by Trish Morey
‘What the hell’s going on out there?’ Bryce called. ‘Philly, where are you?’
‘I’ll go see how she is,’ Enid volunteered, following.
‘The hell you will. I’ll go!’ asserted Bryce, pushing his way into the bathroom.
Almost immediately he wavered, turning back at the sounds of her distress, his face taking on a noticeably green tinge. ‘Aah, I don’t think she’s very well.’
Enid scowled at him. ‘A lot you seem to care.’
Damien joined them outside the door. ‘You idiot. She’s probably feeling sick enough with the baby coming without you upsetting her.’
‘I’ve explained that,’ Bryce stated. ‘It wasn’t my…’
There was silence for a few seconds until Philly wobbled to the door, looking washed out and holding a damp paper towel to her face. ‘Phew, that was too close. Panic over.’
Damien held out his arm, questions in his eyes. ‘Lean on me. Come and sit down.’
She took his arm, avoiding the questions and letting herself sink her weight gratefully against him as he led her down to the more comfortable chairs in the waiting room.
‘You need a nice cup of tea,’ suggested Enid, disappearing into the small kitchenette to put the kettle on.
Bryce trailed them down the hall, all the time his eyes dashing between Philly and Damien and back again before finally settling around the region of Philly’s still flat abdomen as she reclined into an armchair. His tongue darted out and flicked around his lips nervously.
‘Um. What’s going on?’
She looked up at him, her eyes weary. ‘Bryce, there’s no place for you back in my life. I wasn’t going to tell you because it’s actually none of your business, but I’m pregnant.’
He looked around, panic evident in his eyes. ‘But—you can’t be. We haven’t—I always used—It’s been months!’
‘Oh, don’t worry,’ she said, ‘I never said it was yours.’
‘Then who the hell have you been sleeping with?’
Damien couldn’t stay quiet any longer. He didn’t have any idea how this baby had been conceived, but he sure as hell was happy it had nothing to do with Bryce. ‘You’ve got to be joking! Surely you don’t expect Philly to answer that question,’ he snapped.
‘I want to know. The minute my back is turned, she goes and gets herself pregnant. Whose is it?’
‘Philly told you, it’s none of your business. Maybe it’s about time you were thinking about leaving again—this time for good.’
Bryce looked around and threw Damien a hateful expression. ‘Why don’t you just stay out of this?’ he snapped, before his eyes suddenly narrowed. ‘Hang on…’
He looked from Philly’s face to Damien’s and back again. Damien glared right back.
‘Damien’s right,’ she said. ‘You should go.’
Bryce’s searching gaze focused once more on Philly, his lip curling. ‘It’s his baby, isn’t it? You probably couldn’t wait for me to be out of the picture. In fact, it was probably going on before I left. That’s what you’re doing up on this swank floor. You earned your promotion on your back. Go on—deny it.’
Philly squeezed her eyes shut and wished she could do the same for her ears. This couldn’t be happening.
‘Why deny it?’ said Damien, his voice heavy with anger, his hands curling into fists. ‘It is my baby.’
Philly’s heart missed a beat as her eyes snapped open.
‘Damien…’
‘So understand me when I say,’ continued Damien as he forced Bryce to the lifts without touching him but by his sheer physical presence. ‘You stay away from Philly. I never want you to contact her again. And I don’t want to see your face around here either. Got that?’
The lift doors behind Bryce slid open. For a moment it looked as if he was trying to make a last-ditch attempt. His chest puffed out and his red cheeks swelled as if he was trying to come up with something cutting in response. It was a futile gesture.
Damien took one step towards him and with one hand shoved Bryce into the compartment. The low heel of Bryce’s shoe caught in the gap and he sprawled backwards, crashing like a deck of cards into the corner.
Then the lift doors hummed closed.
Damien watched the doors for a few seconds, as if ensuring Bryce was truly gone, before turning back to her.
She lifted her face to meet his, saw his eyes soften and warm as they swept over her face, and his gaze rocked her soul. He was fantastic. Did he have any idea of just what he’d done for her? There was no way she could have faced a scene at home tonight with Bryce pushing his way into their house. Her mother just couldn’t handle that sort of stress. But Damien’s actions had meant that there was no likelihood of having Bryce crashing her home and upsetting her mother. Damien had saved them both.
And it hit her then, like a blow to the gut. What she felt now towards Damien was much more than grateful thanks. She didn’t just appreciate what he’d done.
She loved him.
She loved the father of her child.
And he knew. Somehow, by whatever means, he already knew the truth about the baby. Maybe that might pave the way for a future for them all together.
She smiled up at him. It felt weak and lopsided but she couldn’t stop herself from smiling with the surge of these novel and profound emotions welling up inside.
‘How long have you known?’ she said.
Frown lines appeared at his brow and his eyes muddied. ‘Known what?’
‘You know. About the b—’
All at once she realised what he’d done. That in order to get rid of Bryce the simplest way had been to turn his accusations back on him and agree that the baby was his. And it had worked. So well that even she’d been convinced he believed it.
‘Oh, my God,’ she said.
He grabbed her then, his hands like iron bands on her arms, wrenching her up from the chair to face him, his eyes dark and menacing and searching for answers.
‘How long have I known what exactly?’
His fingers bit into her flesh even as she tried to form the words. ‘You’re hurting me.’
He let go so suddenly her knees buckled beneath her and she swayed, battling to keep her balance. His large hands caught her before she hit the ground and he swung her up until she crashed against his chest, firm and strong, the clean, masculine smell of him the last thought in her head before everything went blank.
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘WHERE am I?’ She came to with a start on an unfamiliar bed in equally unfamiliar surroundings. Only the city skyline, outlined through the wall of windows to her side, looked vaguely familiar.
‘Relax,’ Damien said, easing her shoulders back down on the soft pillow. ‘You’re in my penthouse apartment. I thought it would be more comfortable than the sofa in my office. Here,’ he said, indicating the tray on the side table next to her, ‘have something to drink. I brought juice and water—your choice.’
Her gaze skidded half-heartedly over the tray. This was his apartment? Then that meant— Her eyes swung around the room, taking in the personal effects on the dresser, the silk robe hanging on a door, and she swallowed.
His bed.
She made a wobbly move to push herself up. ‘I’m sorry. I should get back to work.’
‘No.’ His hand on her shoulder barred her rising. ‘Not until you tell me what’s going on.’
She looked up at him, the underlying menace in his soft words echoed in the shadows in his eyes.
‘I want to know what you meant back then.’
Still she fought it. She’d thought he’d known—it could all have been so simple.
‘I want to know. You made it sound as if your pregnancy had something to do with me.’
Her eyelids fell shut on a deep breath. ‘Damien,’ she said, ‘please let me up. I can’t explain with you standing over me.’
With a sound of impatience he twisted his body up and away from the bed. She followed by slowly swinging h
er legs over the edge, sitting still for a second, testing whether her legs would give way again before she too pushed herself up and away, her hands smoothing her hair as she walked to the wall of windows on the far side of the room.
‘Well?’ he prompted, the decibels in his voice up a notch. ‘Go ahead and explain then.’
She clutched her arms around her middle, staring at the floor and trying to find words that would make her news more palatable. It would be bad enough for him to realise that he’d slept with her without the double blow that she was pregnant with his child.
But there was no easy way to say it. No way to smooth the impact of the words.
‘It’s true,’ she said at last. ‘I’m carrying your child.’
‘This is ridiculous,’ he said. ‘We’ve never even had sex.’
Her head dipped in a nod. ‘Obviously we have.’
‘Like when? The only time we came anywhere close was at the Gold Coast and you threw me out of your room before I had hardly a chance to kiss you. Remember? So if you’re pregnant from that time, someone else must be the father.’ He stopped for a second, surveying her critically as if he’d just latched on to something significant.
‘What did you do? Go and find good old Stu the moment I left? Is that why you were so upset with me—you had to slink back to meet him? I wondered why he wasn’t too upset the next day—you’d already smoothed his wounded ego. Well, don’t expect a bonus from me for what you’ve done just because you were away on business. It doesn’t work like that.’
She unwrapped her arms from around her and felt her hands ball into fists that pounded into her thighs. ‘What is your problem? Stuart wasn’t upset because he didn’t give a damn. He’d only asked me to go dancing. Yes, you were unnecessarily, unbearably rude that night but it wasn’t exactly as if he’d asked me to marry him.
‘Besides which,’ she continued before he had a chance to respond. ‘You really must have a pretty low opinion of me if you think I’m capable of falling into bed with any guy who crosses my path.’
‘Well—’ he pointedly gazed at her lower abdomen ‘—given your condition, you’ve obviously fallen into bed with somebody.’
‘Maybe not,’ she said, a smile emerging on her lips for the first time in their conversation. ‘Who said this baby had anything to do with bed?’
‘What the hell is that supposed to mean? And if you’re saying it didn’t happen while we were at the Gold Coast, when else have we been together long enough for this amazing conception to have taken place?’
She looked right at him, desperate to take the smug look off his face. ‘The office Christmas party.’
‘You weren’t even there. You said—’
‘Sam said I wasn’t there. I told you my mother was ill.’
He looked at her for a moment, his face a tangle of confused emotion. ‘Can’t you think of anything more original than that? Are you that desperate to pin this baby on me? Maybe I should have left you to Bryce, after all. Seems to me you two are made for each other.’
His words stung her deeply but not half as deeply as the realisation that her fears were true. He simply couldn’t abide the thought of having made love to her. Damien DeLuca would never have stooped to such a thing.
Well, damn him! It was the truth. He had to believe her.
‘I didn’t realise it would be so confusing for you. Tell me, exactly how many women did you make love to in the boardroom that night?’
Something in his eyes flared. Disbelief? Panic?
‘No,’ he said. ‘It’s not possible.’
‘Oh, it’s more than just possible,’ she said with a smile that should have hinted at much more.
‘Then tell me what you were wearing.’
She allowed the corners of her mouth to kick up another notch. Still he was fighting the inevitable. ‘I was dressed as Cleopatra. You were Mark Antony.’
‘And that proves exactly nothing. Other people would have seen us together. How do I know what you are saying is the truth?’
She sighed, remembering the words he’d greeted her with, the words that had warmed her soul deep and fixed her in his spell. ‘You said you’d been waiting two thousand years for me,’ she remembered, her voice barely more than a whisper as she recalled that special moment.
‘You could have overheard that.’
‘True,’ she acknowledged, her good feelings evaporating in the harshness of his desert-dry tone. ‘So maybe I should tell you about how you locked the door behind us and lifted me on to the boardroom table, the way you released my breasts into your hands and mouth. Or maybe I should tell you how you entered me, naked but for the leather on your feet…’
Watching his face, she caught the exact moment he realised there was no escape, caught his eyes darkening, the pupils dilating as if letting in the truth at last, the slideshow of emotions—surprise, shock and outrage moving fast over his features as he digested the news.
‘That was you?’
He sounded appalled. She’d expected nothing less but the words sliced into her all the more deeply now, knowing how she felt about him.
‘Hard to believe, I know.’
Hard to believe? He’d spent how many hours trying to track down the mysterious woman who’d plagued his hard, lonely nights and filled his dreams with unrelenting frequency since the ball and here she was, right under his nose the whole time. Yet still something didn’t make sense.
‘But your perfume—it wasn’t the same.’
For a moment she looked shocked. ‘No, it wasn’t. I wore my mother’s perfume that night. It seemed to go better with the outfit.’
So it was her. The woman in the filmy gown, with lush red lips and a body to die for, was none other than Philly, his little brown mouse—his little not-so-brown mouse—as it turned out. And she was here now.
In his bedroom.
Serendipity.
A very happy accident indeed, he considered, congratulating himself for preferring the privacy of his apartment to the sofa in his office when she’d collapsed. There was more than a little justice in the arrangement.
He moved closer. ‘I’ll need proof, of course.’
Her eyes darted up to his, uncertainty flickering in their hazel lights. ‘What? You mean DNA testing?’
‘Eventually, yes.’ He took another step closer, angling himself so that he was between the door and any escape route. She edged back against the wall of windows and he smiled to himself. There was no escape that way. ‘I was thinking of something much simpler for now.’
‘What do you mean?’ Now she’d just about plastered herself to the glass.
He came to a stop right in front of her. ‘You were wearing a mask. Even though you seem to know the details, someone could have told you.’
She moved to make a sound—a protest—but he shushed her with a finger pressed to her lips.
‘I just need to be sure you are who you say you are. If I’m to believe this story of a baby, I need to know it was you that I slept with.’
He looked down at her, noticed the kick of her chin as she swallowed, enjoying the play of emotions skitter across her eyes—perplexity, fear and something else.
Anticipation?
Oh yes, without a doubt if the outline of her peaked nipples through her summer dress was any indication.
‘What did you have in mind?’
He lifted a hand and she flinched. ‘Relax,’ he urged, his voice set to reassurance. ‘You were wearing a mask. I just wondered how you looked with your eyes covered—just to be sure.’
Her eyes blinked twice and she relaxed a fraction though her breathing was still tight. It wasn’t the only thing, he reflected, shifting slightly as he lifted his arm, placing his hand palm down across her eyes. Her lashes moved against his skin, soft and like the touch of a feather before they fluttered closed.
‘There,’ he said, his voice little more than a whisper, ‘that’s more like it. Now, lift your head towards me so I can see you properly.’
His hand under her chin tilted her face higher. Her breathing was shallow, her breath warm and inviting and there was no way he was going to be able to resist.
‘Are you convinced now?’ Her voice was tremulous and soft, her breath sweet on his face.
‘Almost,’ he said. ‘Just one more thing.’
He dipped his head and angled his mouth over hers, brushing her lips with his. Her startled response turned into a shudder and so he deepened his kiss, parting her lips and probing further inside. When her tongue meshed with his he removed the hand over her eyes and brought it behind, holding her away from the glass and closer to him.
He sensed her arms flailing momentarily until they settled around him and her hands tightened to fists bunching up his shirt and it was her turn to pull him closer.
It was her. There was no mistake. He could stop now and be satisfied that what she said was true, that she had been the woman in the boardroom. But why should he stop?
Redundant question, he realised as his lips trailed a line down her neck. He had no intention of stopping. Not when he’d been searching for this woman ever since that night. And he hadn’t been searching for her all this time to let her go again.
Her breathing was coming fast, her chest rising and falling rapidly against his and making him painfully aware of her breasts and their inaccessibility in this straight dress. His hand released her head, slid lower until it found what he was looking for. He tugged on the tab gently and slid it down to where it ended low down on her back in one silky movement. Her head jerked back, as if suddenly aware of what he was doing, but his mouth took hers again, his tongue tracing the line of her teeth, his teeth nipping at her lips while his hands slid into the gap and up under the fabric across her skin. She gasped into his mouth at the same time that her whole body moved with tremors of promise and expectation.
With his hands he slipped the dress over her shoulders, gently easing her arms down so that it could fall to the floor.
She let it go reluctantly, as if she was doing battle with herself. So be it. Whatever the outcome of her own personal dilemma, however she resolved the battles raging inside, he was intending to win the war. He crushed her to him, feeling the press of her flesh hard up against him, nothing between him and her naked form but a fine lace bra and a tiny white matching thong that left her rounded cheeks exposed to his touch. He groaned as his hands cupped them, pushing her even closer to his aching hardness.