Forbidden Bastard

Chapter 1 Sandi Smith’s heart pounded hard as she rode up the metallic silver elevator of the La Belle Epoque office building located in the high-end business district in Paris. The last thing she’d expected while on vacation was to be set up, by her own parents, like she was some prized possession. Sandi was smart, funny, and until today, she’d assumed she’d have a choice in who she married. The digital numbers climbed higher. Marriage? To a stranger? Her palms were sweaty but she had zero time to strip off the itchy fake-fur fabric. She’d been stunned by their news, and had immediately reacted—racing from the children’s hospital to stop this fiasco. Now. Finally the bell dinged, signaling the twentieth floor. The elevator doors slid aside and Sandi tugged her fluffy white tail out of the way before they closed behind her. Until now the Easter bunny singing in a foreign country and hopping along for children in a hospital as volunteering in the American Cancer Society had always grounded her. But she kept her head high and didn’t care what these strangers in business suits thought about her, wearing her costume. Hopefully she’d never see them again and she could go back to being a tourist, snapping pictures of herself at the museums, or figuring out the rues of Paris’s shopping sections. Sandi used her rather silly paw to push against the glass door and enter the office, heading toward a woman sitting behind a black glass desk. The lady was posh with shiny black hair in a bun, thin, pink lips, and a black skirt and blazer. Pretty much the opposite of Sandi, even when not in this get-up. She plopped her fluffy white hip against the slick desk and kept her bunny ears high. “I’m here to see Mr. Esposito.” The woman’s eyes grew wider but she didn’t even blink as she tapped the blue tooth in her ear. “Your name?” She folded her hands, unable to ignore the stuffed carrot sewed to her paw. “Sandi Smith.” The woman's upturned nose twisted as she told someone on her headpiece Sandi's name. Sandi glanced around the white and black office. The name del Pescatore was emblazed on the wall in bold italics as the only decoration in this sterile gray office place. The secretary shook her head in disbelief as she said, “You’re… being sent in.” Good. This was the "business" her parents had set up over the phone but Sandi would rather try and negotiate for her own freedom. The woman with the perfect makeup would never understand being in such a position. Sandi adjusted the orange felt carrot and followed behind her. “Thank you.” No one talked. The hall was quiet enough to hear the television in the lobby out front. The receptionist stopped outside an office. Sandi checked that her puffy tail didn’t get stuck in the swinging door as she headed inside. As her initial anger cooled, she realized that perhaps she should have run back to her hotel room to change into regular clothes before rushing here to confront the man her parents wanted her to marry. Sandi stared at the muscular back of a man at least a foot taller than her--his tailored shirt accentuated his well-defined body. He turned around and pierced her with brown eyes that made her heart race. Darn. Men this gorgeous never, ever, noticed her when she'd worn vacation jeans and a t-shirt, and wouldn’t notice her even in her normal semi- casual business attire. She held out her bunny hand to shake his. “Mr. Esposito?” The posh woman returned to the front desk, leaving them alone. The sound of the door closing made her breath catch in her throat. For some unknown reason, her parents had acted completely out of character and chosen a handsome man for her to marry. In the end, that would only make things more awkward. Sandi always thought she’d marry an amenable man who might not be hot, but would at least laugh at the appropriate times. Charles Esposito was severely handsome and seemed a bad boy who probably never laughed. The man whose fingers made her tremble, well he… darn it all. This man made her think about s*x. “Charles, we’re to be married, it seems.” He said nothing though he didn't release her paw. She squared her shoulders and forged ahead. Ending this farce quickly would be better for both of them so she took her hand back, ignored the sparks, and said, “My father might have agreed. My mother might have agreed, but I came here, in person, to tell you that getting married isn't happening.” His brown eyes held a glimmer of amusement. “It’s not?” Her skin prickled like he… like he saw straight through her outfit and into her soul, a place no one even knew she had. She stood taller and said, “No. I’m not marrying you.” He shrugged and lifted his suit jacket off the back of his black leather office chair. “That’s fine then. Please inform your father our deal is off. I have dinner plans.” The business would fail, and then her parents would blame her, forever. Because of her grandfather’s will, they’d turned over most of the business operating to her when she'd started high school, like business was an extra homework assignment. She hadn’t been ready then and lost a fortune. She slid in front of him to stop him from leaving his desk. His short dark hair framed his face perfectly, and goosebumps rose and met the fabric of her costume, tickling her arm. Her nose detected a manly cologne that just made her melt. No. This wasn’t good. Attraction to him was a very bad idea. Her pulse spiked. “That’s it?” He adjusted his jacket like it mattered more than his supposed email proposal and business proposition that her parents had accepted so they didn’t have to deal with her business decisions anymore. “What did you expect?” Maybe it was the silly outfit she wore. Maybe it was how handsome and perfect he was. And maybe it was how her mind compared the two of them, and she came up short. Sandi exhaled and refused to breathe in that woodsy cologne. She folded her hands in front of her. “You reached out to my parents out of the blue to make the offer in the first place. I thought we should talk.” He studied her outfit and must have dismissed her lack of figure as he brought his gaze to her face. “We have. You stated what you wanted, and I’m not in the habit of discussing anything with a bunny. This makes it clear you’re not interested.” His dismissal wasn't a bad thing. It might be to her benefit that she was so out of her element that all she had was words. Her skin was probably red and blotchy from the outfit she'd worn to volunteer for an hour when she went to visit hospitals to volunteer in the cancer ward after she’d talk business to uninterested doctors like she’d done today. “I was helping cheer up children in the cancer ward, as it’s Easter, when I found out what you and my parents had discussed.” He held out one of the two office chairs that faced his desk and gestured for her to sit. “So you hopped right over.” Her skin burned. Was that deadpan joke directed at her? She descended into the seat like it was a throne, perching on the edge due to her tail, and waited for him to sit beside her. “Yes. I know you’re rich and can help my family.” And it wasn’t fair he had the whole dark and rugged but rich look down so flawlessly. “You're way more handsome than I would have thought.” He slid his chair closer and their knees brushed, sending awareness rushing into her veins. “Your parents described you as pretty," he said, "but didn't mention the pink nose.” She wiggled her nose and peeled off the nose. “Is that better?” “Yes--I can see you’re passably pretty.” He nodded at her but then checked his watch. “As I said, I have a dinner to get to.” Passable? Her heart felt the burn of his appraisal. But if he left and she put a stop to the business deal her parents had struck, she sealed the fact she’d now destroyed their import and export business as no hospital wanted the medical equipment in her warehouses. If he left, she’d have made the family’s dwindling bank account smaller in a short amount of time. And once again, she'd ruin their trust in her. Answers would help her make a decision. He stood and she jumped up and asked, “Why?” He ran his fingers down the length of his tie to ensure it was straight and she got the impression that appearances were important to him as he asked, “Why what? Why do I eat?” If he left and this opportunity ended, she’d never see anyone half as handsome. Not that looks mattered. Sandi pressed her hand on his hard shoulder to stop him. Desire coursed through her as she clarified, “No. Why did you and my parents agree that you and I should marry like this was business deal?” He tilted his head and stared at her like he felt sorry for her. She knew her unflattering bunny outfit sagged everywhere but she didn’t move until he stood back. Could he feel something between them too? He motioned toward the chairs again. “Please sit.” “Very well.” She pushed her fake tail off her backside so she might sit all the way on the chair and crossed her legs. She couldn't help fidgeting. Would he explain? He was handsome and rich and finding a wife shouldn't be a problem. On the other hand, she'd always marched to the beat of her own drummer which often didn’t end in lucrative deals. Mostly she ruined deal after deal as she missed some small but important detail. He leaned closer and folded his hands together. “I agreed to marry you for a couple reasons. One, the deal with your parents means my products will be sold in stores throughout the United States. And while my products have an excellent sell-through online, people still buy what they see.” A label that read "Made in Avce" only made his products more interesting to her friends and anyone she knew. Seriously, a small European country where all the men looked like this man, a sun-kissed god reborn into perfection? She tugged her ear as heat rose in her face. “My parents and you somehow just threw my hand in marriage in as a means of locking your successful and lucrative multi-product conglomerate deal because they saw your millions.” Charles gave her a smile and corrected her. “Billions, though possibly trillions in your US currency, and a noble title.” All those reasons were why a man like him would never, ever, ever want to marry her. Sandi was the epitome of awkward. And he wasn’t looking to cut a deal on something she had in her warehouse. She braced both bunny feet on the floor, but her soles slid slightly forward. He'd said he had a couple of reasons but had only mentioned one. “So why did you agree?” The curve of his cheeks showed off a dimple, no…two. He was like a handsome Roman gladiator of old. “Agree to marry a bunny?” A joke. Great. Soon he’d laugh at her, and he had no idea how that had been the story of her life. She'd wanted to make good choices, but her last boyfriend decided work was more important than her. Of course he was a doctor who saved people so that was probably the right choice. “Yes.” Charles sat in his chair like a natural-born king, which made sense with the title he’d just mentioned. He said, “I didn’t know you were a bunny.” In his posh French-like accent, at least jokes about her sounded funnier. Perhaps it was the dry delivery, but either way she relaxed her shoulders, just a bit, and asked, “And?” He scooted closer and their legs barely touched but a spark rushed in her veins. “And… having an American wife means that customers trust me more so I can take over the US market.” Yet no one she knew actually looked up who owned what product they bought. Everything was digital, and at most they checked reviews. If it was food, and supposed to be organic, most talked to friends for recommendations. He wanted an American wife to help him sell his products? “That’s it?” “Pretty much.” He nodded like what he said made sense when it so didn't. Because of how he made her feel, though she wouldn't act on it, she’d offer him some free advice. She reached for his hands, but dropped them fast the moment the charge hit her. “Look, the consumer really only cares if they like your product, and the price…I’m not the best at making business decisions.” He took her hands like her dropping his was an accident to be fixed. “My market research says otherwise.” Did he not feel the sparks? Seriously? Her entire body was alive and she squirmed on her chair. “Well, you know you best. You're from Avce, yet you speak English with just a slight French accent--how come?” “I went to school in Paris.” He let her hands go. The loss of his touch was like she'd been taken off an IV and now had to fend for herself. She caressed her hand as if she might recreate that sense of him. “Of course you did.” His brown eyes seemed warmer as he inched his chair closer. “Now can I go to dinner?” She shook her head. Her face heated and it wasn’t from his good looks or her own stupidity of how she'd handled today. For five years now her parents had been making adjustments to their lifestyle so that no one knew anything was off with their finances. Her mother stopped upgrading the car. Her father started fixing things around the mansion himself like he knew how to sparkle a wall. The fact she knew that the word "sparkle" did not mean glitter for paint meant she'd pitched in. But she had limits. Like, marriage. Them gifting her a vacation to Paris should have been a clue that they were up to something. She sighed and decided it was time to tell Charles the truth. “I can’t let you cancel the deal with my parents.” His eyes widened but he pressed his hand on her palm, igniting her from the inside. “I told you my need, and time is of the essence. I turn thirty-one soon and according to the rules of my country, I must find a bride or forfeit my inheritance…Normally, the law is by age thirty, but since I just discovered my bloodline, I've been granted an extension.” Sandi couldn't ruin her parents' business plans, but she refused to simply sell her life to the highest bidder. She traced his thumb. “How about this… I’ll find you an acceptable alternative to me, someone who wants to marry a noble lord and trillionaire, in exchange for you keeping the contract? This way we all get what we want.” He scooted closer and for a brief second she thought he’d pull her on his lap and kiss her senseless. But only men in movies, proving their love to the heroine, did that. If not love, then s*x, because the lady was a beautiful creature and irresistible. Charles wasn’t in love, or lust, with her…so he didn’t grab, touch, or taste her. He just barely touched her fingers as he said, “I have a business to run and don’t have time for dating--I want to be married in thirty days.” “Then my deal is perfect for you.” She would hopefully find him someone he’d like to lose control with as he seemed altogether too intense. Actually finding a guy who wanted to lose control with her would be good for her too. Anything other than the boring, backyard neighborhood barbecues where every week someone else she knew announced their engagement and bought their own starter homes, while she still lived in her parents' house, in the same room she’d had since birth. He stood and she offered to shake his hand though he said, “It sounds like a waste of time.” This time she ignored the desire that raced up her arm because being with Charles wasn’t ever going to happen. Business mattered more. She nodded convincingly and said, “I’ll get the women in groups according to what you're looking for, and set up casual meetings. You can pick from that selection.” He glanced down at her and asked, “Will you be in this costume the entire time?” She’d pack away her bunny outfit for another hospital visit back home in Denver. She straightened a droopy ear. “No. I’ll… be more circumspect.” He pivoted like he’d leave but then nodded and turned back toward her. “Tell you what--I’ll give you a forty-eight hour window where we’ll test your matchmaking skills. I’ll be attending a fundraiser for the Arabian horses care here, in Paris. My secretary will give you the address. Bring yourself and five other women.” Find five stunning women, strangers to her, in a foreign country. Right. This was a test, but she didn’t blink. She would have her shot to make sure she only married who she chose if she found Charles a wife. “Consider it done, Charles.” He headed to the door and paused at the threshold. She joined him as he said, “If you find me an alternative wife in thirty days, the contract with your parents still stands.” From the front desk, the thin-lipped woman's eyes widened like she'd heard their conversation and was interested. Maybe she'd be the first of five. Sandi needed to ignore how her stomach twisted at the idea of the pretty woman near Charles. “Then I’ll see you again soon.” “Goodbye, Miss Smith.” He headed down the hall, leaving her in his office. She watched until he was out of sight, then she collapsed against his desk. Today she'd go back to her hotel, lose the bunny outfit, and somehow find five women for Charles to choose from. She’d fight for her freedom. She had to.