Affair with the Rebel Heiress (2010) (10 page)

She blinked, surprised by his words. But he was wrong. Stubborn, but wrong. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"I know enough," he continued, "to know that people with dyslexia aren't stupid. And that there are plenty of dyslexic people who are very successful."

"There may be. But I'm not one of them." He looked like he wanted to say something, but she glared at him defiantly. "Don't."

"What?"

"Don't try to sugarcoat this. You never would have before you knew about my disability."

"I wasn't about to--"

"Yes, you were. I could see it in your eyes. You were about to tell me that it's not my fault that Biedermann's is in this situation. Or worse still, that things aren't as bad as they seem. Because I know better.
You
know better. If Biedermann's wasn't circling the drain, FMJ wouldn't be here, offering to buy us out. If things weren't desperate, you wouldn't be here at all. And trust me, the last thing I want is for you to treat me differently now that you know I have a disability."

"Okay," he said slowly. "I won't lie to you. Things are bad." He stroked a soothing hand down her arm. It was a gesture that was benignly gentle. Paternal, almost. "But that doesn't necessarily mean you're responsible. Businesses fail for a variety of reasons. You're not--"

"Yes, I am. I'm the company's CEO. That means I'm responsible. Biedermann's has thrived for five generations. Until I took over. And for the past four quarters we've released negative earnings and our stock is plummeting. If FMJ were in the same situation, you wouldn't flinch from taking responsibility yourself."

"Maybe you're right." He stroked her arm again in that maddening way. The touch was generically tender. As if he was gentling a horse or comforting a child. As if knowing she was dyslexic made her less desirable. "If you don't think you can serve as CEO, then we'll
find something else for you to do. Your sketches were amazing. You could launch your own line of jewelry."

His words stirred up a long-buried yearning. Her own line of jewelry. It was what she'd always wanted. Her barely acknowledged greatest dream. His words might have even placated her, if she didn't know just how impossible that dream was. He was leading her on just to appease her vanity. Worse still was the way he stroked her arm.

His touch was so completely innocent, so totally sexless, it sparked her anger. She was more than her dyslexia. She wasn't a child. She wasn't a spooked animal. She didn't need to be comforted or soothed or reassured.

"Stop that." She jerked away from his touch.

"What?"

"That thing you're doing where you stroke my arm. With that calming, gentle touch." She propped her hands on her hips and glared at him.

"What is it you want from me, exactly? You want me to admit how hard this is on me?"

"That would be a start." There was a note of surprise in his voice. As if he hadn't expected her to cave so easily.

"Of course, it's hard. Biedermann's is ingrained in my family. My father and grandparents always took so much pride in the company. This is what people in my family have been doing for five generations. Ever since I was a child, running Biedermann's was all I ever wanted to do."

"Surely it wasn't what you always wanted."

"Of course it was," she snapped; for an instant her irritation edged out her softer emotions. "My father brought me to work with him from the time I was a toddler. You know, I never missed having a mother." She turned away, embarrassed by the confession. Afraid that it made her sound heartless. Or worse, that it was a lie. That she truly
had
missed having a mother. That if her mother had lived, Kitty might have been a completely different person. More lovable. Her natural defensiveness kicked in and when she spoke her tone was bitter with resentment. "My father loved me enough for two parents. I had the best of everything. I went to the best schools. And when those weren't good enough, I had the best tutors. He coddled me all my life. Maybe that's why it was so shocking when I found out the truth."

To her surprise and embarrassment, her voice broke on the word
truth
. She brought her hand to her cheek and felt the moisture there. She brushed fervently.

Before she could hide them, he was suddenly at her side. With a gentle touch of her shoulders, he turned her to face him. She swallowed past the lump in her throat, resisting the urge to turn away from him.

"What truth?" he asked gently.

"That I'd never be able to run Biedermann's. That I'd never be more than just a pretty accessory." Through the sheen of her tears, she saw the flicker of disbelief. "He'd taken me out of school and hired private tutors. He carefully regulated everyone I came into contact with. He was only trying to protect me, but
it meant I had no idea what I was capable of. Or rather incapable of. I was in college before I knew how odd my upbringing was. Before I realized I was reading at a third grade level and I'd never graduate. In
college
." She let out a bitter bark of a laugh. "I hate to think how much money he had to donate to get me in in the first place."

Tears streamed down her face. She looked up at him, fully expecting to see the panic most men displayed when faced with tears.

But there was no panic. No terror. And he wasn't running away. Instead, he leaned down and brushed a gentle kiss across her lips before he pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her.

She sank against him, relishing his strength, even as it annoyed her. She didn't want to want him. She wanted nothing more than to be left alone with her misery. But apparently he wasn't going to let her do that. And she wasn't strong enough to make him go away. Not when she had such a short amount of time with him anyway.

When he leaned down to take her mouth in a kiss, she met him, move for move. She pressed her body against his, needing the feel of his muscles moving beneath her palms.

His hands moved over her body, peeling away layers of clothing as easily as he'd stripped away her emotional defenses. He swept her up into his arms and carried her to the bedroom as effortlessly as he'd swept back into her life. His every touch heightened her desire.

She needed him. She needed this. Here, in the bed, they were equals. A perfect match.

With him, she could be herself as she could with no one else. But as much as she wanted this moment to last forever, she knew it couldn't. Her heart filled with bittersweet longing, even as he made her body soar. Even as pleasure shuddered through her nerve endings, she knew it was the last time they'd ever be together.

She had to tell him the truth about the baby and once she did, everything between them would change forever.

"T
his wasn't what was supposed to happen," she murmured.

Boy, she'd said a mouthful there.

"Ain't that the truth?" he muttered.

She pulled back just enough to look up at him. Through a sheen of dried tears she gazed into those liquid brown eyes of his and felt some cold icy part of herself melt.

Finally he asked, "What was supposed to happen?"

"You were supposed to leave." She ducked her head back to his chest.

"I was?" He tipped her chin up and studied her expression. "Is it so bad that I stayed?"

She let out a sigh that was part tearful shudder, part
exasperation. Her lips curled in a wry smile as she answered. "Yes, it is."

"I don't get it." His smile held both humor and something darker. "I know why I
shouldn't
stay, I just don't get why you don't want me to."

"Think highly of yourself, don't you?" She stretched as she said it, arching against the wall of his chest, relishing the feel of his strength. "But I can't argue with that at all," she continued. "In bed we're great together. It's out of bed that we're a disaster."

As easily as she'd slipped into his arms, she pulled herself free. The tears were gone, but her eyes felt dry and scratchy, as if she'd bawled for hours.

"You think we're a disaster together only because this thing with Biedermann's is between us," he pointed out.

"Not only because of that," she murmured, grabbing her clothes, but didn't explain.

"Not only. But mostly."

She bumped up her chin. "Even with only Biedermann's between us, that would be enough. The company is my whole life."

"True," he admitted. "But we're not on opposing sides here. You keep treating me like the enemy, but I'm not. FMJ is here to help. We're here to fix things for you."

"That's just it. You don't see anything wrong with that, do you?"

"With what?"

"The fact that you want to fix things for me." The fact that she had to explain it at all was only more proof of the problem. "That you want to help."

"No, I don't. It's what we do at FMJ. It's what
I
do."

"Exactly. If I let you, you'd swoop in and take over everything for me. FMJ would manage Biedermann's and I'd never have to make another decision in my life. Just sit back and live off my stock dividends and never worry about anything ever again."

"Most women wouldn't be complaining about that," he pointed out wryly.

She thought of what Jonathon had told her about his mother and sisters. Maybe they were content to live like that, but she never would be. "I think you're wrong about that."

"Look, you said yourself you were raised to find a rich husband, marry him and let him run Biedermann's for you. How is what I'm proposing any different?"

"For starters, you're not actually proposing, are you? It's different when people are married. You're suggesting a business arrangement. Out of pity, no less."

"Fine," he said, an unexpected bite of irritation in his voice. "You want to get married? We'll get married."

For a second, she just stared at him in shock. What did he expect her to do? Leap with joy? Instead, she let out a bark of laughter. "You want to marry me so I'll feel better about accepting money from you? That's ridiculous."

"Why? Because you're too proud to accept help?"

"No. Because people should get married because they love each other, not out of some misguided sense of..." She searched around for the right word, before
finally pinning him with a stare. "Why exactly did you propose again? Was it pity?"

"It was
not
pity." He returned her gaze steadily. "Did you love Derek?"

"I..." That had been different. With Derek, it had been all business. Not this crazy mixture of business, lust and emotion. "That was different."

"How?"

"I could trust him." At least, she'd thought she could trust him. More to the point, she could trust herself with him. She knew how she felt about him. She admired Derek's business sense and his ambition, but she never could have loved him. When he dumped her, he'd wounded her pride, but her heart hadn't felt the slightest hiccup.

Quite simply, she'd never loved Derek, but she did love Ford. With him, it would be totally different. She'd be so vulnerable. She'd be at the mercy of her own emotions. And he would treat her just like he treated everyone else. He'd be charming, thoughtful and solicitous. Without ever actually caring about her at all.

Of course, she couldn't say any of that aloud. So instead she said, "And I understood his motives."

"I just thought--" Ford broke off, struggling to put into words what he could barely understand himself. "Look, you're pregnant. The single-parent thing is really hard. I watched Patrice struggle to do it for years. And Mom, after my dad died. It's a tough gig." He must have read the absolute horror on her face, because he let his words trail off before finishing
lamely, "I don't know. I thought, maybe I could help out with that."

"Wow," she began with exaggerated disbelief. "You thought that
maybe
you could 'help out' raising your own--" And then she stopped dead as she realized what she'd just said. "You should just leave."

"What was that you were going to say? Raising my own
what?
" He grabbed her arm as she reached for the doorknob. "My own what? My own
child?
That's what you were going to say, wasn't it?" He searched her face, but she'd quickly schooled her expression to reveal nothing. "Wasn't it?" he demanded.

She yanked her arm from his grasp. "I misspoke."

"No, you didn't. You know that baby is mine. Tell me the truth."

Kitty met his gaze, chin up, eyes blazing. "I have no idea who the father of this baby is. Yes, I slept with you, so it could be yours. But I sleep with a lot of men. It could be anyone's."

He just shook his head. "You little liar."

"You don't believe me?" she asked coolly.

"Not for a minute. Saturday morning, when I was worried because we didn't use a condom, you told me you'd been tested when you got back from Texas. But we had used a condom in Texas. There was no reason for you to think you might have picked something up from me. Unless you were just being incredibly careful. Which you wouldn't be unless what happened in Texas was rare. Like, once in a lifetime rare."

An odd mixture of frustration and relief washed over Ford.
Why the hell hadn't he thought of this earlier?

It was so obvious now that he'd thought it through. No one else could be the father of her child, because there was no one else. For Kitty, there was only him.

And he didn't even want to think about how much better that made him feel. How that strange pressure in his chest started to ease up. All he knew was this: he was the father of Kitty's child. Now she had to marry him. There was no reason not to.

"We're getting married," he announced. "That's final."

"That," she sneered, "is the stupidest thing I've ever heard. Getting married because I'm pregnant may actually be more stupid than getting married because you feel sorry for me."

"I'm not going to fight with you about this."

"Good, because I'm not going to fight with you about it, either. You can't make me marry you. You want to support the baby. Fine. Send a check. If you even want to be a part of the baby's life, I'm okay with that. We'll negotiate custody or something. But I'm guessing you won't even want that."

Fury inched through him, slow and insidious. Because she was right. He couldn't make her marry him. And, damn it, he wished he could.

"You can't keep me from my child," he warned her.

"I won't even try. I'm betting I won't have to."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Ford," she said, shaking her head. "You go through life keeping everyone at arm's length. You don't let
anyone close to you. And you're so charming most people don't even notice."

"But you did," he muttered.

"Well, I consider myself something of an expert at holding people at an emotional distance." She flashed him a smile. If he didn't know her so well, he might not have seen the sadness in her gaze. "So I recognized the signs. You have a mother, a step-mom, or whatever she is, and three sisters. Sure, you support them financially. You fix problems for them, but that's the extent of your relationship with them. You don't let them choose. If they're too much of an emotional burden for you, then I'm guessing a baby is way more than you're ready for."

He wanted to argue with her, but the best he could come up with was a grumbled "This isn't over yet."

What could he really say? He
didn't
let anyone close to him. Not even his family. What kind of husband would he make? What kind of father?

Kitty and the baby would be better off without him. The best thing he could do for them was show himself out.

She'd always considered her active social life a part of her job. She didn't have much formal training and had not even graduated college. She wasn't the kind of woman who could inspire the confidence of the board or the stockholders. But there was one area of business in which she excelled. Schmoozing.

For that reason, dinner parties and gala balls
weren't mere social engagements. They were work. Tonight's gallery opening was no different, with one exception. Normally, when she worked a room, it was with the intent of making contacts and keeping her ear to the ground for useful information. But today she wasn't looking for information. She was looking for a spouse.

She may have scoffed at Ford's proposal of marriage, but she had to agree he had a point. Being a single mom would be tough.

But she certainly couldn't marry Ford. She was far too emotionally involved with him. Oh, who was she kidding? She was in love with him. He made her feel things no other man had ever made her feel. But for now, she was hoping that was a temporary condition.

Surely all she needed was some time away from him. Time for her feelings to fade and her heart to heal. And that would never happen if she married him.

And if he asked her again, she might not have the strength to say no.

Her only hope was to go back to her original plan. Find a husband who could help her run Biedermann's. Once she was safely engaged, Ford would leave her alone and she could start the long, arduous process of getting over him. What she needed now was a husband who would care about her baby, but never press her for a truly intimate relationship. Luckily she knew Simon Durant would be the perfect man for the job.

She moved through the crowd, her gaze shifting as she looked for a head of artfully tousled black hair.
Finally, she saw him at the back of the room, his arm draped over the shoulder of a whippet-lean man a good decade younger than he was.

Simon's face brightened when he saw her. "Kitty, darling! With all that nonsense in the news, I didn't think you'd make it."

Simon greeted her with double air kisses to her cheeks. Cosmo, the pretentious young artist whose show this was and whose shoulder Simon had recently been draped over, merely nodded before turning his attention elsewhere. But then, Cosmo had never liked her.

Kitty squeezed Simon's hand in greeting. She nodded in Cosmo's direction as she asked, "Do you think he'll notice if I steal you away for a few minutes?"

"He's talking to an art critic, so I doubt it."

Simon linked his arm with hers and guided her toward the open bar.

"So you've been following the stories in the news?" she asked.

"Mostly no, but the gossip has been hard to avoid. I don't suppose the delicious Mr. Langley is..."

He let his voice trail off suggestively.

"Gay?" she supplied. "Unfortunately, no." But wouldn't this all be much easier if he were? She certainly never would have found herself in her current situation. "I have a problem, Simon, and I think you might be able to help me with it."

They'd reached the bar. Kitty ordered a bottled water and Simon ordered a mango mojito. "You know I'll do anything for you."

She waited until they'd received their drinks and were out of the range of nosy ears before leaning close and saying, "Okay. Then marry me."

Simon choked on his drink, spewing a froth of orange liquid a good three feet. "Marry you? Honey, you're not exactly my type. And I didn't think I was that subtle or you were that dumb."

She smiled. "I'm not. And, for the record, neither are you."

"In that case, why would we get married?"

She sipped her water. "Simon, you're a brilliant businessman, but your family doesn't appreciate you." The Durants owned a chain of hotels. It was a business that had been around almost as long as Biedermann's. However, the Durant family tree was massive, sprawling and loaded with acorns of brilliant businessmen. Unlike her own family tree, which had been winnowed down to her one scrawny branch.

"You're not reaching your full potential at Durant International. You're too far down in the line of succession. Right now you're stuck as--what is it?--junior VP of public relations?"

Simon cringed.

"We both know you're capable of so much more." Kitty leaned forward, her zeal showing just a little as she sensed his interest being piqued. "Marry me, take over as CEO of Biedermann's and we'll kill numerous birds with one stone. You'll get a job you can be proud of and you'll come into your inheritance."

He quirked an eyebrow. "My inheritance, eh?"

"Rumor has it your very conservative grandmother is withholding your inheritance until you marry and settle down."

Simon's eyebrows both shot up. "The rumor mill has been active indeed."

"Is it true, then?"

"Let's just say Grandmother Durant has never approved of my lifestyle, but I have plenty of other sources of income. And I don't care about the money."

"Ah, but you do care about her. And I suspect it bothers you that you've never lived up to her standards. She'd be very pleased if we married. You could even provide her with a great-grandchild."

Emotion flickered across Simon's face, barely visible in the dim lighting of that gallery. Something dark and a little sad. She knew in that instant that her instincts about Simon had been right.