An Heir for the Millionaire

But Xander had hardly treated those stays as holidays. Oh, he had kept her at his side, both by day and by night, but he had remained in constant communication with his staff and had struck, she knew, at least one business deal with his fellow guests.

How much would Joey see of him now? she wondered. It was one thing to visit Vi’s house, another to live for two weeks with a little child in a secluded villa.

The car swept through an iron-gated entrance and along a gravelled drive between lush vegetation, to pull up outside a long, low building. As they got out of the car, the humid warmth enveloped her. Beautifully kept gardens, brilliant with hibiscus and bougainvillaea, surrounded the villa, and already she could see the flashing dart of a hummingbird amongst the vivid blossoms.

She took Joey by the hand and followed Xander inside into a cool air-conditioned interior, with a high, cathedral ceiling, and through huge glass doors to a terrace, beyond which Joey immediately spotted the sea again. He cried out excitedly, and tugged on Clare’s hand.

Xander turned and held his hand out.

‘Let’s hit the beach, Joey,’ he said with a grin.

Clare felt pain stab through her. It hurt to see Xander smile like that. A carefree, boyish grin. He was not a man who smiled easily.

‘You’ll need beach clothes, pet,’ she said to Joey. ‘And sunblock.’

She led him off to find the bedroom, not caring what Xander wanted. Her luggage, such as it was, was already in the bedroom the smiling maid showed her to, and it did not take long to get herself into shorts and T-shirt and Joey into swimming shorts and a top and hat to protect him from the sun. He protested over the sunblock, but she was adamant.

From the verandah on to which her room opened she could see Xander, standing by an azure swimming pool. He, too, had changed for the beach, and Joey ran down towards him. She followed reluctantly, her cheap flip-flops flapping on the stone paving. She watched as Xander gave Joey another grin, took his hand, and headed down the path to the beach.

Clare might as well not have been there.

Pain stabbed again. To be so cut out—as if she did not exist…

Doggedly, she followed the two receding figures. The moment he could, Joey slipped Xander’s hand and ran down over the silvered sand into the crystal-clear turquoise water. As she walked onto the beach, Clare looked around her.

It really was like something out of a brochure for paradise. The long, low villa, set into jewelled gardens, the white sliver of beach, fringed by coconut palms whose fronds were swaying in the gently lifting breeze, and everywhere, stretching to the horizon, the fantastic brilliance of the turquoise sea. Far out, she could see waves splashing on a reef, creating the mirrored pond of the lagoon within.

But she would have given anything not to have been here…

‘Mummy! Come in the water!’ Joey’s voice was high-pitched with excitement.

She waded in with her sandalled feet, feeling the cool water like a balm. Joey jumped up and down, then sat down with a splash.

‘You see how happy he is?’ Xander’s voice was accusatory. ‘Yet you would have deprived him of this—as you deprived him of a father.’

Her eyes hardened. ‘Don’t try and make me feel guilty, Xander!’

Something moved in his face. Then it had gone. In its place was a different expression.

‘This isn’t good for Joey. All this aggression. He’ll pick up on it and it will upset him.’

Clare just looked at him. Her face was stony. How could she possibly endure two weeks here, like this? For a long moment Xander returned her gaze, level and unreadable.

‘We’re going to have to talk,’ he said. ‘Tonight, when Joey is in bed.’ He turned away, returning his attention to Joey. ‘OK, Joey—I’m coming in. Prepare for some serious splashing!’

Xander peeled off his top in a single fluid movement, and without her volition Clare’s eyes went to him. Her breath caught, and she was humiliatingly grateful for her dark glasses.

His body was as perfect, as fantastic, as she had remembered it. The smooth, strong-muscled torso, the broad shoulders, the long, lean thighs, hazed lightly with dark hair. As he ran down into the water past her, her eyes went to the perfect sculpture of his back, the narrow form of his hips.

Memory burned, like a wound in her flesh, vivid and excoriating. Once she had held him in her arms. Once that taut, muscled flesh had been hers to caress, hers to yield to, hers to crush herself against.

And now?

He was gone for ever. Beyond her for ever.

She turned away, heading back up towards the terrace.

This holiday would be a season in hell for her.

CHAPTER SEVEN

JOEY was asleep, his bed drawn next to hers, his teddy tucked in beside him. Jet lag had finally overcome him, despite his state of excitement at being here on holiday—and at the wonderful new addition to his life.

As Clare smoothed his dark hair gently, a heaviness of heart pressed on her.

How could two people react so differently to another one? Joey’s pleasure and excitement at Xander’s presence in his life shone from his eyes. While she dreaded every moment in his company.

And now she was going to have to face him again, without even Joey to dilute the hideous tension she felt.

Another round of Xander’s virulent hostility to endure. What would it be this time? she thought bitterly. More trying to make her feel bad for not having told him she was pregnant? More lectures on Joey’s right to a father? Or, worst of all, more insane proposals like their getting married?

At least he’d backed off on that one. Maybe even he now saw the insanity of it. Cold ran down her spine at the memory of him coolly informing her he was going to marry her—

Marriage to him would be as agonising now as it would have been four years ago. Nothing could change that…

She straightened and left the room, checking the baby monitor was on and taking the handset with her. As she walked back along the terrace she could hear the cicadas in the bushes, the occasional piercing chirrup of a tree frog, and feel the encircling warmth of the tropical night embrace her. She was still warm, even in shorts and T-shirt. She hadn’t bothered to change. What for?

Who for?

Not for Xander, that was for sure.

Never again for him.

The heaviness in her heart crushed her yet more.

The swift Caribbean night had fallen. The sky to the west carried the faint remains of blueness, while in the east brilliant gold stars were pricking through the floor of heaven.

The beauty of the setting mocked her.

So, too, even more cruelly, did the beauty of the man waiting for her, in an old-fashioned steamer chair set on the lawn near the pool, his legs stretched out, a bottle of cold beer in his grip. He looked at her as she walked towards him.

She felt suddenly acutely self-conscious. There was something in the way he was watching her that had nothing to do with the way he had regarded her since their fateful, nightmare encounter in the cocktail lounge.

Heavily, she plonked herself down in the other steamer. Almost instantly one of the house staff was there, enquiring politely what she would like to drink. She asked for a fruit punch, and it was there moments later, served in a beautiful expensive glass, with slices of fresh fruit and a frosted rim. She took a sip and frowned. It had alcohol in it—rum, probably. For an instant she thought to return it, then shrugged mentally. She could probably do with some Dutch courage.

She looked across at Xander.

‘Well?’ she said. She might as well get this over with. ‘You wanted to talk, so talk.’

For a second he said nothing. Then he spoke. ‘You’ve changed. I would hardly have known you.’

Even in the dusk she could feel a flush in her cheeks as his glance levelled at her assessingly.

‘Well, that’s hardly surprising,’ she retorted. ‘My lifestyle’s a little different,’ she said sarcastically.

He gave a quick shake of his head. ‘I don’t mean your looks. That’s understandable. I mean you.’ He paused, looking at her. ‘You’re—harder.’

She gave a snort. ‘Depends on the company,’ she said. She took a mouthful of the rum punch. The alcohol kicked through her.

His eyes narrowed. ‘So this is the real you I’m seeing now? I never saw it before.’

No, she thought, because I wasn’t like that then. I was—stupid. Trusting. Hopeful.

Stupid.

Well, so what? That was then, this was now. She took another drink from her cocktail, and stared across at Xander.

‘I thought you wanted to talk about Joey,’ she demanded

He didn’t like her speaking to him like that, she could see. But she didn’t care. He was right—she wasn’t the same person she had been when she’d been his mistress. She was harder now. She’d had to be. Had to be ever since the moment she’d murmured, ‘Will you excuse me a moment?’ to him in the restaurant at the St John and walked out of his life. Taking the marching orders he’d just handed her with brutal suddenness.

‘Obviously,’ he answered brusquely. ‘What else would we have to talk about?’ For a second, the very briefest second, there was a shift in his eyes. Then it was gone. ‘Like I told you—this aggression is not good for him. It’s got to stop.’

She stared at him. ‘So stop it,’ she said.

His mouth tightened. He definitely did not like being spoken to like that. Then, visibly, he made his expression impassive.