From Paris With Love. Kate Hardy
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to take her in his arms, against his body, to kiss her hard and never let go.
Just moments before, he’d felt admiration about how she’d sacrificed the pleasure they might have had together, in order to pursue her true dreams. But in this instant, all those rational considerations were swept aside. He searched her gaze. “Did you ever wonder what we could have had?”
A shadow crossed her face.
“Of course I did.”
He barely heard the noises around them, the soft coo of the baby, the chatter around them in a multitude of languages as tourists strolled by.
He’d missed her.
Not just her housekeeping skills. Nor even her sensual body.
Emma Hayes was the only woman he’d ever trusted. The only one he’d ever let himself care about, since the nightmare of his marriage so long ago.
Standing with Emma in this park in the center of Paris, Cesare would have given a million euros to see her smile at him the way she used to. To hear her voice gently mocking him, teasing him, putting him politely but firmly in his place. They’d had their own private language, he saw that now, and he suddenly realized how unusual that was. How special and rare.
No one called him on his arrogance anymore. No one else could challenge him with a single dimpled smile. No one kept him on his toes. Kept him breathless with longing.
He’d found a different housekeeper to keep his kitchen stocked and do his laundry. Perhaps, someday, he’d find a woman equally alluring to fill his bed. But who could fill the void that Emma had left in his life?
She’d been more than his housekeeper. More than his lover. She’d been his friend.
His hand moved down her neck to her shoulder. He felt her warmth through the soft pink fabric of her blouse.
“Come back to London with me,” he said suddenly.
She blinked, then, glancing at her baby, she licked her lips. Her voice seemed hoarse as she asked, “Why?”
Cesare hesitated. If there was one thing he’d learned in life, it was that a man should never show weakness. Not even with a woman. Especially not with a woman. “The housekeeper I hired to replace you has been unsatisfactory.”
“Oh.” With a sigh, she looked down. “Sorry. I am working for someone else now. He’s been good to me. I have no desire to leave him.”
I have no desire to leave him. Cesare didn’t like the sound of those words. He had a sudden surge of irrational jealousy for this unknown employer. He glanced back at the stroller. And who was this baby?
He said only, “I’ll pay double what you’re paid now.”
Emma’s eyes hardened. “We’ve already had this conversation, haven’t we? I won’t work for you at any price. It’s not a question of money. We want different things. And we always will. You made that painfully clear to me in London.”
The dark-haired baby gave an unhappy whimper from the stroller. Going down on one knee, she grabbed a pacifier from a big canvas bag and gave it to the baby, who instantly cheered up. She looked at the plump-cheeked, dark-eyed baby, then slowly rose to her feet, facing Cesare.
“Don’t come looking for me again. Because nothing is going to change. And all you will bring us—all of us—is unhappiness.”
Who was this baby? The question pounded in his heart. Her employer’s? Emma’s? But he couldn’t ask. To ask the question would imply that he cared.
She stared at him for a moment, then turned away.
“I don’t want you as my housekeeper,” he said in a low voice. “The truth is...I miss you.”
She looked back at him with an intake of breath, her lovely face stricken. She glanced at the baby in the stroller, who was simultaneously sucking like crazy on the pacifier, and trying to reach for his own feet. “I have other responsibilities now.”
Cesare followed her gaze. The baby looked familiar somehow....
“I need a man I can trust. One I can count on to be permanent in my life. An equal partner. A father...for my baby.”
For a moment, Cesare stared at her. Then as the meaning of her words sunk in, he literally staggered back. “Your baby?”
Emma nodded. Her eyes looked troubled, her expression filled with worry.
He could understand why.
“So much for all your big dreams,” he ground out. “You left me for the wedding ring and the white picket fence.” He couldn’t control the bitterness in his voice as he flung his arm toward her bare left hand. “Where is your ring?”
“My baby’s father didn’t want to marry me,” she said quietly.
“So you gave yourself away to some playboy? Someone who couldn’t even give what I offered?” Jealousy raced through him. Once again, the woman he’d wanted, the one he’d chosen—had thrown herself away on another man. His hands curled into fists and he took a deep breath, regaining control. “I thought better of you.” He lifted his chin. “So who is the father? Let me guess. Your new boss?”
“No,” she said in a low voice. Slowly she lifted her eyes to his. “My old one.”
He snorted. “Your old—”
Cesare gave an intake of breath as he looked down at the chubby black-haired baby.
I don’t need a wedding proposal. He heard the echo of her trembling voice from long ago. Or for you to say you’re ready to be a father. I just need to know you might want those things someday. That you might be open to the possibility...if something ever...
And he’d told her no. Flat-out. Either this is a fun diversion, a friendship with benefits, or it’s nothing.
I’m going to have a baby, she’d said then. He’d thought she was trying to pin down his future. He hadn’t realized she’d been talking about the present.
Cesare stared down at the baby’s familiar black eyes—the same eyes he looked at every day in the mirror—and his knees nearly gave way beneath him.
“It’s me,” he breathed. “I’m the father.”
EMMA’S HEART POUNDED as she waited for Cesare’s reaction.
She couldn’t believe this was happening. For the past ten months, she’d dreamed of this. She’d thought of him constantly as their baby grew inside her. The day Sam was born. And every day since.
But now, she was afraid.
Alain Bouchard had been a wonderful boss to Emma, looking out for her almost like a brother through the months of her pregnancy and the sleepless nights beyond. But Alain hated Cesare, his former brother-in-law, blaming him for his sister Angélique’s death. For ten months, Emma had waited for this day to come, for Cesare to find out about the baby—and the identity of her employer.
Over the past year, as she walked through the streets of Paris doing Alain’s errands, shopping for fresh fruit and meats in the outdoor market on the Rue Cler, whenever she’d seen a tall, broad-shouldered, dark-haired man, she held her breath. But it was never Cesare. He hated Paris. It was partly why she’d chosen this job.
So today, when she’d seen a tall, dark-haired man pacing across the park, looking around with a strange desperation, she’d forced herself to ignore her instincts, because they were always wrong. She’d simply sat on the bench as her baby dozed in his stroller, and felt the warmth of the September sun on her skin. It had been almost a year since she’d last seen Cesare’s face, since she’d last felt his touch. So much had happened. Their baby was no longer a tiny newborn.