Heiress's Pregnancy Scandal

Whoever this blue-eyed, tough-faced, muscled hunk was, and why it was that, for reasons she could not yet figure out, he was capable of drawing her into conversation the way he so effortlessly had, only one thought was dominating her consciousness right now.

No, she didn’t want to retire meekly to her room. She wanted, instead, to keep this conversation going, keep this encounter going—keep the rush of fizzing blood in her veins from falling flat.

A smile parted her lips and she climbed back on to the high bar stool. He let her this time, without trying to help. She looked straight at him. Liking what she saw. Going for broke.

‘Why not?’ she said.

* * *

Nic’s gaze swept over her with distinct appreciation as she resettled herself on the bar stool. And with gratification too. He hadn’t been entirely sure she would accept his move on her. But that, he knew, was part of her appeal. He was bored with women being over-keen on him, and maybe that was why he was being evasive about who he was—Nicolo Falcone, billionaire founder and owner of the Falcone hotel chain.

For that very reason he threw a warning glance at the barman as he glided up to them, and received an infinitesimal nod of acknowledgement in return.

They gave their orders—a Campari and soda for her, a bourbon for him—and Nic lowered himself to sit beside her on the next bar stool.

‘So,’ he opened, ‘are you giving any papers yourself at the conference?’

‘Yes, a post—that’s a small presentation—about where I’ve got to in my current research. It’s for tomorrow, before the final plenary session.’

‘What’s it about—and would I even understand the title?’ he added with good-humoured self-deprecation.

For all that her incandescent beauty lit up the room for him, she lived in a world that was far, far distant from the cut and thrust of his.

He watched her take a sip from her drink, admiring her delicate fingers, the elegant air she had about her. She was wearing a mid-price-range cocktail dress, with a square neckline and cap sleeves, which, although it was fitting for the purpose of a formal conference dinner, had little pizzazz about it. Her hair was dressed in a neat pleat, and her make-up was subdued. She looked what she was—an academic dressed up for the evening.

Desire curled in him, focussed and demanding.

She was answering him now, and he paid attention, subduing his primitive response to her.

Her voice, light and crisp in the English style, had warmed with an enthusiasm that came, he knew instinctively, from the intellectual passion in her that lit up in her eyes, animating her fine-boned face.

‘My research field is cosmology—understanding the origins and eventual fate of the universe. This poster is just one small aspect of that. I’m running observational data through a computer model, testing various options for the geometry and density of space which might indicate whether, to put it at its simplest, the universe is open or closed.’

Nic frowned in concentration. ‘What does that mean?’

Her voice warmed yet more as she explained. ‘Well, if it’s open, the expansion that started with the Big Bang will cause all the matter in the universe to be dissipated, so there will be no stars, no planets, no galaxies and no energy. It’s called heat death and it would be really boring,’ she said with a moue of dislike. ‘So I’m rooting for a closed universe, which could cause everything to eventually collapse back in a Big Crunch and trigger another Big Bang—and the universe will be reborn. Far more fun!’

Nic took a mouthful of bourbon, feeling the strong liquid ease pleasantly down his throat.

‘So, which is it?’ he asked in his laconic fashion.

She gave another moue. ‘No one knows for sure—though it’s tending towards open at the moment, alas. Whichever it is we have to accept it—even if I don’t like it.’

Nic felt himself shake his head. ‘No. I don’t buy that.’

She was looking at him questioningly, her eyes beautiful and wide.

He elaborated, his voice decisive. ‘We should never accept what we don’t like. It’s defeatist.’ His jaw set. ‘OK, maybe it applies to the universe—but it doesn’t apply to humanity. We can change things, and it’s up to us. We don’t have to accept the status quo.’

She was still looking at him, but her expression was one of curiosity now. ‘That sounds like it runs very deep in you,’ she said. Her eyes rested on him a moment, as if reading him.

He gave a half-shrug of one shoulder, as if impatient. ‘We can’t just accept things as they are.’

She frowned slightly. ‘Some things we have to, though. Some things we can’t change. Who we are, for example. Who we were born as—’

Like I was born Donna Francesca—that’s in me whether I want it to be or not. It’s part of my heritage—an indelible part. For all the changes I’ve made to my life, I can’t change my birth.

‘That’s exactly what we can change!’ There was vehemence in his reply, and he took another slug of bourbon. Memories were pressing in on him suddenly—bad memories. His hapless mother, abandoned by the man who’d fathered her son, abandoned by all of the other men who’d taken up with her—or worse. His memory darkened. Like the brute who had inflicted beatings on her until the day had come when Nic had reached his teenage years and had been strong enough to protect her from thugs like that....

I had to change my life! I had to do it for myself—by myself. There was no one to help me. And I did change it.

She was looking at him, a slightly curious look in her eyes at the vehemence of his expression, her beautiful grey eyes clear in her fine-boned face.

She gave a slow nod. ‘Then perhaps,’ she said, in an equally slow voice, ‘we have to bear in mind that old prayer, don’t we? The one that asks that we be granted the courage to change what we can, but the patience to accept what we can’t, and the wisdom to know the difference.’

Nic thought about it. Then, ‘Nope,’ he said decisively. ‘I want to change everything I don’t like.’

She gave a laugh—a deliberately light one. ‘Well, you wouldn’t make a scientist, that’s for sure,’ she said.

He gave an echoing laugh, realising with a sense of shock that he had spoken more about his deepest feelings to this woman than he had ever done to anyone. It struck him that to have touched on matters that ran so very deep within him with a woman he hadn’t known existed twenty minutes earlier was....

Significant?

I don’t have conversations like this with women—never. So why this one?

It had to be because of her being a scientist—that had to be it. It was just that, nothing more.

She’s a fantastically beautiful woman—and I want to know her more. But there have been a lot of beautiful women in my life, when I’ve had time for them. She’s just one more.

She was different, yes, because of her being an incredibly talented astrophysicist when the women he was usually interested in were party girls, prioritising good times and carefree enjoyment, which allowed him time out from his obsession with building his personal empire. Females who didn’t ask for commitment. For more than he could give them.

But thinking about the assorted women who’d been and gone in his life was not what he was here to do. He was here to make the most of this one.

He flexed his shoulders, feeling himself relax again, his eyes focussed on drinking in her extraordinary entrancing beauty.

She had finished her drink, and so had he. With every instinct in his body, long honed by experience, he knew it was time to call time on the evening. He’d set the wheels in motion, but tonight was not going to get them further to the destination he wanted for them both. She was not, he knew, the kind of woman who could be rushed. He’d followed through on the impulse that had brought him across the casino floor to her, and for now that was enough.

He signalled the barman, signed the chit as presented, making sure his scrawling ‘Falcone’ was visible only to his employee, and got to his feet with a smile.

Fran did likewise. Her emotions were strange—new to her—but she smiled politely. ‘Thank you for the drink,’ she said.

The long dark lashes swept over the blue, blue eyes. ‘My pleasure,’ came the laconic reply. ‘And thank you for the science tutorial,’ he added, the smile warm in his gaze.

‘You’re welcome,’ Fran replied, her smile just as warm, but briefer, more circumspect.

She headed towards the bank of elevators across the lobby, conscious of his gaze upon her. Was she regretting the fact that he was calling time on their encounter? Surely not? Surely anything more was out of the question?

And yet even as with her head she knew it must be, with quite a different part of her body she knew—from the heady buzz in her bloodstream and the quickened heart rate—that she was regretful that she must retire to her solitary bedroom.

That sense of restlessness she’d felt earlier filled her again. Cesare had been a long time ago—over a year ago now—and anyway, theirs had never been a physical relationship. That, she knew, would have waited until well into their engagement, or even their actual wedding night, for Cesare was a traditionally-minded Italian male.

Not many would have understood their relationship—understood that, having known each other all their lives, it had made perfect sense for them to marry one day. In the meantime, they had both been single agents, and she was well aware that Cesare—an extremely attractive male, blessed with a high social position and great wealth to boot—had indulged in many a romantic liaison.

He had accepted that such tolerance was two-way, and until they had become formally engaged she had been as free as he to indulge in affairs. She’d had only two what might be called ‘full affairs’ in her life—one with another undergrad at Cambridge, a very boy-girl romance, and one brief liaison with a visiting academic while on her PhD course on the East Coast—and that had amply sufficed.

Her dating had nearly always been with fellow academics, and usually based around concerts, films or theatre outings. Searing passion had not played a role, and its absence had not troubled her. One day, after all, she would be marrying Cesare...

Except that now she wouldn’t, after all.

She was footloose and fancy-free. If she chose to be. Free to move on from Cesare, to seek romance—free to take a break, if she wanted, from the demands of academia.

Free to be chatted up by a muscled hunk with the bluest eyes she’d ever seen in a man, let alone one of Italian origin. A man whose smile was lazy, his speech laconic, and whose expression and long-lashed deep blue eyes were telling her just how very much he appreciated her.

She jabbed at the elevator button, her feeling of restlessness increasing as she stepped inside, feeling it swoop her the couple of floors upwards in this low-rise hotel that blended so gracefully into the desert landscape.

Inside her room, she glanced at the folder with her notes, but did not open it. Instead she stripped off for bed, taking off her make-up, brushing out her hair. Wondering why her heart rate still was not back to normal.

Her dreams, when they came, were full—and unsettling.

CHAPTER TWO

THE CONFERENCE WAS wrapping up, with the panel of plenary speakers paying courteous tribute to each other.

Fran flexed her tired fingers, having taken copious notes throughout. Her thoughts were uncertain. She was scheduled to fly back to the West Coast with her colleagues that afternoon, but was conscious that she was reluctant to do so. She’d meant what she’d said about wanting to take advantage of the hotel’s amenities, and why shouldn’t she? She hadn’t taken any holiday time for a year—she was overdue for a break. So why not here and now?

And whether that hunky security guy chatting her up last night had anything to do with her decision, she would not consider. He’d been a catalyst for it, that was all.

The sense of restlessness that had started to well up in her again subsided, her decision made. She said as much to her colleagues, telling them that she would be staying on for a few days at the hotel.

Grinning, they informed her they were off to hit Vegas and see if their luck at the tables was holding out. Fran wished them well and waved them off. Las Vegas was one place she did not want to go to.

No, if she went anywhere it would be to see something of the western desert—maybe even, she pondered, as she headed for the reception desk to keep her room on, take one of the hotel’s tours to the Grand Canyon.

She made enquiries, took away the tour brochure, and headed into the poolside bistro to have a light lunch and go through her notes. Her mind felt wiped out from all the heavy-duty presentations, and she realised she was looking forward to a few days off.

As she tucked into her salad she found herself wondering if she would see that hunky security guy again. But if he’d been on duty the night before maybe he wasn’t around in the daytime? Or if he was maybe he wouldn’t show any further interest in her anyway? Or maybe—

‘Hi—so, conference all finished?’

The deep, gravelled voice sounded behind her, and Fran turned her head. Felt something quiver inside her as she set her eyes on his powerful body again. This time he was not in a tux, but in a dark burgundy polo shirt bearing the hotel’s logo—the words Falcone, Nevada, with a golden falcon, wings outstretched, above—that stretched across his broad, muscled chest in a way that made her want to study the contours minutely.

That internal quiver came again, and a quickening of her heart rate. She felt something lift inside her...a sense of lightness.

‘All done,’ she acknowledged. ‘Just the notes to go through.’ She gestured at the pile of papers in the folder.

He glanced at them, and then at her. ‘May I?’ He indicated the free seat at her table.

He was asking her—courteously—if he could continue their slight acquaintance. Fran saw it and registered the courtesy, the request.

She knew she was entirely free to say something like, Oh, I’m sorry, but I really do need to go through my notes straight away while they’re fresh in my head, and he would simply accept it, give her a regretful smile and stroll away. Accept her rejection.

But those words of polite rejection never came. Instead she heard her voice say, just as courteously, ‘Of course,’ and she smiled.

She felt that lift again inside her—in her body, in her spirits. Seeing him again was reinforcing the extraordinary reaction she’d had to him last night—confirming it for her. Whatever was going on, something different was happening to her.

And she would let it happen. Mentally, the decision had been made. And as he lowered his powerful frame on to the chair, with a grace and ease that she found pleasing to the eye, she knew she would let him continue with his move on her.

For a move it was—that was obvious. Inexperienced she might be, compared with many of her contemporaries, but she knew when a man was making a play for her. And this one was. Quite decidedly.

So his next words came as no surprise.

‘You’ve decided not to check out yet—I’m glad.’

She threw him an old-fashioned look. Clearly he’d had a word with the staff at the reception desk, discovered she’d extended her booking.

Nic returned her look with a bland expression. He was deliberately wearing the staff polo shirt today, to confirm the impression he guessed she had that he was one of his own employees. That suited him fine.

‘Glad?’ she queried. Challenged.

The bland expression did not falter. ‘Glad you’ll have a chance to enjoy the hotel’s leisure amenities—and maybe take one of the tours as well?’

His glance now went to the hotel tour brochure. It was extensive—part of the offering the resort made to visitors. It included personalised tours to anywhere in the US West they might want to visit. Far or near.

‘Maybe,’ he went on, his expression still bland, but belied by a glint in those incredibly blue dark-lashed eyes that was telling Fran something not bland in the slightest, ‘you might like to start with the Sunset Drive this evening?’

Fran’s heart gave a little unconscious skip but she frowned slightly—her first glance at the brochure hadn’t listed such a tour.

‘It’s one of the personalised ones.’ On cue came the answer to her unspoken question. His voice was as bland as his expression. ‘It sets off from here late afternoon, going to a viewing spot for the sunset. It’s only a couple of hours. You’ll be back in time for dinner.’

He smiled. Not the desert wolf smile, but a bland smile, his long dark lashes dipping over his blue, blue eyes.

Fran considered it. Carefully analysed it for all the pros and cons for all of five seconds. Then gave her answer.

‘Sounds good,’ she said, and smiled a bland smile in return.

‘Great,’ he said.

Satisfaction was in his voice. Mission accomplished. Fran heard it, and it amused her. Nothing about this man was putting her off. He was being open about his intentions—conspiratorial, even. And yet she realised she still didn’t actually know whether this Sunset Drive was really part of the hotel’s offering to guests or was a particularly personalised tour, customised for herself alone.

That he would turn out to be the driver for this Sunset Drive, and she the sole passenger, she had little doubt at all.

And no reservations either.

He got to his feet—again, remarkably smoothly and easily for a man with his powerful frame—and smiled down at her again. His expression was just a touch less bland. A touch more openly appreciative.

‘I’ll fix it,’ he said, and lifted a hand in casual farewell and strolled away.

As he went Fran’s eyes went after him, saw how he paused to say something to one of the waitresses—a young woman whose expression as he talked to her told Fran that she was not the only female susceptible to that unforced, laid-back charm, those powerful good looks. Whatever the man had to draw women to him he had it in spades.

She gave a little sigh that turned into a good-humoured wry smile. She’d felt restless, mentally wiped from the conference—as if she were surfacing after a long, intensely focussed cerebral engagement that had lasted a whole year since she’d realised that making her life with Cesare was not what she wanted to do after all.

And now suddenly, out of nowhere, the future was beckoning to her. A future that was her own—that held more than her career. That held adventure—

And if that adventure, for now, happened to include a man who was making it very clear that she was pleasing to his eye—a man who was pleasing her eye in a way that was as totally unexpected as it was unpredicted—well, she would go for that.

She felt that lift inside her come again, that heady quickening of her pulse.

And welcomed it.

* * *

‘Hi, let me help you up.’

Nic handed Fran up into the SUV he’d commandeered and parked on the hotel forecourt, before vaulting into the driver’s seat. He’d changed into a western shirt, jeans and boots, and saw that for her part she’d sensibly put on firmer footwear, a loose shirt and long cotton trousers.

‘One Sunset Drive coming up,’ he said, casting his wolf-like smile at her, making Fran glad she was wearing sunglasses. Making her glad she was taking a chance for a change.

He fired the engine, easing the SUV down the hotel drive on to the main highway, then turning to her as he settled into a cruising speed. ‘So, did you enjoy your leisurely afternoon, Dr Ristori?’

It was an amiable, courteous enquiry, and she answered in kind, accepting that he must know her name from the hotel register. ‘Yes, I wrote up my notes then got in a swim and flopped on a lounger poolside. Totally lazy.’

‘Well, why not?’ he answered easily. ‘Your vacation—your choice.’

He glanced at her—a throwaway glance that was hidden by his aviator sunglasses, accompanied by a smile indenting around his mouth. It was a friendly, open smile, yet one that acknowledged that behind the word ‘choice’ there was more than whether or not she had had a lazy afternoon.

A lot more might be hers to choose.

She answered with a flickering smile and looked away, down the dusty road stretching through the desert landscape like something out of a Western movie.

He didn’t talk any more as he drove, and after some miles he turned off up an unmade track, along the edge of a bluff that terminated in a rocky col overlooking a valley beyond, where he parked.

As they got out the heat and the silence enveloped them. Nic jammed a wide-brimmed hat on his head, offering her one for herself, which she dutifully donned against the glare of the lowering sun. He then helped himself to a backpack holding twin water bottles and the mandatory emergency kit.

‘It’s about a ten-minute hike now,’ Nic said, and set off up a trail that led higher among the rugged outcrops.

Fran followed nimbly, and as they gained height saw the valley beyond fill with deep golden light, the azure sky arching above. It seemed very far from anywhere, with only the wind keening in her ears. Eventually they reached a flat outcrop affording a ringside view of the sight they had come to see and they settled down, backs against the warm rock behind them.

‘Now we wait,’ Nic said.

He passed her a water bottle and Fran drank thirstily. So did he. Before their eyes the sun was starting to lower into the horizon, turning deep bronze as it did so. Fran gazed, mesmerised, glad of her sunglasses as the sun seemed to fuse with the earth, flushing the azure sky with a halo of deep crimson until finally it slipped beyond the rim of the ever-turning globe and the sky began to darken.

She slid the dark glasses from her face, and saw him do likewise. Then he turned to her.

‘Worth it?’ he asked laconically.

She nodded. ‘Oh, yes,’ she breathed.

Her eyes met his, held, and for a moment—just a moment—something was exchanged between them. Something that seemed to go with this slow, unhurried landscape, desolate but with a beauty of its own, lonely but intensely special.

A thought occurred to her, and she heard herself give voice to it.

‘I don’t know your name,’ she said. She said it with a little frown, as if it were strange to have shared this moment with him not knowing it.

He gave her his slow smile, holding out his strong, large hand.

‘Nic,’ he said. ‘Nic Rossi.’

He gave his birth name quite deliberately. He didn’t want complications—he wanted things to be very, very simple.

She took his hand, felt its strength and warmth. Felt more than its strength and warmth.

‘Fran,’ she said. Her smile met his. Her eyes met his. Acknowledging something that needed to be acknowledged between them. The fact that, whatever was going on, from this moment she was no longer a hotel guest and he was not part of the security team, or whatever his role was.

That this was something between them—only between them.

‘Doc Fran,’ Nic murmured contemplatively, his eyes working over her. He nodded. ‘It suits you.’

He didn’t release her hand, only drew her upright as he climbed to his feet as well.

‘We need to head down before the light goes,’ he told her, and carefully they made their way back to the SUV. ‘Hungry?’ Nic asked. He kept his question studiedly casual. ‘Because if you don’t want to head back to the hotel yet I know a diner nearby...’

He let the suggestion hang, let her choose to answer it as she wanted.

She gave her flickering smile—the one that told him she was hovering between holding back and not holding back.

‘That sounds good,’ she answered. ‘A change from the hotel.’

He gunned the engine and they headed off, headlights cutting through the desert dusk that had turned to night by the time they drew up in the car park of a roadside diner.