From Paris With Love: The Consequences of That Night / Bound by a Baby / A Business Engagement. Kate Hardy

just missing one final touch.” Coming up behind her, he pulled a sparkling diamond necklace from his pocket and placed it around her neck. Emma’s lips parted as she saw it in the mirror, huge diamonds dripping past her collarbone. Involuntarily she put her hand against the necklace, hardly able to believe it was real.

      “Almost worthy of the woman wearing it,” he murmured.

      “You...you shouldn’t have.” Nervously she rose to her feet, facing him. Realizing her fingertips were still resting against the sparkling stones, she put her hand down.

      “It’s nothing. A mere trinket.” His black eyes caressed her. Leaning forward, he brushed long tendrils of glossy black hair from her bare shoulders, back from the necklace, and whispered, “Nothing is too good for my future wife.”

      Emma felt the warmth of his breath against her bare skin. She shuddered with a sudden pang of need. Of desire.

      She couldn’t let herself want him like this. Couldn’t. It left her too vulnerable. And the one thing she knew about Cesare was that he detested needy women. She wouldn’t, couldn’t, be one.

      And yet...

      Turning away, she went back to the mirror and put on her bright red lipstick with a shaking hand. She tried to ignore his gaze as she ran the red tube carefully over her lips. Sitting back on the bed, she reached for her high-heeled shoes, gorgeous Charlotte Olympia pumps with bamboo on the platform sole and pink cherry blossoms crisscrossing the straps. Emma had seen them in a shop on Sloane Street and in spite of her best efforts—since they were quite expensive—had fallen instantly in love with the 1930s Shanghai glamour.

      “Mr. Falconeri said you’re to have whatever you wish, madame,” the salesgirl had insisted, and Emma, with baby Sam in his stroller next to Cesare’s personal bodyguard, had quickly succumbed. It was so wrong to buy shoes that were so expensive. Wrong to want something so forbidden. So clearly out of reach. Emma looked at Cesare.

      Or was it?

      She rose to her feet, her long black hair tumbling over the low cowl neck of her gown, which melted like liquid silver against her body. She felt transformed—like a glamorous, mysterious starlet from a black-and-white film. She’d never felt so beautiful, or less like the plain, sensible person she’d always been. She took a deep breath, and looked at Cesare.

      “I’m ready,” she said softly.

      He stared at her. She saw his hands tighten at his sides as his gaze slowly went down the length of her dress. And when he spoke, was it her imagination or was his voice a little strained?

      “You look...fine.” Clearing his throat, he held out his arm. “Ready to meet the firing squad?”

      “That’s how you refer to your friends?”

      He gave her a wicked grin, quirking his dark eyebrow. “You should hear how they refer to me.”

      “I already know.” As she took his arm, Emma’s smile fell. “You’re the playboy who will never be caught by any woman.”

      He winked at her, a gesture so silly and unexpected that it caused her heart to twist in her chest. “They’ll understand when they meet you.”

      Their eyes locked, and the squeeze on her heart suddenly became unbearable.

      I love you. The words pushed through her soul, through her heart. I love you, Cesare.

      It was a realization so horrible, Emma sucked in her breath in a gasp so rough and abrupt that it made her double over, coughing.

      He rubbed her back, his voice filled with concern. “Are you all right?”

      She held up her hand as she regained her breath. Downstairs, she could hear the rising noise of guests arriving at the Kensington mansion for the engagement party. All of his snooty rich friends, and their beautiful girlfriends—half of whom Cesare had probably slept with over the years. Half? Probably more.

      “Cara?”

      She finally straightened, her eyes watery. “I’m fine,” she said, wiping her eyes. It was a lie.

      She loved him.

      Almost a year ago, she’d left him in despair, believing they had no chance for a future. But now, after just two weeks of wearing his engagement ring on her hand, an awful, desperate hope had pushed itself into her soul. Against her will.

      She was in love with him. The truth was she’d never stopped loving him. She was utterly and completely in love with her former boss, the father of her baby.

      A man who was going to marry her out of pure obligation. Who didn’t even want to touch her. Who wanted their marriage to be in name only. For their son’s sake. A shell. A sham...

      “Emma?”

      She couldn’t let him see her face. Couldn’t let him guess what she felt inside. Pretending not to see his outstretched arm, she walked swiftly ahead.

      “Wait,” he said sharply.

      Emma stopped. She took a deep breath, and looked back at him in the hallway.

      Smiling down at her in a way that caused his eyes to crinkle, he took her arm and wrapped it around his own. “It’s an engagement party. We should enter the ballroom together.”

      Together. How she wished they could truly be together.

      “Are you cold?” He frowned. “You’re trembling.”

      “No... Yes... Um.” She twisted her ankle deliberately. “It’s the shoes.”

      He snorted, looking at the four-inch heels. “No wonder.”

      As they walked down the stairs, she clutched his arm as if her beautiful shoes were really the problem, trying to convince herself everything would be just fine. All right, so she was in love with Cesare and he’d never love her back. All right, so her whole body yearned for him to touch her, but he insisted on separate bedrooms and was likely planning to hook up with the next gorgeous actress who struck his fancy.

      But they had a child together. Their marriage would be like a business partnership. That counted for something, didn’t it?

      Didn’t it?

      Her throat tightened.

      As they approached the mansion’s ballroom, she saw his friends—tycoons, actresses, diplomats and royalty. The women were thin and young and beautiful, in chic, tight clothes with no stretch marks from pregnancy. They all turned to look at her speculatively. She could see their sly assumption: that Emma had gotten pregnant on purpose. That was how a gold-digging housekeeper trapped an uncatchable playboy.