She opened her mouth to speak, but Will raised the palm of his hand to silence her and she stilled, her eyes wide. If she spoke, he wasn’t certain he’d be able to control his anger. He’d worked all his life to suppress the rage he often felt, channeling his pent-up aggression into football while perfecting his stoicism so no one saw the intense ire that boiled beneath his surface. The crazy nymph in front of him just might shatter his carefully crafted façade. When he thought about her scheme, his fingers itched to wrap themselves around her neck and throttle her.
Or pull her in for a kiss.
And that pissed him off even more. He was disgusted at the part of him that still wanted her. She leveled angry eyes at him as she crossed her arms under her breasts. Those had definitely benefited from pregnancy, not that they were bad before. Will had to take a reflexive step back as a bead of sweat trickled down his back.
Mr. Clem stepped in between them, momentarily defusing the situation. “Miss Marchione, we won’t be able to perform the transfusion immediately, unfortunately.” He shot a furious glance at Will.
Julianne’s hands dropped to her sides as Carly Devlin emerged to support her with an arm behind her back. He wasn’t sure why the wife of the Blaze’s quarterback was here, but he’d figure out that mystery later. Right now, he needed answers to the many questions Mr. Clem hadn’t been able to answer during his hurried explanation of the blood disorder Julianne Marchione’s baby had been born with. Until he got them, there was no point in arranging a transfusion.
“I don’t understand.” Julianne sounded deflated as her eyes darted to Mr. Clem’s face.
“It’s pretty simple, really.” Sarcasm dripped from Roscoe’s voice as he spoke from somewhere behind Will. “Until we know definitively who this baby’s daddy is, no one is sticking another needle in my client.”
“Roscoe!” Carly admonished her husband’s agent and best friend.
“We don’t have time for this!” Julianne’s eyes were slits in her face.” My baby needs a transfusion as soon as possible, and you’re his father.” She flung a hand at Will.
He arched an eyebrow at her, not relishing the fact that he wasn’t enjoying her discomfort more. “Not until the lab says so.”
“Will!” Carly turned her censure onto him.
Julianne shrugged out of Carly’s embrace and stepped to within inches of Will. His body’s visceral reaction annoyed him. “Of course you’re his father! My God! If I were going to make up an imaginary father for my son, do you think I would pick you?” She finished up with a few mumblings in Italian.
“Julianne!” Carly was practically calling roll in their little drama.
Will absorbed the pain of her words and internalized them without flinching. Of course she thought he wasn’t good enough. No one ever thought Will Connelly was good enough for anything. No matter how he tried to improve himself, he’d still be the poor, fatherless kid from the trailer park whose mother drove a school bus and cleaned houses for a living. But this woman had another thing coming if she thought she could walk all over him. Nobody did that anymore.
“Perhaps we’d best take this discussion inside.” An urbane-looking black man appeared at Will’s shoulder, carrying an armful of coffee and scones. His British accent made the statement sound like a question. The expression on his face, however, made it clear it was not.
“Sebastian’s right.” The senator herded their party behind the curtain. “Let’s take this to a more private location if that’s even possible.” He pulled his sister down beside him on the small sofa. Hank Osbourne offered a chair to Carly before taking another for himself. Roscoe turned one of the remaining chairs around and sat straddling it, his arms draped over the back. The Brit, Sebastian, offered the final chair to Will, but he declined. Instead, he propped a shoulder against the wall closest to the curtain and tucked his hands beneath his armpits in a defensive position. Mr. Clem stood, fidgeting from one foot to the other.
Sebastian handed Julianne a paper coffee cup before opening a box of scones and placing it on the table. Steam rose from his own cup as he pulled the lid off and took a sip.
“Ahh. Everything looks better after a bracing swallow of tea.” His tone dripped with civility, though his eyes were anything but civil as they met Will’s. “Now, what’s this I heard about you not believing you’re Owen’s father?”
Will twitched slightly. The boy had a name. Owen. He remained silent as the Brit took another sip of tea.
“Of course, you’re the boy’s father. Otherwise, why would Julianne involve you?” Sebastian’s imperious tone was beginning to grate on Will’s nerves.