The Count's Secret Child. Jennie Lucas
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at the neck. Dark stubble covered the hard line of his jaw. But it was the expression in his piercing eyes that was darkest of all.
Across the shadowy foyer, his black eyes glittered at her. “Enfin.”
His low, deep voice went through her like a hot knife through her heart. Carrie couldn’t move. Couldn’t even breathe as he moved toward her, stalking her, never taking his eyes from hers.
“I have waited.” Stopping in front of her, he looked down at her. “For too long,” he murmured, “I have wanted you.”
She could hardly believe she was standing in front of him now, close enough to feel the warmth of his body. She had to tilt her head way back to look up into his hard, handsome face. Théo. A lump rose in her throat. Théo, in the flesh. The man she’d once loved, the man who’d left her, the man who’d dropped her so completely he’d never even given her the chance to tell him she was pregnant.
For almost a year Carrie had dreamed of what she would say to him if she ever saw him again. She had a little speech prepared, practiced many times during long, lonely nights, that she planned to deliver in the same cold, dispassionate tone that he’d used when he’d left her that morning in the hotel room.
But in the shock of the moment her entire speech fled from her mind. She felt overwhelmed by the intensity of his closeness. Her body trembled from her hair to her earlobes to her toes as she looked into his darkly handsome face.
He reached out a hand and stroked along the top edge of her shoulder, over her jean jacket, up her neck to her cheek. Cupping her face, he tilted up her chin, and she couldn’t fight. Couldn’t even protest. She just trembled.
“Now, at last,” he whispered, lowering his mouth to hers, “you will be mine.”
And, ruthlessly, he kissed her.
His lips were hot and hard against hers, bruising her mouth, sending sparks of electric current sizzling down the length of her body. As one of his hands roughly cupped her chin, his other arm wrapped around her body, holding her tight, pressing her breasts against his muscular chest. She felt trapped, overpowered by the strength of his body, by the force of his overwhelming hunger. And out of nowhere she suddenly realized that, against her will, she was kissing him back.
His lips gentled against hers, caressing and luring where a moment before they had demanded and roughly taken. She felt his tongue flick against hers, luring her into a deeper sensuality as his hand stroked lightly against the skin of her cheek. She felt feminine, vulnerable beneath his masculine power.
His hand tilted back her head, exposing her throat. His fingers moved through her hair as he kissed down her neck. A gasp of surrender escaped her as his lips moved down her skin. His caress was smooth as silk, his jawline and upper lip rough as sandpaper, and as he nipped at the sensitive corner between her neck and shoulder all her nerve endings sizzled. Her breathing was hoarse and she sagged in his arms. Her eyes were closed, her body shivering with need from a year of repressed, agonized desire.
“I missed you, ma petite,” Théo whispered, his lips brushing her ear. “And I see you missed me.”
She’d missed him?
Carrie’s eyes flew open at his smug male satisfaction. She remembered months of ignored messages, the nights she’d spent sobbing for him with a broken heart after he’d deserted her without explanation. Pride stiffened her body. With a gasp, she ripped away from him, drawing back her hand in fury.
But before she could give him the slap he deserved he caught her wrist. Amusement twisted his sensual lips. “So you did not miss me quite as much as I missed you, hein?”
Glaring at him, she yanked her hand from his grasp, angry at the way he’d kissed her—and the way she’d allowed him to do it! He clearly believed she was still the naïve girl she’d been last year—still ripe for the taking, still putty in his hands! He obviously assumed she’d spent the past year dreaming of him. And she hadn’t dreamed of him. Not for weeks now!
She lifted her chin furiously. “You think you can just kiss me and I’ll swoon into your arms?”
He lifted a dark eyebrow. “No?”
Carrie sucked in her breath at the arrogant expression on his wickedly handsome face. “You have no right to kiss me. No right to even touch me!”
“Perhaps I have no right.” Looking at her, he gave a low laugh. “But you are here.”
“You left me no choice—your bodyguard gave me no notice!”
“He asked you to come to Gavaudan, and you agreed.” Reaching out, Théo took her hand. She tried to resist, but he was too strong. She felt the sizzling heat of his palm against hers and a sizzle spread down her skin. “And what am I to make of that, chérie, except that you have wanted me just as I have wanted you?”
“Wanted me?” Her voice shook with incredulous anger. “You left without a word and never returned any of my messages—for a year!”
He reached out a hand to stroke her cheek. “I never stopped wanting you, Carrie,” he said in a low voice. “I left because you broke the rules. But I think we both understand each other now. This time there will be no more talk of love, yes?”
A bitter laugh escaped her. “Believe me. There is absolutely no way I’d ever love you again.”
“Good.” He smiled. “In that case, there is no reason for us to be apart. No reason for us to continue to suffer from unrequited desire.” His hands slowly moved down her shoulders, stroking her arms, over her white denim jacket. Stroking back her long brown hair, he lowered his head toward hers, whispering huskily, “I have never forgotten how it felt to have you in my bed …”
He was going to kiss her. Why couldn’t she push away from him? Why couldn’t her body even make a single move to safety?
A sudden plaintive wail came from the shadows near the doorway, and Théo straightened with a frown. “What was that?”
Carrie exhaled, grateful beyond measure that her baby had saved her from herself. “The only reason I’m here.”
The furrows in his forehead deepened. “What do you mean?”
She turned away. “I’ll get him.”
Going to the doorway, she lifted her son out of the baby carrier. Henry’s wail ended with a snuffle as soon as he was snug in her arms. But when she returned to Théo he didn’t look pleased. He looked shocked and bewildered. “Why did you bring a baby here?”
She frowned in her turn. “Did you think I would refuse to bring him?” She stroked the back of the tiny warm baby cuddled up against her chest. “This is Henry, Théo. Your son.”
His mouth fell open. His dark eyes, usually so arrogant and certain, were wide with shock as he staggered back from her.
“My son?” he gasped. “My son!”
She heard the harsh rattle of his breath, saw the way his hands clenched into fists. Then, with visible self-control, he exhaled, relaxing his hands.
“Are you trying to claim,” he ground out, “that we have a child together?”
Confused and heartsick, she looked up at him. “But you know that,” she whispered. “Someone already told you about Henry. Why else would you have sent for me?”
Their eyes locked. Above them in the shadowy foyer she heard the discordant chime of the chandelier, blown by an unseen wind.
“That baby cannot be mine,” Théo said through clenched teeth. “It is impossible.”
“Yes, I thought so,” she said helplessly. “But contraception is not one hundred percent effective—”
He paced in front of her like a lion in a cage. “You are lying to me. Why?” He whirled on her, baring his teeth. “Is this some kind