The Billionaire’s Fake Engagement / Man from Stallion Country: The Billionaire’s Fake Engagement / Man from Stallion Country. Robyn Grady
shot, worn through to the bone and she might be resting on a pile of downy feathers, this chaise was so decadently soft.
“No argument?” He waited then, on a slanted grin, nodded once. “Good.” He straightened and headed out. “I’ll get your things from the car, make a phone call I can’t put off and then…” He stopped at the doorway, rapped his fingers on the jamb and told her over the ledge of a broad shoulder, “Then we’ll go to bed.”
As he disappeared down the hall, Natalie nestled into the lounge, wishing this scenario was as simple as it might outwardly appear. She’d moved in with her handsome fiancé, a successful and respected man who treated her like a princess. But how long would the illusion last?
Another shuddering yawn consumed her. Her searching hand landed on the wool throwblanket splayed over the next chaise and she stuffed a portion of it under her head for a makeshift pillow. The rest she curled over her hip.
Some people lives were charmed. Others had the strength of will to overcome the toughest of trials. She’d faced life’s worst, the death of a child. Now she was facing another challenge…the wait to see whether Alex was the father of Bridget’s baby.
Were her instincts tonight right? Despite bringing her here to protect her from the media, if the paternity test proved positive, would Alex ultimately choose the traditional and honourable course? Would he choose to marry Bridget and be a full-time father to his baby?
Frowning, she burrowed more into her pillow.
No matter how strong their attraction for each other, no matter how much she craved his company, if he planned to stand by Bridget, she already understood and supported that decision more than he could ever know.
A heavy wave curled over her. She closed her eyes and began to drift.
And if Alex did choose Bridget, he would never need to know about her past. She would never need to have him look at her with an awful mixture of pity and futility.
The way she sometimes looked at herself.
When Natalie woke the next day her mind was clear and her body felt gloriously refreshed. Moving against the warm soft bedding, she took her sweet time opening her eyes.
The earliest mists of sunlight were slanting in through an opening in some curtains.
She rubbed her eyes and got her bearings.
Not her bedroom. Not Alexander’s, either. Rather she was reclined in the Quinton’s home theatre room. Last night he’d left saying he would return soon, but she must’ve dozed off.
Stirring more, she angled her head.
On the far chaise lounge, a quiet figure sat in the patchy light…a darkly attractive man, one elbow resting on the chaise arm, his curled knuckles supporting his strong shadowed jaw. He held something, was studying it intently. A small disc that he flipped over his fingers much like a gambler might flip a chip. He manoeuvred the—was it some kind of coin?—across and under his fingers, concentrating as if the action might reveal the secret that would unlock the mysteries of the world.
The flipping stopped.
As his head turned, a lock of blackest hair fell over his brow and Natalie’s heartbeat skipped. His smile was soft, unreservedly masculine and at the same time sinfully beautiful.
He swung his legs onto the floor. “You’re awake.”
His chest was bare while Levi’s hung like a dream on his lean hips. The button was left undone and as he strolled over she fought to keep her gaze from travelling down the arrow of crisp dark hair visible below his navel. Stopping before her, he rushed a hand through that fallen lock of hair and her stomach gave a pleasant twist.
He couldn’t know how sexy he was. How his every movement made her skin heat and heart beat a little faster.
“Did you sleep well?” he asked in a deep husky voice that resonated through to her bones.
She stretched. Smiled. “I feel as if I’ve slept a hundred years.”
“When I came back from my call, I didn’t have the heart to wake you.”
Despite her dilemma, she thought of that bedroom, of the blissful hours they’d spent beneath its sheets, and she only wanted to have him lift her in his arms again and kidnap her upstairs.
Wondering if her thoughts showed—in a way wishing they did—she inwardly sighed and straightened more. “Did you sleep down here, too?”
“A little.”
He looked refreshed enough. Smelled fresh, too. But she guessed he’d had a shower and hadn’t slept at all. That he’d spent the quiet hours of the night working the previous days’ events over in his mind.
The piece in his hand caught the light and she tilted her head, trying to gain a better look. “What’s that?”
“A family heirloom, believe it or not.”
He opened his palm and revealed a worn coin with some sort of emblem on its uneven surface. “It looks ancient.”
“It’s a Spanish doubloon, minted in the days of Isabella and Ferdinand.”
He made to drop it in her hand but she shrank back, hesitant to touch something so precious. It must be worth a fortune.
“I promise there’s no ghosts attached,” he told her. “Or none that I know of.”
She studied the humor in his eyes then laughed at herself. It was just a coin, a very old, queer-looking coin. It wasn’t as if she could lose it on him or anything. She put out her hand and the gold piece slid into the cup of her open palm.
It was warm from his touch and she tested its weight. “Heavy. And not at all round.”
“Doubloons were made with an ounce of gold and minted by hand. It’s been handed down from generation to generation. Passed on from Ramirez firstborn son to firstborn son.”
So that’s why he’d been examining it so intently. He’d been thinking that if Bridget’s baby was his, if the baby was a boy, by virtue of tradition this coin should be handed down to him.
“It’s presented to the eldest boy of each generation on his twenty-first birthday,” he went on. “My parents made a big deal of it when they gave the coin to me. It was the first and only time I saw tears in my father’s eyes.”
He was peeling off his layers, letting her in, wanting her to see what truly lay beneath the tycoon’s cool facade…a man who valued and respected his family, past and future.
Her fingers unfurled and she handed the coin back.
She wished she could give him that son. She wished she could see that same emotion Alex had seen in his father’s eyes the day his boy had turned twenty-one. Pride. Devotion. A sense of immortality. She could only imagine.
The moment stretched as he studied the coin.
“That phone call I made last night,” he finally said. “I contacted a numismatic auction firm. A coin dealer.”
“You want to sell this?”
His flashing eyes jumped to hers. “Never. It will stay in the Ramirez family. It certainly won’t leave my possession until my son is twenty-one.”
Alexander had had his share of romantic affairs, but it was clear how he saw his future. Married with children, particularly a boy. A son who would accept this tangible reminder of who and what he was above all else.
A Ramirez.
“Then why did you contact a dealer?” she asked.
“To hunt down another coin in case…” He exhaled and cleared his throat. “If Bridget Davidson’s baby is mine and a male, he ought to be acknowledged appropriately. But circumstances such as these…I don’t know that it’s happened before.” His gaze bore into the doubloon. “I’d always envisaged