The Price of Honor (8 page)

On the first square she'd written, “Get Xavier to choose me.”

The black scrawl on the second patch said, “Convince him to ditch his fiancée by enlightening him to their differences and C's deficiencies.”

The third, “Show X we are perfect outside of bed as well as in and that I am truly an asset, his other half.”

Next, “Facilitate introductions to powerful connections.”

And last, “Anticipate and provide any nonsexual needs.”

She took another spoonful, this time savoring the rich peanut butter and fluffy marshmallow swirls on her tongue. “The question is, how?”

What could she do that she wasn't doing already? She stabbed the spoon into the pint and set aside her comfort food, then pulled the marker from behind her ear and picked
up the pink pad. Pen poised, she stared at the sheet. But her mind went as blank as the page on the implementation. She'd have to come back to that one.

“Moving right along,” she muttered as she dropped the pen and pink pad, retrieved her ice cream and focused on the blue row that stretched five sticky notes long. Plan B. An option she'd rather avoid because it was risky. Scary. It made her vulnerable and therefore opened her to more pain. Even her writing was more rigid on this collection of squares, her tension over this particular course revealed by thicker lines as if she'd pressed the Sharpie a bit too hard on the paper.

“X believes our relationship is
only
about sex. Prove him wrong by:

“Giving him only sex.

“Withhold all intellectual nonsexual communication.

“No cuddling, breakfasts in bed or other tender couple activities that he apparently takes for granted.

“No spontaneous touching or hand-holding.”

The last one would be tough since she loved sharing all those things with him. But if it was the only way to win the war…

Agitation built in her stomach. She gobbled a double shovel of ice cream to soothe it before moving on to the yellow row. Plan C was the worst-case scenario and the shortest column—only one forlorn square inscribed with a shaky hand.

“Raise baby alone.”

Plan C was worse than being disqualified from a show. Heartbreaking. Humiliating. A waste of so much potential.

A knock on the front door followed by the sound of it opening pierced her concentration. Only Hannah or Xavier would let themselves in without waiting for her to answer.

“Megan!”

Xavier.

His voice acted like a starting gun to her heart rate, accelerating it wildly. She couldn't let him come back here and see this blueprint. She dumped the ice cream and pen on the table and sprinted for the den, then skidded to a halt on the hardwood floor at the sight of him. Her already racing heart hammered faster.

“What are you doing here?”

His eyes narrowed. “Is something wrong?”

“Not at all. Why?”

“You are breathless and…” He tilted his head assessingly. “You look guilty.” He moved forward.

She gulped but held her ground, blocking the path to the kitchen. He stopped so close she could smell his cologne and feel the heat radiating off his body. Warmth rushed her face. “Guilty? Of what? It's almost ten o'clock. What could I be doing this late at night?”

A wicked glint—a sexual spark—entered his eyes, making her blood thicken with desire, then his gaze locked on her mouth and her lungs stalled. Would he kiss her? Could she—
should she
—resist? He lifted a hand. His thumb skimmed the corner of her mouth, stirring up all kinds of hormonal trouble—the kind that could make her resolutions bite the dust.

“Guilty of satisfying your sweet tooth.” He licked his finger and smiled, and her heart swooped like a barn swallow diving for dinner. “Peanut butter ice cream?”

“Yeah, so?”

“Do you have lessons to teach this weekend?”

She blinked at the abrupt change of subject. “Lessons? No. Most of my students are visiting a small local show. I was going to go with them.”

“Good.” He turned on his heel and grasped the doorknob.

“Why?”

“I'll see you tomorrow,
mon amante.
Sleep well.”

“But why—?”

The door clicked behind him. Frustrated by his non-answer, she debated going after him but decided to let him go. The last thing she needed was to spend time with him before she'd finished working out her strategy. Especially now when he'd aroused her without even trying.

“That was weird,” she muttered to herself, then locked the door and returned to the kitchen. She had a lot of fine-tuning to do before she saw him again. But first she needed a cold shower.

 

Xavier could not afford to have a bastard child. Doing so would undermine the honor he had worked so hard to restore to the Alexandre name. He had lived with the whispers, the furtive glances, the pointing fingers. Even though times had changed and single parenthood was more accepted, he would not risk his child suffering that fate.

He walked the short distance from his temporary home to the stables while debating his options. As Megan had pointed out, Haithcock Farm was not up to his standards, but, surprisingly, now that the repairs had been completed, the house and the furniture included in the lease were comfortable.

The small property would not require the extensive staff his larger estate required—a bonus since he had neither the time nor interest in conducting numerous interviews for what would be a short stay. The four-man crew he had hired would suffice.

But what made the property the most attractive was its proximity to Megan. However, the tall pines bordering the rolling green pastures were so thick that he could not see Sutherland Farm even though it was but a short jog away.
To see Megan, he had to get into his car instead of simply being able to look out his study window as he did at home.

That brought his thoughts back to the woman at the center of his current problem. Megan. She was proving her stubbornness each day. But his new stable manager had called to say Megan had come for an unannounced visit this morning. Xavier considered that progress. Her presence would save him a trip to Sutherland Farm later.

Providing for Megan's child financially and walking away as she had asked would be merely covering the issue with sand and hoping a strong wind would not reveal it at a later date. Even if he raised the child with Cecille, he could not risk Megan changing her mind years from now and trying to reclaim their child the way his mother had done. His mother had shown up when Xavier was twelve declaring she'd made a mistake and wanted to be a mother to her only son.

Ten years too late. And of course, she had not experienced this motherly urge until her lover had dumped her for a younger woman and Xavier's father had turned the company's finances around. His father had wanted to allow her back into their lives, but Xavier had convinced him that she had abandoned them once and would likely do so again. His father had not been happy, but he had sent his ex-wife away.

Xavier had just one choice. Legitimizing his child by whatever means necessary was the only way to avoid scandal and keep Megan from returning. He must find a way to persuade her to relinquish her claim.

But what would it take? Everyone had a price. What was Megan's? In the past, he had offered her jewelry and even a horse that had caught her eye, but she had declined each gift. The only items she had accepted were of no consequence—clothing required for the high-society events
she attended with him and furnishings for the cottage she shared with him.

He sifted through memories of past conversations for clues and realized the majority of their discussions had centered on horses—his, hers, the competition's. Incendiary sex did not require words and much of their shared time had been spent preparing for, engaging in or recovering from the activity.

He knew very little of her childhood except that she had lost her family when she was thirteen. Their home had been sold and she had been forced to reside with her uncle who had made her unwelcome. She had shared little else.

He scanned the Bermuda pastures that had somehow survived years of neglect and then focused on the cedar and stone house. Perhaps a home of her own would tempt her.

He spotted Megan by the riding ring and his pulse quickened with the desire for her that time and distance had not quenched. He did not understand her hold on him. But it would pass. It must.

He barely spared a glance at the young man riding Apollo. Timothy had talent, but alas could not compete at Megan's level. Instead Xavier focused on the mother of his child. How could he have missed the significance of the new—and very alluring—fullness of Megan's breasts, the slight swelling of her belly, the radiance of her skin?

Pregnancy agreed with her. And he could not remember ever having thought that about any woman before.

Convincing Megan to return to France with him was no longer an option. As she had said, flagrantly parading his pregnant mistress in front of his fiancée would only create more controversy. Megan's abrupt departure from the show circuit had already been noted. She was ranked high enough to catch the gossips' curiosity by vanishing.
He would have to remain in the States until he could convince her to relinquish his heir.

A slight breeze teased the hair flowing down Megan's back like a midnight waterfall. Previously she had worn it loose only during and after sex when the tangled strands caressed her shoulders or draped his pillowcase. She usually preferred it “out of the way,” she claimed.

He knew her well enough to know the copper highlights streaking the dark locks resulted from sun exposure rather than a skilled hairdresser. Megan was one of the few women he had encountered who did not rely on the cosmetic industry for her beauty. Her lack of artifice had been part of her appeal. “
Bonjour, chérie.
What brings you to my stables this morning?”

“Good morning.” Her smile, as always, lightened his mood. “I came to help Tim with Apollo.”

Her blue sleeveless top intensified the hue of her eyes, and her fuller breasts strained the fabric, providing a glimpse of her plain cotton bra between the gaping button plackets. The combination made it difficult for Xavier to remember his agenda.

Get her back in his bed and then he would have the next six months to convince her to grant him full custody. He doubted it would take that long once he pointed out the advantages of relinquishing the baby.

“Timothy does not have your gift with horses.”

“It's not a gift. It's experience. All he needs is saddle time.”

“I disagree. Watching you ride is like listening to a fine orchestra. You are in tune with your mounts, finessing each nuance of movement.” She was the same with him, never missing an opportunity to magnify his response with a subtle squeeze, a different angle, a touch.

He blamed the sweat beading his skin on the unrelenting sun beating down. And knew he lied.

For a moment, her gaze held his with the same tenderness she used to show before the article had surfaced. Then she bit her lip and returned her attention to the ring. It was not until she looked away that he realized he'd missed her adoration. Her love. How had he not recognized the feelings written so clearly on her face?

Because you did not want to.

Her hand trembled slightly as she tucked a glossy lock behind her ear. “Tim's one of Sutherland Farm's best amateurs. If you want a better rider you'll have to hire a professional, but our pro riders are contracted to their maximum number of clients. You could always transfer your horses to another stable or take them home.”

He ignored her not-so-subtle invitation to leave the country. “
Non.
You are here.”

He caught a slight hitch in her breath. “I'd like to help Tim with your horses. I know those animals as well as I know my own. I can help you maintain their value by coaching him. You might even get a few ribbons before the show season ends.”

Having her here would definitely work to his advantage. “You are welcome at my home anytime, Megan. May I?”

He didn't wait for permission before placing his hand across her lower abdomen. She startled and would have moved away had he not anchored her by hooking his other arm around her waist.

“What are you doing?”

The breathless quality of her voice resembled the way she cried out his name when he feasted on her. Heat and pressure built within him like steam in a still.

Mon dieu.
Would this hunger for her never abate? He ached to slide his hand into her pants and stroke the warm
curve of her belly, to delve into the soft curls and slick folds below. His mouth watered for a taste of her.

As if reading his thoughts she shifted uneasily. Had he not been intimately acquainted with her body, he would not have noticed the extra firmness beneath her navel.

He corralled his salacious thoughts. “Like any good
papa,
I wish to be a part of your pregnancy and to see your body bloom with my child.”

“
Our
child. What about Parfums Alexandre? Who's going to run your company while you're away?”

“I will contact the appropriate people to arrange a satellite office in the house.” He caressed the denim covering their
bébé.
“Move in with me, Megan, and let us share this miraculous occasion.”

She gasped and for a brief moment he saw temptation in her eyes. She twisted out of reach, but the flush on her cheeks and the quickened pulse fluttering in her neck revealed she was as affected as he by the contact.

“I'd like for you to be a part of my pregnancy. But I won't move in with you.”

“Why do you deny us both the wealth of pleasure we could find in each other's arms? I miss the satin of your skin next to mine,
mon amante,
and the hot, sweet embrace of your body.”

Her lips parted and her eyes turned slumberous and he thought he had her, but then she shook her head and hugged her middle. “I need to get used to living without you.”