The Heir From Nowhere. Trish Morey

an adoption list a mile long.’

      ‘This baby will not be adopted!’

      ‘Fine. But you’re lucky there’s even going to be a baby, given what the clinic offered!’

      Cold hard silence descended over the table. Like a blanket of fog, it chilled the atmosphere and set his face to stone.

      ‘What did the clinic offer?’

      She cursed the impulse that had made her lash out at him, cursed the words that had issued from her mouth when she’d never had any intention of acting upon them. But maybe he needed to hear them. Maybe then he would appreciate what she was trying to do. She swallowed, her throat almost too tight to get out the words. ‘They suggested I have an abortion. Cover the whole thing up quietly. Without you ever knowing.’

      Skin pulled tight over cheekbones, the cords of his throat stood out rigid and tight, a throbbing pulse at his temple, and she was suddenly back in her dream, the snarling dog closing in on her, its powerful shoulders bringing it ever closer until she could almost feel its hot angry breath against her face. Was this the man she’d imagined in her nightmare? Was this man the snarling danger in the dark?

      ‘I said no!’ she insisted, shaken by the return of the images in her nightmare. ‘Obviously, I said no.’ It had never been an option as far as she was concerned.

      ‘Obviously, you said no,’ he echoed, the words sounding as if they’d been ground out of all the dark, jagged places inside him. ‘Because you realised this baby was worth more to you alive. You decided you could sell it instead.’

      ‘No! You honestly believe I could sell this baby—your baby—back to you? What kind of person do you think I am?’

      ‘I don’t know what kind of person you are, Mrs Cameron. I don’t know why anyone would want to willingly bear someone else’s child—a stranger’s child. Why would they do that, if not for money, when you are clearly on the bones of your arse.’

      It was too much! She stood shakily to her feet, sick of his mistrust, sick of his constant references to how pitiable she was. ‘Just like you said, Mr Pirelli, you don’t know me. You don’t know me at all. And clearly I made a mistake coming here. I thought you’d be interested in raising your own child, but I can see now that all you’re worried about is your money. And it seems to me that this child would be much better off being raised as far away from you as humanly possible. Thank you for lunch. I’m leaving.’

      She swung her tote over her shoulder even as his voice boomed out across the table. ‘You’re not going anywhere!’ His hand caught the swinging bag and sent it crashing to the floor, throwing its contents across the carpet.