The Billionaire's Fake Engagement / Man From Stallion Country

No doubt Bridget would make some other man extremely happy. Her pedigree as A1 and she was sweet natured as well as attractive. But, even if it was proven that he had indeed fathered her child, Alex couldn’t contemplate sharing his life with Bridget Davidson. Natalie, on the other hand, would make a perfect wife. A wonderful mother.

Perhaps it was time.

He pushed up out the chair, entered his study and dialled open the sequenced lock on his desk’s drawer safe. A moment later he held the doubloon, a near priceless heirloom handed down from generation to generation. He’d respected its history, had every intention of following tradition. But now, as never before, he understood its true worth. He would do what was needed to carry on its proper succession.

And that meant winning Natalie Wilder back.

Chapter Four

Mateo Celeca swung open his harbor-side residence front door and gripped his friend’s hand. After a brief brotherly hug, he waved Alex through to the parquet entry.

“There’s a lot to be said for success,” Mateo closed the heavy door. “Finding time to catch up unfortunately isn’t one of them.” He folded his arms and slanted his head. “You look well, my friend.”

Alex took in Mateo’s olive complexion, striking today against his billowy white shirt and calico trousers. “You look better than well.”

“It’s the Mediterranean sun. When I visit home, I don’t want to return. Then Mama starts with her matchmaking, setting up chance meetings with ‘nice girls’, and I’m reminded why I need to get back.”

Alex joined in Mateo’s hearty chuckle. He’d visited “home” with Mateo one summer in their university days. Mama Celeca, Mateo’s grandmother, was a small lady with a big heart who believed every good man deserved a good woman. That summer he and Mateo had barely escaped Italy with their bachelorhood intact.

“You’ll find your Miss Right one day, Mat.”

“Perhaps you can give me some pointers.”

Alex cocked a brow. “You’ve read this morning’s paper, then.”

His hand resting on his friend’s back, Mateo ushered Alex through, past the polished honeywood staircase and down a wide hall, which boasted countless heirlooms and antiques, some dating back many centuries. Alex’s three-story Vaucluse residence was outstanding by anyone’s standards, but it still fell short of this kind of grandeur.

Mateo strolled with Alex toward the rear of his immaculate home. “From this morning’s story, your situation sounds…complicated.”

Alex exhaled. “I’ve heard that before.”

“From the expectant mother?”

“From the woman I’m sleeping with.”

“I take it you’re not happy with the father-to-be situation.”

“I could think of better scenarios.” Like Natalie being the woman pregnant with his child. That he could handle.

They entered the kitchen, an enormous sparkling affair, made all the more inviting by the faint scent of citrus and freshly grilled bacon.

Mateo retrieved two demitasses from an overhead cupboard and set the cups next to the espresso pot. “How are the women in your life coping?”

Alex gripped the back of a Chippendale chair. “One I haven’t spoken with in over six months. The other doesn’t want to see me again.”

Reaching for the pot handle, Mateo paused. “Perhaps I should offer you something stronger.”

Alex grinned. “Coffee’s good.”

Drinks poured, they moved out into the cobblestone courtyard. On the expansive back lawn, giant topiaries were pruned into animal shapes…a lion, a bull, two rams locking horns. A Mediterranean style water feature provided the perfect backdrop.

After setting his cup on the table, Alex lowered into cushioned wrought iron chair and Mateo did the same then asked, “How can I help?”

“I need to find out if I’m the father of that baby, and I need to find out fast.”

“Estimated dates?”

“If I am the father, twenty-four weeks.” He’d checked his PDA calendar late last night.

“Gestational age would be twenty-six.” Mateo’s pensive look cleared. “To get a more accurate estimate, we need an ultrasound. Scans are routine. Her GP or OB would likely have scheduled at least one. There’s no risk to mother or unborn child.” Elbows on the chair arms, he laced his fingers, index fingers steepled. “Now for some good news regarding prenatal paternity tests.”

Alex rubbed his brow. He could use all the good news he could get.

“Nowadays they’re easy to perform and results are available within days,” Mateo told him. “We need a blood sample from the mother and a simple mouth swab from you. The results are one hundred percent accurate on negative identification and ninety-nine point nine percent accurate on positive.”

“So if I’m not the father of the baby we’ll know conclusively.”

Mateo nodded and reached for his cup. “If you’d like the lady to see me, I’ll happily fit her in and arrange for the tests to be performed.”

Sounded good. “I’ll speak with Bridget…though I’ll need to get past her father first.”

“As I recall, you’re not Joe Davidson’s favourite person.”

Mateo knew about the hydraulics contract affair. “After last night I’ve officially hit the bottom of his Christmas card list.”

Mateo sipped, shrugged. “You have better things to worry about.”

Alex huffed over a wry grin. “Want to hear the real kick in the pants? Three months ago I met a woman I share an amazing chemistry with and now she wants to end our affair.”

“So you love this other woman?”

Alex sat back and gazed at the half-dozen sparrows darting across the flawless blue sky. “No. But I do know I love being with her.” Especially in the bedroom.

His parents had been in love. As a child their bond had made him feel safe. As an adult it had made him proud. Teresa and Zach had the right recipe, too. Their till-death-us-do-part vibes radiated out, an invisible yet powerful force. But he didn’t see that kind of all-consuming love in his future.

He agreed wholeheartedly with his father’s advice about choosing the right woman to marry. Raymond Vacanti, a friend from university days, had been less analytical. The month after Ray was left a sizeable inheritance, he’d fallen hard for a gorgeous, streetwise blonde. Two years into the marriage, Blondie got herself a good lawyer, filed for divorce, was awarded most of Ray’s money then moved onto the next chump. Anyone could see that woman was a heartless tramp. Poor Ray, however, had been blinded by love.

Alex had made his mind up early never to leave himself open like that. As his father had said, better not to love at all than to fall in love with the wrong kind of woman.

But Natalie…

Alex sat up and tugged his ear. “Natalie’s special.”

Mateo white teeth flashed. “That does sound serious.”

“I did say I intended to marry her.”

Mateo’s gaze dropped to his middle fingertip circling the rim of his cup. “And if you are the father of Bridget Davidson’s baby?”

“Guess we’ll know soon enough.”

“Indeed.” Mateo thought for a moment, then downed his coffee and sat forward. “I have tennis booked with Eddie Boxwell at eleven. Care for a hit? I promise to let you win a set.”

Alex chuckled. “Such a generous man.” He eased to his feet. “I have another stop to make this morning.”

“Bridget.”

“Natalie.” He cringed. “This is complicated.”

“You can’t change the outcome of that child’s paternity.”

“And I can’t turn back time.”

Mateo pushed to stand and strolled with Alex back toward the kitchen. “It’ll work out.”

“Is that your bedside manner talking?”

“Is it helping?”

Alex grinned. “I’ll let you know in a few days.”

Fifteen minutes later, after stopping to make a purchase, Alex entered the reception area of Phil McPherson’s Real Estate. A number of clients sat with attentive agents among strategically placed desks. In fact, the place was buzzing, but Natalie was nowhere to be seen.

On slick castors, the receptionist rolled a chair over from her workstation to the main desk.

“Can I help you, sir?”

Hands landing on the chest-high counter, Alex craned his neck to peer around the photocopier corner. “I want to buy a property. Nothing under ten million. I need your top agent.”

The woman’s chocolate-brown eyes rounded before she surreptitiously examined his monogrammed shirt, his Swiss brand watch. Then, doubling up on her smile, she rang through to an extension.

“Natalie, a gentleman here wants to look at properties.” A pause. “But he’s interested in nothing under ten mill.” She stole a glance at him from beneath her lashes. “Uh-huh. I’ll let him know.” She replaced the receiver and beamed over an anything-you-want smile. “Natalie Wilder will be right out.”

Her sentence wasn’t finished before Natalie breezed out from a back office, her gait catwalk-model worthy, her soft sable hair pulled back in an elegant workplace twist. When their gazes clashed, she stopped dead and the professional smile slid from her face.

“You.”

He could almost smell her fresh flowery scent from here. Could almost feel her sensuous curves moulded against his. God, he’d missed having her share his bed last night. Tonight they’d make up the deficit.

When her eyes narrowed, he remembered his story, which, he decided now, was true. Visiting Mateo this morning made him realise he needed to upgrade. More than that. His sleek and sizeable bachelor pad had served a purpose but now he would invest in a real home. A place in which he envisaged a woman. The sensual, bristling, goddess of a woman standing before him.

He nudged his chin at a poster to the right of the reception station. “I’d like to see that property.”

Natalie knotted her arms over her smart navy blue dress. “Sorry, I’m unavailable.”

He merely grinned. Wrong answer.

While the receptionist gaped at Natalie, Alex opened his mouth to coax her to agree, but another voice interrupted their discussion.

“Natalie, would you come through to my office, please?”

Alex’s attention skated over to a fifty-something-year-old who wore blindingly shiny shoes and slicked back hair. From the glint in his eye, Alex saw he was a man of purpose. The sign on his office door read, Principal, Phil McPherson.

Natalie held her breath.

She’d told Alex last night it was over. She’d told him this morning she wasn’t interested in meeting. Yet he’d ignored her—surprise, surprise—and now she had Phil breathing down her neck. If her boss had heard any part of their conversation, she knew what he wanted and it wasn’t to collect lunch orders.

Natalie eyed Alex. He looked so in control, so breathtakingly masculine and commanding, in deep blue jeans. The man was hot, pure and simple, in Armani or denim, fully clothed or without a stitch. Then she slid a look over to her boss and his allseeing eyes.

No use avoiding it.

A moment later, Phil closed his office door and, clasping his hands behind his back, rocked back on his heels. “Is there some problem, Nat?”

She tried for blasé. “No problem, Phil.”

“Then I suggest you show that man his property.”

“If you don’t mind, I’d rather some other agent look after him.”

“Sure. If you don’t mind finding another job.” Phil strode toward his desk. “You, better than most, know the commission on that size sale.”

“Of course I know, but—”

“Here’s something you obviously don’t know.”

He held up today’s newspaper, folded back to that dreaded page five. She’d almost hyperventilated this morning when she’d flicked through and had seen the photos: a picture of Alex looking devilish handsome at some black-tie romp had been butted up against a studio headshot of a stunning looking Bridget Davidson. It made Natalie wonder what on earth Alex saw in nothing-out-of-the-box her.

Phil dropped the paper. “That man is Alexander Ramirez.”

“I can explain—”

“Your personal life and lovers’ spats are none of my concern. I do know the phones are running hotter than usual this morning, I’m guessing because the today’s headline girl works here. I also know Ramirez is a serious man with serious money.” The groove between his thick dark brows eased as he tossed the paper back on his desk, next to his toppling in tray. “You’re the best agent I have. We need every commission we can get. These aren’t the best of times. We can’t afford to pass up even the suggestion of a possible sale.”

She chewed her lip.

The market was in a ditch, the more expensive properties included. Last week, a long standing agency had closed its doors. She couldn’t tell Phil that Alex’s enquiry was a ruse to get her alone. Or perhaps Phil suspected as much but was prepared to go forward with the inspection on the off chance the query ended in a sale.

No matter how she rationalised, when push came to shove, Phil called the shots.

Beaten, she shrugged. “You’re the boss.”

Phil slipped in behind his desk. “And you’re a trooper.”

She exited Phil’s office, closed the door and lifted her chin. Alex’s onyx eyes burned into hers. Oh, yes, he was serious, all right.

She moved to join him, crossing her arms again, a bid to convey some pretence of distance, not that she thought he would sweep her up and whisk her away. At least she didn’t think he would.

She cleared her throat. “Just so you know, I have a busy day ahead of me.”

His grin was lopsided and inherently sexy.

She swallowed and knotted her arms more securely over her churning stomach. “This won’t do any good.”

“Are you going to show me this property or not?”

“I’m going to show you this property, then I’m going to get on with my day.” When his grin eased wider, she dropped her arms and threw back her shoulders. “I’m not kidding.”

He took her elbow. “Neither am I.”

Chapter Five

Alex insisted on taking his car. He thumbed the vendor’s street into the GPS and a short time later pulled the gleaming black sports car into the exclusive address.

Natalie depressed a remote button and, like curtains introducing a spectacular stage, the colossal iron gates fanned open. Tall pencil pines stood guard on either side of a long paved drive, and immaculate gardens greeted them with stunning spring bouquets. At the far end of an emerald lawn resided a magnificent rendered building.

The Quinton mansion.

Parking beneath the enormous front portico, its columns twined with lemon bougainvillea, Alex slid out from the driver’s side and swung open her door. Stepping out, she scanned the interior. The air smelled of sweet floral perfume and generations of money.

“The owners are visiting the U.S.,” she told him in a professional tone. “They’re eager to sell.”

She felt his gaze on her, moving over her hair, down her limbs, leaving a glorious blistering heat in its wake.

Brushing down her dress, she willed the telltale fire from her cheeks. They hadn’t spoken during the drive here but she’d felt the force of Alex’s concentration as he’d negotiated the Sydney streets. He’d been formulating a foolproof plan to get what he wanted.

But she wasn’t a fool anymore, even where Alexander was concerned.

“The reporters have been onto you this morning,” he said.

She sighed. So it begins.

She moved ahead, up the broad stone steps that led to a pristine slate veranda. “The house has six large bedrooms, all with private sitting rooms and imported marble bathrooms—”

“They’ve been onto me, too.”

“—as well as two offices, a home theatre, an indoor pool along with outdoor swimming facilities, including sauna and ten-person hot tub—”

“I have an idea.”

She spun on him. “So do I. It entails getting back to my office and diving into some real work.”

His dark eyes sparkled in the dappled sunlight. “So you’re curious.”

The stern look slipped from her face, but damned if she’d grin back. “You’re incorrigible.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” His arm went out to bring her close but she dodged and headed toward the double front doors.

She turned the lock and stepped into a grand vestibule while Alex’s voice came again from behind. “The publicity hype will only get worse.”

She’d weather it. After Alex retracted his engagement statement, she’d simply keep her head down. Get on with her life. And never, ever become so involved with any man again. Not that any man could compare with Alexander.

An unnerving sensation seared the pit of her belly and she set her briefcase on the marble tiles resolutely.

Don’t think about the future. One step at a time. One day at a time.

But Alex wasn’t giving up. “We could work with the publicity rather than against it.”

Standing beneath an authentic French classic chandelier, Natalie angled slowly back. “Are you forgetting where this all started? There’s a woman who’s alone and carrying your baby.”

His eyes glinted. “That’s not been determined.”

“Then perhaps you ought to help organise some tests.”

She hated being snarky, but talk of buying multimillionaire dollar mansions or taking advantage of bad publicity wouldn’t help the situation.

“I spoke with a friend this morning,” Alex said. “Mateo’s a leading OB/GYN.”

Her ears pricked. He’d spoken of Mateo Celeca before. Alex and the doctor had been fast friends since high school.

“After samples are taken from both Bridget and myself, we should have the results of the paternity tests within a week.”

A wave of light-headedness swept over her.

If he was the father of that baby, they, as a couple, really would be over. No more acceding to games like today’s. He would need to be with Bridget Davidson and her baby. No way would Natalie place herself in the middle.

She reclaimed her detached air. “Then it’s going to be an intense week for you,” she said, starting up the stairs.

“With the publicity it will be for you, too…unless we make the best of a bad situation.”

She continued up the staircase.

“From the activity at Phil’s,” he went on, “I’m guessing your office was flooded with calls this morning. Celebrity does that.”

“That’s a steep price for a few leads. And when Phil realizes what’s going on,” that she was wasting her time here because this expedition was merely a way for Alex to get her alone and vulnerable, “I might not have a job.”

“My bet is, after today he’ll give you a big fat bonus.”

Still ascending, she clapped one thigh. “Well, of course! Being involved with a man who is supposedly marrying one woman while another is having his baby is clearly something to endorse.”

“Not everyone believes that two people who aren’t suited to each other should marry for the sake of the child. It’s a recipe for resentment and discord.”

“There’s a lot of old-fashioned folk who believe they should at least try.” The folk back in Constance Plains, for instance. Bunch of small-minded hypocrites.

And, dammit, she wouldn’t think about that, either.

She was halfway up the staircase when, as if by magic, he appeared before her, his powerful frame blocking her path. “And an equal amount of people would say I’m a man of principle for not going back on my word to you.”

Her heart pounded as he loomed over her. He was everything a man should be. A powerhouse of raw conviction and simmering sexuality.

And, she had to remember, he was no longer hers.

“There’s just one teensy problem. We weren’t, aren’t and never will be engaged. It’s a lie.”

“We can turn it into the truth.”

She made an impatient sound then wound up around him. But he clasped her hand and she was tugged back to face his steely gaze.

“I can’t do anything about Bridget’s claim,” he said. “Or that word is out we’re to be married. If I retract that statement now, I’ll look like an even bigger heel.” His brows knitted. “Zhang knows about my grandfather’s less than scrupulous reputation. Yesterday I convinced him that any investment would be safe with me. I told him I was a man of my word.”

“An honourable man who carries through on his promises,” she murmured, continuing his thread and hating that it’d begun to make some kind of sense.

This fake engagement had a business angle? Business implied impartiality, controlled feelings, calculated decisions.

And none of that meant she would go along with it.

“Cute plan,” she offered, “but I’m sure you’re aware of its flaws.”

He nodded grudgingly. “Zhang’s decision might not be affected by this story either way. On the other hand, if that newspaper report has swayed his opinion, perhaps nothing will swing it back. But even if Zhang doesn’t go through with this deal, I’ll have gained something more important.” His foot found the higher stair and he leaned in close. “A wife.”

Her eyes popped.

Wife!

She choked on a disbelieving laugh. “Whoa. Alex, listen to me. We are not engaged.”

Deaf, determined, he dug into his back pocket and presented a small velvet box, then sprang open the lid.

The strength in her legs dissolved. A huge solitaire diamond glittered up at her. She’d never seen a stone that big, that dazzling. That perfect!

A bubble of emotion caught in her throat. She swallowed before it went to her head.

This scenario was all wrong, from beginning to end. She couldn’t be engaged to him. She certainly couldn’t marry him. He was probably the father of another woman’s baby. Even if the tests came back negative, Tallie Wilder wasn’t exactly prime wife material. Not if the man concerned wanted a family.

Alex had made it clear that having a son and heir was a priority, and she couldn’t have another child. He wanted his wife’s reputation to be above reproach. In her hometown, her name was synonymous with scandal.

And there was something else. Alex hadn’t mentioned the reason a couple usually became man and wife. Oh, he desired her, enjoyed her company, treated her like a queen. But he didn’t love her.

A lifetime ago she’d dreamed of love where no sacrifice was too great. Where what mattered above all else was the other person’s feelings, security and trust. She’d imagined knowing the kind of love where forfeiting your most prized possession would be the least you could do if it eased your sweetheart’s pain just a little.

Then she’d lost her baby as well as any emotion, other than grief and regret. Having known Alexander had brought her back to life. She still believed in that unique kind of love, maybe even for herself. She certainly wouldn’t marry without it.

But while she felt sure Alex would make a wonderful, committed father, she wasn’t certain he was capable of that kind of unconditional affection where a woman was concerned. To a shrewd man like Alex, deep romantic love would equal vulnerability, Samson and Delilah style. She had only to remember how coolly he’d relayed the standards he’d accept in a wife, or his suggestion a moment ago that they follow through with the engagement primarily because of business, to be sure of that.

He wanted the ideal wife and mother and he’d chosen her. What a joke.

Needing to escape—needing to breathe—she jogged back down the stairs. “Alex, don’t do this.”

“Because you had a more romantic offer in mind?”

Her heels clicking again on the vestibule tiles, she made a beeline for the door and tried to dissuade him with what was clear. “We’ve known each other three months.”

“I’m looking forward to getting to know each other more.”

If he knew about her pregnancy, he’d be running rather than chasing. That night six years ago still haunted her. The thought of dredging up all those hopeless, horrible feelings, then having him walk out, made her insides churn enough to retch.

Why couldn’t he simply forget this crazy plan? Why wouldn’t he accept her decision?