The Billionaire's Captive Bride(20)

"You're very good at manipulating … " The way he'd worked the situation in  the park with Dave Harper so he could draw her into meeting him. "Is  this some dummy deal, designed solely to get at me, Peter?"

"No, it's absolutely genuine. I wouldn't involve other people in a dummy  deal," he shot back, resenting her attack on his integrity.

"Did you think your money, your power to make this happen, would make some difference to me?"

"After you refused to be my doll?" He rolled his eyes in contempt of her  interpretation of his motives. "I'm not a complete idiot, Erin."

"I don't understand where you're coming from," she cried. Why would he  set out to increase her fame as an author with a movie of one of her  stories if he wanted to pursue a relationship with her? It would put the  spotlight on Erin Lavelle wherever they went together.

"That is now totally irrelevant," he said tersely. "There's only one thing you need to understand, Erin."

He walked towards her, aggressive purpose radiating from him, making her  heart flutter with fear. This was the warrior unleashed, every atom of  his being geared to fight. Against her.

A shaft of pain across her lower back increased the tension that was  probably causing it. She fought the urge to double up and nurse it  through. Pride forced her to stand upright, though she could not control  the tremor that ran down her legs as Peter stopped directly in front of  her, his big, powerful physique making her feel hopelessly weak.

His eyes burned into hers. He reached out and very deliberately spread a  hand over her baby bulge, making her skin burn under the heat of its  possessive claim. "You will not shut me out of my child's life any  longer," he said, the hard edge of ruthlessness in his voice telling her  she had no choice.

She couldn't fight him. Didn't really want to. He did have the right to  know his child. But she couldn't bear him thinking she'd meant to shut  him out. It wasn't true. She wouldn't have done that. Yet how could she  make him believe her?         

     



 

Her whirling mind clutched at a little piece of evidence. "I was going  to tell you, Peter. I'll show you," she threw at him, quickly  side-stepping, sliding away from his touch, mentally pumping strength  back into her legs as she charged across the living-room to the door  leading to her study.

"Show me what?"

She ignored the question. He was hard on her heels, anyway. Seeing is  believing, she thought wildly, flinging the study door open wide for him  to follow and heading straight for her writing desk.

"Good God! Was this what you were thinking of when you were watching the races at Randwick?"

He had to be looking at the paintings of the winged horses, commissioned  from the artist who illustrated her books. They were hanging on the  study wall-inspiration while she'd been writing the story. "Yes. The  Mythical Horses of Mirrima," she answered distractedly. "You should have  waited for that one if you want to make a movie of one of my books.  It's the best I've done."

"You wrote a story while you were so concerned about your pregnancy?"

The harshly critical tone in his voice implied she'd lied about having complications, as well as everything else.

"Thinking up words is not exactly physical labour," she retorted,  flashing him a resentful look as she rounded the desk. "And it kept my  mind off other things."

"Like a nagging conscience over hiding my child from me?"

"I wasn't going to!" she almost shouted at him.

He'd stopped just inside the study and cut a terribly forbidding figure,  making her quail at trying to convince him of anything. But she had to.  A future of gut-wrenching conflict between them had to be averted.

"Look!" she cried, pulling out the top drawer of her desk and grabbing  the business card she'd fingered so many times, agonising over calling  him, holding it out for him to see. "I kept it. Why would I have it so  handy if I never meant to contact you?"

The laser blue eyes were briefly hooded as his gaze dropped to the card  that was being shakily offered to him. For several nerve-wracking  seconds he stared at it. His face remained grim. Her challenge wasn't  working. She wasn't reaching him.

"For God's sake, Peter! You told me how you'd feel about your own  children. How could I not give you the chance to be a hands-on father?"

It drew his gaze up to hers again, not quite so bitterly condemning now but still sceptical of her intentions.

"Remember our conversation about the Harpers?" she begged in appeal.

"I remember you saying you would only have a child within the security  of a truly committed marriage," he bit out as though that was another  lie.

Anguish twisted through her, spilling into pleading words. "Doesn't that  tell you this pregnancy was an accident? I didn't use you. I didn't  plan anything. I've just been trying to get on with my own life until … "

Pain … more savage than before. She gasped, instinctively bending over to contain it.

"Erin?"

She couldn't answer the sharp inquiry. Her mind was yelling at her to  breathe in quick pants, relax, ease the agony. Then to her horror, a  gush of water drenched her panties and ran down her legs.

"Oh, no … no … " she wailed.

"What's wrong?"

She lifted her head.

Peter was striding towards her, full of urgent concern now.

"The baby," she cried. "The baby is coming."





CHAPTER ELEVEN




A COMPLETELY different fear gripped Erin as Peter gently lowered her  into the chair she used for writing-fear for the baby. Something had to  be wrong for it to be coming a month early. She wrapped her arms  protectively around her belly, rocking it in an agony of hope that all  was still well.

"Try to stay calm. Panic won't help," Peter coolly advised. "Give me your doctor's name and I'll get things moving for you."

"Davis." She nodded to the telephone on the desk. "Press six for his surgery."

Within seconds he was acting for her. "This is Peter Ramsey, calling on  behalf of Erin Lavelle. I need to be connected to Dr Davis immediately.  This is an emergency."

A waiting pause, then, "Yes, I am that Peter Ramsey. I'm with Erin  Lavelle. Her water has broken and she's suffering labour pain. I'd  appreciate it if you'd despatch an ambulance immediately to her house on  Ocean Drive, number 14, and meet us at the hospital when we get there."

Another pause.

The bad pain had receded, leaving only a dull ache. Erin couldn't help  wondering how Dr Davis was reacting to a string of demands, backed by  the power of the Ramsey name and everything it stood for.         

     



 

"Thank you," Peter said, obviously having received a satisfactory reply.  He put the telephone receiver back in its cradle and turned his  attention to her, catching the frown of concern on her face. "I've  missed something?" he asked.

"You're going to turn this birth into a three-ring-circus bandying your name about like that."

His eyes glittered derisively at her complaint. "You might as well start  getting used to it, Erin. You'll be attached to the Ramsey zoo for a  long time to come. And quite frankly, I don't give a damn for your  reclusive inclinations in this particular instance. For the sake of our  child, I'm asking for top priority service, and since my mother has  guided my father into donating millions to the medical system of this  country, I consider it a reasonable request."

It probably was. And she was grateful that he had ensured quick  attention for her and the baby, grateful that he was here, helping her.  "I'm sorry. It just seemed … unnecessary. I'm not … not thinking straight."

"Don't worry about it," he said more kindly. "Just let me take care of  everything. Do you want to get out of these wet clothes while we're  waiting for the ambulance or do you think it's best not to move?"

"I'm frightened of moving."

"Okay. I'll have the ambulance people bring in a stretcher."

"There's a bag packed ready for going into hospital. It's in my bedroom, along the hallway on the right."

"I'll put it by the front door. Is it all right for me to leave you for a minute?"

"Yes."

But the moment he left the study the pain cut through her again. She  struggled out of the chair and leaned against the desk. Somehow that was  easier for her to manage the contraction than from a seated position.  Peter came back, stood beside her, stroked her hair, making her choke up  at the unexpected gesture of tender caring from him.

"Won't be long before the ambulance arrives," he murmured sympathetically.

Tears swam into her eyes. She couldn't speak. It ran through her mind  that if she had told him about her pregnancy, maybe he would have looked  after her. Independence was all very well-she had coped-but it had been  very lonely and she was intensely relieved not to be alone right now,  to have Peter taking charge of everything.