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.
‘Now look what you’ve done,’ she cried as she surveyed her scattered possessions—the folded train timetable, her old comb with its broken teeth, the cheap mascara and lipstick she hadn’t felt well enough to apply today, and what was left of the bottle of water his PA had given her—and knelt down to collect everything, until she lifted the now empty bag and, with a sickening lurch to her heart, realised something was missing. ‘Where’s my wallet?’
There was no wallet. ‘Are you sure you had it?’ he asked with a hand under her elbow to lift her, his touch still tripping her nerves in a way she was now convinced was caused by making contact with the force field of his resentment.
‘I know I had it!’ But with a thud she remembered the man who’d shoved into her as she was coming off the train, nearly sending her sprawling, before rushing off into the crowd. She looked up at him. ‘Someone pushed me getting off the train. I thought it was an accident, but do you think…?’
She’d gone from spitting she-cat to victim again, looking so devastated and ashen he was worried she was going to faint again. He steered her back down into her seat and pulled his mobile phone from his pocket, dialling the police and cursing the scumbag who would steal from someone who clearly didn’t have two cents to rub together. ‘How much was in it?’
‘More than twenty dollars!’ And then she paused, shocked. ‘Oh, God, and my train ticket.’ She looked up at him, her eyes already spilling over with tears. ‘I’m sorry. I realise you hate me and I know I said some awful things just now, but do you think you could loan me the money for the fare home?’
Alongside him in the passenger seat she said nothing. He didn’t prompt her, he didn’t try to fill in the silence. They’d said enough over lunch.
She’d surprised him with that outburst. He’d assumed from her appearance that she lacked passion. He’d assumed any personality was as lacklustre as her appearance. But instead of the admission he’d been expecting in response to his goads, she’d simply turned around and given as good as she’d got. The mouse that roared.
Albeit only until the time she’d realised her purse had been snatched. Since then she’d returned to the land of the hapless and forlorn.
It must have nearly killed her to have to ask him for the fare home.
Angie sat back in the high-backed leather seat that seemed to wrap itself around her, the smell of fine leather and expensive car and expensive man all wending its way through her senses, and only wished she could enjoy the experience. The man alongside her made that impossible. She dared a glance in his direction, unable to stop herself from admiring the long-fingered hands resting on the wheel, the way they manoeuvred the car and the gear changes with complete assurance and control. Powerful hands, she thought, remembering the impact of their touch on her skin, powerful hands for a powerful man. Powerful and utterly ruthless.