Having the Billionaire's Baby(7)

The real her didn't know how to handle being with Nick again. Whereas   being with her didn't appear to bother him at all. Clearly, he'd had way   more practice than she at seeing again someone you'd once slept with.   As they neared her table, Nick slowed her with a hand on her arm. He   glanced at the exit and shook his head as though he'd read her thoughts.   "It'd be bad form." He pulled out her chair. "Stay. Enjoy your  moment."

Callie glanced around the room-already smiling colleagues were making   their way toward her. She looked back at Nick. "I'll stay because for   the first time tonight you're right, it would be bad form. But you on   the other hand, may as well leave, because I have nothing further to say   to you."

His gaze flicked to the trophy she clutched, then back to her face.   "I'll leave." He held her gaze. "Because with this win you'll be swamped   for the rest of the evening. But, Calypso, we're not finished."





Three



N ick spread the morning paper out, frowning as the white wrought-iron   table, too insubstantial for his liking, wobbled beneath his touch.   Sunlight streamed onto the veranda of Calypso's gracious villa,   promising another hot day. He leaned back in the chair and slipped on   his sunglasses. It could almost be pleasant here. All he needed was a   cup of good coffee. He checked his watch. Hopefully it wouldn't be too   long before he could leave and get himself one.                       
       
           



       

He glanced at a vineyard not three hundred feet away. Long rows of vines   stretched over the contours of the land. Even from this distance, he   could see that the vines were ill-pruned and the grass around them too   long.

Shaking his head, he turned his attention back to the paper. It wasn't   his problem how her neighbors tended their vines. He skimmed the   headlines before turning to the business pages. A photo of Calypso and   him graced the second page. He studied the picture, saw her wide eyes,   her full mouth, and a sensuous figure that even her seemingly modest   dress couldn't disguise. Questions assailed him. Why had she really   slept with him? If it was simple attraction, why had she disappeared?   Why the late-night phone calls that Melody was so worried about?

They were questions he needed answered. But could he trust her? Or, more   importantly, could he trust his own judgment, when every thought about   her was clouded with memories, and an attraction that wouldn't abate?

He would keep her close till he had his answers, and if that closeness   bothered her he'd look on it as a small measure of payback.

The bang of a cupboard door shutting sounded in the kitchen behind him.   Last night he hadn't been prepared for the fact that Melody's problem   woman and his mystery woman were one and the same. His resolve had been   undermined by her confusion and his. And despite everything else, there   had been no need to detract from her success in winning the award. She   deserved that time to celebrate. So he had left.

But today was a new day and he was ready, anticipating their next clash.



A couple of minutes later the French doors at the other end of the   veranda swung open and Callie stepped out. He didn't know what he'd   expected, but it wasn't this.

He'd seen her in sleek red and dazzling blue, both times a mix of   glamorous, elegant and sensual, but now her long legs and delicate feet   were bare, she wore a white silk-and-lace negligee, but over the top of   it an unbelted, soft, pink terry cloth bathrobe. The taunting  contrasts  of sweet innocence and seductress.

A man could slip his hands beneath that robe, cradle the silk-covered   hips. He knew how her skin would feel beneath his touch. Nick swallowed,   forced his gaze upward.

She held a steaming yellow mug. The scent of fresh coffee reached him.   Walking to the edge of the veranda, she tipped her face up to the sun,   closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.

Suddenly he wished he was anywhere but here. He didn't want to notice   the rise and fall of her breasts. All he needed was answers, not to be   seduced all over again. Though a part of him that wouldn't be silenced   couldn't help but wishing it might be the other way around.

Callie turned and saw him and the serenity in her face transformed to shock. "What are you doing out here?"

"I didn't think you'd want me coming inside before you were up."

A frown drew her brows together. "I don't want you coming inside at all."

"It's a good thing I'm out here then, isn't it?" His deliberate calmness   was a counterpoint to her flustered outrage. He'd discomposed the  cool,  Calypso Jamieson of last night. He knew better than to let his   satisfaction show-or the fact that she discomposed him equally.

"No! It's not a good thing. I told you last night that I had nothing further to say to you." Her wide brown eyes flashed fire.

"You did. But though you may not have wanted to continue our conversation, I still have questions. And I want answers."



Callie strode the few steps to the table and set her mug down. Hot liquid slopped over the side.

With a touch of his fingers, Nick shifted the newspaper out of the way   of the spreading puddle. "Mind your paper. Though, given your penchant   for spilling drinks, I suppose I should be grateful I'm not wearing   that."

"Given my feelings on finding you here at all, you should definitely be   glad you're not wearing it." Her frown deepened. "Whose paper?"

He shrugged. "It was down by the mailbox. I brought it up for you."

"Make yourself at home, won't you." Color suffused her face and her   deceptively sweet voice was heavy with sarcasm. "Can I get you a drink? A   cup of coffee? Perhaps you'd like a bagel?"

Nick glanced at her coffee, then the damp patch on the table. "No, thanks."

It might be pushing her too far to take her up on her offer, though it would almost be worth it to see her reaction.

He wanted to rile her, to unsettle her as she had him, as her proximity   continued to do. But that wasn't what he was here for, and he needed to   remember that. He closed the paper and folded it in half, pushing it  to  one side. "Why won't you sell your share of Ivy Cottage PR to  Jason?"                       
       
           



       

Those brown eyes widened. "What?"

"You heard me."

"Yes, I heard you, but I can't quite believe the question."

"Believe it."

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. "What I do with my business   is just that, my business, not yours. I suggest you stop wasting your   time, and mine, and leave."

He folded his arms. "I'm making it my business, and I'm not going   anywhere till I have some answers. We can get this over and done with   through this one, simple conversation, or we can drag it out as long as   you like. The choice is yours."

Her fists stayed clenched, but she shifted them to her hips. "What I want is for you to go. Leave, please. Now."

He didn't have time to be curious, but he didn't think anyone had ever   tried to order him from a premises before. Nick slid his sunglasses from   his eyes so he could meet her gaze directly. He wanted her to see just   how serious he was. "I'm booked on a flight back to Sydney this   afternoon. I'd like to catch it. Answer a few questions and I will.   Choose not to answer and I'll be in your office on Monday morning, and   then Tuesday and Wednesday … . You get the picture."

She didn't answer.

"Of course you can still refuse to speak to me, even at your office, but   with you being the PR expert, you can imagine what the press would  make  of a rift between your firm and the client you've just won an  award  for. Quite an interesting tidbit. They do so love those stories  with a  human interest angle."

She stared at him and the silence lengthened. He didn't mind. He was good at silences.

"I'm getting changed." She stalked away.

Nick took her response as a concession. She would be coming back. He   spread out the paper again and wondered if she'd make him wait   endlessly. But she returned quickly. So at least she wasn't playing   games. She wore slim-fitting jeans and a snug white T-shirt. Thankfully,   now his focus wouldn't be splintered by expanses of creamy skin.   Although her curves beneath the worn denim and soft cotton were their   own definition of temptation. He focused on her face. It was just as   bewitching. Only the righteous anger in her eyes helped ground him.