Demanding His Secret Son. Louise Fuller
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stared at him tensely, reluctant to risk even the slightest physical contact between them.
Her body’s irrational response to hearing him speak again had made her realise that despite everything he’d done—and not done—there was still a connection between them, a memory of what had once been, how good it had been—
Ignoring both that unsettling thought, and the tug of his gaze, she sat down. She wanted to leave, but she would have to push past him to do so, and sitting seemed like the lesser of two evils. He watched her for a moment, as though gauging the likelihood of her trying to escape, and then she felt her pulse jolt forward as he settled into the chair recently vacated by Claiborne.
‘What are you doing here?’ she said stiffly.
After they’d split up he’d moved to London—or that was what Elliot had been told when he’d gone to collect her things. The apartment hadn’t been part of the divorce settlement, and she’d always assumed he’d sold it. But then, he had no need of money, and it probably had no bad memories for him as he’d hardly ever been there.
His level gaze swept over her face. ‘In New York?’ He shrugged. ‘I’m living here. Again,’ he added softly.
She swallowed, stung at the thought of him returning to their home and simply picking up where he’d left off. She wished she could think of something devastating to say back to him. But to do so would only suggest that she cared—which she obviously didn’t.
She watched warily as he slid the pack across the table towards her.
Catching sight of her expression, he tutted under his breath, his dark brown eyes narrowing. ‘I don’t know why you’re looking at me like that,’ he said coolly. ‘It’s me who should be worried. Or at least checking my wrist.’
His gaze hovered on her face and she blinked. She’d thought her body’s unintended and unwelcome response to his was a by-product of shock, but now, beneath the politeness, further down than the hostility, she could feel it still—a thread of heat that was undiminished by time or reason. It made no sense—she doubted that he’d given her as much as a passing thought in the last four years—but that didn’t seem to stop her skin from tingling beneath his gaze.
Watching the fury flare in her fabulous green eyes, Aristo gritted his teeth. She was still as stubborn as ever, but he was grateful she hadn’t taken the cards from him. If both his hands had been free he might have been tempted to strangle her.
He hadn’t spotted Teddie when he’d first walked into the lounge, partly because her dark brown hair was not falling loosely to her shoulders, as it had done when he’d last seen her, but was folded neatly at the back of her head.
In the main, though, he hadn’t spotted her because, frankly, he hadn’t ever expected to see his ex-wife again. He felt a tiny stab of pain in his heart like a splinter of ice.
But then, why would he?
Four years ago Theodora Taylor had ensnared him with her green eyes, her long legs and her diffident manner. She had breezed into his life like the Sirocco, interrupting his calm and ordered ascent into the financial stratosphere, and then just as quickly she had gone, an emptied bank account and his lacerated heart the only reminders of their six-month marriage.
He gave her a long, implacable stare. Teddie had taken more than his money. She had stolen the beat from his heart and taken what little trust he’d had for women and trampled it into the ground. It had been the first time he’d let down his guard, even going so far as to honour her with his name, but she had only married him in the hope that his money and connections would act as a stepping stone to a better life.
Of course he hadn’t realised the truth until he’d returned from a business trip to find her gone. Hurt and humiliated, he had thrown himself into his job and put the whole disastrous episode behind him.
Until he’d bumped into Edward Claiborne a moment ago. He knew Edward socially, and liked him for his quiet self-assurance and old-school courtesy.
Walking into the hotel lounge, he’d noticed him laughing and chatting with uncharacteristic animation to a female companion. But it had only been when Edward had invited him to the new regular magic slot at his club, and then mentioned that he’d just finished having coffee with the woman who’d be running the shows, that he had turned and seen Teddie.
The muscle in his jaw had flexed, kick-starting a chain reaction through his body so that suddenly his heart had been pounding so hard and fast that he’d felt almost dizzy.
He studied her silently now, safe in the knowledge that his external composure gave no hint of the battle raging inside him. His head was telling him there was only one course of action. That a sensible, sane man would get up and walk away. But sense and sanity had never played that much of a part in his relationship with Theodora Taylor, and clearly nothing had changed—because despite knowing that she was the biggest mistake he had ever made, he stayed sitting.
His lip curled as he glanced down at his wrist. ‘No, still there. But maybe I should double-check my wallet. Or perhaps I should give Edward Claiborne a call…make sure he still has his. I know you were only having coffee, but you were always a quick worker. I should know.’
Teddie felt her cheeks grow warm. His face was impenetrable, but the derision in his voice as much as his words was insultingly obvious.
How dare he talk to her like that? As though she was the bad guy when he was the one who had cut her out of his life without so much as a word.
Not that she’d ever been high on his list of priorities. Six months of married life had made it clear that Aristo had no time in his life for a wife. Even when she’d moved out and they’d begun divorce proceedings, he’d carried on working as though nothing had happened. Although no amount of his neglect and indifference could have prepared her for how he’d behaved at the end.
It had been a mistake, sleeping together that last time.
With emotions running high after a meeting to discuss their divorce, they’d ended up in bed and she’d ended up pregnant. Only, by the time she’d realised that her tiredness and nausea weren’t just symptoms of stress, the divorce had been finalised, and Aristo had been on the other side of the world, building his European operations.
Although he might just as well have been in outer space.
Remembering her repeated, increasingly desperate and unsuccessful attempts to get in touch, she felt her back stiffen. She’d been frantic to tell him she was pregnant, but his complete radio silence had made it clear—horribly, humiliatingly clear—not only that he didn’t want to talk to her, but that he didn’t want to listen to anything she had to say.
It had been during a call to his London office, when an over-officious PA had cut short her stumbling and not very coherent attempt to speak to him, that she had decided doing the right thing was not going to work.
It certainly hadn’t worked for her parents.
Sometimes it was better to face the truth, even if it was painful—and, truthfully, she and Aristo’s relationship had had pretty flimsy foundations. Judging by the mess they’d made of their marriage, it certainly wasn’t strong enough to cope with an unplanned pregnancy.
But it had been hard.
Aristo’s rejection had broken her heart, and the repercussions of their brief and ill-fated marriage had lasted longer than her tears. Even now, she was still so wary of men that she’d barely gone out with anyone since they’d parted ways. Thanks to her father’s casual, cursory attitude to parenting, she found it hard to believe that she would ever be anything more than an afterthought to any man. Aristo’s casual, cruel rejection had confirmed that deep-seated privately held fear.
Much as she cared for Elliot, it was as a sister. Aristo was still the only man she’d ever loved. He had been her first love—not her first lover, but he had taught her everything about pleasure.
Her green eyes lifted to his. And not just pleasure. Because of