Bestselling Authors Collection 2012(12)

‘What kind of misunderstandings?’

He shrugged, no casual shrug but a deliberate and calculated movement of those broad shoulders. This time she didn’t allow her eyes to linger longer than to get the impression that he would just as easily shrug her off, if only he could. ‘Either one of us could say things today and then change their mind before the baby is born.’

‘I’m not changing my mind!’

‘Then you have nothing to worry about.’

‘And you don’t need the recording.’

‘No?’ He leaned forward. ‘But what if I were to change my mind? Trust works both ways, Mrs Cameron.’

If he changed his mind? Angie sat back in her chair, her fingers knotting in her lap, her fingertips finding the absent place 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?’