Richard and Jane were alighting from the first car, a local taxi. Jane was dressed in her London black business suit even though it was November here in Australia, and so hot today at Byron Bay, Erin had dressed comfortably in a sleeveless cotton shift. However, she had the air-conditioning on so Jane shouldn't suffer too much inside the house. Richard was in a suit, too, a grey pinstripe, very English.
Her gaze shifted to the second car, a white Mercedes. A tall, black-haired man, dressed in a lightweight grey suit, emerged from the front passenger seat. An even taller man, with dark blond hair and very broad shoulders underneath a tailored navy jacket, appeared from the driver's side. He turned towards the house and Erin reeled back in shock.
Peter Ramsey!
Disbelief fought with unmistakable recognition. A tumult of emotions roared through her, putting knots in her stomach, squeezing her heart, shattering her mind. All throughout her pregnancy she'd struggled with facing him about his unplanned fatherhood, and now he was here, about to see what a short weekend of intimacy with her had wrought. He'd hate her for it, accuse her of all sorts of nasty things …
No-o-o-o-o-o … .
The scream inside her head pushed her feet into spinning around, moving out of sight. Sheer panic pelted her down the hallway, the need to hide, to avoid this meeting at all costs churning through her. She was breathless, heaving in agitation as she stopped at the sliding glass doors at the far end of the living room, gripping the handles to yank them apart. Pain speared across her lower back.
This frantic activity was not good for her, not good for the baby. She leant her forehead against the glass, willing her insides to calm down. Enough reason filtered through the chaos in her mind to tell her it was madness to run anyway. They'd search for her if she was missing. This was an important business meeting. Millions of dollars were on the line. Richard and Jane had flown out from England for it. Escape simply wasn't possible.
"Erin?"
Jane calling out for her.
She'd left the front door open.
No escape.
Her ears picked up some subdued chat between her visitors out on porch. Another call came, this time from Richard.
"Erin, are you there?"
She forced herself to answer. "Yes. Come on through."
The pain was receding though it took an act of will to release the door handles and stand up straight. Jane was ushering the men into the living-room, talking brightly, diplomatically covering for their hostess's lack of courtesy in not greeting them properly at the door. They had to be faced now. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and turned around.
Jane and Richard were a blur. So was Zack Freeman. Her eyes instantly focused on the father of her child, skating up from grey trousers, white shirt, navy and red striped silk tie, determined chin, no smile on his mouth, strong nose, riveting blue gaze which dropped from her face to the unmistakable evidence of full-blown pregnancy. His whole face tightened into grim shock.
"Erin, this is Zack Freeman who will be the creative director of the film," Jane prattled in cheery introduction. "And Peter Ramsey who'll be underwriting the cost of production. Erin Lavelle, gentlemen."
The black-haired man was moving forward, offering his hand.
Erin stood rooted to the spot, stunned by the fact that Peter was behind this movie project. He knew who she was. He knew only too intimately who she was. He'd hauled his gaze up from her belly and his eyes were like icy steel, stabbing into hers.
"Back off, Zack!" he commanded in a voice that cracked like a whip, stopping the other man in his tracks. "This meeting is adjourned until further notice."
"What?"
"Why?"
"But … "
He waved a sharply dismissive hand at the flurry of shocked protests. "Go back to the hotel and wait." He dug in his trouser pocket, drew out a set of keys and held them out to his business associate. "Take them in my car, Zack."
His gaze had not so much as flickered from Erin yet he emanated so much intimidating power, no-one was inclined to fight his edict. Besides which, he was the money man, and the flow of tension between her and the big billionaire undoubtedly telegraphed there was a huge hitch in this morning's plan.
Richard was brave enough to ask, "Is it okay to leave you, Erin?"
"Yes. Go," she croaked out, resigned to the inevitable confrontation.
They left.
Peter didn't move.
Neither did she.
After a long nerve-tearing silence, he said, "It's mine, isn't it?"
No doubt in his voice. No doubt in his eyes. Just wanting the fact confirmed by her, forcing the admission with ruthless determination.
"Yes," she acknowledged.
His mouth twisted in bitter irony. "So your fling with me had a purpose. Should I feel flattered that you chose my genes for your child?"
Her mind boggled over the assumption that her pregnancy had been planned, that she'd used him as a stud. "It was an accident! An accident!" she cried, appalled that he could think she would choose single parenthood after all she'd said on the issue.
He threw up his hands in contempt. "How big a fool do you think I am, Erin? You kept your identity a secret. You lied about contraception … "
"I did not lie about taking the pill!" she hurled back at him. "You can ask my doctor why it didn't work because I don't know. I was still taking it when I went to him five weeks after we parted."
"Five weeks!" he mocked. "You've had a lot of time since then to let me know about this accident. Why did you keep it to yourself?"
"Because … " Her mind whirled around the reasons that had stopped her from making contact with him.
"Because … " he prompted with an air of relentless purpose.
"I didn't need your … your financial support," she blurted out.
Anger blazed from him. "Being independently wealthy does not give you the right to keep me in ignorance of my own flesh and blood."
"I was going to tell you, Peter," she pleaded.
"When?" he bored in.
"After the baby was born. When it was a real child."
"A real child?" His voice rose in incredulity. His gaze targeted her baby bump. "You don't think that's real?"
"There have been complications," she rushed out, trying to explain what she meant. "I almost had a miscarriage. I was in bed for weeks, trying to keep the baby safe. Then I still wasn't well. The doctor diagnosed gestational diabetes so I've had to be very careful about my diet. It didn't seem … necessary to tell you until-" her hands flapped in wild appeal for his understanding "-until the baby was born alive and well."
"Necessary … " He turned the word into a savage indictment of her decision to leave him out of her pregnancy. "Who looked after you when you needed looking after? Didn't it ever occur to you that I might want to provide every care to ensure that my child is safely born?"
No, it hadn't. She'd had no experience of men caring to that degree. It was women who did the looking after. But maybe he meant doing what she'd done herself. "I hired a private nurse when I needed help."
"So you shared with a stranger what you should have shared with me," he slung at her in disgust.
Erin stared at him helplessly, unable to offer any further defence for her decisions. She simply hadn't realised he would care so much about a baby who was yet to be born, that he would feel so responsible when she had assured him they were having safe sex. "I was going to tell you, Peter," she said limply, despairing that he would believe anything she said.
"Were you?" His eyes glittered with biting cynicism. "If I hadn't set up this movie deal and kept my name out of it until we met face-to-face, you could have gone on keeping me in ignorance of my child as long as you liked."
There was no use denying it. He wasn't going to accept her word for anything. "Why did you?" she asked, needing some respite from being the accused, grabbing at the fact that he'd given no explanation of his actions.
"Why did I what?" he snapped, still in a towering rage over what she'd done.
"Set up this movie deal."
He snorted derisively. "Oh, I had this brilliant idea that if I manipulated you into a situation where you had to sit down and talk to me, we might recapture the click we had when we were just a man and a woman."
The acid sting of those last words-words she'd used to him-brought a rush of hot blood to her face, scorching her cheeks.
"Is that guilt making you blush, Erin?" he mocked. "Was that another lie to gloss over the deception about your identity?"
He was so cold, so relentless in his attack on her integrity. All she could do was shake her head.
He shook his, too, self-mockingly, reminding her of the lengths he'd gone to in order to connect with her again. It made no sense. He hadn't liked her being an author who was more newsworthy than himself. Had her rejection of him rankled? Maybe no woman had ever walked out on Peter Ramsey. Was this an ego thing? Had he thought he could force her into accepting him again? On his terms, whatever they were?