The Heir The Prince Secures. Jennie Lucas
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Why did he want only her? Was it simply because he knew she was forbidden? Surely he couldn’t be selfish enough to desire something only because he knew he couldn’t have it?
Even now, he found his gaze lingering on her full hips, her plump, generous breasts. Her colorful outfit, with its ridiculously whimsical fabric, set off her amazing figure. His eyes lifted from her breasts to her bare collarbone, up her swanlike throat to her lovely heart-shaped face.
Her pink tongue nervously licked the corners of her mouth. His whole body felt electrified. All he wanted to do was kiss her.
Clenching his hands at his sides, he forced himself to turn toward the dark-haired baby in the stroller. She was still sleeping peacefully, her old-fashioned, collared dress half-covered with a blanket, clutching a stuffed giraffe toy in her plump arms.
No. She couldn’t be. But even as Stefano told himself there was no resemblance, suspicion pulsed through his body, tightening his chest from his shoulders to his taut belly.
“Tell me about the baby,” he said.
“What do you want to know?”
“Her name.”
“Esme.”
“Her surname?”
“Foster, like mine.”
His jaw tightened. “And her father?”
Tess stared at him, then looked away, her lips pressed in a thin line. Groups of tourists walked by them on the sidewalk, laughing and chatting in bursts of different languages. She stubbornly refused to look at him, or answer.
“Tess,” he demanded, coming close enough to touch her, his tall, broad-shouldered form casting a shadow over her smaller one.
Colorful lights swept over her red hair like a halo, as Tess finally looked at him. Her green eyes were half filled with hope, half with anger, as she said in a low whisper, “You, Stefano.”
TESS HAD IMAGINED so many times the moment she’d finally tell Stefano about their precious baby.
She’d pictured him crying out with joy and kissing her passionately, then taking Esme proudly in his arms. She’d dreamed of him falling to his knees to plead for her forgiveness for neglecting her so long—unavoidable as he was trapped on the desert island—and then begging her to be his bride.
She’d never imagined this.
“No.” Stefano’s black eyes were wide as he took a single step back on the sidewalk, his sleek jacket and trousers blending into the dark shadows. He looked down at the sleeping baby. “It can’t be true.”
Her heart twisted. She whispered, “It’s true.”
“How can you be sure?”
She hid the pang she felt at his careless insult. “You’re the only man I’ve ever been with, Stefano. Ever, in my whole life.”
“But we were careful. We used protection.”
Stefano’s hard, handsome face looked so shocked Tess almost felt bad for him. She almost wanted to comfort him, to tell him everything would be all right.
But even Tess’s tender heart couldn’t quite manage that. Not when the man she’d waited for all this time, the man in whom she’d placed her hope and faith, was making his rejection so clear—not just of Tess, but of Esme, too. She lifted her chin.
“I was surprised, too,” she said evenly. “But it turns out condoms aren’t always one hundred percent effective.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded.
Her jaw dropped.
“How could I? I didn’t know your last name or where you lived.” She lifted her chin. “You always knew where to find me. You just didn’t want to. I waited for over a year, believing you’d return.” She hated the tears rising behind her eyes. “Everyone mocked me and teased me for it. I was in love with you, having your baby, and I didn’t even know your last name!”
Tess was relieved for the distraction when her baby started to whimper. Blinking rapidly, she picked up the stuffed giraffe Esme had dropped on the sidewalk, then placed it tenderly in the baby’s arms.
“It’s Zacco,” Stefano said abruptly. “My last name.”
She looked up. “Zacco? Like the fashion brand?”
Even Tess had heard of the legendary luxury brand, famous for its haute couture and iconic handbags printed with flamboyant interlocking Zs.
“Yes,” he said, then shook his head. “My great-great-grandfather started it. I will buy it back soon.”
“You don’t own it anymore? How could you lose rights to a company named after your own family?”
His jaw tightened, and he looked at their baby. “How could you get pregnant?”
The coldness in his voice pierced her heart. It was one thing for Stefano to treat Tess badly; another to be scornful of their baby.
Sweet five-month-old Esme, so plump and adorable and always happy, at least when she wasn’t tired or hungry or teething, was already the person Tess loved most on this planet. Esme was her whole reason for living.
“I’ve just told you that you have a daughter.” Tess felt a wave of dizziness that nearly brought her to her knees. She reached wildly for the stroller handle, gripping it tight so she didn’t fall. “And that’s all you have to say?”
His eyes narrowed. “How do I know she’s mine?”
“Stop asking that! I told you!”
“I need more proof than just your word.”
A white-haired couple holding theater playbills walked past, hand in hand. Seeing the way the couple smiled at each other, Tess’s heart ached. That was what she’d wanted for herself. A lifetime love.
She’d wanted it so badly she’d been desperate to believe Stefano was the one, in spite of all evidence to the contrary. She’d be regretting it the rest of her life.
“Forget it.” Her throat ached as she turned away. “We don’t need you.”
Stefano ground out, “I’m sorry if I hurt you—”
“Sorry?” Her voice trembled. “You’re not sorry!”
“You’re wrong,” he said harshly. “I’m sorry I didn’t realize you were a virgin until too late. Sorry you imagined yourself in love with me when you didn’t even know me. Sorry you’re now trying to claim your baby is mine!”
“Claim?” Tess’s tears blurred his image as colorful flashing lights from the billboards of Times Square moved over his hard, handsome face. “You’re right,” she whispered. “I don’t know you.”
She couldn’t believe she’d been so horribly wrong about everything. Even now, Stefano still looked like a handsome dream—tall and powerful in his sleek suit. Even his scent, like Italian oranges and hot summer nights, made her heart twist with longing and grief for what she could not have, what had never truly existed.
Reaching out, he gripped her shoulders. His dark eyes burned through her. “I never promised a future.”
As she felt the weight of his hands on her shoulders, electricity pulsed through her, leaving her breathless.
Her gaze fell to his cruel, sensual lips as she whispered, “I know.”
She heard his intake of breath. His grip on her shoulders tightened. “Stop it.”
“What?”
“You