“Honor? Where was your honor when you were making me believe we had a future together that involved more than me riding you and your horses?”
His eyebrows slammed downward in a formidable scowl. “Have I ever made promises to you that I did not keep?”
“No. But I thought …” She twisted the towel in her hands. “I hoped you and I would get married. Eventually. And have a family.”
“Did I not tell you in the beginning that I would never offer marriage?”
With pain choking her, she couldn’t force a word out. She could only nod.
“And I will not have an illegitimate child. That is why we have always used protection.”
But she couldn’t tolerate birth control pills and condoms weren’t fail-proof, as she’d learned firsthand. She fought the urge to shield her tummy. He had a child on the way. He just didn’t know it yet. She’d only put the clues together yesterday and taken the pregnancy test this morning before her run. She’d been planning to tell him tonight during an intimate dinner for two. When she found the right words.
But everything had changed now, and there were no words that could make this situation right. Not if he was going to marry someone else.
Her pride gave her a kick in the pants. “Well, forgive me for getting the impression you might have reconsidered when you bought this house bordering your estate and set me up in it. And when you’ve followed me to every city on the Grand Prix circuit so you could share my bed.”
“And to watch you ride my horses—three very expensive investments. I have enjoyed our time together, Megan, and will continue to savor each moment we share until the very last.”
“When you leave me for her.” Indignation prickled her scalp. “Your fiancée might have something to say about that.”
“She has no say in my private affairs before the wedding. As I have stated, the marriage is a business arrangement. Neither Cecille nor I are going into this with any illusions of something as transient as love.”
Megan’s love didn’t feel transient at all. It felt like a big gaping hole in her heart—one that would follow her to the grave.
Xavier folded his napkin with crisp precision, rose and approached her. She couldn’t bear to look at his aristocratically handsome face. More specifically, she couldn’t handle the absence of the warmth and tenderness that were usually in his beautiful emerald eyes when he focused on her. At that moment he looked every inch the ruthless businessman he was rumored to be. Certainly not the man she’d believed—mistakenly, apparently—had fallen in love with her, the man who treated her like she was someone precious and wonderful and who didn’t expect her to change one iota of her person to be with him.
An immaculately fitted Italian suit outlined his lean, tall form and the powerful muscles he conditioned when they worked out side by side in the gym he’d installed in the spare bedroom for her. He had already dressed to board the helicopter that would fly him to Parfums Alexandre’s corporate offices in Nice the moment she left for the stables on his estate. No traffic jams for him. He simply flew over them all and landed on the roof of his office building.
Only this time when he left she wouldn’t spend the hours eagerly awaiting his return or daydreaming of the sensual delights they’d share in bed tonight. Instead she’d be worrying about whether he was with her. The woman he intended to marry. The woman who wasn’t casual or temporary.
He released an exasperated breath. “Megan, there is no need to be melodramatic. Our relationship will continue unchanged. We will have the next twelve months together.”
“You expect me to sleep with you while you’re engaged to someone else?” The idea seemed unconscionable. “And then what? You’ll marry her? And forget all about me? About us and what we’ve shared? Like discarding an out-of-style suit?”
“I will never forget you, mon amante.” He lifted his hand toward her cheek.
The gentle stroke of his fingertips made her shiver. Unable to stomach her traitorous body’s response, she backed up a step. Inhaling slowly, then exhaling, she willed the fuzzy-headed this-can’t-be-happening feeling away and tried to gather her thoughts.
“What if I asked you to choose between her and me?”
“Don’t.”
The inflexible word crushed her hopes and dreams. The idea of her man—the one she adored immeasurably—making love to her while planning to marry someone else made her want to howl and throw things. And she wasn’t the tantrum-throwing type. He might as well rip out her heart and grind it beneath his custom-made Italian shoes.
She would not be the other woman. She would not beg for his attention or settle for the crumbs his wife allowed him to toss her way.
And what about the baby she carried?
What of her career?
Her home?
Everything she’d counted on had been completely upset by his engagement. Panic clawed at her. She needed to think, to plan, to try to find a way out of this mess, and she couldn’t do that with Xavier watching her.
She tossed the towel aside. “I have to get to the stables.”
“Megan—”
“I can’t talk to you about this right now. I have horses and clients waiting for me.”
“Tonight, then.”
She barely managed not to snort in disbelief. Did he honestly believe she’d come home after work and casually share dinner the way they always did? Dinner. Then bed. Then lie in his arms all night and think about her? No way.
She raced into the bedroom. The fact that he didn’t come after her spoke volumes. She shed her running clothes and yanked on her riding attire. Her hair was damp and she probably reeked of sweat from her run, but she didn’t care. A shower was the least of her worries. She stomped into her boots.
Her cell phone blinked on its charger, indicating a new voice mail message. Unable to deal with whoever had called now, she snatched up the device and shoved it into her jacket pocket without checking caller ID.
She bolted from what until this morning had been her paradise, a fairy-tale cottage, part of the fairy-tale life she and Xavier had created. She heard the helicopter’s blades in the distance. Xavier had already left, as if this day—the one where he’d shattered her dreams and wrecked her life—were as routine as any other.
She’d sprinted half the distance to the stable before stopping beneath a tree—and out of sight of the rising chopper—to gather her shattered control. Struggling to catch her breath, she leaned against the rough bark and wiped the moisture from her face. Tears, not sweat. And she never cried. Never. Tears were useless and they never fixed anything. But, damn him, Xavier had driven her to tears for the first time since hearing about the plane crash that had killed her family.
She took big gulping breaths, but she couldn’t seem to stem the flow. She was pregnant. And the only man she’d ever allowed herself to love, the father of her baby, was going to marry someone else.
He had made it clear he wouldn’t want this child.
Do you?
Given the circumstances—the new circumstances—she didn’t know.
Part of her relished the idea of holding the proof of her love for Xavier in her arms. But her logical side argued that children and the Grand Prix circuit were not a winning combination. Only a few riders juggled parenthood and competition successfully, and they did so with the help of nannies and understanding spouses. Could she make it work without Xavier’s help?
She worked crazy long hours, often seven days a week, and the travel was grueling. What kind of mother could she be with