The Billionaire's Captive Bride(19)

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?