A Billionaire's Secret Baby - Chapter 21

When we got back to the lake house, it was still and quiet, a warm afternoon. I’d hoped Alex would take me out on the boat again once we got back, but we’d both been spooked by the appearance of the old man.

“You want to talk?” said Alex.

“Not really,” I said. There was so much on my mind that I didn’t feel like talking, so I went upstairs and showered. I was so spooked that I jumped at my own reflection in the mirror when I got out.

Who could the man have been?

A spy? A guy working for Luca? Luca was a flashy guy, who wore expensive suits and shiny watches and ordered the most expensive thing on the menu (even though he rarely paid for it). I couldn’t imagine the sallow, roughly-dressed man staring at us in the diner on Luca’s payroll.

While I trusted Alex, or wanted to trust him, all kinds of fears began to swirl around my stomach since I’d seen the stranger. Alex had promised I’d be safe when we went out for the day. But how could he keep that promise? Hadn’t the boat ride, having lunch with me, just been his way of taking his mind off everything that was going on?

In the end, I was so tightly wound that I decided to take a nap. I couldn’t believe I was able to sleep at a time like this. But, stressed out and exhausted from the crazy few weeks I’d just had, I fell asleep all the same, and woke later in the evening.

I got up and went downstairs. It was quiet in the house. It had incredible soundproofing, and I couldn’t hear Alex walking through the corridors. I’d been woken a little by him leaving that morning, but now I couldn’t tell where he was. He might have gone and left me again. I’d have a thing or two to say to him if he had…

But on the stairs, I stopped. I heard something.

Music.

Not just any music. I’d know that tune anywhere. It was an old jazz standard, Stella by Starlight, and I hummed along a little, as I gently jogged down to the living room. It was coming gently from a stereo in the kitchen. I stepped forward, and then the smell hit me.

It was wonderful. I could smell a rich, deep tomato sauce, full of garlic and basil.

I poked my head through the kitchen door.

Alex was cooking.

I’d never seen him do that, something I regarded mostly as a chore. I’d always wanted Macy to have home-cooked meals, but I was no Delia in the kitchen, and meticulously followed recipes. Alex was stirring the sauce while a pot of spaghetti boiled merrily away on the side.

“That smells incredible,” I said.

He turned and looked at me, and I saw his eyes widen a little. I could tell he was pleased by the compliment, even if he didn’t smile.

“Thank you,” he said. “It’s Gabriel’s recipe. I made him give it to me.”

“You do a lot of cooking at home?” I said.

“When I am at home,” he said. “Sure.”

We sat down for dinner together, and Alex placed a bottle of wine he’d opened on the table next to us.

“Oh my God,” I said, as I took a mouthful of the delicious pasta. “This is incredible? How do you get the sauce so creamy?”

“Ah, well,” said Alex, drily. “I could tell you, but then you wouldn’t need me to make it for you, would you?”

“That’s silly,” I giggled. “Even if I knew how to make something as delicious as this—which I sure as hell don’t—I’d still be happy if I had you to make it for me.”

Alex looked at me curiously. “You know,” he said, “I hadn’t thought about it like that before. I guess I always think that there’s no point teaching someone how to do something. Then they won’t need you anymore.”

“Why don’t you look at it like this,” I said, leaning forward and looking into his blue eyes. In just a matter of days, I’d gone from hardly being able to look at Alex to wanting to seduce and charm him. “How much more will I think of you if you can teach me a new skill?”

“I guess you’re right,” he said, while his blue eyes swam over my body, drinking me in.

That evening, I dove into him again, wanting to be distracted from the fears in my heart, needing to feel his heat on my body once again. In the upstairs bedroom, Alex lowered me on the bed, and lifted my bare legs. They rested on his strong thighs while he felt them, his hands squeezing and caressing my flesh with a gentleness I hadn’t known before. I was sorely in need of him, and as he bent and his lips ran up my thighs, I heard my own sighs blossoming in my throat, and my back arched up. I took his hands in mine—holding his hands felt sweet and innocent—and I felt the pleasure surging as I passed them up under my shirt, and they gently gripped my breasts.

In the heat of the early evening, I could feel myself preparing for him, as he passed a hand under my shirt while his other undid the buttons. I felt like he was smoothing out all the cracks in me. I could smell by the way his cologne blossomed that Alex was growing hot for me, and when he finally tipped me over onto the bed and let his tongue press against my clitoris, I shivered with passion.

Gently, he worked at me again, playfully tussling with me as I rolled this way and that, working against him now and then just to feel the ease with which he pulled me back. He made me feel at home in my own body, letting me push and pull against him. His tongue drew in deep, pressured circles over my clit.

I was shocked when I heard myself say, “give me your hand too, inside of me.”

“Of course, sweetheart,” purred Alex.

His hand reached up, and in addition to his incredible oral skills, he pushed a single finger inside of me gently and began to curl it upwards, stimulating my g-spot as I drew myself in. My heart rushed and my legs seemed to clench with tension, while I raced towards an earth-rocking orgasm.

When I came, I gasped out, and it was so much that I saw stars, and felt my breathing soar and shudder in long, languid motions. And it kept going, for a minute, almost, as I kicked back on the bed and laughed, sighing with a deep and meaningful pleasure that sent me spinning into dreamland. And my lover lay beside me, running his hand over my chest.

“Don’t think you’re getting away that easily,” I said, and turned over to kiss him, to take him once again.

***

But that night, I woke up. And this time I knew why. I couldn’t verbalize it, but I knew that something was calling me. I went down to the ground floor of the lake house, across the boards, my feet lightly tapping. I’d put on clothes and shoes—somehow I knew I was going to need them.

I looked out down through the window, over the sloping ground covered in dead foliage and branches of trees.

There, in the moonlight, I could see the man. Standing there. Looking up at the house.

Immediately, I drew back from the window and could feel my heart pounding. This was it. This was my chance. I could catch him, scare him away, maybe. I felt brave. But there was more than bravery to it. I was angry. Angry at whoever this creep Luca had hired to bully us was, for coming out here, for disturbing the true happiness I felt with Alex.

Quietly, not wanting him to see me through the window, I crept by the back wall of the kitchen down to the door. It was covered by a group of trees and the eyeline to the shore of the lake was blocked by the shed with the generator. If I was quiet, the intruder wouldn’t hear me come out.

I put my hand on the doorknob, and turned it. The door squeaked a little as it opened, and immediately I froze. I went to move it again, and this time it slid open quietly.

With tension running through my muscles, I stepped down. I wasn’t crazy. I just wanted to get a good look at him, just to check if it was the old man from the diner, the one I’d seen in New York on the street. Then I could call the police, run back to the house, alert Alex to the presence of the intruder.

I padded down on the soft ground, keeping low. As I came up to the last of the trees, I could see the old man, clear as day. It was him. But he didn’t look menacing or scary, not now. He looked old and tired, and was sadly staring up at the house, as though he was trying to make up his mind whether to approach. There was still fifty or so yards’ distance between us, but in the silvery moonlight spreading on the lake’s surface, I could make out his tattered, torn fishing coat. The fraying cuffs of his jeans around the pair of old workboots he wore.

My heart was racing. Why were we so scared of him? He didn’t look like he could do a bit of damage to someone. And it didn’t seem like he was here to harm us, either. And yet my nerves were on edge. My heart was pounding so hard I didn’t even think about it as my leg stepped backwards, and a stick snapped under my sneaker.

The man looked up, and for a moment, I came face-to-face with his arresting, blue eyes.

“HEY!” I yelled, and he turned and ran.

He was getting away.

And it was all my fault.

I scrambled on down the slope after him, hurtling past tree trunks and old bushes. A branch whipped my face, and I yelped out loud with the pain.

The man had turned and was running round the lake, trying to scramble down the hill towards the bottom of the drive where he’d snuck in. But the shore was muddy, and I saw him, moving in wide leaps across the mud.

At the foot of the hill, my feet skidded, and then I was level with the man, and I ran after him, hearing my breath roaring in my ears. I’d never exactly been the fastest in sports, but compared to the stranger, I could run like the wind.

I was almost caught up to him when the old man’s legs gave way, and he fell into the mud. On his knees, he turned and looked at me, and his hoarse voice echoed in a sharp cry: “DON’T! PLEASE!”

I stopped, skidding to a halt in the mud, and there I stood, panting and breathing warily. And when I looked into his eyes, I didn’t see wonder or that sad curiosity. Instead, I saw fear and realized that he was more scared of me than I was of him.

“Who are you?” I said. I could feel my lungs on fire from sprinting down the hill, and now I was angry. “Why have you been following us, huh? And don’t lie to me!”

In the darkness, the old man blinked. Slowly, he rose to his feet. I crouched a little, wary, wondering if I should run.

“I already told you,” said the old man, wheezing. His hands were covered in mud, and he looked a little pathetic as he slowly waded out of the bog and towards an enormous rock, further up the shore.

“Don’t try and run away!” I said, a little nervously. I could hear my own voice, high-pitched and squeaky. I wasn’t in a position to do anything.

“As if I could,” said the old man, as he sat down at the rock and lifted up his leg. I could see he’d hit it on a stone or something. It was bleeding.

“Who are you?” I said.

He looked up at me. I could see a sharp set of cheekbones between the lank, graying hair and the rough stubble. He’d been handsome once, long ago. And his eyes bore that familiar, icy blue, the same color as the lake that was shimmering next to us.

“I’m Max,” he said. “Max Lowe. I’m Alex’s father.”

My mouth opened, and I heard myself gasp.

“It was you,” I whispered. “You faked the birth certificate.”

“You’re a smart one,” said Max, looking down at the water. He did resemble Alex—if Alex had lived rough, not caring about his appearance for years.

“What do you want with Alex! Haven’t you done enough?” I said.

“No, I’m not here to hurt him. Or you, for that matter. Though Luca would have paid handsomely for it. Still, at least there are some things an old bastard like me knows better than to do.”

“So why are you here?” I said, warily.

“I’m here to see him,” said the old man, slowly. “Or try to.”

“And how did you know he was here?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I’ve been following you. Well, following him, that is.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere I could find. After that bastard Desilva got to me, I didn’t really know what to do. I knew I had to see him. I knew that I had to look at the face of the son I abandoned,” Max said, in a shuddering gasp.

“You…” I seethed, “…betrayed him.” Why did you do it?”

“Why?” said Max, and for the first time, I saw the sadness come back. He was in utter despair, looked beaten and broken down by life. “I don’t really know, dear. I needed the money, I suppose. That’s why I did it. Besides, it’s not like Luca told me what he was going to do with the thing. He just told me to forge a new one.”

“You knew it was wrong?”

“Did I? Have you ever asked Alex about me?”

I didn’t say anything. I’d known there was something, that Alex grew up rough, maybe without a dad. But I’d never felt brave enough to ask.

“Let’s just say, I wasn’t around much. And when I was, I was normally drunk—or high. When I left him, I thought I was doing the best I could.”

“Where have you been all these years?”

“What does it matter?” said a dark voice behind us.

I turned around, and saw Alex, there behind me. Moonlight on his face, and his eyes blazing with hatred.