He set down a breakfast tray near her on the bed. “Your breakfast, milady.”
She saw orange juice, coffee with cream, fresh fruit, toast and jam, and an assortment of breads and buttery French pastries. His kindness took her breath away. “You made b
reakfast?”
He gave her a crooked half grin. “Lilley made it.”
“Of course.” Carrie smiled up at him, still grateful for the thoughtful gesture, then looked back at the luscious tray. “I should have known it wasn’t you,” she teased. “It’s not burned black.”
He sat down beside her on the bed. His dark, half-lidded eyes seared through her. “I would burn toast for you every morning if that would win you, Carrie,” he said in a low voice. “I’d burn it morning, noon and night.”
Her heart thudded in her throat, but she tried to smile. “Sorry,” she said, trying to keep her voice light. “The ability to burn toast is not the top item on my list for a prospective husband.”
“So what is?” he asked, stroking back a tendril of her hair. He leaned forward, his eyes intent. “Tell me how to win you,” he whispered against her skin, and she shivered. “Tell me.”
Carrie closed her eyes. Love me. Just love me.
But she shook her head over the lump in her throat. “Forget it. I’m not going to lose this battle.”
He looked down at her. “We’ll see.”
A shudder went through her. She had to resist. Her fingers gripped the top of the white quilt. She had to!
Théo looked down at the baby’s downy head with a tenderness that made her heart leap to her throat. “Is he finished?”
The baby had unlatched, and now pushed his head away from her breast. “I think so,” she said drily.
Picking him up, Théo cradled his son in his arms. “I’m going to teach you everything,” he told the baby. “How to play football, how to ride a bike…”
“How to buy a company and break it up for parts?” she teased.
Théo flashed her a sudden grin, and the way his smile lit up his darkly handsome face took her breath away. “Ben, oui.”
Still smiling, he sat down on the handwoven rug, holding the baby in his lap. Putting his large hands over his son’s feet, he played a French version of patty-cake, clapping Henry’s little feet together lightly. They were quite the pair—Théo so muscular and powerful, sitting bare-chested in pajama bottoms, with their tiny son cradled in his arms. A moment later, he was reading to Henry in French from a picture book about Babar the Elephant that she’d purchased from a bookshop earlier that week. Carrie drank creamy coffee and watched them as she ate pastries in bed, as a beam of golden sunlight hit against the bare skin of Théo’s muscular back.
And she wanted him. Wanted this. Forever.
The dream she ached for with every cell in her body and every longing of her heart felt more true than reality. She wanted the three of them to be a family.
But Théo didn’t love them. Correction: he didn’t love her. Carrie looked down at her breakfast tray. She couldn’t accept a life permanently without love, a marriage that was more like a business than a romantic blending of hearts and souls. She couldn’t! Especially when she knew he would soon tire of being a husband and father.
But would he? She’d thought he’d be fed up with them days ago. Instead, his attention to her and affection for Henry had only seemed to grow.
“We’ll leave you to have your breakfast, ma belle.”
She looked up to discover Théo had risen to his feet, cradling their baby against his tanned, muscular chest.
“What? Why?” she blurted out. “You don’t have to leave!”
“Enjoy some peace and quiet,” he said, smiling down at her. “Have a peaceful breakfast. Take a long shower. Have some time to yourself—as much as you need. Come downstairs when you’re ready to start the day. We have a busy day planned.” He grinned down at the baby. “Now, let’s go downstairs so you can say good morning to Lilley, shall we, mon petit?”
“A busy day today?” she called after him. “What do you mean?”
But he didn’t stop to answer. She took another bite of almond croissant and looked around her bedroom. It was beautiful, with clean lines and a lovely view from the window. A gauzy canopy hung from the wrought-iron bed frame. But, best of all, when she grabbed the pillow beside hers she could still smell the musky, clean scent of him…
Exhaling, she turned from the pillow. She took a last bite of croissant, then stopped chewing as she stared out blankly toward the windows showing wide fields of sunflowers.
If Théo could truly be a good father, if he wouldn’t ultimately tire of having a family and a home and toss them aside to become a globetrotting workaholic again, she had no choice but to marry him. Any decent mother would sacrifice her own life in an instant for a stable home for her child. She had to put her heart on ice. For Henry’s sake.