One-Click Buy: November Harlequin Presents

by Susan Stephens

  She fingered it now, remembering how confident Peter had been in the intimidating power it carried—the might of his wealth behind it. Would he use that power against her?

  Her mind churned through a mess of dark, miserable thoughts. Telling him could wait a while, she finally decided. Her most immediate aim was to start looking after herself—and the baby—by eating properly, which might help her sleep better. Some exercise wouldn’t go astray, either. A walk along the beach to the shopping centre would do her good. And she needed to buy a book on pregnancy, learn what she should be doing, what was best for the baby.

  Yes, that came first.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Seven months later…

  ERIN checked that she had everything ready for the meeting; jug of iced water in the refrigerator, glasses ready on the kitchen bench, coffee percolator loaded—Jane Emerson, her agent, never drank anything else—Earl Grey tea for Richard Long, her very English editor, and a plate of assorted cookies that should please everyone. The living room was tidy, the curtains pulled back to showcase the view of Byron Bay—white sand and crystal clear turquoise water.

  She had bought this beach house four years ago. It suited her, right away from the bustle of major cities, especially for writing. She didn’t care if the animated film people thought she was some prima donna author, insisting that they travel to her for the consultation on how her story was to be brought to the big screen. At eight months’ pregnant, and determined on keeping that fact as private as possible, she didn’t want any fanfare about this meeting.

  The publicity could come afterwards, when everything had been signed. No doubt her editor and agent would make the most of it, eager to push more book sales on the back of a film created by Zack Freeman who also happened to be an Australian, and top of the tree at delivering the best computerised special effects. He’d won two academy awards for his work. Apparently he was now putting his creativity into animated movies. Erin was looking forward to meeting him, wondering what he planned to do with her story.

  The sound of cars pulling up in the street outside drew her down the hallway to the front door. A glance at her watch assured her it was time for her visitors to arrive, just a couple of minutes short of ten o’clock. They were all staying at the plush Bay Resort on Johnson Street and had probably already established an acquaintance, either last night or this morning. She took a deep breath, mentally put on her author hat, tried to forget how ungainly she looked with her hugely swollen belly, and opened the door.

  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?

  “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.”