The Price of Honor (14 page)

Hannah shook her finger at him. “While you're partying at horse shows in the States, your fiancée is probably neck-deep in a hectic rush of ordering a custom-made designer gown, reserving the church and reception venue and engaging musicians, caterers and florists. The least you could do is go home to sample the wedding cake and reception food choices.”

His idea of hell. “She will contact me if my opinion is required.”

Hannah glared. He held her gaze until she looked away. “Help me change, Megs, and then we'll start on the other stuff.” She scooped up a pile of clothing and headed for Megan's bedroom in a swish of ivory fabric.

This was the woman with whom Megan had spent her youth? The one she claimed was as close as a sister? Both had glossy dark hair and blue eyes, but there the similarities ceased. He marveled at the differences in temperament. Megan would not dare to be so ill-mannered. She had a comportment about her that was not only attractive, but it served her well on the Grand Prix circuit where connections and the opinions of others could be critically
important. Favoritism, though officials denied its existence, was rampant in judging.

With one last irritated glance at him, Megan followed her cousin and closed the door.

Xavier tried to be patient while the women conducted whatever business they must in the adjoining bedroom. He could hear the hum of their voices but could not make out the words. In his mind he saw the bed in the room they occupied, the one he and Megan had shared—and would again tonight if he had his way.

His body reacted predictably with a hot flush of desire and anticipation, and when he recalled last night's encounter he only became hotter. Friday night, Megan had held back, then she had left him even before the sweat dried on his skin. Saturday night, he had made certain she could neither hold back nor leave him. If she wanted to turn their physical relationship into some kind of competition, then he would win—as she had discovered to their mutual satisfaction. She had been too weak to even lift her head by the time he had finished with her last night.

He shoved to his feet and adjusted his suddenly tight clothing. But when she had finally fallen asleep and rolled away from him, the sheet she had clutched in her hand had been damp. Tears? He did not like the idea of Megan crying.

He pushed the uncomfortable thought aside and studied the portrait above the fireplace. The woman holding the reins of a horse bore an uncanny resemblance to Hannah. He turned to the multitude of photographs on the wall of horses and riders and searched for any of Megan. He found none.

Hannah's babble about Cecille's wedding plans had made him claustrophobic. The pomp and circumstance were only for the women. He did not care where the
ceremony linking him to Cecille took place or what foods were served. The hows and wheres were irrelevant. The only item of importance was the reason
why
the wedding must take place.

The marriage would right the last of the wrongs his father had committed and the merger of two companies would take Parfums Alexandre to a level of success his father had never envisioned. And with Monsieur Debussey's pending retirement, Xavier would soon be CEO of the largest privately owned perfumerie in the world. With power came prestige. No one would be able to look down their nose at him again once he finalized this merger.

The bedroom door opened and the women returned, Hannah carrying the dress and looking antagonistic, Megan appearing resigned—an expression he had not seen on her face before today. She was usually the driven one, the one with a plan, a goal and a refusal to settle for less.

And she had once desired him with that ferocity of focus. But something had changed along with her pregnancy and her return home. She might claim it was his engagement but she had always known that one day they would part.

Physically he could still make her body sing as he'd proven repeatedly over the past two nights. But there had been a difference in her response this weekend that he could not fathom. The way she had slipped from his house earlier this evening when he was preoccupied with an urgent business call reinforced her eagerness to get away from him.

The idea that he might have crushed her tender feelings toward him bothered him—a ridiculous circumstance considering he had not asked for nor did he want an emotional attachment. To her or anyone else. Something he had very clearly spelled out in the beginning of their relationship.

Hannah tucked the wedding gown into a garment bag. Megan assisted her, stroking a hand over the fabric with a wistful expression that stabbed Xavier with another thought. Would Megan ever marry? If so, what kind of man would she choose?

The idea of her lying with someone else, bearing someone else's children disturbed him. But he could not ask her to stop living once their paths diverged.

Once the garment bag was zipped Hannah lifted a double-handled shopping bag. “You know how much I like photo albums and charts. Well, I've been busy. My head is full of ideas. I have pictures of potential bridesmaid dresses, sample invitations, a variety of menus and…all kinds of other stuff.”

She unloaded one thick volume onto the coffee table, then a second. Megan shifted uneasily, glanced at Xavier, then held up a hand. “I'm sorry, Hannah. Can we do this another time?”

Hannah made a sympathetic moue at Megan, then glared at Xavier, shooting daggers through eyes so similar to her cousin's. But her eyes lacked the tenderness Megan's usually showed.

“I'll come back when you don't have an uninvited guest in the house.” Hannah gathered her belongings and paused in front of Xavier. “I know where you live.”

He managed not to laugh at the implied threat from a female as slight as Hannah.

Megan walked her cousin to the door and closed it behind her. Looking tired but resigned to his company, Megan parked her hands on her hips. “What do you want?”

“You did not enjoy the horse show.”

“Not really. No. It was much too soon to ask Tim to compete against horses and riders of that caliber. That made
the competition a bad experience for him and one he'll be reluctant to repeat. But I learned a lot.”

“You learned that you do not like sitting in the audience.”

“Among other things.” She folded her arms, her face stubbornly set.

She was not going to give an inch. “I have found a way for you to have everything you desire—your career and our baby.”

Her arms dropped and hope filled her eyes. “Really?”

“I will hire a nanny who will stay with
le bébé
year-round. Our child will reside with you in the States during the off-season and with me in France the remainder of the year.”

He watched her closely, expecting her to gratefully accept his generous concession. But the militant expression overtaking her face could in no way be mistaken for gratitude.

“Y
ou're suggesting shared custody?” Megan supposed that was an improvement over Xavier wanting to buy the baby or take it away from her completely.

“
Oui.
That way we will both be able to spend time with our child.”

Most women—those without her history—would probably jump at his offer. But joint custody wasn't even close to either of the outcomes she preferred—the three of them as a family or her as a single parent. She'd heard too many horror stories of children going overseas with their foreign parent only to become entangled in legal red tape and never return. She couldn't risk letting Xavier take their child out of the States.

“But that's not fair. You'd have him or her for the majority of the year and I'd get a lousy few months.”

“Approximately.”

She shook her head. “My child wouldn't even know me.
It would be better for the baby not to be torn between two parents, two cultures, two languages and two continents.”

“How could it not be best for our child to have two involved parents?”

“Would you be involved, Xavier? You're the CEO of a large company. You work ten to twelve-hour days. How much time will you be able to devote to being a father? A child needs someone who will be there, someone who loves him or her and won't leave the parenting to nannies.”

“You also intend to employ a nanny. And as you saw this weekend, there is little time for parenting on the circuit.”

“Ah, yes, your plan. Don't think I didn't figure it out.”

His eyes turned guarded.
“Pardon?”

“I know you too well for that innocent expression to work on me. You were hoping to show me everything I'll give up if I choose to keep our baby. The competition, cocktail parties with the rich and famous, designer fashion, five-star hotels… But guess what? Your plan backfired.

“Each of those business icons we met is a potential sponsor to replace Parfums Alexandre when I start competing again. And I met at least three women who might be willing to share a nanny with me. The baby could accompany me to every show, and we'd never have to spend a night apart. You can't say the same.”

“You are forgetting that my future wife will have a part in the child rearing.”

“No, I'm not. But you are. Have you even told Cecille about our little surprise? How does she feel about being presented with a ready-made family and having a five-month-old waiting for her when she returns from her honeymoon?”

His flattening lips suggested he hadn't had that very important discussion. “She will adapt.”

“Xavier, it's not about just what you want anymore.
It's about a little boy or girl who's going to need love—unconditional, overflowing love. That's something I'm not sure you're capable of giving. And you're assuming Cecille will be happy to mother her husband's bastard.”

The term repulsed her, but how else could she make him see that not everyone would view the circumstances of their baby's birth in a positive light?

He recoiled. Dark slashes of color swept his cheekbones and fury burned in his eyes. She had never seen Xavier this angry. Had she pushed too hard? Alarm and adrenaline charged through her, kicking in her fight-or-flight response.

He snatched her to him and crushed her mouth with punishing force. Shock rippled along her nerves. Before she could react to the almost painful pressure of his lips and his grip, his hold on her upper arms relaxed. The kiss softened, becoming persuasive, and her traitorous body welcomed his invading tongue, the hot exhalations on her cheek, his thickening arousal against her abdomen. Her heart raced, her skin moistened and heat collected in her belly.

What was wrong with her? Why couldn't she push him away and mean it? Why did the desire keep taking over? This weekend she'd thought she'd been making him see her point of view, but instead he'd been playing her like a master violinist.

Xavier slowly eased back but only until his forehead rested upon hers. His breaths still came rapidly. “Never again refer to my child as a bastard.”

“Our child.”

“
Oui.
Our child.” He lifted a hand and stroked her cheek, then his thumb traced her lips as if in apology for the rough handling. Every fiber of her being yearned to lean into his touch, but she had to find the strength to push him away, or else she'd become one of those women she pitied—the
mistresses who waited on the sidelines for their wealthy lovers to toss a crumb of attention their way.

“We are both tired,
mon amante.
Let us go to bed.” His very male response pressed against her stomach said sleep would be a long time coming if she let him have his way. And she was tempted, so,
so
tempted. But then she'd have to deal with the aftermath of loathing herself for giving in.

Didn't he have a clue how much he was hurting her with his mixed signals? Probably not, because she'd done her best to hide her pain. She took two giant steps back. “No. At the risk of sounding like an old movie star, I want to be alone.”

“We can be alone together, as we have done many times before to our mutual satisfaction.”

“Maybe I'm being too polite since you're missing the point. I need a break. From you.”

“A break? From me?”

“Yes, from you, Xavier.”

“This is because of last night? But you enjoyed our little bondage game. Many times, I might add.”

She gritted her teeth, hating the fact that he was right.

“Why did you cry last night?”

She fought to conceal her shock and embarrassment. “I didn't.”

“The sheet was wet.”

“That was sweat. You gave me quite a workout. That's why I want you to leave, Xavier. I need a break. I'm tired.”
Of you. Of fighting my feelings. Of trying to act as if you're not tearing me to pieces.

His brow pleated. “You are playing a dangerous game.”

“I'm done playing. This weekend I tried to pretend there was nothing between us but sex because that's what you seem to believe. And I thought I could show you that you're wrong. But making love with you and trying to keep my
heart out of it didn't teach
you
anything. I, however, learned a hard lesson. Being with you like that when you're still committed to her hurts too much. I can't do it anymore. I don't want to spend any more nights with you, and my horses and I will not be traveling to any more horse shows with you.

“What we have is so much more than sex, Xavier, and until you can see that, I can't sleep with you again. And while I appreciate your willingness to compromise and offer me a fraction of the year with my child, I can't live with that, either. Get out.”

 

Hot. Cold. Push. Pull.

Xavier seethed as he climbed from the helicopter and walked the short distance across the Monaco tarmac to the waiting limo. He did not understand Megan's vacillatory behavior. As he had told her repeatedly, his engagement had not changed the rules of their relationship. She had.

He wanted things to return to the way they used to be, when she'd welcomed him with open arms and exuberance no matter what time of day or night he arrived, no matter his mood, his dress, his mental state or his intent. Like a good mistress should.

He missed her unguarded smiles, the conversations when she did not pause to consider each word before speaking. He missed being able to relax in her presence. He wanted to go back to the days when he could buy her gifts without her looking at him with suspicion.

She was one of those rare women who asked for nothing and took nothing for granted—the kind of woman a man enjoyed spoiling. Even if she had been right to question his motives because this time he had had an ulterior purpose for the designer apparel and horse show parties. He had to respect her cleverness in seeing through his
week end scheme. But then he had never doubted Megan's intelligence.

She was right about something else, too. What they had was definitely more than sex. But it was most emphatically
not
love.

Love was a desperate need to be with someone to the point of letting all else go—friendships, work, obligations, the roof over your head. Love was blind to faults. The fact that he could easily list each of Megan's proved he was not in love with her. Her stubbornness. Her extremely competitive nature. Her predilection for junk food. Her tendencies to overanalyze everything and lose track of time when she was with her horses.

He definitely did not love her. As she had rightly accused, he could not—
would
not—love anyone. He refused to become weak and subservient. He would do right by his child and make certain it never wanted for anything. Children did not need indulgent love. They needed discipline, food on the table and security. Love could be taken away too easily.

Megan claimed she loved him. But how could she, when even his mother could not?

Megan could not deny she desired him and enjoyed his company. All he had to do to get back into her good graces was to say three words. Lie. Something he had never done with Megan or anyone else. Honor—honesty—was everything to him.

Non,
he would not lie to get Megan back in his bed. She would come to her senses soon enough and realize that they could share many good times in the coming months. Knowing their days were limited would only intensify the pleasure. She would likely come around as quickly as she had fallen into his arms after their initial separation. Possibly even by the time he returned home in a few days
once he had attended to urgent business matters at the perfumery.

However, Megan had said something last night that caught his attention and prompted him to call the pilot for an impromptu trans-Atlantic flight. He had not informed Cecille of his impending fatherhood. As his future wife, she deserved to hear the news from him and not through gossip. She would not be getting only him as part of their marriage bargain. His
bébé
would be sharing the Alexandre Estate with them. And that was not the kind of information one shared via phone, email or text message.

Cecille had not been pleased by his demand that she fit him into her busy social schedule on short notice, but she had acquiesced. She had, however, insisted he meet her at a chic Monte Carlo café where their brunch would easily run him six hundred Euros. And she would insist on sitting on the patio—in the shade to protect her skin, of course—where she could see and be seen by all the right people. He had no problem with that. Image and connections were important.

At times like this, she acted very much like the demanding only child of a billionaire. Debussey had admitted he had spoiled her since at his advanced age he had given up on having an heir by the time his third wife became pregnant. There were rumors that Cecille might not be biologically his, a fact the perfumier vehemently denied. But no matter Cecille's parentage, she was Debussey's heiress and the key to regaining the Alexandre Estate.

She would make Xavier a good wife. Not only was she exceptionally beautiful, but she also spoke four languages fluently, had a college degree, was well-traveled and she had proven to be an excellent hostess for her father. All key ingredients for the wife of a successful CEO.

Another seed that Megan had planted sprouted. He knew
what he was getting out of the arrangement, but what was Cecille's motivation for marrying a man ten years her senior? One who did not like to party as she did. One who detested tennis. One who did not love her.

He spotted her even before the limo pulled to the curb by the harborside café, her table strategically chosen, her blond hair artfully draped over one bare shoulder. She had angled her chair so that her long, crossed legs would garner the attention she believed they deserved.

Her predictability brought a smile to his lips. Yes, she was a bit vain, but deservedly so. Her beauty caused a passerby to do a double-take and stumble on the sidewalk. She had that effect on most men, and yet Xavier had never felt more than the same appreciation for her looks as he would for an exquisite painting. She and he lacked the explosive chemistry he shared with Megan.

But chemistry did not make a marriage. And fires that hot burned out over time—a fact his mother had proven and every woman Xavier had enjoyed since his first sexual encounter had confirmed.

The chauffeur opened the door. Xavier stepped onto the sidewalk and checked his watch. “I will be ready to return to the helipad in one hour.”

The driver bowed slightly. “
Oui,
Monsieur Alexandre.”

Cecille spotted him and donned an attractive pout as he reached her side. He kissed her cheeks—not because he wanted to avoid her mouth, but to spare her lipstick, he assured himself with only a prick of conscience.

“
Bonjour,
Cecille.”

“
Bonjour,
Xavier. What is so urgent that I had to postpone my appointment at the chocolatier?”

“You make appointments to buy chocolate?”

“I am ordering specially designed confections for each place setting at our wedding dinner.”

This was one of those details, which Megan's cousin thought so important. He did not want to waste time on insignificant matters like a candy that would be forgotten the moment it was consumed or left behind because the guest watched her diet.

The waiter offered her a menu, but she waved him away. Xavier noted she only had sparkling water in front of her. “Do you not care to order?”

“Oh, no. I have to lose weight before the wedding.”

She was already quite slim. Megan would have been poring over the menu looking for something new and unusual to try.

“Are you enjoying the wedding preparations?”

Cecille's perfect smile and carefully made-up eyes brightened. “Who doesn't enjoy planning an extravagant event for which one will be the star?”