The Magnate's Marriage Demand. Robyn Grady
A strict childhood, dominated by an overly ambitious father, no mother on the scene. She might feel sorry for him, but De Luca was not a man in need of pity. Ruthless intelligence and celebrated charm, which radiated off him now in tangible waves, was proof enough of that.
Tamara sucked down a cleansing breath and, cutting off the faucet’s flow, found a polite smile. “Marc spoke of you.”
He smiled. “I’m glad. I’d hoped you and I could talk now.”
He held her eyes, his expression amicable yet potent, and some unknown impulsive part of her felt compelled to nod and agree. But a lengthy conversation was out of the question. Not today, in any case. Not when she felt ready to collapse. When her world had all but collapsed around her.
She tore paper from the chrome-plated dispenser to blot her hands. “It’s been an exhausting day, but I’m sure others would love the chance to talk with you about Marc.”
“I don’t have a lot of time, Ms. Kendle. I wish only to speak with you.”
She tossed the paper wad into a nearby bin, her smile strained and curious now. “That sounds rather ominous.”
“Marco said you were bright.”
Her heartbeat stuttered, not only at his words, but also his gaze, probing, analyzing, as if he were hunting out her most precious secret. As if he somehow suspected the news she wasn’t quite yet ready to share.
Expression cool, she collected her purse from the vanity and slung its strap over a shoulder. Truth told, he intimidated her, but damned if she’d let him know.
She met his gaze square on. “You don’t look the type to play games. So tell me, what’s this all about?”
He regarded her for a long moment then stepped from the slanted shadows of the doorway into the room’s harsh artificial light. A subtle widow’s peak complemented his high brow. Above a strong, stubborn jaw, unyielding brackets framed a masculine yet sensually sculptured mouth. Armand De Luca wasn’t merely attractive. He possessed raw animal magnetism barely contained beneath a highly polished air. The overall effect went beyond arresting. It was downright dangerous.
A pulse jumped in his jaw. “You’re pregnant,” he stated, “with Marco’s child.”
His announcement winded her like a blow to the stomach. Her knees threatened to buckle as questions pummeled her brain. Morning sickness had taken a firm hold, but she wasn’t showing yet. Did De Luca own a crystal ball?
She narrowed her eyes. “How can you know? I only told Marc an hour before the accident.”
His impassive expression didn’t change. “He rang to share the news. Since our reunion, my younger brother occasionally kept in touch.”
Tamara didn’t know much about their history, other than their parents had separated when the boys were quite young. Marc never said why his mother had taken him but not Armand when she’d left, or why as adults the brothers hadn’t been in touch until after their father’s death over a year ago. Marc never wallowed in the past, another reason she’d respected him. Emotional baggage, skeletons in the closet…it dragged a person down and dredged up doubts, if revisited too often.
Yet today Marc’s past had caught up with the present while Tamara’s future grew safe and treasured inside of her.
Maternal pride lifted her chin. “Yes, I’m pregnant. But there’s no need to track me down like this. I’m not leaving the country.”
“I am. My jet departs for Beijing in a few hours. I’ll be gone two weeks.”
She forced a cordial smile. “Then we’ll talk in two weeks.”
As she finished the sentence, an idea struck. She had nothing keeping her in Sydney. Perhaps he was worried she’d disappear, not caring if he saw the baby, his little niece or nephew. The last thing she wanted was to cut him from her child’s life as he had once been cut from Marc’s. She knew how destructive those kinds of divisions could be.
Her greatest wish was to give her child a happy, balanced home. That meant one day marrying the man who loved them both and whom she loved in return, not merely as a friend, but as a wife should love her husband. More immediately, however, her baby’s interests would be best served by including extended family.
Her expression softened. “Look, if you’re concerned about visits, please don’t be. I want my child to know his uncle. Family is important.” She hesitated, then confessed, “More important than anything.”
The line between his brows eased even while he appeared otherwise unaffected. “Please, share five minutes with me, Ms. Kendle, away from here.”
The dark edge to his voice, that shiver racing through her blood…
She hadn’t been certain before, but these last few seconds she felt it as surely as the hair rising on the back of her neck. Something was very wrong.
Her heartbeat slowed then thudded low in her chest. Was there a hereditary disease she needed to know about? Epilepsy, allergies, heart conditions…some problem that might need immediate attention?
Her throat closed around a lump as her head prickled hot and cold. “Whatever this is about, if it concerns the child I’m carrying, I want to know.” She swallowed hard. “And I want to know now.”
One large tanned hand flexed by his side before he drew up tall and gradually closed the distance separating them,’ til her senses swam with his hot, woodsy scent and she couldn’t escape the resolve hardening in his eyes.
“It does concern the child, Ms. Kendle, as well as both of us.” De Luca’s broad shoulders squared. “I want to marry you.”
* * *
Fifteen minutes later, Armand sat with one arm slung over the back of a shaded park bench, Tamara Kendle in a daze at his side. Despite the salty breeze lifting the hair off her cheek, her face looked whiter than the styrene cup her delicate hand clutched. Jaw slack, she stared at an endless procession of waves, which crashed and ebbed on the foam-scalloped shore a few meters away.
Clearly she was still in shock. When he’d let loose his bombshell proposal at the funeral home earlier, her legs had given way. He’d swooped to catch her and in the instant her warm body had slumped against his, damned if his blood hadn’t sparked and caught light. Then had come a blinding flash of guilt.
That guilt burned low in his gut now, but he clenched his jaw and pushed it aside. He’d seen Marco exactly eight times in the last fourteen months, including the reintroduction at their father’s funeral. Now the brother he’d barely known was dead.
Marrying the woman Marco had loved might sound insensitive, perhaps even shameless to some. Armand understood the sentiment but he wouldn’t let that color his decision. He played by his own rules, no one else’s. To wish things were somehow different was useless. Nothing changed the past, there was only the future, and a union would benefit them all—Tamara, the baby, as well as himself.
Easing out a breath, Armand leaned forward. Forearms resting on thighs, he dropped his threaded hands between his knees. “Would you like more water or are you okay to talk?”
The timing was worse than bad. If that issue in China weren’t calling him out of the country, he’d have approached this differently and merely introduced himself today, following it up with visits over the next few days until she felt more comfortable. Although their meeting was awkward, perhaps it was better this way. Much needed to be organized—and quickly— particularly the effects of a betrothal upon his business and late father’s legal trust.
With great care, Tamara set the cup on a slat between them and looped stray hair behind an ear. “If you want to talk about weddings, there’s nothing to say.”
As the information filtered through, he saw suspicion pool in her eyes and renewed tension ratchet back her shoulders.
“My…situation?”