The Heir From Nowhere. Trish Morey

where her rings had once been. He was messing with her head, talking trust and misunderstandings. She’d assumed she’d turn up today and he’d agree to take the baby. It was that simple.

       Wasn’t it?

      ‘So what you’re actually telling me, Mr Pirelli, is that you’re not a man to be trusted.’

      Even as his mouth curved into a smile, one look at his cold, glittering eyes and Angie realised she’d just overstepped some unseen line. ‘Like I said,’ he clarified in that deep voice that seemed to rumble its way through her very bones like the growl of a jungle cat and sounded just as ominous, ‘we don’t know each other. And this is no stray cat or a dog we’re talking about. This is a child. My child. A baby that won’t be born for six months. You think I’m going to leave that to chance? I want whatever we decide on paper. I want it watertight. And I don’t want there to be any chance that one of us can change our minds. Not where this baby is concerned.’

      She sighed, dropping her head into her hands. This was so not how she’d imagined this meeting going. But maybe she’d been naive in thinking this would be simple. Maybe he was right. For it wasn’t as if they were talking about a puppy that had wandered into the wrong house that she was returning. It was a baby, a child that had been implanted into the wrong woman and which wouldn’t be born for six long months. Of course they would need some kind of record of their agreement. ‘Okay,’ she conceded, ‘we’ll do it your way.’

      ‘Good,’ he said, impatience more than satisfaction weighing down the word as he leaned forward to switch the machine on. ‘Let’s get on with it. First to the basics. You’re currently approximately twelve weeks pregnant with a child that is not your own, is that so?’

      ‘That’s right.’

      ‘After being mistakenly implanted with my biological child rather than your own embryo.’

      She nodded, adding a late, ‘Yes.’

      ‘And you called me yesterday to tell me this.’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘And why did you do that, Mrs Cameron? What is it you’re proposing, exactly?’

      Was he kidding? ‘I’m having your baby, Mr Pirelli. And I’m here now. What do you think I’m proposing?’

      ‘You’re the one who called. You tell me.’

      ‘Okay.’ She sucked in a breath tinged with frustration. Hadn’t they been through this? ‘The way I see it, this baby growing inside me is not my child. I thought that you would want to know about it. And I was hoping that maybe, just maybe, you might actually want the child once it is born.’

      ‘Because you don’t?’

      He made it sound like an accusation. She didn’t want any baby. Not really. But that was none of his business. ‘This baby is yours. I thought—I hoped—that you’d want it.’

      ‘So you’re saying you’re prepared to have this baby and hand it over?’

      ‘Of course.’

      ‘As soon as it’s born?’

      ‘It would be difficult to do it any earlier.’ Across the table, a jaw clenched, tightening to rock and dark eyes glittered ominously, warning her this was no joking matter. But what did he expect? He was the one turning this meeting into an inquisition. ‘Of course that’s what I’m saying! That’s why I’m here. This child, this baby, has nothing to do with me. Not really.’

      ‘So you would hand over this child and walk away, and expect to have nothing to do with it ever again?’

      ‘Why would I want to when it’s not my child?’

      He leaned forward. ‘You see, that’s what I’m having trouble understanding, Mrs Cameron. Why would you carry through with this pregnancy when it is not your child?’ Dark eyes caught menacingly in the downlights, gleaming dangerously as he leaned across the table towards her. ‘Unless there’s something you’re expecting in return?’

      CHAPTER FOUR

      ANGIE blinked, her heart racing, her mind scrambling to keep up. ‘I have no idea what you mean.’

      ‘Oh, come on. You expect me to believe you’re making some kind of altruistic gesture out of the goodness of your heart and that you’ll hand this baby over and expect nothing in return? Nothing? Why don’t you just come clean? How much are you asking?’

      She shook her head. He’d asked her yesterday over the phone what was in it for her, but she’d figured it was a knee-jerk reaction, born of shock. She’d never imagined he really believed it of her. ‘This has nothing to do with money.’

      His expression darkened with disbelief, his eyes raking over her and making no attempt to disguise his scorn. ‘Come on, Mrs Cameron. You’re expecting me to believe you couldn’t do with a little extra cash?’

      He was actually serious. Okay, so maybe she could do with some extra cash and it showed. But there was no need for him to sit there, looking so smugly imperious, like a Roman emperor ready to toss some scraps to a waiting pleb. She didn’t want his scraps. She didn’t want anything of his.

      Ever again.

      But some perverse part of her insisted she play his game. Maybe he was right. Maybe she should be asking for money if he was so very keen to force it on her. The clinic had promised to cover all her medical expenses, but Shayne had given her nothing in maintenance and her little nest egg wouldn’t last for ever now she’d lost her job. And that perverse little voice asked if it would be so very wrong to ask, given he seemed so keen to part with his money. ‘So what exactly are you offering?’

      Nothing about him moved, save for his lips that turned into a half smile, and she tried to ignore the feeling that she’d just made some terrible mistake and wondered whether there was any chance she could make it right if she had.

      ‘Inconvenience money,’ he offered, watching her intently now, ‘given what you’re undertaking and given your own plans for a child have been delayed. Surely you must be anxious to try again.’ He was sure he had her now. Her point-blank denials had been frustrating him but they hadn’t lasted long until she’d been the one to ask what was on offer. It had been the crack he’d been waiting for. Nobody would do what she was doing for nothing, and with that lapse she’d proven it. He waited while she stared at the glass in her hand, waited while she weighed up his words, wondering if already she was counting the dollar signs; wondering if she even realised she was worrying that bottom lip of hers with her white teeth. The gesture spoke of an innocence he knew she couldn’t possibly possess. Yet still he found himself unable to look away.

      And then she looked up and met his gaze. ‘Look, that’s actually very sweet of you, Mr Pirelli,’ she said, ‘but my next pregnancy is my business. And I’ve decided I can wait.’

      He couldn’t believe what he was hearing, not when he’d thought he had her, now when she’d been the one to ask what was on offer. He cursed himself for insisting on the recording device. It had to be what had made her so reluctant before and what was inhibiting her now. But he wasn’t about to give up yet. ‘What about your husband—what does he think?’

      She looked anxiously around, and he wondered if she was looking for a waiter. But no, her water was still full so it couldn’t be that. ‘He … he’s happy for me to handle this.’

      ‘But surely he must be upset about this whole thing?’

      She licked her lips, reaching for the glass. Not drinking, but just twirling the contents, as if searching for something to do and something else to focus on. ‘We’ve come to an agreement.’

      ‘What kind of agreement?’

      Her glass stopped twirling. Her eyes snapped up. ‘The kind of agreement that’s between Shayne and me. The kind of agreement that doesn’t concern you.’