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“You did,” she whispered.
An undercurrent of heat passed between them. Suddenly Théo no longer cared about the ruined dinner. The spoon dropped from his hands, clattering to the floor. Pulling her into his arms, he kissed her.
Already he wanted her again.
The kiss lasted a long time before he finally found the strength to pull away.
If once he’d been preoccupied, now he was obsessed.
Their bond would be permanent and strong. He would help Carrie lose her foolish illusions—much as he’d acquire a troubled company and break apart its bankrupt assets, to get a better price for the whole. He would protect the parts of Carrie’s soul he admired—her passion, her intelligence, her love
for their son. Her kind heart. Her hopeful, tender soul.
But he would help her discard her big dreams, her impossibly romantic ideals. Everything that could not last. Everything she was better off without.
Yes, their marriage would be solid. Their family would be strong.
And he could hardly wait to start on the honeymoon.
Never breaking his gaze from hers, he sat down heavily in a nearby chair, pulling her into his lap. Wrapping his arms around her, he took her hands in his own. Her hands fell small, delicate and warm. He felt like a clod beside her. She would make the perfect countess.
“We will have a good partnership,” he said quietly. “You will be an asset to my life, and I will strive to be an asset to yours.”
Twisting around to face him, she looked at him with shock. “What are you talking about?”
“Our marriage.” His hands tightened over hers. “We’ve already started on the honeymoon. We should wed immediately. French law requires a ten-day wait, so I thought perhaps Las Vegas…”
Carrie held up her hand sharply. “You’re already planning our wedding?”
Her tone was angry. Of course, Théo thought, biting his lip in chagrin. Every woman wanted to plan her own wedding.
“It doesn’t have to be Las Vegas,” he said, more carefully. “We could marry in Seattle, so your family could attend. And of course if you feel you want a large, lavish reception I would be more than happy to throw an enormous party afterward, either here in the castle or in Paris. We’d invite all the highest society of Europe. We could have your dress specially made…”
“I’m not going to marry you,” she said coldly, “just because we had sex.”
“What?” he gasped. His eyebrows lowered. “Of course that’s not the only reason. But you felt how perfect we are together—made for each other!”
“Made for each other in bed,” she said. “A one-night stand changes nothing. You don’t want love. I won’t marry without it. We’d only make each other unhappy.”
He cupped her cheek, looking up at her with a growl. “You didn’t seem unhappy a few minutes ago.”
She jumped up from his lap. “You’re taunting me for wanting you? Fine.” Her voice was small as she looked down at her hands. “I wanted you. But that doesn’t change my feelings.”
“You don’t hate me,” he persisted, rising to his feet.
For a moment they stared at each other in the darkened kitchen.
“I don’t hate you,” she agreed sadly. Her eyes were luminous in the shadows of the kitchen’s flickering fireplace as she said bitterly, “But I wish to God I did.”
He shook his head. “But why? You must know that our marriage would be best for our son.”
“It would be a disaster,” she said sharply, “when I know you will soon lose interest in being tied down by the ball and chain of a family. Better you abandon us now rather than later, when Henry is old enough to be hurt by it.” She lifted her chin. “Nor are you the role model I want for my son as he grows into a man!”
That stung. He stiffened with an intake of breath. “I’m not going to let you take my son from me, Carrie,” he said coldly. “You will marry me, whether you wish it or no.”
He saw her tremble. “Théo, be reasonable—”
“I will never let you go,” he bit out. “Accept that fact. Accept your fate.”
