The Tycoon's Secret Baby Read online

  Table of Contents

  THE TYCOON’S

  CLARE CONNELLY

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THE TYCOON’S

  SECRET BABY

  CLARE CONNELLY

  All the characters in this book are fictitious and have no existence outside the author’s imagination. They have no relation to anyone bearing the same name or names and are pure invention.

  All rights reserved. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reprinted by any means without permission of the Author.

  The illustration on the cover of this book features model/s and bears no relation to the characters described within.

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the prior consent of the publisher in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

  Paperback Edition published 2017

  (c) Clare Connelly

  http://www.clareconnelly.co.uk

  @clarewriteslove on Facebook, twitter, Instagram and pinterest.

  It was a dream.

  She arched her back, moaning softly into the frigid night air, while her mind was full of Rome’s sunshine, the oil-soaked tomatoes they’d shared on his balcony, the Chianti, the candles; the way his body had possessed hers.

  It was a dream.

  Her hands ran over her stomach, but in her mind, it was Marco’s touch. Her brain, in sleep, remembered the way he’d worshiped her flesh, touching every inch of her, watching her fall apart. The way he’d kissed her; tasted her, owned her completely.

  A cry echoed through her house. A soft sound in the night, one she was completely attuned to.

  Ben.

  She pushed her feet out of the bed, wide awake now, all thoughts of Marco evaporating from her mind. She had no time for her wayward one-night lover; not when their son needed to be taken care of…

  PROLOGUE

  No amount of makeup could completely hide the grey smudges beneath her eyes. At least they matched the silvery sheen of her silk blouse, Grace thought with a wry smile as she tucked her compact away and crossed her slender ankles beneath the table.

  Her eyes landed on the desk across the room and her heart gave a little lurch.

  “Would you want me to do this?” She whispered, so easily picturing Steven behind the large mahogany piece. Steven as he’d been, in his element, wheeling and dealing as though he was born to sell stuff.

  He’d been so good at it. So effortlessly charming. If he’d still been here, he wouldn’t have dreamed of selling – even for the exorbitant amount this investment group was offering.

  But Steve had died, and this enormous empire he’d built from the ground up had been passed on to Grace. Grace who was dealing with a difficult one year old, and the loss of her most beloved friend. Grace who was a lawyer, not a property mogul. Grace who’d been left feeling like she’d passed through a blender most days.

  Her eyes dropped to the contracts and guilt flushed her skin pink.

  It was an incredible offer.

  More money than she could ever need, and the burden of keeping Steve’s legacy alive would pass to someone else. Someone more suited to the rigours of this world.

  And you? Grace’s brain prompted stubbornly. What will you do?

  That was easy.

  She’d sleep.

  Whenever Ben napped, she would too. She’d take him to the park too, instead of looking at the photos Emma sent over. Though the other woman adored Ben, she was still ‘the nanny’, and Grace wanted Ben to have more time with his own mother.

  A noise outside the boardroom alerted her to someone’s approach. She stood, wiping a hand over her pencil skirt, checking her blouse remained tucked in at the waist almost on autopilot, before her hand lifted to the delicate pearl choker Steve had given her a week before he’d died.

  Wearing it on days like this gave her a degree of strength. As though he was still with her.

  She rested a hand on the back of a leather chair, and she waited.

  She breathed in, out, in, out, and all the while waited to meet the buyer who’d appeared out of nowhere – an answer to all of her unspoken prayers.

  “This way, sir,” she heard Rhiannon’s clipped accent from the clouded glass door and she pasted a smile on her face.

  This would be over soon. Just their signatures, a few pleasantries, and it would be done.

  She braced to meet the buyer, but when the door flew open, she was face to face with her past.

  Marco Dettori stood, as impossibly larger-than-life than ever before.

  Grace was incapable of movement or speech. She could only stare at the man she’d known. Two years ago, she’d thought herself in love with the suave tycoon. But so much had happened since then.

  Oh, God.

  Ben had his eyes.

  She’d known this, of course, but seeing Marco again, it was like looking into their toddler’s face.

  Guilt was a nauseating tidal wave in her chest. What the hell was Marco Dettori doing in Steve’s office?

  “Please, have a seat, sir,” Rhiannon took over effortlessly, tossing her usually unflappable boss a quizzical expression as she escorted the billionaire deeper into the boardroom. “Can I get you a tea? Coffee?”

  Grace shook her head, as if just recalling where they were. “No, thanks, Rhiannon.” She returned her smile to her face, waiting for the privacy a closed door would offer.

  As soon as they were alone, she sucked in a deep breath. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  He hadn’t changed at all. Then again, it had only been two years, not ten. Perhaps she’d just forgotten the sheer impressiveness of his virile strength. Dressed in a navy blue suit with a grey shirt and a light blue tie he looked more stylish than was fair. His dark hair was brushed back from his brow, and it curled a little at the ends, where it hit the collar of his shirt.

  “What do you think?”

  Oh, his voice. His voice like honey and citrus and sunshine and everything about her time in Italy that burned her with its beautiful impossibility.

  “I have no idea, but I have a meeting…” She jerked her head towards the papers on the table, but even as she did so, she knew.

  “With me.” The quiet words blew across the room towards her but they might as well have been an anvil on her back. She spun away from him in an attempt to hide her haywire emotions, yet they were rioting through her body and her blood.

  “Why?” A single, husked word that spoke of all the pain their brief but spectacular night had caused her. The emotions she’d felt for him over the intervening two years.

  “Because it is a good company. And I have heard you do not wish to continue running it.”

  Her chest squeezed at his words. Pain lanced through her. “How do you know that?”

  “Really, it’s a very small world.”

  “So you heard I’m making a mess of things and you’re swooping in to fix it up?” She spun around, shame at their last encounter making her cheeks red. “This isn’t Rome and I don’t need your help.”

  Then, he’d been a broad chest to comfort herself against; his arms had been strong as th
ey’d pulled her to him and held her tight. His face had promised forgiveness and help. Friendship.

  Now? He was implacable. “Aztec is a company I have watched for some time.”

  “Why?”

  Why? Did she really need to ask that? His expression gave nothing away. “It is one of the fastest growing elite property development firms in the country. I would like to see it stay that way.”

  His implication was clear and Grace suddenly wished the ground would swallow her up whole. Why had Steven left this business to her? Why had he appointed her CEO?

  Her eyes drifted betrayingly to his desk. She’d left it exactly as it always had been. His Stamford mug in to top right corner, proudly displaying his college allegiance to all and sundry; the fountain pen she’d given him when he’d signed the contracts on one of Chicago’s premiere housing developments propped beside the keyboard. Even his mouse-pad with a picture of her smiling up at him she’d left. She stared at the desk and so missed the way Marco’s eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching at her distraction.

  Did it matter who bought the business? Did it matter that this man had, at one time, been her boss? That they’d slept together? That she’d borne his child?

  “Okay,” she exhaled with determination, her eyes meeting his as though she was fearless. “So you want to buy Steve’s business.”

  And the other man’s name was like waving a bright red flag at an irate bull. Marco Dettori’s eyes flashed with a dark emotion as he took two steps deeper into the room, close enough to Grace that she caught a distracting hint of his masculine fragrance. “I’m buying more than the business, cara. I’m buying you along with it.”

  CHAPTER ONE

  Rome, Italy. Two years earlier.

  “CRAP, CRAP, CRAP, CRAP.” Grace stared at the documents with a sinking feeling that began right in the bottom of her feet and enveloped the rest of her, including her gut. She looked down at the black and white writing, and any doubt over what had happened disappeared.

  “Maria?” She called through her door, flicking through the documents still hoping there was some sort of mistake.

  Her assistant was an incredibly beautiful woman, all long blonde hair, pursed lips, brown eyes and caramel tan. She had legs that went on forever, and today they were encased in white leather pants. Her cleavage was barely contained by the silky blue singlet she wore.

  Grace didn’t hold the other woman’s beauty against her. Just because Grace had always been more of the ‘cute, girl next door’ kind of attractive, rather than va-va-voom knockout sex kitten, it wasn’t Maria’s fault.

  “These files are for the Vanditto loan,” she said.

  “What? No.” Maria shook her head, her face draining of colour as she teetered across the room in her sky high stilettos. “It’s not possible. I checked them myself.”

  “I’m telling you,” Grace spun the document around, hovering her finger over the name at the top. “This is a property in Venice.”

  “Oh, madre di Dio.” Maria flicked through the papers, her fingers shaking. “He’s going to kill me.”

  Grace thought of Marco Dettori with an answering surge of emotion. He would kill Maria. It was a stupid, foolish mistake to make, and it could cause a heap of damage to the business. The ancient bank handled some of Europe’s wealthiest citizens’ finances. The last thing they needed was for their air-tight confidentiality to be blown because of clerical errors.

  “I’m dead,” she said with a shake of her head.

  “It was just a mistake,” Grace said softly, bundling the papers up and holding them to her chest. She was at the end of her three-month internship, due to leave the next day. Her decision was an obvious one. The worst the mistake would cost Grace was a good reference. True, she wanted it, and she’d wanted to earn it, but she had employment guaranteed back home in Chicago regardless.

  Maria was a single mom who needed this job.

  “Listen, I’ll go talk to him,” Grace promised. “I’ll go now. We can sort this out. But Maria? Go home. Let’s … let’s pretend you called in sick today.”

  Maria’s eyes were huge in her face. “Why? Then it will be you who is to blame…”

  “I know, exactly. I’m leaving anyway. Trust me.”

  “No, I cannot do it.”

  “He can’t fire me. He can’t do anything to me.” She reached a hand out and pressed it gently into her assistant’s forearm. “Think of Lilliana.”

  Maria’s eyes swept closed and she nodded. “I am so sorry.”

  “It was an accident,” Grace murmured, moving towards the door. She could only hope Marco saw it that way.

  As the elevator lifted her off the seventh floor, where she’d spent most of the past three months, and up onto the lofty thirty-second floor, Grace had time to regret her generosity and to balk at the scene she had ahead.

  As she stepped out of the lift and approached the circular desk that housed Marco’s three assistants (A secretary, a diary manager and one for everything else) Grace couldn’t help but wish she’d picked up some fashion tips on this stint in Italy. Fashion capital of the world and she was still getting around in the same sensible suits she’d brought with her. The gray pants she wore did little to showcase her figure – if anything, they drew attention to her curvaceous hips and bottom. The shirt was a simple black blouse and it too disguised any hint of attractive curviness.

  “Si?” The overflow assistant looked up, a quizzical smile on her face. Grace couldn’t tell if the other woman recognized her or not. They’d met a handful of times in the cafeteria and once when Grace had attended a meeting with Marco.

  She pushed the memory aside- the way his hand had landed in the small of her back as he’d ushered her into the offices they’d gone to was burned into her memory.

  “I need to see Mr Dettori. It’s urgent.”

  The assistant smirked, as if to say, ‘isn’t everthing?’ But she picked up her phone and connected a call, presumably to Marco’s office.

  A moment later, she replaced the handset. “Go through.”

  Grace nodded, the documents tight against her chest as she moved.

  Her heart was rabbiting wildly in her chest. She knocked at the door, despite the fact Marco was obviously expecting her.

  “Come in.” The words rang with impatience. Her anxiety trebled.

  Grace had been in his office before and yet the sheer scale of it robbed her momentarily of breath. An enormous corner position with glass on two sides and part of the ceiling, she could see Rome in all its glory, spread far beneath her. She looked up and noted the white trails of airplanes that criss-crossed the clear blue sky.

  “Mr Dettori,” she said, barely able to meet his eyes. Not because she felt guilty, though she did. But because they were the kind of eyes that could sting you. Dark brown, almost black, with a rim of gold at the very edge. His lashes were thick and curling, and though he was tanned, he had a few dark freckles across his nose. It was a nose that had, at one time, been straight and patrician but that was now wobbled in the middle by a break in his past. She had imagined it to be a football accident, or perhaps skiing. Something glamorous, for certain. Nothing so pedestrian as the way Grace had broken her arm – by falling down a flight of three steps when she’d had her nose in a text book.

  “Grace, I have told you many times. My name is Marco. Use it.”

  “Marco,” she nodded, daring a glance at his face now. “I have to speak with you urgently.”

  He stood from behind the desk, unfurling his height with no apparent realization of how he affected her. His strength was barely contained by the suit her wore. A suit she liked to imagine him without.

  God, don’t think about that! Not now!

  Grace cleared her throat as though it might clear the dangerous images thick in her mind and paced towards his desk. There was a hell of a lot more at stake than her dangerously sexy imaginings.

  “Are we not speaking?” He teased, his smile crinkling his cheeks, showing that deliciou
s dimple beneath his stubbled chin, and lining his eyes.

  Her stomach lurched.

  “I made a mistake.”

  He arched a brow. “You? You do not make mistakes.”

  The little kernel of praise caused her pulse to hammer, hard and fast in her veins. She tucked it aside to analyse later. To plant like a seed and water with attention, letting it flourish in her heart.

  He was right. She didn’t make mistakes.

  “Apparently I do,” she lied. She handed him the papers and watched as his eyes read the name at the top.

  “I don’t understand. These were couriered this morning. I’ve just spoken to Leonardo. He delivered them himself.”

  “He’s taken the wrong papers,” she groaned. “I had them side by side on my desk and I must have given him the wrong ones. He’ll have the contracts for the Barcelona deal.”

  Marco swore softly under his breath. “He will have given them by now.”

  “I know.” Anguish was thick in the word. “So the big confidential purchase is not going to be confidential and it’s all my fault. What can I do? How can I fix this?”

  She was too distraught to see the admiration that coloured his gaze.

  “It is salvageable,” he reassured her, rubbing a hand over his chin and reaching for his desk phone with the other. He snatched it off the cradle and spoke in rapid-fire Italian.

  Grace was fluent, but in that moment of torpor, she couldn’t keep up. He placed the phone back down and then dropped the papers to his desk, his eyes meeting hers.

  “You don’t need to look as though I’m going to throw you from the window,” he said gruffly.

  But Grace was so disappointed in herself – true, it had been Maria’s mistake but Grace should have checked again! She should have given Leonardo the files! Tears stung her eyes and she had to bite down on her lower lip to stem their flow.

  A thick growl from Marco’s throat drew her attention, but looking at him only made her feel worse.