The Billionaire’s Fake Engagement / Man from Stallion Country: The Billionaire’s Fake Engagement / Man from Stallion Country. Robyn Grady
yanked on his black bow tie. “Foremost I was thinking how much I despise the media.”
Her cheeks burned. “So you throw fuel on their fire?”
Inclining his Hollywood square jaw, he flicked open his collar at the same time he flicked her a glance. “My life is my business.”
“Except now you’ve brought me into it.”
“You were already in my life.”
“Not posing as your fiancée!”
Exhaling, he pinched the bridge of his aquiline nose and clamped shut his eyes. “This afternoon everything was as it should be. I’d all but wrapped up a deal, was looking forward to tonight. Tomorrow we were spending the day together.” His hand dropped heavily onto his lap. “Then Joe Davidson waltzes in and detonates a bomb.”
Natalie bristled. Surely he was forgetting something, or more precisely, someone. “I wonder how unsettled Bridget Davidson must’ve felt when the stick turned pink.”
He edged over a look. “I don’t need to be reminded of my responsibilities should I be the father of that child.”
She shivered at the deep, determined timbre of his voice, but she wouldn’t let his irritation at the situation—at that reporter—stop her from getting answers.
She tipped toward him. “Why did you tell that man we’re getting married?”
He pressed a button and the transparent privacy screen between driver and passengers slid into place. “Maybe I did it for the hell of it.”
“Then you need to retract it. In fact—” She swallowed against the clot of nerves jumping high in her chest and forced herself to say the words.
Seemed the time had come.
“I don’t think we should continue to see each other right now.”
Alex didn’t speak. Merely turned his head with great purpose, his eyes sparkling like black diamonds as they flashed in a passing sidewalk light.
She siphoned in a shaky breath.
Clearly this situation called for a break. Maybe temporary. More likely for good. She’d always known it would come to this. Hadn’t they both agreed this wasn’t forever? Unfortunately goodbyes had come sooner than planned.
She held her trembling hands firmly in her lap. “This is getting way too complicated.”
“So you’re hopping on the first lifeboat out?”
She recoiled. The sting was as sharp as a physical slap. God help her, she wanted to shake him for turning this around.
“You’re acting as though this is my fault.”
His chin went up. “I only know if you needed my support I’d give it to you.”
Would he? Would he really?
Confused—angry—she turned from him and glared out the window. “I don’t expect anything from anyone.”
“I like your independent spirit but that’s taking autonomy a little too far.”
“Because I’m a woman?” The weaker sex?
“Because that statement makes you sound cold and you’re the furthermost thing from an ice queen I know.”
She pressed her lips together as regret stung behind her nose.
She was saying goodbye for Alex’s own good. Yes, for her sake, too. Two years ago a Sydney specialist had confirmed what the Constance Plains doctor predicted. Although the severity of the condition she’d acquired, Asherman’s Syndrome, was mild, he advised she not attempt to fall pregnant. If she happened to conceive, the risks to a foetus were grave and many.
She didn’t want to see anyone hurt, including Bridget’s unborn babe. She refused to stand in the way. Refused to hang on to silly Cinderella dreams that had zip chance of coming true.
An image of a tiny newborn’s hand flashed into her mind, and the light outside smudged as moisture blurred her vision.
Holding her roiling stomach, she concentrated to school her features and summon a level tone. “I would like to be dropped at my apartment, please.”
“No, carino. We’ll spend the night together at my home.”
Her fingers strangled her clutch purse. She wanted to scream at him, tell him she wasn’t worth the trouble. She wanted to jump out of this car and run as fast and as far as she could.
Instead she sent a thin smile. “Don’t you get it? It’s over, Alex. The boat’s already sailed.”
His dark eyes searched hers before narrowing almost imperceptibly. As the trip-wire tension tightened more, she quivered inside but didn’t back down. For everyone’s sake, she couldn’t.
Finally he sat back against the black leather seat. A muscle in his jaw twitched before he nodded and exhaled. “You’re right. Of course you shouldn’t be dragged into this. Forgive me.”
She gaped at him. Was he purposely trying to guilt her out? He’d said he needed her support. She’d flatly refused and still he forgave her.
Her fingers itched to touch his hard thigh. To let him know that she did care, and too much. Instead she clenched her hand into the cool silk of her dress. If Alex was the father of that baby, he didn’t need distractions. He would need to focus on priorities. She only wished she could explain.
She wasn’t the woman he thought her to be.
Dropping her head, she bit her lip.
“Alex, I—”
He found her gaze then wrapped an arm around her. His cheek pressed against her crown, he tugged her close.
“We’re both upset. Too upset to talk. Be still now and let me hold you for a while.”
Alex asked Paul to head for her address and when the car pulled up in front of her apartment building five minutes later, he slid out and opened her door.
“I’ll tell Paul to come back in the morning,” he told her, extending his hand.
She accepted his hand, so warm and big folded around hers, but she couldn’t accept the offer, no matter how safe and adored he made her feel. If she could hold on, be strong a moment longer…
“I’d rather say good-night here.” She managed a trite smile while her heart—her icy, barren heart—steadied itself not to break. “It’s been nice.”
Not listening, he cupped her nape, lowered his head to kiss her. But she turned her face and his warm lips grazed her temple.
“Good night, Alexander.”
He stepped away, stood stock still. Then, like an unleashed hurricane, he swung back toward the Bentley, his gravelled words trailing behind.
“I’ll say good-night, Natalie. But not goodbye.”
The next morning, Alex scowled at the page five headline.
Playboy to Marry Outsider. Socialite Girlfriend Pregnant.
Cursing, he hurled the paper at his kitchen counter.
His girl had left him, he’d been publicly hailed as a two-timing bastard and, as a side order, Dai Zhang must be wondering if Alexander Ramirez wasn’t a chip off his amoral grandfather’s block.
Every one of his ventures was run above reproach. Zhang’s money was destined for a sound project, one into which Alex had invested a fair stake of his own capital. He believed these research studies would make a difference, not only to his personal worth but also to the medical community who would benefit from improvements made to vascular tolerance of dialysis-dependent patients.
After reading that headline, however, it would be no surprise