A Christmas Marriage Ultimatum. HELEN BIANCHIN

is nothing to discuss.’

      ‘We can do it here, now. Or we can share dinner tomorrow night.’ He waited a beat. ‘Your choice.’

      ‘No.’

      One eyebrow slanted. ‘You want to play hardball?’

      ‘I don’t want to play at all!’

      His features assumed a hard mask. ‘I deserve to know if Samuel is my son.’

      ‘What if I tell you he’s not?’

      His gaze pierced hers, indomitable and frighteningly inflexible. ‘I want proof, one way or another.’

      Bravado rose to the fore as she held his gaze. ‘You don’t have the right.’

      ‘Yes, I do. Seven, tomorrow evening. I’ll collect you.’

      She didn’t want him here. In fact, she didn’t want to see him anywhere, period!

      ‘You want to do this with a degree of civility?’ Dimitri queried. ‘Or—?’

      ‘I’ll meet you.’ She named the first restaurant that came to mind. ‘Seven.’

      Without a further word she moved away from him, seeking another guest…anyone with whom she could converse and therefore escape Dimitri Cristopoulis’ damning presence.

      CHAPTER TWO

      ‘YOU look charming, chérie,’ Anouk complimented the following evening as Chantelle collected the keys to her mother’s car.

      ‘Thank you.’ She’d chosen a slim-fitting dress in black with a black lace overlay, short sleeves and a square neckline. Black stiletto-heeled sandals lent her petite frame added height, and she’d swept hair the colour of sable high into a careless knot.

      ‘It’s nice of Andreas’ son to invite you to dine with him.’

      Nice wasn’t a description she’d accord Dimitri…or his motives behind the invitation. If Anouk knew the real reason there would be concern, not pleasure, evident.

      However, not even her mother knew the identity of Samuel’s father. Her parents had been absent from Sydney at the time of Chantelle’s affair with Dimitri, and afterwards, when told of her pregnancy, they’d counselled informing the child’s father…advice she’d chosen to discount.

      She crouched down to give Samuel a hug. ‘Be good for Grandmère, hmm?’

      ‘Oui, Maman.’

      Such solemn brown eyes, she mused, kissing each childish cheek in turn.

      ‘Thanks,’ she said lightly as Anouk gathered Samuel close. ‘I won’t be late.’

      For the past eighteen hours she’d derived countless reasons why she should opt out of tonight. Only the knowledge Dimitri was capable of forcing a confrontation in her parents’ home prevented her from employing any one of them.

      It took twenty minutes to reach the glamorous hotel situated on the Spit at Main Beach. Chantelle chose valet parking, and stepped into the marble foyer.

      Expansive with glorious oriental rugs, comfortable sofas, it stretched out to a double staircase leading to a lower floor, beyond which lay a wide decorative pool, an island bar and, in the distance, the ocean.

      It was spectacular, and a waterfall added to the tropical overtone.

      Chantelle admired the view for numerous seconds, then she turned towards the restaurant.

      ‘Punctual, as always.’

      The sound of that familiar, faintly accented male voice caused the knot in her stomach to tighten.

      Get a grip, she remonstrated silently. She needed to be in control, and nervous tension didn’t form part of the evening’s agenda.

      She turned slightly and met Dimitri’s steady gaze.

      ‘It’s one of my virtues.’

      ‘Would you prefer a drink in the lounge, or shall we go straight in?’

      She even managed a slight smile. Amazing, when the butterflies in her stomach were beating a faint tattoo.

      ‘Why don’t we cut the social niceties?’ Cool, but neither calm nor collected.

      Damn him. He’d always had this effect on her equilibrium. The sight of him sent her pulse racing to a crazy beat. It was the whole male package, his choice of cologne, the freshly laundered clothes…the faint male scent that was uniquely his.

      All it took was one look, and her system went out of control. Even now, when she told herself she hated him, heat pooled deep inside, and the pulse at her throat felt as if it jumped beneath her skin.

      Could he sense it? See it? Dear heaven, she hoped not.

      The maître d’ issued a greeting and led them to their table, where he summoned a drinks waiter, performed an introduction, then graciously retreated.

      Dimitri ordered a crisp chardonnay, requested bottled water, and then he settled back comfortably in his chair.

      There were a hundred places she’d rather be than here, now. Yet what choice did she have? Her parents could cope with anything life threw at them, but Samuel was too young, too vulnerable, and she’d go to the ends of the earth to protect him from harm…physical, mental, emotional.

      Take control, an inner voice urged as she reached for her glass and sipped chilled water.

      ‘Let’s not pretend this is anything other than what it is,’ Chantelle opined coolly, and saw one eyebrow slant in silent query.

      ‘Perhaps we should order?’ Dimitri suggested as the waiter presented the menu.

      Food? The thought of calmly forking artistically presented morsels in his company killed what little appetite she had.

      Nevertheless, it was necessary to order something, and she settled on a starter and skipped the main course.

      ‘Not hungry?’

      ‘Is my appetite an issue?’

      His gaze remained steady, and had the effect of unnerving her…which was undoubtedly deliberate.

      ‘Relax.’

      Oh, sure, and that was easy, given he inevitably had a bundle of legal tricks up his sleeve ready to heap on her unsuspecting head.

      ‘I’m here at your insistence,’ Chantelle reminded. ‘Sharing a meal I don’t particularly want in the company of someone I’d prefer never to have to see again in this lifetime.’

      ‘Pity.’

      Her eyes flashed dark fire. ‘What do you mean…pity?’

      ‘If Samuel is my son,’ Dimitri voiced with dangerous softness, ‘you’ll have to get used to me being part of your life.’

      ‘The hell I will!’

      Something moved in his eyes, and she felt a chill slither down the length of her spine. ‘Take it as a given, Chantelle.’

      The words were hard, inflexible, and seared her heart. ‘You don’t have that right.’

      The arrival of the waiter brought a welcome break, and she viewed the contents of her plate with misgiving, sure the smallest mouthful would stick in her throat.

      ‘Eat,’ Dimitri bade, and she did, managing to do justice to the food. He wasn’t to know her taste-buds had gone on strike.

      Conversation had never been so difficult to summon, and anything she thought to offer seemed inane.

      It irked her unbearably he was able to affect her this way. Act, she chastised silently. Adopt a practised façade, and pretend Dimitri Cristopoulis is just a man like any other male.

      Oh, sure…chance