Mistresses: The Consequences Of Desire. Оливия Гейтс

against the hall window. But the summer storm that had seemed so cleansing, so perfect, so passionate only hours before, now appeared grey and dark and oppressive.

      He sent her one last scathing look over his shoulder, the look of betrayal in his eyes palpable. And then slammed the door behind him.

      She sank down against the wall, her legs too shaky to hold her, and pressed her forehead into her knees. And listened to his footfalls, heavy on the stairs, fade away into nothingness.

      * * *

      Coop stumbled out onto the street, his heart hitting his ribcage hard enough to shatter bone. Rain slashed at his face as he dumped his bag on the sidewalk and smashed his fist into the brick wall that marked the perimeter of her apartment building.

      Pain hurtled up his arm, lanced across his knuckles, but went some way to dulling the terrifying emotions consuming him.

      You dumbass. What the hell were you thinking? Coming here? Trusting her?

      He sucked the battered knuckles, and picked up his bag in the other hand.

      He hailed a cab, jumped in out of the rain and shouted through the grill, ‘Take me to a hotel.’

      ‘How about the Renaissance, sir? It’s pricey but very plush.’

      ‘Sure, great, whatever,’ he croaked, his voice hoarse, his whole body starting to shake. He didn’t give a damn where he went—he just had to get away from the memory of those big eyes glossy with unshed tears.

      But then he caught the glittering pink logo on the window of Ella’s cupcake store as the cab sped past it. The panic boiled in his gut as the taste of her lingered on his tongue and the residual heat throbbed in his crotch. Mocking him.

      He sank his head into his hands and wanted to howl with pain and frustration.

      God help him, it didn’t matter what he did now, or how much money he made or how fast he ran—he could never ever be an island again. And it was all his own damn fault.

       EIGHT

      Coop stared at the glittery pink lettering on the front of the diner, and then past it through the glass. He spotted Ella in front of the counter, busy chatting to a customer, her hand resting casually on her belly—and swallowed to ease the thickening in his throat.

      Play it cool. No more freak-outs allowed.

      He’d spent a night in the gothic splendor of the five-star hotel overlooking St Pancras Station, not sleeping a wink, as he went over every single thing she’d said, and every single thing he’d said. And he’d come to a few important—if shattering—conclusions.

      He didn’t have the first clue what he was supposed to do about the bomb she’d just exploded in his nice, easy, island life. Correction: his formerly nice, easy, island life. Fatherhood was something he hadn’t planned for and didn’t know a damn thing about.

      And he hated not knowing, because it reminded him too much of his childhood. The dead weight of responsibility, the relentless pressure of being constantly trapped without a way out and that terrifying feeling of insecurity, of never knowing if he would be strong enough, smart enough, man enough to make things right for his mom.

      He didn’t want to live through all that again. And he hated that he would have to now.

      And because of that he’d panicked yesterday, when Ella had told him her news—and had dropped a pretty big bomb on her in return.

      Because however much he might want to blame all this on Ella, he knew now—once he’d taken the time to examine all the facts—that he couldn’t. He also knew he couldn’t just walk away from his own kid and forget about it—the way she’d suggested—because that would make him no better than his old man. And he was pretty sure he couldn’t do that and live with himself afterwards.

      All of which left him with only one option. Suck it up, stop whining about what he couldn’t change and try to deal with it.

      And the only way he could do that was to deal with Ella first.

      Forcing the trademark ‘never-let-them-see-you’re-scared’ smile he’d perfected as a kid onto his lips, he pushed open the door. But as Ella’s gaze locked on his and her eyes went wide with distress his step faltered, his heartbeat stumbled and the thickening in his throat got a hell of a lot worse.

      * * *

      ‘Coop?’ Ella bit into her lip, the tremor of shock and anxiety almost as overwhelming as the wave of relief.

      She’d never expected to see him again, had convinced herself that his angry departure was for the best. She’d told herself over and over again during a long night spent on the phone to Ruby, and then lying in bed staring at the crack in her ceiling, that she couldn’t make Coop want to be a father—any more than she could make him forgive her for something she hadn’t done. So it would be pointless and futile to contact him again.

      ‘We need to talk,’ he said, his deep voice slightly strained but with none of the explosive anger from their last encounter. ‘Can you take a break?’

      She nodded, too stunned to speak, then glanced round the shop to locate her business partner. Ruby stood chatting to a young couple to whom she’d just delivered a couple of chai lattes. But then her head came up and she spotted Coop. All traces of the genial hostess disappeared as she marched back across the café.

      ‘What do you want?’ Ruby stepped behind the counter to stand shoulder to shoulder with Ella. ‘Haven’t you done enough?’

      ‘I’m here to talk to Ella, honey, not you,’ Coop said, the casual tone in direct contrast to the challenge in his eyes.

      ‘Well, “honey”...’ Ruby sneered the endearment, squaring up for a fight ‘...you’re going to have to go through me to get to her after the immature way you behaved yesterday.’

      ‘It’s okay, Ruby.’ Ella touched her friend’s arm, emboldened by her support—even if it was counterproductive right now.

      The last thing she wanted was for Coop to find out how much his accusations had hurt her, or how she’d dissolved into a quivering wreck after his departure. Showing that kind of weakness would only put her on the defensive. ‘Coop’s right—we need to talk. Is it okay if I take a few minutes?’

      ‘Are you sure?’ Ruby asked.

      ‘We’ll need more than a few minutes to sort this mess out,’ Coop interrupted before she could reassure her friend. ‘I’ve got a car waiting outside to take us back to my hotel, so we can have some privacy.’

      This mess.

      Ella’s heart shrank. Her baby wasn’t a mess. But if that was the way Coop saw it, then sorting out his involvement—or rather the lack of it—would be fairly clear cut. And she supposed she should be glad that he seemed prepared to do that much.

      ‘Why do you need privacy?’ Ruby interrupted again. ‘So you can shag her and then have another temper tantrum like a two-year—’

      ‘Ruby, please, don’t.’ Ella raised her voice, grateful for the spark of indignation. ‘I’ll be fine. All we’re going to do is talk.’ She wasn’t about to make the mistake again of believing the strong physical attraction between them meant an emotional connection too.

      She really didn’t know this man. His volatile reaction last night had proved that. This ‘talk’ would be a chance to find out more about him—while also reassuring him that her expectations of him were zero as far as the baby was concerned.

      Ruby continued to eyeball Coop for several pregnant seconds, but, instead of rising to the provocation, he grinned.

      ‘You heard the lady.’ He slung his hands in his pockets, the picture of nonchalance as he raised an eyebrow, the challenge unmistakable. ‘All we’re