help himself. The teasing sent flutters of arousal through her, burning her blood to the ends of her limbs, making her fingers and toes tingle. It was disconcerting to become so aroused when she was hardly in a state to make love.

It was so amazing, though. She never wanted him to stop, but he finally did with a few soft, wet bites of his teeth catching at her lips.

He drew back enough to see into her eyes. His gaze was disturbed, frustrated yet excited. Hot with desire. They were both breathing heavily.

“Seriously,” he said in a quiet rasp. “How was it?”

The question felt incredibly intimate, like he was asking her to describe an experience with a stranger, yet she could see he was deeply invested in her response. He wanted details. She wanted to be flippant, self-protect and be cool and pretend he hadn’t set the bar so high she had despaired before it was even over. She had known she’d never find another man to give her the same level of pleasure.

Memories flooded in, the way he’d kissed the skin he’d revealed, made her climax with barely a flexing touch between her thighs, had her wrapping her legs around his waist, then had taken his time, making love to her gently and slowly, savoring each thrust until she’d been pleading for him to drive harder and faster and deeper—

He stroked his thumb against her stinging cheek. Satisfaction relaxed his expression as he read everything he needed to know in her blush of fresh response.

“I wish I remembered that.” He sounded so wistfully sincere she blushed harder and flinched in torment at the same time, raw. Feeling like the most important experience of her life was forgotten by the man who’d provided it.

And it was.

She swallowed and dropped her hand, ducking her head.

Then there was that agonizing reason
why
it had been so good. He was an aficionado of women, having dedicated himself to learning how to pleasure multitudes before her. So many.

She’d been dying on a distant level that day, wondering how she stacked up. It hadn’t helped that he’d disappeared before she’d woken. She’d needed the reassurance of his approval and satisfaction. His absence had been so demoralizing she still didn’t know how to deal with it. Things had worsened from there until they were here.

Frowning at the flowers Octavia had given her, Sorcha tried to imagine how she could balance the heaven and hell of being married to him. There was no question he expected her to sleep with him. What if she wasn’t up to his standards? Sometimes she let herself believe that Diega had been lying when she’d said he had begged for forgiveness. She didn’t want to believe she had been merely a conquest, but what else would she have been?

What if the only reason he wanted her today was because he couldn’t remember that he hadn’t enjoyed himself the first time?

“I’ll take this back to my father and tell him you’ve had a better offer.” He retrieved the check from the floor and folded it to tuck it in his pocket.

“Cesar—” He was such a pushy, dogged, overwhelming man.

But there was no way she could look into her son’s eyes and admit that she’d had the chance to give him everything he was entitled to and turned it down. Not when she knew how it felt to receive nothing from her own father.

As for love, well, she’d long ago resigned herself to this infatuation of hers with Cesar not being returned. At least she’d be with him, not pining from afar.

“My mother is anxious to see Enrique,” she said as she realized he was waiting for her to speak. “I want to go to her as soon as I’m released.”
Way to be a tough negotiator, Sorcha
.

“Of course. We can marry in Ireland. One of us ought to have family present.”

CHAPTER FIVE

S
HE
SHOULDN
’
T
HAVE
been surprised that Cesar would be so single-minded. Or so possessive. His protocols with intellectual property told their own story about the lengths he would go to ensure he would never be stolen from again.

But could he not see that if she wanted her son to have a father, that meant she expected him to
be
a father? He disappeared to Spain until she was released, asking her to text a few photos of Enrique, but showing little interest in his son or the final DNA report that proved it.

“Go ahead and forward it. My parents will want that reassurance,” he said like it was a bureaucratic hoop he couldn’t avoid.

“Don’t
you
want to see it?” she challenged.

“If I thought you were lying, I wouldn’t have upended my life to marry you. Are they releasing the two of you now?”

“Tomorrow,” she replied.

He chivalrously turned up with an infant carrier, carting it out himself after interrogating the nurse about Enrique’s health and schedule for immunizations, but he had yet to properly hold his son.

They went to her modest flat, where she had already been packing to give it up, planning to live with her mother through the birth and her maternity leave.

When he saw the boxes, Cesar gave her a sharp look. “Small wonder you went into labor early.”

She shrugged off that comment and called her landlord to explain the situation. Cesar took over, informing the man that his assistant would have everything shipped to Spain before the lease was up and that they were leaving
today
.

Today? As much as she wanted to see her mother, Sorcha really wanted a nap.

He packed her case while she sat on the bed and nursed, then she slept on his private plane as they flew to Cork. Her customary seat greeted her like an old friend. The hostess knew how to make her tea just right and brought it without asking.

Sorcha relaxed in a way she never had in the flat she’d just vacated. She felt like she was home.

Because she was
going
home, she reasoned when she woke, groggy and thinking again that her pregnancy had been a dream. But there was Enrique in the seat next to his father, blinking and alert, thankfully unaware his father was sending him the puzzled look he reserved for unexpected experimentation results.

They drove down the coast to her mother’s village and a warm welcome.

Cesar, being a man who didn’t just know how to disrobe a woman, but could outfit them effortlessly, had flown in a modiste from a Paris boutique. The bridal gown she brought only needed a few nips and tucks and the woman took care of that in her mother’s lounge.

The dress wasn’t something Sorcha would have chosen for herself, but it was incredibly flattering. Its empire waist disguised her recent pregnancy and its seed-pearl-encrusted bodice and off-the-shoulder straps made the most of her chest—currently her best asset. Her hair never held a curl, but the straight, golden strands looked right beneath a crown of pink rosebuds.

She looked like a Celtic goddess, strong and empowered.

Cesar spent the night at the hotel while she stayed with her family and poured out her heart, including her concerns about her marriage.

“I can’t imagine any man not loving you,” her sister said, squeezing her hand.

Sorcha appreciated the sentiment, but half expected to be stood up at the altar. The entire village was holding their breath to see it, she was sure, but she went through the motions of dressing for her wedding.

The morning ceremony was held in the church Sorcha had attended growing up, and was, secretly, her most cherished dream come true.

When she saw Cesar waiting at the altar for her, she felt more than relief. Pride. Joy. The sun came out long enough to splash reds and blues and greens from the stained glass windows onto the worn, golden pews and gray stone floor. Cesar had provided all the women with corsages, which, along with her elegant bouquet, perfumed the air with the scent of lilies and roses. The moment was pure and reverent.

Cesar wore a morning coat and had shaved. He hated shaving, which was why he wore stubble most of the time. He wore stubble really well, truth be told, but with his cheeks clean, his face looked narrow and sharp, his sensual mouth more pronounced.

Perhaps it was a severe mood putting that tautness in his expression, she thought, but as her sister played her down the aisle with a pretty march, he watched her with a gaze that pulled her forward. His eyes had never looked so much like white-hot metal, the green-blue giving way to silvery heat, hammered and binding.

Emotive tears came to her eyes. Was she really marrying her
boss
?

His hands were reassuringly steady as he held her trembling ones, his voice strong where hers cracked with emotion. She didn’t know if that meant he was more confident in this marriage than she was, or less emotionally invested.

Financially, dear Lord, he appeared more than willing to invest. The platinum band he put on her finger was already soldered to its matching engagement ring. The stone in the one ring was a princess-cut diamond with emerald baguettes on either side, then another pair of smaller princess diamonds. The rest of the setting, like the wedding band, was alternating diamonds and square-cut emeralds.

She could hardly speak as she pushed his simple platinum band with one winking green emerald onto his swarthy hand. Hers. He belonged to her. The knowledge quivered through her like an arrow had lodged in her heart and vibrated with the impact.

Closing her two hands over his, she silently prayed,
Let him be mine
.

They received their blessing and he kissed her, keeping it chaste in this house of God, but her lips burned, making her press them together to tamp down on the tingle.

They had luncheon at the village’s best hotel. The town’s seaside location meant busy summers, which sustained a few high-end establishments like this one. The rooms weren’t big, but the view overlooked the beach, the decor and amenities were top-notch, and the food and service excellent.

Well, aside from the askance look she caught from a former schoolmate as the woman poured the tea.

Despite the posh atmosphere, Sorcha had to wonder what Cesar thought of the hotel and her mother’s house and her birthplace. They would be sharing his suite as a family tonight and smart as she expected it to be—the suite was called The Royal for a reason—it was still far from the spacious luxury he was used to.

In the past, when Sorcha had indulged in fantasies of bringing him home to meet her family, they’d had time to visit all her favorite haunts: the beach, fudge from the sweet shop... Maybe cycle past the mansion to see how her mother’s roses were doing.

She didn’t know why she did that to herself, but if the weather was fine, she always went past the house where she’d grown up. It was masochistic on some level, but her father was the only member of his family who’d spent any time there. His English family had never used it. After his death, they’d sold it to an American actor, who rarely visited. The house stood empty, which infuriated Sorcha all over again at being evicted.

Today the clouds were low and the sky drizzly, so they were staying indoors. She didn’t take the gloom as a bad omen, though. The sun had made another brief appearance as they left the church, casting angelic rays through the clouds so the cobblestones and brightly painted facades along the high street glistened. In the distance, the hills had glowed a verdant jade. The faint tang of salt in the air was brisk and fresh, putting color in all their cheeks. Despite her misgivings, in that moment of leaving the church as Cesar’s wife, her future had looked brilliant.

But she wondered what Cesar was thinking of all this. While she and her sisters talked a mile a minute, Sorcha cast a wary glance toward him—was he really her
husband
? Was he enjoying his conversation with the one other male in their party, her brother-in-law, Corm?

Corm was usually very closemouthed, if endearingly tolerant of his wife’s family. He had grown up around the bunch of them, since he and her second sister had made Sorcha’s niece before either of them had finished school. They now owned a pub and were doing well enough with their family of four, but their early years had been a terrible struggle.

“Football,” Cesar responded when she asked him later what they’d talked about.

Of course
, she thought with a private grin. Both men were fans.

“Your sister didn’t stay long. Do you think—” She didn’t know what she thought he should think. Her own family’s scandal might have been replaced by a dozen others here in the village over the past fifteen years, but her turning up with Cesar’s baby and forcing him to cancel his wedding was a fresh scandal for his.

His sister, Pia, had come with camera in hand. She was a marine biologist, who, apparently, was willing to photograph more than orca fins and sea stars. When Sorcha had thanked her for coming, she’d offered a polite if somewhat inscrutable, “Thank you for including me. The ceremony was very nice.”

Had Cesar invited his entire family and only Pia had shown up?

She realized Cesar was waiting for her to finish what she was saying.

“I don’t know.” She shrugged self-consciously. “It didn’t sound like your family was pleased by our marriage. I’m glad she came, but I was surprised to see her.”

He paced restlessly, no doubt feeling claustrophobic in this narrow sitting room, if not by their shotgun wedding. “She was headed to Iceland for a symposium. It was on the way.”

“Well, it was nice to see her. I’ll have to send a note.” She was babbling, nervous as she changed their son on the sofa, already thinking about how she would undress and share that slant-ceilinged bedroom with Cesar after they went down for dinner.

She was also feeling the pressure of this marriage, perhaps not trapped in it, but surrounded by hazards and obstacles. She was very unsure how her life would proceed.

But it was time to overcome one of her biggest concerns, she decided, as she finished zipping Enrique into his pajamas.

“Here,” she said casually, scooping up the little bug and giving Cesar no choice but to take his son or drop him. He wouldn’t let the baby fall, she knew that, but with that many Kelly women vying for a chance to cuddle their nephew and grandson, and a carrier with a handle making the boy feel more like a suitcase as he was transferred in and out of cars and buildings, Cesar had put off touching his son for long enough.

“What...? Why...?”

“I have to wash my hands,” she said, moving into the powder room, pretending she didn’t notice that the whites of his eyes were showing. “I can’t leave him on the sofa. He might roll off,” she called back, taking her time like she was scrubbing for surgery, glancing in the mirror to ensure her most innocent expression was firmly in place.

Enrique was just over a week old and barely keeping his eyes open for longer than thirty minutes. He wasn’t going to roll anywhere for a while yet.

She came out to see Cesar wearing an uncomfortable expression. He held Enrique cradled in his two big hands, suspended in the air as though the infant was a dripping mess of sod or something equally cold and unpleasant that should be kept at a distance to avoid staining his clothes.

Her heart sank, but she reminded herself that his family wasn’t like hers. His sister had come to their wedding because it was
on the way
. Had he ever held a baby in his life?

Moving across, she ignored the way he offered the boy to her and gently pressed his hands closer to his own body. “Keep him warm while I change. And watch his neck. He’s holding his head up really well, but just in case. Talk to him.”

“About what?” Now he held Enrique against his shoulder like he’d grabbed one too many items in the grocery store and really wished he’d picked up a handbasket.

“He’s been listening to my voice for nine months and it makes him feel safe when he hears me. He needs to associate your voice with safety, too. Use Valencian. You don’t want me to teach it to him. I have an accent.” She headed for the bedroom.

When she glanced back, he was staring at her the way he looked when she gave him backtalk he didn’t like.

“Pretend he’s Corm. At least he won’t contradict you over who the best goalkeeper really is.”

* * *

Sorcha swung the door mostly closed and Cesar knew she was undressing behind it.
That
he was willing to help with. This...

He had held kittens as a child, when the mouser in the vineyard had had a litter, but never a human baby. He’d never even picked up a young child and this... This baby was so new and fragile, his skin so delicate, Cesar thought he’d tear him if he moved wrong.

And talk to him? He carefully eased Enrique into a more secure position in the crook of his arm and looked at the boy’s unguarded expression. He hadn’t needed the DNA report to believe this was his son, but he still didn’t see himself in that soft, round face.

“She’s crazy,” he said under his breath, wanting to ignore Sorcha’s ridiculous suggestion, but what she had said about Enrique finding security in the sound of his voice niggled. It’s not as if he wanted the opposite, for Enrique to fear the sound of his voice, but he hadn’t put together that his son would look to him for reassurance or, well, anything but basic needs and material items when he was old enough to ask for them.

What was he supposed to say? The kid was ten days old, barely able to control the wander of his gaze. He wouldn’t understand a word.

Blue eyes the same shade as Sorcha’s searched the ceiling with surprising alertness. So much like Sorcha’s, Cesar noted with fascination. Clear and such an undeniable blue and—
Oh, hello
. Direct. Enrique’s eyes found Cesar’s and stuck.

Cesar found himself lifting his brows in a silent “what now?”

Enrique’s tiny forehead furrowed with faint lines. His miniature brows climbed, reflecting the same query.