Page 47 of The Tycoon's Shock Heir

When they were the very last things she wanted.

She looked around the boat, a sudden sense of panic engulfing her like a blinding, heavy sea fog, even though it was the clearest, freshest day she could ever imagine.

‘Ruby.’

She felt a tug on her hand.

‘Ruby,’ he said, tugging again and dragging her gaze around to him. ‘Don’t worry. I would never, ever leave you alone with this. That’s not who I am. And we haven’t spoken yet about your family—telling my mother, your mother. We can do that together, if it helps?’

‘I’ve already told her,’ she said woodenly. She poured some water into a glass, then pushed it away.

‘And?’

She looked at him. ‘And what?’

‘Was she happy for you? Is she going to be around when the baby’s born?’

She wiped her hand in the air as if she was swatting away his silly idea. ‘Oh, you don’t need to worry about that. She’ll be caught up with her own stuff.’

‘How do you two keep in touch? Does she come to London much? You said she lives in Cornwall, right?’

‘We manage on the phone.’

She didn’t need to look up to see the frown cross his eyes. She felt his judgement unfurl like a blow and kept her eyes on the horizon.

‘Right... I see. I suppose it’s quite a commitment for her to travel up, but we’ll work around that—and you’ve met my mother, so you know she’s not the average stay-at-home type, although she’ll want to play her part. But, hey, there’s plenty of time to work all that out too. More tea?’

She shook her head.

‘She’ll be all right about it, you think?’ she said, an image of his mother coming into her mind. She wasn’t the type of woman who’d let herself get into trouble. She was a super-powered, super-organised over-achiever whose every second seemed to be planned and executed with complete precision.

Coral Rossini was going to judge her too, and at best she would look like an idiot, at worst a scheming gold-digger.

This whole situation was getting worse and worse.

‘Can we start to go back to shore now?’ she asked, looking round. ‘I have to get back.’

He stood up. The look on his face was something she couldn’t quite read. Frustration?

‘Sure,’ he said. ‘We’ll stop at one of the little islands on the way. It’ll only take an hour or so and they’re so pretty. Seems a shame not to show you this part of the world while you’re here.’

She opened her mouth to complain.

‘No buts. You’ve come all this way. You’re my guest and I want you to have a little fun before you go back.’

He walked around the table, his big frame and long legs somehow stepping gracefully between the chairs, until he was right beside her. She looked up, shielding her eyes from the sun until he stood directly in front of it, casting a shadow, close enough for her to see the creases in his T-shirt and the links in the strap of his watch.

‘I’m not really in the mood for fun.’

He held out his hand. ‘Come on, stop trying to punish me. I know you’re mad at me—and yourself. But we had a good time. And now we need to manage the situation as best we can. We’ll be fine.’

He pulled her to her feet. He encircled her in his arms. Held her close.

And she closed her eyes and let the sway of the boat and the heat of his body hold her still. Between them was the little life they had made, sleeping and growing, blissfully unaware, blissfully safe.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

THE LAST TRACES of the Mistral whipped at the pines, sending green waves rolling across the tip of the island. Cicadas relentlessly announced themselves from bushes, and overhead the pealing calls of gulls carried tales of what they’d seen and warnings of what was still to come.

Matteo, sitting in a striped deckchair, put down his papers and raised his sunglasses for a moment, straining to see a yacht that was dropping anchor out in the bay. Tiny figures scuttled around, then one by one jumped into the dinghy that would take them ashore.

Ashore to this haven—the exclusive Ile-St-Agnes, ten square kilometres of verdant land, home only to teeming wildlife and the ultra-rich. Its single hotel, reached only by chartered yacht, was where Ruby had eventually agreed to come ashore, to have a little stroll and now to rest stretched out beside him, under a parasol on a fat-cushioned lounger.

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