His Son, Her Secret(15)

Now he would be running his own restaurant and living with Leona while they raised their son.

For a brief moment, as Leona talked about bathroom sink options, Byron  wanted to go back to Madrid. Right now. This was insane, that's what it  was. Proposing to Leona so he could ensure he'd never lose custody of  his son? Going to look at houses tomorrow? Debating what "message"  bathroom faucets "communicated" to customers?

Living with Leona-the woman who'd nearly destroyed him? Whose father had done everything to ruin his family?

But a Beaumont would not cut and run or admit defeat. His father had  not been much of a father, but Byron remembered the last conversation  he'd had with Hardwick Beaumont. His father had been sitting behind his  massive desk, a look of disgust on his face as he took in Byron's  flour-dusted pants. "Son," he'd intoned as if he were passing a death  sentence, "this cooking thing-it's not right. It's not what a Beaumont  does. It's servant work."

It hadn't been the first time Byron had considered running away. He'd  just wanted to cook in peace and quiet, without being constantly  harassed about how he wasn't good enough. He'd been all of sixteen and  thought he'd known how the world worked.

But, being sixteen, he hadn't. Instead, he'd mouthed off. "You want me  to go? Then I'll go. I don't have to stay here and take your insults."                       
       
           



       

He'd expected to be disowned, frankly. No one talked back to Hardwick  Beaumont, especially not his disappointment of a son. Hardwick's lips  had twisted into a sneer and Byron had braced himself.

Then, to his everlasting shock, Hardwick had said, "A Beaumont does not  cut and run, boy. We know what we want and we fight for it, to hell  with what anyone else says." He'd leaned forward, his hard gaze locked  on Byron. "If I ever hear you talk about giving up again, I'll make sure  you have nothing to give up. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir." Byron had been pissed at the threat, but underneath, he'd  also been confused. Had his father-what? Given him permission to keep  rebelling?

He had turned and started to walk out of Hardwick's office when his  father had called out, "The rack of lamb last night-was that you or  George?"

It'd been a huge success, as far as Byron had been concerned. Even his  half siblings had enjoyed the meal. "I cooked it. George supervised."

There'd been a long pause and Byron hadn't been sure if he'd been  dismissed or not. Then Hardwick had said, "I expect you to present  yourself as a Beaumont in the rest of the house. I don't want to see  flour anywhere on your clothes ever again. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

And he hadn't left home. He'd stayed and put up with his father's crap  about how he did servant's work and gotten better and better at cooking.  Every so often, his father would look at him over the dinner dishes and  say "that meal was especially good." Which was as close to a compliment  as Byron had ever gotten out of him.

He hadn't thought about that chat, such as it was, in a long time. Not  too long after that, Hardwick had keeled over dead of a heart attack.  Frances scolded Byron about the flour in his hair, but no one had  accused him of embarrassing the Beaumont name by insisting on doing  servant's work. He hadn't had to fight for what he wanted anymore.

He'd stopped fighting for what he'd wanted.

Including Leona. Instead of fighting for her, he'd run away to Europe.

Well. Things had changed. He was in charge now and he knew what he  wanted. He wanted Leona to marry him and he wanted to be a part of his  son's life.

It was high time to start acting like a Beaumont.

* * *

Finally, it was five o'clock. Leona had made him look at color samples  and shaped plates and steak knives and he didn't even know what all.  Whatever was her favorite was what he went with-she was the designer,  after all. What he cared about was the food.

He rinsed the lunch dishes in the sink and packed everything back into  his car-except for the ring. That he put in his pocket. She'd left it on  the table, and it made him nervous to have a twenty-thousand-dollar  piece of jewelry sitting around.

She would wear it. She would accept his proposal.

This thought was followed by a quieter one, which barely whispered across his consciousness.

She would be his.

And why not? They were going to live together. They were going to get  married. Why shouldn't he reclaim what he'd once had? As long as he  could have her without letting her get under his skin like she had the  first time. He'd always loved being with her. They were good together.  He wanted to think they still could have that same magic in bed.

He could enjoy Leona but this time, he would not let his feelings for  her blind him to the truth. She was still a liar. He had to keep his  guard up, that was all.

She walked to her car door. "You want to follow me out? Assuming you're coming home with me..."

The ring was going to burn him clean through. "Yes, I'm coming home with you."

She looked at him then, her lips curved into a small smile and again he had to fight the urge to kiss her.

Oh, to hell with fighting that urge.

He closed the distance between them in three strides and pulled her  into him. She made a small squeaking noise when he kissed her, but he  didn't care.

He kissed her like he'd dreamed of kissing her for a long, cold  year-like he'd kissed her last night. She might not be good for him-not  now, not ever-but he couldn't stay away from her.

After a moment, she kissed him back. Her arms went around his neck and  her mouth opened for him and he swept his tongue inside, tasting her  sweetness.

He broke the kiss but he didn't let go of her. "Since we're off the clock," he whispered against her ear.

Her chest heaved against his for a moment as she clung to him. Then,  apparently with great effort, she pulled away. "Byron," she said in a  warning tone. "You can't keep kissing me like that."                       
       
           



       

"Is there another way you'd like me to kiss you?"

"No-I mean-it's just-you made it pretty clear that you only wanted to  marry me for the baby's sake. And we are going to have separate rooms  and..." She took a deep breath. "And you cared for me once. But not  anymore."

He pulled the ring out of his pocket. "Would it be bad? Between us, I mean."

"I just need to know what to expect, that's all. One minute you're mad  at me and the next you're cooking for me and saying I'll have my own  room and then you're kissing me and offering me a ring-is it a family  ring?"

He slipped the diamond out of the case and held it in the palm of his  hand. "No. I bought it this morning." Something that wasn't tainted by  her family name or his. Something that was theirs and theirs alone.

"Oh, okay. I guess it doesn't matter."

That made him smile. "It matters. I don't even know what Percy's full name is-is it Harper or Beaumont?"

"Percy Harper Beaumont. You're listed on the birth certificate as his father. But I gave him my name as a middle name."

She'd given the boy Byron's name. For some reason, that made him happy.  He stepped back into her and lifted her head up so he could look her in  the eye. "Thank you for that."

Her eyelids fluttered. "You're doing it again," she murmured.

"Leona." He cupped her face in his hands and waited until she looked  him in the eyes. "You know what I want. The question is, what do you  want?" As he recalled, she was the one who'd asked for a separate bed  yet had also kissed him back twice now.

"We need to get going," she replied, completely ignoring his question.  "May will worry." And with that, she turned and walked back to her car.

Byron stared after her for a moment and then shoved the ring in his pocket.

Beaumonts fought for what they wanted...to hell with what anyone else said.

Leona was about to learn how far he'd go to get what he wanted.





Eight

Leona fumbled with the keys in the lock of her apartment door. She  didn't know why she was more nervous bringing Byron home with her this  time, but she was. Even now, he stood too close to her, watching her.  Waiting, no doubt, for an answer to his question.

If only she knew what she wanted.

"May?" She called out when she finally got the door open. "We're home."

Percy made a shrill noise. "Hi, baby," Leona said, walking into the living room and picking him up. "Did you miss me?"

May stood and said, "The doctor prescribed more drops. They're on the changing table."

"Thanks," Leona said.

There was an awkward pause as May glared at Byron without actually looking at him. "Right. I'll be back late."