The Billionaire's Forbidden Desire (37 page)

“Don’t be absurd. For half a million dollars, I deserve at least four hours of your time. And it’s going to be dinner, not some lousy lunch.”

“Absolutely not. I’m a working woman now. I can’t stay out late.”

“Don’t tell me OWM insists on a curfew now.”

“Of course not, bu—”

“We can do it on this Thursday. I’ll send you a car.”

“I don’t need a car.”

“Of course you do. You’ve been carpooling with Hilary. Now, stop fighting me on this.” He softened his tone. This battle wasn’t about defeating her. It was about both of them winning. “I want at least two hours of your time. If I bore you to death, you can leave afterward. The lawsuit gets dropped, and we can all pat ourselves on the back for doing our part to help the children.”

There was a long pause. “Do you know how ludicrous this is?”

“No, but I’m sure you’ll tell me on Thursday.”

“I want your promise in writing.”

“Done. Expect it by COB today.”

“What am I supposed to wear?”

“Dress comfortably. Be yourself.” He hung up before she could argue further, trying to find a way to foil him. He pressed the rounded corner of his phone against his forehead and let out a shuddering breath.

Step one was accomplished. Time for step two.

* * *

André stared at Mark, one hand still on the cutting board in Éternité’s kitchen. “Romance?” he said, continuing to hold a huge knife in the other.

Mark made a face. “Yes, if you can imagine Dane actually worrying about something like ambiance. It has to be the most romantic dinner ever.”

“Of course I can do romance. The most romantic romance! I am French. But why must I go to your brother’s place?”

“Because it’s my brother who needs the romance.”

The chef shook his head. “It is a joke,
n’est-ce pas?
’E is romantic like…like…”—he rolled a thick wrist toward a slab of pork belly—“like the pig’s belly!” He paused for a moment. “But of course, I can make even the belly of a swine romantic.”

Mark almost rolled his eyes. “Yes, I can tell. Please can you do this for me on Thursday? Then I can finally tell Dane to go to hell next time he tries to squeeze a favor out of me.”

“Eh? What is it you owe ’im?”

“He got Hilary out of an unpleasant situation once.”

“I like your wife. Very well, I will do zis.”

“
Merci
. And since he’s paying for the ingredients, you should buy the most expensive stuff. I insist.”

“
Mais bien sur
. Cheap cannot be romantic. After I am through”—André pointed the tip of his knife at Mark—“’e will feel as though ’e owes
you
.”

Half an inch to the right. A quarter of an inch forward.

Dane tilted his head.
Still doesn’t look good
. How many nudges did it take to place a vase just right?

Maybe he should’ve chosen something other than calla lilies as the centerpiece. They looked sort of boring, which was surprising because they’d seemed okay until about half an hour before. Pale lavender orchids might have been better with the five hundred scented candles he’d lit in the penthouse.

The living room had the most impressive flower arrangements, made with roses and a few other flowers he didn’t recognize. Was it him or did they clash with the calla lilies on the table?

André set plate after plate of the most gorgeously prepared food on the table. “They really ought to be served in courses,” he muttered.

“But I don’t want a server,” Dane said again, doing his best not to snap at André, lest he spit in the food.

“
Oui
,
oui
. Romance. I understand. Still.” The stocky Frenchman sighed. “At least you have good wine. And I have outdone even myself on the duck.”

Dane looked at the thinly sliced duck in some sort of dark, glossy wine sauce. If it tasted half as good as it smelled, it was going to be amazing. Assuming he could choke it down past the big fluttering lump in his chest.

After the chef left, Dane paced, unable to sit still. Excess energy jittered inside him like soft Jell-O. One more minute and Sophia would be here.

Right on cue, a firm knock sounded.

Taking a deep, calming breath, he opened the door. Sophia stood on the other side in a fitted black dress—the same one she’d worn to Elizabeth’s function all those months ago. Unlike that time, she’d put on a pair of flats, and her loose hair curled around her delicate face.

“You’ve lost weight,” he said, hating that he was the cause.

“So have you. Your mother was impressed with your diet.”

He allowed himself a small reluctant smile. It was like his mother to say something like that. “Come on in.”

“I thought you were taking me out.” Sophia bit her lower lip. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea for me to come in.”

“Nothing’s going to happen unless you want it to.”

She rolled on the balls of her feet, then nodded. “Of course.”

She crossed the threshold, and he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

Finally
.

He shut the door.

* * *

Sophia clutched her purse as she took stock of the penthouse. This wasn’t just a dinner. Candlelight cast a warm glow around the huge space, and every nook and cranny had flowers in it. Where Dane had gotten the food was anyone’s guess, but it smelled incredible. Despite her nerves, her mouth started watering.

“André—the chef de cuisine from Éternité—prepared everything himself,” Dane said as though he’d sensed the direction of her thoughts.

“Wow. Does he often cook for private parties?”

“Never, but I called in some favors.”

He raised a hand like he wanted to touch her, then dropped it. The gesture sent a sharp pang through her heart. They used to be more openly affectionate and physical. Now they couldn’t even touch each other without feeling awkward.

For a moment, she wished she didn’t know the truth. Then she would’ve been able to continue to live a sweet fantasy.

He pulled out a chair for her, and she sat down at the beautifully set table. “They’re lovely,” she said, looking at the calla lilies.

He flashed her a quick smile. “I’m glad to hear that. Wine?”

She shook her head. “If you have some ginger ale…”

“Got it.”

With the methodical efficiency of a waiter at an upscale restaurant, he served her ice-cold ginger ale and followed up by giving her the best pieces of food from the platters set out on the table.

Finally when he sat down, she took a bite of some poultry on her plate. The meat was tender with a nice texture, but she couldn’t taste anything. Sweat slickened her palms, and she tightened her grip on her silverware. “It’s good.”

“Thanks.” A piece of food quivered on the end of his fork. He hadn’t eaten anything. He put down the utensil and drank some wine. “I don’t even know why I insisted on a minimum two hours. What I’m about to say won’t take much time at all.”

Her mouth dried. “You don’t have to say anything. I’m not here to listen to you apologize about what happened in Paris.” She didn’t think she would be able to stand it if he did. She couldn’t bear to hear him tell her every happy moment between them was just him working on his guilty conscience.

“I didn’t ask you here to apologize about the accident, although I am…inexpressibly sorry that I took so much from you. I was angry, rebellious and impulsive back then.”

“Dane—”

He raised his hands, palms facing forward. “Hear me out. Just…let me talk. Please.”

She settled back and nodded.

“I was attracted to you from the beginning—when we first met in Mexico. But you weren’t like most of the women I preferred to date. You saw too much.” He dragged in a shaky breath. “I didn’t want to leave myself that vulnerable to someone. When you’re vulnerable like that, you get used.” His forefinger followed the delicate line of his wine glass stem. “Become a pawn in someone else’s game.” He met her gaze. “I couldn’t let myself believe you might be different. People with power always want to use the ones without it…and then discard them.”

She hurt for the life he must’ve led. She knew “people with power” didn’t mean what most would think of as the powerful and influential, like politicians and wealthy people. He was talking about his parents—the people who had inflicted pain on him with their carelessness or out of pure blindness to what he needed.

“When you popped back into my life,” he continued, “I couldn’t help but assign the worst possible scenario because that was easier than believing that maybe I was getting another chance. Then I got to know you and I realized you were nothing like I imagined.”

“What made you change your mind?”

“When you beat me at the rink.” A smile ghosted over his lips. “I saw how good you were, how effortlessly you moved across the ice. Skill like that doesn’t come without a great deal of sacrifice and years of hard work. So I knew you weren’t the kind of woman looking for an easy, pampered existence.” He poured himself more wine. “Once I accepted that, I started to open my heart to you without realizing it myself at first. You started to fill the emptiness in my life little by little, and we fit so naturally that it was too late by the time I learned about my role in destroying your dream. Honestly, I wanted to push you away. I didn’t deserve the happiness you gave me, but imagining you with anybody else, especially my father, just…made me sick.”

“Dane, Salazar and I—”

“He was going to marry you. He told me so when I confronted him about covering up the accident.”

Her jaw dropped. “
What?
”

“He’s old and will die at some point in the not-too-distant future, which would leave you a rich widow. Then you could do whatever you wanted with the rest of your life. You would also have become a Pryce, which would’ve conferred quite a bit of influence.”

“Dane…” She fought for words. She had no idea Salazar had planned to go to such an extreme. Not doing anything by half-measures must be hereditary in their family.

“I couldn’t let him do it,” Dane continued. “Even if I didn’t deserve it, I wanted to be the one to make you happy.”

Her stomach fluttered, a thousand tiny birds trapped within.

“I love you, Sophia. You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved, and you’re the only woman I will ever love.”

Tears blurred her vision. Unable to stop herself, she sniffed and got up.

Dane jumped to his feet. “I’m not finished,” he said, desperation and the fight for control sharpening his voice. “I want to marry you. I want to spend my life with you. I understand if you can’t forgive me right now, but I want a chance to earn your forgiveness.”

Shaking her head, she buried her face in her hands. “I can’t. It’s impossible.”

“Nothing is impossible.” His voice shook with tension. “There’s always a way.”

“I’m not talking about forgiving you for the accident. I’d already done that, even before I knew that the driver was you. I had to, in order to be able to move on. My only disappointment had been—” She stopped. If she let him know she loved him back, he might shrug off what she had to say. “There’s a fifty percent chance I may have Huntington’s disease. George dropped that bombshell at the hospital before you found us.” She wiped the tears away. Mascara streaked her palms.

“I’m sorry to hear that, but it’s not a guarantee. We can find a specialist. We treat cancer these days, surely we can—”

“It’s incurable and untreatable. I don’t even know when it’s going to show. It may hit me when I’m fifty. Or maybe I’ll succumb to it when I’m thirty. You need…” She squeezed her eyes against the pain. “You need to find someone who loves you back and not burden you the way I might.”

His warm hands cradled her face, his forehead against hers. “I don’t care how many healthy days you have left. If we only have twenty-four hours left to share, then we’ll simply have to cram a lifetime of love into one day. I’m not letting anything get in the way of loving you.”

“How am I going to do the right thing if you say things like that?” A sob wracked her body. “I saw how you looked at Vanessa’s baby. If I have the disease, I may never be able to give you children.”

“If all I cared about was children, any of the women I’ve dated would have been acceptable. My love isn’t contingent upon you giving me children. It is you, only you that I want. If we can have them, great. If not, I have four siblings who are sure to have nephews and nieces for us to spoil.” His thumb brushed away tears at the edge of her eye. “I love you, Sophia. Will you give us a chance?”

She nodded. “I’m too selfish to say no.”

A soft sigh escaped between his parted lips, his shoulders finally relaxing. “Thank you.”

“And just so we’re clear, I love you, too, Dane.”

His eyes blazed, and he swooped down for a hard kiss. She wrapped her hands around his wrists and allowed herself to be lost in the moment. Need pulsed through her like liquid gold. It wasn’t just heat, but something infinitely sweet and precious.

“Promise me you’ll make an honest man out of me,” he whispered against her mouth.

She nipped his lower lip. “First things first.” Then linking her fingers with his, she dragged him to the bedroom.

Sophia tapped her feet on the cool linoleum floor, then curled her hands so she didn’t start biting her nails again. The waiting felt like forever, even though the clock said only ten minutes had passed.

Dane put a hand over hers. “Hey. It’s going to be all right.”

She nodded, forcing a smile. Six months had passed since the dinner, and it’d been like a dream. It did indeed feel like they were trying to cram a lifetime of love into every single day.

And that was what had given her the courage to seek the answer—to see if she carried the genetic marker or not. Otherwise she wasn’t being fair to him…or to herself.

Dane had asked her a few times to marry him, but she’d demurred. She hadn’t wanted to make the decision without knowing. He’d understood her hesitation, but had kept asking anyway. It only made her love him more.

“I’m just nervous that I might have it.” She pressed her legs together to stop the foot tapping. “It’s so silly because knowing is probably better than not knowing so I can plan for it, but…” She sighed heavily.