Why was she surprised that after five years of no contact he would think she’d welcome his popping around with no warning the way he used to when they were together?
“It’s almost nine o’clock.”
“I brought some wine.” He held up a bottle of her favorite red. Damn the man for remembering. He gave her a coaxing half grin. His eyes softened with the seductive glow she’d never successfully resisted. “How about letting me in.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, refusing his peace offering. “I already told you. I’m not the same girl I was when we were together.” She had said the exact same thing earlier that afternoon, but obviously he hadn’t been listening. “You can’t just show up here unannounced and think that I’m going to let you in.” To warm her bed for a few hours.
“You’re mad because I haven’t called.”
He was apologizing for not contacting her? “It’s been five years.” Half a decade of living had happened to her. It took all her willpower not to shove him off her stoop and slam the door in his face.
“I know how long it’s been. And I wasn’t kidding earlier when I said I missed you. I’d like to come in and find out what your life is like now.”
“I’ve been back in Carone for two years. Why now?”
“Talking with you today brought up a lot of great memories. We had something.”
“The operative word being ‘had.’” A tremor went through her as she remembered the feel of his fingers against her skin, working magic unlike anything she’d known before or since. “My life is wonderful. I’m happy and complete. There’s no room for you or your drama.”
“I’m not the same man I used to be, either.”
From what she’d read about him over the years, she believed he’d changed, but it wasn’t enough to invite him in. “What we did or didn’t have in the past needs to stay there.” She knew immediately that her words had been a mistake.
“Did or didn’t have?” The light of challenge flared in his eyes. “You mean to stand there and deny that we were friends?”
Friends?
Is that how he’d thought of her as he made love to her for hours? When he’d told her he didn’t like her going out after close with the guys from the café where she worked part-time and demanded that she stop? Friends? When he’d treated her more like his embarrassing secret?
Noelle realized her hands had clenched into fists at his declaration and tried to focus on relaxing. He was no less infuriating than on the day he’d told her they had no future and she should go to Paris and take the job at Matteo Pizzaro Designs.
“What do you want, Christian?” She asked the question in a flat, unfriendly tone that was intended to annoy him. It didn’t.
“I never could get anything past you.” He straightened, putting aside all attempt to charm her. Determination radiated from him. “Can I come in? I really do want to talk to you.”
“It’s late.” From the floor above came the pounding of feet. Marc had grown impatient and would be coming to look for her any second. “Perhaps later this week. We could meet for coffee.”
“I’d rather have a private dinner. Just you and me like the old days. Perhaps you could come to my place in the city? I have some things I’d like to discuss with you and I don’t want to do so in public.”
Bitterness gripped her. He’d never wanted to be seen out and about with her. She scrutinized his expression. He’d obviously come to her with an agenda. But she sensed what he had to say wasn’t about her son. So far, her secret remained safe. If he’d known about Marc, he would have led with that. So, what was he up to?
“I’m afraid my evenings are booked.” Spending time with her son was her greatest joy, and he was growing up so fast. She cherished her evenings with him and resented any intrusion. “Perhaps I could come to your office?”
There was thumping on the stairs as Marc jumped down each step, one by one. Noelle’s heart hammered in time. She had to conclude the conversation with Christian before her son appeared.
“Call me. We can discuss this next week. Right now, I need to go.” She started to shut the door, but Christian put out his hand and stopped it. Marc’s feet thundered across the wood floor; he was coming closer. “Fine. I’ll have dinner with you.”
“Mama, where are you?”
Christian’s eyes widened at the sound of Marc’s voice. “You have a child?”
She could not let this happen. Noelle shifted to put her full weight against the door and get it closed.
“You have to leave.”
“Marc, where are you?” She heard her mother coming down the stairs now and prayed that Mara could get to Marc before he came to investigate. “I told you your mother wouldn’t read you a story unless you were in bed.”
“I had no idea,” Christian mused, his expression strangely melancholy.
“And now you see why my evenings are busy. So if you don’t mind, I need to get my son to bed.”
“Can I meet him?” The prince stared past Noelle into the home’s interior.
“No.” Hearing the snap in her voice, she moderated her tone. “It’s his bedtime, and meeting someone new will stir him up. It’s already difficult to settle him down enough to sleep.”
“He sounds like me.”
It was a remark anyone might have made. Noelle knew there was no subtext beneath Christian’s comment, but she was hyper-secretive regarding the paternity of her son.
“Not at all.”
“Don’t you remember how much trouble you had getting me to sleep on the nights I stayed over?”
She ignored the jump in her pulse brought on by his wicked smile. What she remembered were long, delicious hours of lovemaking that left her physically drained and emotionally invigorated.
“This is a conversation for another time.”
“Mama, who are you talking to?” Marc plastered himself against her hip and peered up at Christian.
Too late. She’d let Christian distract her with bittersweet memories, and now he was about to discover what she’d zealously kept hidden from him all these years.
“This is Prince Christian,” she told her son, heart breaking. “Your Highness, this is my son, Marc.”
“Your son?” The prince regarded the four-year-old boy in silence for several seconds, his mouth set in a hard line. At last his cold eyes lifted to Noelle. “Don’t you mean our son?”
Christian wanted to shove the door open and turn on the lights in the front entry so he could get a clearer look at the boy, but instinct told him it wouldn’t change anything. This was his son.
“I don’t have a father. Do I, Mama?” Marc glanced up at his mother, eyes worried as he took in her stricken expression.
“Of course you have a father,” Noelle stated. “Everyone does. But not everyone’s father is part of their life.” She soothed a trembling hand over her son’s dark head.
“And whose fault is that?” Christian’s shock was fading, replaced with annoyance and grudging respect as he surveyed the boy—Noelle had called him Marc.
Tall for his age, which couldn’t have been more than four and a half, he possessed the distinctive gold Alessandro eyes and wavy brown hair. Undaunted