Two Weeks in Geneva: Book Three (5 page)

“Consent to name change and alteration of birth record?” she read aloud. “What is this?” she asked after she looked up at him.

“I had my lawyers prepare them. These documents will start the process of having Ethan legally recognized as my son, both here and in Switzerland. And he will have my name, Quinn. At least some of it.”

The last was said with an implacableness that made it clear he would not give on this. Quinn pulled out the documents, her eyes drawn to the name Ethan Alexander Jeffries-Montague.

She nodded. “Fair enough,” she said though it did sting. But she didn’t have a really good reason not to compromise, and Alexander wasn’t going to anyway, so she’d concede the point.

“Read this,” he said, gesturing toward the next envelope.

She grabbed it and flipped through the pages. “A trust for Ethan? And what is this about me?” She looked up at him again, waiting for an explanation.

“Yes. I’ve established a trust for him with you as the trustee. He won’t have access to the funds until he’s thirty, but it will provide a stipend to cover his needs. I’ve also set up an account into which I will deposit monthly transfers for his support. Is the amount sufficient?”

She looked at the number and almost fell off her chair.

“Um…yeah, sufficient for Ethan and a hundred other babies. This isn’t necessary, Alexander. It’s too much, in fact.”

“It isn’t, but use it—or not—whatever you please. But my son, all of my responsibilities”—he leveled an even gaze at her—“will be taken care of.”

“Umm…okay,” she stammered stupidly, torn between admiration and suspicion. “But this doesn’t change anything between us, Alexander,” she said after she’d recovered at least some of her equilibrium.

She grabbed the last envelope and pulled out the papers. “These aren’t written in English. I can’t read them. What are they?”

“My divorce papers.”

Quinn’s eyes widened, and she looked down at the papers, still unable to ascertain what they said, though that didn’t stop her from trying, and then back at him.

“Look, don’t feel like you have to do this for me. I…We…It’s…” She shook her head at her inability to form a coherent sentence.

“What I mean is, you don’t owe me this, any of it, really. You have a life and I won’t disrupt it, so please don’t end your…marriage for me.” The words were like acid in her throat, but she forced them out anyway, gave voice to their lie.

He cut his gaze at her, then sighed. “You’re a lovely woman, Quinn, and I care for you deeply, but as hard as it might be for you to believe, not everything is about you. Not entirely anyway.”

The nonchalance of the words only strengthened their power. She looked at him, feeling chastened and humbled by the sincerity she saw on his face.

After a moment he continued, “I should have done this years ago, and I’m sorry for that, Quinn. But I do have a life. A life here with Ethan, with you. If you’ll have me.”

“Alexander, I…”

“It’s okay,” he said, voice still smooth, but his eyes showing increasing signs of life. “You don’t need to say anything now. Are you free tomorrow?”

She nodded.

“Good. I’ll have a car pick you up around eleven and take you to my lawyer’s office; I’ll need you to sign some documents. Can Lily watch Ethan?”

“Yes.” She crinkled her brow. “Lawyers work on Sundays?”

“If you pay them enough.”

They both laughed, and her heart hitched. Just that easily, they’d fallen back into rhythm, that ease and comfort returning in an instant, as if it had never been gone.

Alexander reached across the table and grabbed her empty hand, lacing his fingers through hers.

“Don’t give up on us, Quinn. Not yet.”

Abruptly he stood and walked toward the door, all business again. “Please read over these, and I will see you tomorrow. And think about what I said.”

Then he was gone.

Chapter Six

The next morning, Quinn took a final look into the mirror before nodding her satisfaction. Alexander had caught her off guard yesterday, taken the upper hand, whether intentional or not, and if he’d pressed it, she had no doubt she would have thrown her morals, those she had left anyway, out the window and slept with him. And then begged him to stay with them, wife be damned. And she didn’t doubt he knew it too. That he’d resisted was a testament to his character, yet another thing she had to admire about him even though she was dead set on feeling betrayed. Betrayal, and its attendant anger, were a damned sight better than the crushing numbness and soul-deep longing that took its place.

But today was a new day and she had a new attitude. She was strong, unswayable, and she’d dressed the part. Her black suit—the one she wore when she needed to project power, confidence, certainty, even if she didn’t feel it—draped her body as if it had been made for her, a minor post-pregnancy miracle, and gave off just the right mix of femininity and competence with the tiniest bit of sexy to pull it all together. The gray scoop-neck shell she wore underneath added a touch of playfulness, and she’d gotten her mother to brush her hair into a simple, neat updo that she’d never quite mastered on her own. The plain diamond-and-platinum studs that her parents had given her for college graduation were her only jewelry, and four-inch black pumps would complete the look. She hadn’t worn them since she’d found out that she was pregnant, but they were an essential element of this ensemble.

She smiled, feeling if not prepared, then at least properly attired to see him again, and walked downstairs where her mother sat with Ethan.

“Oh, you look beautiful, honey. Though I would have worn pantyhose myself.”

“I’m not going to church, Mama,” Quinn said before she laughed, thinking of the twenty-year debate she and her mother had been having over pantyhose. Lily considered skirts without pantyhose an affront to civility and propriety, an opinion that Quinn did not share.

“So what is this meeting about again? Seems serious.”

“I just need to sign some papers, stuff about Ethan.”

“Umm-hmm,” her mother said with a quirked eyebrow, her expression loaded with meaning that Quinn chose to ignore.

She walked over and kissed the baby and headed toward the door.

“See you later,” she said as she exited the house, her gaze snared by the black limousine with tinted windows that was turning onto her street.

“Here we go,” she mumbled under her breath.

The car stopped in front of her house and a suited driver emerged and walked around to open the passenger door. Suddenly, butterflies fluttered in her stomach as nervousness filled her. Somehow, she knew Alexander would be waiting for her inside. She’d been counting on the ride to clear her mind, hopeful that the space would leave her in a better state. But it appeared she’d have no such luck today, so she squared her shoulders and walked toward the car, kneeling in a manner she hoped was graceful but was probably more like a fish flop.

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dark interior, but she didn’t need to see him to know he was there, didn’t need to smell his masculine scent, hear the gravelly tone of his voice when he spoke. No, she was aware of him on an elemental level, knew from the way her skin prickled and her body sparked with awareness that she’d be able to find him in a crowded room even if she were blindfolded. She idly wondered if he could do the same but then shut that down. This was about Ethan and the future, and whatever they might have had someday was gone.

She couldn’t let herself forget that.

The driver had closed the door and made his way back behind the steering wheel, she presumed, because the car slid away from the curb, the low roar of the engine the only sound penetrating the interior, mixing with the low murmur of Alexander’s words.

When she looked at him, he nodded and smiled, but continued speaking, apparently in no hurry to end his conversation. She felt a prick of annoyance. Everyone knew it was impolite to use a cell phone in a car. Yeah, that was why she could feel her anger increasing by the second. She didn’t care at all that he seemed so indifferent to her presence, that she was so insignificant that she didn’t deserve a proper greeting. And she most certainly wasn’t comparing this ride to the first time they’d met, all the times after, when she’d been his singular focus. No, this was actually a good thing. She’d wanted time to compose herself, and he was giving it, no matter that he was being a jerk about it.

She looked around the car, but couldn’t resist settling her gaze on him. Again, as she did seemingly every time she saw him, she marveled at how handsome he was, the strong cut of his jaw, free of the stubble that she loved to feel abrading her skin…

No!

She couldn’t think about that, needed to stay focused. He certainly didn’t seem to be having any trouble. Yes. She latched onto that thought. It was just the reminder she needed. She’d think about him sitting there so calm and unaffected, speaking like he didn’t have a care in the world while she suffered. Add the fact that he spoke French—a language he knew for a fact she didn’t understand—so he could have been disarming a nuke for all she knew, and she was well and truly pissed.

She stewed in silence for a few more minutes—Thornehill Springs was only so far from Charlotte and Charlotte was only so big, so she had no idea where they were going and why it was taking so damned long—when he finally wrapped up his conversation and looked at her.

“Apologies, Quinn. That couldn’t wait.”

“Whatever.” She rolled her eyes, not caring a whit that she was acting like a petulant child. “When will we arrive?”

If he heard the snippiness in her tone, and he undoubtedly had, he ignored it and responded evenly, “It should only be a few minutes more.”

And as he had said, less than five minutes later, they turned into a roundabout of one of the large office buildings in downtown Charlotte,
and the driver came around and opened the door. Quinn had another wild swing of emotion, and all she felt was irrationally self-conscious as she got out of the limo. But Alexander, as he had all day, seemed unfazed. He placed a hand at the small of her back and guided her through the double doors, and while her mind screamed at her to pull away, her body opened into the touch, which felt so natural. As weak-willed as it was, she knew she wouldn’t have many more chances to experience this touch, so she’d take it, logic, and anger, be damned.

After a brief ride in the elevator, a middle-aged man she assumed was Alexander’s lawyer met them and then led them into a conference room, where several sets of documents were laid out on the table.

“Quinn, Bardsley will walk you through the documents, and of course, you may have your own counsel look them over,” Alexander said as he gestured toward the table.

“Not necessary. I trust you, at least when it comes to Ethan.”

He flinched at the not remotely veiled shot, and she felt a rush of guilt.

“I know you’d only do what’s best for him,” she said, this time softer, her apology unspoken but heard.

He nodded, and Bardsley proceeded to walk her through the documents. As expected, they were straightforward and fair, and Ethan would be taken care of. She’d felt confident in her ability to provide for him day-to-day, but to know that his future was secure was a huge weight off her shoulders.

An hour later, business concluded, they were back in the elevator. This whole meeting had a finality that Quinn couldn’t, or didn’t, want to fathom. It was as if by signing the papers, she was officially ending them, all the potential for what they could have had, and the very thought left her gutted. In a haze, she got into the limo, and Alexander followed, settling beside her. Heat rolled off his body, and his strength beckoned to her, making her want to lose herself in it.

He turned his head to look at her, and before she could think to stop herself, she captured his lips in a kiss.

Chapter Seven

Quinn’s soft lips closed over his, and Alexander exhaled at the contact, at how right it felt to touch her again. She thrust her tongue into his mouth, seeking, insistent, and as if of their own will, his hands came up to grasp her face. He wanted to pull her closer, as close as she could possibly be, but the one sane part of him that remained won out, and he, exercising control he didn’t know he had, pushed her away.

She released a disappointed whimper and leaned back toward him, clearly intent on reigniting the kiss, but he stopped her.

“Not like this, Quinn.”

“Yes, Alexander, exactly like this. Right now.”

He looked into her eyes, saw pupils dilated until there was nearly no brown left in her eyes, looked down and saw the pulse of her heartbeat in her neck, and farther still to where the puckered flesh of her nipples was outlined by her jacket, the pebbled buds pressing insistently against the fabric. Unable to resist, he reached down and tweaked the flesh, rolling her nipple between his thumb and index finger, squeezing it with the pressure that he knew drove Quinn wild, and he was rewarded with a faint moan.

“You want this, Quinn?” He tweaked the bud again for emphasis. “You want me to take you right here, right now?” He squeezed again, harder this time.

“Uh-huh,” she said, her voice a husky, throaty moan that flowed into his ear and landed at his cock, which jerked and was as engorged as the containment of his pants would allow.