Contract for Marriage (4 page)

“Yes.” He poured water into his glass. “Where were we?”

Ruby couldn’t help watching the way the woman’s husband spoke to her through gritted teeth and the way Marguerite kept looking at Christo from under her bushy lashes.
A charmer
, her father had called him.
A social-climbing, devious charmer
. “You were telling me how you were looking out for me when you used me.”

His hand froze in mid-air. “That’s not how it was, Ruby.”

“You weren’t with other women?” She tore a piece of ciabatta and put it in her mouth, all the time holding his gaze. Her head told her to leave this, but a slow grind in her chest forced her on. If she’d wanted to return to New Zealand to search for her lost identity, then perhaps questioning the person who had a hand in taking it from her was a start. “You weren’t trawling yacht clubs and resorts to make the right connections? Gain new heights, so to speak?”

He leaned closer, the neck muscles beneath his collar cording as the lines around his eyes deepened. “I had been with other women, but that was before you and I became involved. As soon as I realized the connection we had, I didn’t look at anyone else. I changed when we got together.”

It still hurt deep inside that she’d been one of many, and that he was now offering her an implausible excuse of having changed. “Sure, you changed. You’d just hooked me, someone whose father was richer than all of those women put together. If you’d turned your focus solely on me it wasn’t for fidelity’s sake, but because my connections were more attractive.”

He shook his head in two swift movements, jaw set solid. “I see you’re as willing to believe the worst about me now as you were then.”

“I gave you an opportunity to explain yourself. You couldn’t get away from me fast enough.” She sipped her water, steadying her trembling hand. “And it seems you’ve got the same trail of admirers you had all those years ago.”

He lifted one shoulder and shrugged lazily. “It’s part of the business.”

“And what business would that be? You own a winery, I believe.”

“The vineyards are a hobby. The gyms and health resorts are where I started. Now I’m an entrepreneur.”

“I see.”

He picked up a piece of bread, then paused and met her eyes again. “Your father did me one favor.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing spurs a man to greater success than the pursuit of the truth and the hunger to win when he has been wronged. Your father set me free when he threw me out of the house. He made me hungry, determined. Opened my eyes about what and who to avoid in my life.”

“And what and who might that be?”

A muscle pulsed on his jaw. “Temptation and tricksters.”

A waiter placed enormous plates in front of them and Ruby looked down. Was he saying she still tempted him? Or that he didn’t trust her?

There was something trapped in this man in front of her, something crouching, ready to pounce. And, although she wished it wasn’t so, part of her wanted to find out what that something was.

…

“So what do you think, Stephanie? What are my options?”

Ruby transferred the cell to her other ear and listened carefully for her lawyer’s response to the story she’d just told her. She’d asked Christo to drive her home straight after they’d finished dinner last night, knowing she’d have to make this call at 3 a.m. to get her lawyer at the start of her New York day. Her eyes were gritty with lack of sleep.

“We’ll know more when I’ve received details from your mother’s lawyer, but leaving a half share to the son of one’s housekeeper does sound pretty left field,” her lawyer said. “I’ve seen far stranger things in other wills, though. There’s a good possibility it’s legitimate. A court battle could become protracted, so I’d push for an informal negotiation if you can.”

“But what about having to share the house while we sort it out? Is that legal?” Ruby eased herself from the bed and padded across to the enormous sash window. She’d opened it when she’d returned from the restaurant, and a sweet breeze drifted in from the garden.

“That part does sound more unusual. You’ll be given a copy of the will when you meet with your mother’s solicitor tomorrow and can verify then if it’s legitimate. I’ll check on New Zealand law, but I’d imagine if he’s making it up then it’s a simple matter of issuing him with a trespass notice.”

“And if it is in the will? What can I do then?”

“You’ll need to decide how much you want to fight for the house. If he’s offered you three times what it’s worth then you might want to consider that offer. It’s a good one.”

Ruby hadn’t told her lawyer she was pregnant, or how much keeping the house meant to her. She’d wanted some cold, hard clarity on all of this and her lawyer was certainly giving it to her.

“One thing you’ll need to consider is whether you want a drawn out battle over this. Too many times I’ve seen issues over wills carry on for years and all of the assets liquidated to pay court costs.”

That wouldn’t be happening, Ruby thought. No way would she let this house and everything in it be frittered away. Some way, some how, she and Christo would come to an agreement tomorrow. All she knew right now was that she wouldn’t be the one leaving here.

…

A heavy buzz of fatigue dragged through Ruby’s body as she carefully tugged open her bedroom door.

She’d been lying awake since the call with her lawyer, and after that a text from her friend Mel in New York. Her friends and colleagues were worried about her. Wanted to know if she was coming back or if she’d decided to stay. By the end of today she hoped she’d have an answer.

A soft curtain of early morning light made it easy enough to see as she made her way down the staircase to the front door—she’d just go down to the summerhouse before she had to see Christo again. It was where she’d found comfort when she was confused as a teenager, where she’d sit and soothe herself by making jewelry.

As she tiptoed forward, a floorboard squeaked beneath her feet. The same floorboard, the same squeak as when she’d been an oblivious, innocent child running up and down these stairs. She remembered those weekends she’d stayed with her grandparents, before they’d passed away and she’d moved in here with her own parents. Back then, being in the house with Gran and Grandpa had felt as if she’d been wrapped in love, soaked in it. Something inside her shifted.

From the glassed atrium she looked across Auckland’s sparkling Mission Bay to Rangitoto, the sleeping island volcano, and she felt the pull of her birthplace. When she’d come back in such a hurry for her mother’s funeral, she hadn’t made the decision whether she’d be back here for good. Being here now, preparing for the birth of her baby, was the chance to forge a fresh destiny. A new positivity bubbled through her. She’d need to return to New York briefly to wrap up her job and sell her apartment, but the prospect of a whole new life here with her baby would ease the pain of cutting those ties.

Pausing as she neared the bottom of the stairs, she checked over the banister. She didn’t want to talk to Christo yet. In private, she’d told her aunt and uncle about her baby last night and of course they’d been thrilled. Now she wanted to see her mother’s lawyer to find out how that affected the terms of the will. When she knew, she’d speak to Christo.

As her bare foot reached for the final step a sudden thought grabbed her and she glanced toward the kitchen door. Her bag with the house keys in it—it still sat on the counter where she’d left it after returning from the restaurant. Getting away from Christo’s constant, confusing presence last night had been her only goal when they’d arrived home. She hadn’t been in the summerhouse since she’d been back, and she knew it would be locked.

Moving as carefully as a cat, she put her palm against the cool wood and pushed open the kitchen door. As she tiptoed inside, her heart fell to her heels.

“Good morning.” Christo swiveled from where he stood behind the counter looking freshly showered and impossibly relaxed, a glass of water at his lips. Damp hair shone against his face, the stubble from late yesterday replaced by smooth, bronzed skin that glowed. His cheek curved in a smoldering grin. “If you’d been up earlier you could’ve come for a run. It’s a great day out there.”

Ruby drew the tip of her tongue across her lips and her heart skipped inside her ribcage. “You’ve run and showered already? Did you leave the grounds?”

He let out a soft chuckle. “I guess you’ll never know.”

A splash of moisture dampened his chin and Ruby stared at the spot. As he lowered the glass, he wiped the drop away, slow and firm with the back of his hand. “Take a seat. I’ll make breakfast.”

Grasping her bag, she turned her head, anywhere but in the direction of Christo’s mouth, his ruggedly toned body. She spoke quietly. “There won’t be anything to eat. I didn’t have a chance to get groceries yesterday.”

He moved effortlessly about the kitchen, opening drawers before pulling out a bowl. “I had my restaurant supplier drop a few things off before he went to the markets this morning. Our appointment with your mother’s lawyer is not until nine-thirty. There’s plenty of time.”

She glanced from the bag to his face and stumbled on her words. “You’re coming?” A knot in the center of her back gripped tight and she twisted around to knead the spot deep with her fingertips, not quite reaching.

He spoke with his back to her as he opened the fridge. “The first person to leave, remember? But your mother’s lawyer wanted me to come in with you today. He agrees mediation’s the best and quickest option. Everything could be sorted out by the end of the day if you’re agreeable.” He didn’t stop what he was doing—balancing a tray of eggs and a bunch of herbs on his strong forearm.

A lumpy sigh worked up and down her throat. She could give him a hundred responses, but what was the point in fighting this now? Conserving her energy for the battle in the lawyer’s office seemed far more sensible. Besides, she was starving. Now that the morning sickness was gone, she was always hungry first thing.

“Sore back?”

Lifting unwilling eyes to his, she realized she was still trying to work the muscles in her shoulders. Her hand froze as his gaze pinned her.

“I didn’t sleep very well, must’ve pulled a muscle or something.” Face heating, her hands dropped to her sides.

“You need a good masseuse, someone to iron out those tense muscles. It can turn into a migraine if you don’t fix it quickly enough. I noticed the tension and fatigue in you yesterday.”

For a volatile second Ruby imagined him watching her in her bikini, skin exposed, body revealed. How much had he seen? Did he know about the pregnancy?

Her hand fluttered absently to her stomach, then her mind sprinted to the image of his strong hands tending her muscles, how he’d tease them from rigid ropes to supple strands beneath his confident fingers. Her mouth dried and she looked away.

Was he doing this on purpose? Understanding the reaction her body still had to his and working to keep her off guard? Being off guard around Christo was not something she intended to do again in this lifetime.

He reached to the rack of pans above his head and his T-shirt rode up, revealing a window of tight stomach muscles and a shadow of dark hair reaching down. So different from the slickly stylish suit he’d worn yesterday—and so tempting.

“I own the best health clubs in Australasia.” His stomach was hidden once more. “I can arrange for you to see someone after our appointment today. He can even come here. The hot tub on the terrace will be good for you, too.” He placed the pan on the gas and flicked the ignition.

Ruby shook her head as if to prove her neck was as loose as a newborn giraffe’s, but a crack sent pain shooting upwards. Suddenly she felt lightheaded.

“I will have that seat.” She slid onto the familiar kitchen stool as her head throbbed. Butter sizzled in the pan and Christo broke eggs into a bowl. Her mother’s silver espresso pot bubbled on the stove, sending invisible coffee trails through the air.

She rubbed her temples as she watched him, each movement of his powerful body mesmerizing her. “You look as though you know your way around this kitchen well.”

He shrugged and pushed a sleeve up. “My mother’s kept this kitchen pretty much the same since she arrived as a twenty-five year old.” A richly genuine smile painted his features for a second. “Remember when we’d come in here as kids and eat her honey cakes?”

Ruby rested her elbows on the counter top, warm memories of her early childhood drifting from deep within. She let her tongue run along her top lip at the memory of his mother’s exquisite cakes. The thought of Stella Mantazis here with Ruby’s own child caused a smile to touch her mouth.
That’s
what she was going to fight for today.

Christo was whisking the eggs, concentration written on his face. Who was this person in front of her—a man who could change from cold businessman to man-about-the-kitchen in a matter of hours? Was he doing all this to win her over? Charm her? Make her think that after everything that had happened she owed him this house? She tilted her chin. “What does Stella think of you being here with me?”

He beat the eggs, but his sizzling stare stayed hooked on hers.

She nodded, understanding, as he stayed silent and a muscle contracted on his cheek. “She doesn’t know, does she? Your mother doesn’t know anything about this at all.”

He gave the eggs a final beat and poured them into the pan. “She doesn’t need to. This will be resolved by the end of the day. She can return with the knowledge that this is all hers, fair and square.”