From under the mistletoe...

...to down the aisle!

When brooding bachelor Gabe Arantini learns the innocent beauty he shared a steamy festive night with is the daughter of his business rival, he’s furious. The following Christmas, Abby returns with shocking news—she’s had his child! Gabe knows he must marry Abby to legitimize his son. But can this be a marriage in name only, or will their red-hot chemistry take over?

Feel the heat in this festive secret baby romance!

CLARE CONNELLY was raised in small-town Australia among a family of avid readers. She spent much of her childhood up a tree, Mills & Boon book in hand. Clare is married to her own real-life hero and they live in a bungalow near the sea with their two children. She is frequently found staring into space—a surefire sign she is in the world of her characters. She has a penchant for French food and ice-cold champagne, and Mills & Boon novels continue to be her favourite ever books. Writing for Modern Romance is a long-held dream. Clare can be contacted via clareconnelly.com or at her Facebook page.

Also by Clare Connelly

Bought for the Billionaire’s Revenge

Innocent in the Billionaire’s Bed

Her Wedding Night Surrender

Bound by the Billionaire’s Vows

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Bound by Their Christmas Baby

Clare Connelly

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07286-1

BOUND BY THEIR CHRISTMAS BABY

© 2018 Clare Connelly

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my fabulous

South Australian Romance Association friends:

smart, supportive and kind women

who sparkle like ornaments all year round.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

GABE WAS BORED. He always was at these damned things, but they were part and parcel of his life. His job. His all. And he’d never been a man to walk away from a challenge.

God knew Noah—his business partner and best friend—wasn’t going to step forward to attend a damned investors’ dinner. A party in a club, sure. Noah would be there in an instant. But this kind of entertaining fell to Gabe, and Gabe alone. He looked around the table, smiling blandly, wondering how much more he had to endure before he could make his excuses and leave.

There were a thousand better ways than this to spend an evening.

He hadn’t been to New York in a year, and the last time? Well, it had been a spectacular disaster. No wonder he’d avoided it like the plague. Too much melancholy at Christmas, that was the problem. He’d actually allowed himself to feel lonely, to feel alone, to feel sorry for himself. That was why he’d been stupid enough to fall for her ploy.

‘Calypso’s going to be game-changing,’ Bertram Fines said with confidence. ‘You’ve done it again.’

Gabe ignored the flattery. People were all too quick with praise now that he and Noah had established the foremost technology company in the world. It was the early years when they’d been without friends, without funds, and still made it work through sheer perseverance and determination. He reached for his glass. It was empty. He lifted a hand in the air, summoning a waiter without lifting his gaze.

‘This is the culmination of a lot of innovation, and even more research. Calypso isn’t just a smartphone, it’s a way of life,’ he said with a lift of his shoulders. It was the culmination of an idea he and Noah had years earlier, and they’d worked tirelessly to get it to this point—almost to the market. Calypso went beyond the average smartphone. It was smarter. More secure, guaranteeing its users more privacy.

His spine straightened with a frisson of alarm when he recalled how close he’d come, a year ago, to compromising the project. How close he’d come to seeing Calypso’s secrets taken to one of his business rivals.

But that hadn’t eventuated. He’d made sure of that. His eyes glinted with the ferocity of his thoughts, the strength of his resentment, but his smile was all wolf-like charm.

‘How can I help you, sir?’ A woman appeared to his left. A brassy redhead with a pleasing figure and a smile that showed she knew it. Once upon a time, Gabe might have smiled back. Hell, he’d have done more than smile back—he’d have laid on the charm, asked what time she finished her shift, and then he’d have seduced her. Bought her a drink, taken her for a drive in his limousine before inviting her to his hotel room.

But the last time he’d done that, he’d learned his lesson. He would never again invite a wolf in sheep’s clothing to his bed, nor a woman dressed like a temptress who’d come to betray him. Before he had met Abigail Howard, Gabe couldn’t have imagined going a month without the company of a beautiful woman between his sheets, but now it had been a year. A year since Abigail, a year without women, and he barely cared.

He named a bottle of wine, one of the most expensive on the menu, without smiling, and turned his attention back to his table of guests. Conversation had moved onto the cost of midtown realty. He sat back, pretending to listen, fingers in a temple beneath his chin.

The restaurant was quietening down. Despite the fact it was one of Manhattan’s oldest and most prestigious spots, it was late—nearing midnight—and the conservative crowd that favoured this sort of establishment were wrapping up their evenings.

Gabe let his eyes run idly around the room. It was everything he’d come to expect in this kind of place, from the glistening chandeliers that sparkled overhead to the sumptuous burgundy velvet curtains adorning the windows, to the menu and wine list that were both six-star.

The waitress approached with the wine and he gestured that she should fill up his companions’ glasses. For Gabe’s part, he wasn’t a big drinker, and certainly not with men he hardly knew. Discretion was the better part of valour—another lesson he’d learned a year ago. No, that wasn’t true. He’d known it all his life. She’d just made him forget.

His eyes wandered once more, this time towards the kitchens, concealed behind large white doors that flapped silently as staff moved quickly through them. Inside, he knew, would be a hive of activity, despite the calm serenity of the restaurant dining room. The doors flicked open and for the briefest moment Gabe was certain he saw her.

A flick of white-blonde hair, a petite figure, pale skin.

He gripped the stem of his empty wine glass, his whole body stilled, like a predator on alert.

It wasn’t her. Of course it wasn’t.

In the kitchen? Had that been a dishcloth in her hand?

Not possible.

He homed back in on the conversation at the table, laughing at a joke, nodding at something someone said, but every few moments his eyes shifted towards the doors, trying to get a better look at the ghost of Christmas last.

Gabe wasn’t a man to leave things to chance. He’d experienced enough random acts, enough of fate’s whimsy, to know that he would never again let life surprise him.

She had surprised him though, that night. What was it about the woman that had got under his skin? She was beautiful, but so were many women, and Gabe wasn’t a man who let a woman’s appearance overpower him. In fact, he prided himself on being more interested in a woman’s mind. Her intellect. The decency of her soul and conscience.

And yet she’d walked into the bar of his Manhattan hotel and their eyes had sparked. Then he’d held his breath for the longest time, waiting for her to say something, needing to hear her voice and to know all about her instantly.

What madness had overtaken him that night?

It hadn’t been a random spark though. Their meeting had been planned meticulously. He forced himself to return his attention to his guests, but his mind was on that long-ago night, a night he usually tried not to remember. A night he would never forget. Not because it had been so wonderful—though at the time he thought it had been—but because of the lessons it had taught him.

Don’t trust anyone. Ever. Except for Noah, Gabe was alone in this world, and that was the way he wanted it.

Still, the mystery of the vision of Abby remained, so that, as the night wore on and cars were called for the investors, he gestured towards the maître d’.

‘How has your evening been, Mr Arantini?’ the man asked with an obsequious bow. Gabe might have grown up dirt-poor, but he’d been phenomenally wealthy for a long time now; such marked deference was not new to him. He’d even come to find it amusing.

Gabe didn’t answer the question. There was no need. If he hadn’t found the evening a success, the maître d’ would have heard about it well before then. ‘I’d like to speak to Rémy,’ he said silkily.

‘The chef?’

Gabe lifted a brow. ‘Unless you have two Remys working this evening.’

The maître d’ laughed a little self-consciously. ‘Not at all, sir. Just the one.’

‘Then I’ll let myself into the kitchen.’ He stood and spun on his heel, stalking towards the doors without allowing the maître d’ a reply.

At the doors, though, he hesitated for the briefest moment, bracing himself for the likelihood that he might come face to face with her once more. And the greater likelihood that he would not.

So?

Why did that bother him?

If he’d wanted to see Abigail Howard again, he’d had ample opportunities. She’d called him relentlessly, desperate to ‘apologise’ for her part in the scam. Desperate to see him, to make amends. Didn’t she realise how futile those efforts were? As if Gabe could ever forgive such a betrayal! He’d left her in little doubt as to how he felt when she’d turned up at his office in Rome—for heaven’s sake—demanding to see him.

That had been six months ago. Six months after she’d bargained her innocence for a glimpse at top secret Calypso files on behalf of her father. His blood still curdled at what that night had been about—at what she’d been willing to give up for commercial success.

He’d known a lot of manipulative characters in his time, but none so abhorrent as she’d been.

The satisfaction of having his security remove her from his office had been immense. She’d come to Rome to see him and he’d made it painstakingly obvious that he’d never see her again.

So? What was he doing now? Hovering outside a restaurant kitchen because he thought he’d caught a glimpse of her? And how could he possibly have recognised her in the brief moment the blonde had walked past the doors? It wasn’t physically possible, he told himself, all the while knowing he had recognised something about the woman. The lithe grace of her walk. The elegance of her neck as she turned her head, hair that was like clouds at sunset, glowing with the evening’s rays.

Great.

Now he was becoming poetic about a woman who’d seduced him with the sole intention of ruining him.

He tightened his shoulders and pushed into the kitchen. It wasn’t so busy as he’d thought earlier. The dinner rush was over, and now there were chefs prepping for the next day’s service, some cleaning, some standing around talking. His eyes skimmed the kitchen and his stomach dropped unexpectedly.

She wasn’t here. This was a men-only zone at present—something he’d never allow in any of his hotels or restaurants. Within his and Noah’s company, Bright Spark Inc, they demanded equal gender representation across the board. They invested heavily in STEM projects for schools—they were both passionate about playing fields being levelled as much as possible, having been on the dodgy end of their own playing fields for a long time.

‘Rémy,’ he said smoothly, striding across the kitchen.

‘Ah! Arantini!’ The chef grinned. ‘You like your dinner?’

‘Exceptional.’ Gabe nodded, annoyingly put out by having come into the kitchens and not found the woman he’d seen.

‘You had the lobster?’

‘Of course.’

‘Always your favourite,’ Rémy chuckled.

Gabe nodded, just as the cold room door opened and the woman stepped out. Her head was bent, but he’d have known her body anywhere, any time and in any clothes.

True, the night they’d met she’d been dripping in the latest couture, but now? She wore simple jeans, a black T-shirt and a black and white apron tied twice around her slender waist. Her hair was pulled into a ballerina bun and her face, he saw as she lifted it, was bare of make-up.

His gut twisted and a strong possessive instinct hammered through him.

She’d been his in bed. That hadn’t been just about Calypso. She’d wanted him. She’d given him her virginity, she’d begged him to take her, and he’d thought it a gift. A special, beautiful moment. He’d never been anyone’s ‘first’ before.

She placed the containers she was carrying onto the bench and then lifted her eyes to the clock above the doors. She hadn’t seen him, and he was glad for that. Glad to have a moment to observe her, to remember all the reasons he had for hating this woman, to regain his composure before showing her how little he thought of her.

When he’d had her evicted from his office in Rome, he’d told himself it was for the best. He never wanted to see her again, and nothing could change that. But here, in this six-star Manhattan hotspot, looking nothing like his usual romantic quarry, Gabe knew he’d been lying to himself.

He’d wanted to see her again and again. He drank in the sight of her, knowing it could only ever be this minute, this weakness, this moment of indulgence, before he would be forced to remember that she’d planned to ruin him.

Bright Spark Inc wasn’t just a business to him. It was his and Noah’s life. It had saved them when their own futures had been bleak and they’d been desperate for a fresh start.

And she’d wanted to destroy it. She’d come to him specifically to steal Calypso’s secrets. It was a crime for which there could never be sufficient repentance.

‘Rémy.’ He spoke deliberately, slowly, and loud enough that she heard. He had the satisfaction of seeing her head jerk towards him the moment the word was uttered, saw shock flood her huge, expressive green eyes, saw the colour drain from her face and the telling way she pressed her palms into the counter. ‘You have a traitor in your midst.’

Rémy frowned, following Gabe’s gaze across the restaurant. ‘A...traitor?’

‘Sì.’ Gabe moved across the room, closer to where she stood. She was trembling slightly now, her expression unmistakably terrified. His own expression remained cool and dismissive, the aloofness he was famed for evident in every line of his hard, muscular frame. No one in that kitchen could have known that beneath his autocratic face and strong body was a pulse that was rushing like a stormy sea.

‘What are you talking about?’

‘This woman,’ Gabe said with quiet determination, ‘isn’t who you think.’ He flicked his gaze from her head to her stomach—which was all he could see of her, owing to the large bench she stood behind. ‘She’s a liar and a cheat. She’s no doubt working here to pick up whatever secrets she can from your customers. If you care at all about your reputation, you’ll fire her.’

Rémy moved to stand beside Gabe, his face showing confusion. ‘Abby’s worked here for over a month.’

‘Abby...’ Gabe lifted a brow, his expression laced with mockery. It was the name she’d given him too. Far more endearing than Abigail Howard—billion-dollar heiress. ‘I think Abby is having a laugh at your expense.’

The woman swallowed, the slender column of her throat moving overtime as she sought to moisten her mouth. Gabe caught the betraying gesture with a cynical tilt of his lips.

‘That’s not true, I swear,’ she said, her fingers trembling when she lifted them to her temple and rubbed. Gabe’s eyes narrowed. She looked tired. As though she’d been run off her feet all day.

‘Oh, you swear?’ he drawled, moving closer, pressing his palms against the bench. ‘You mean we have your word that you’re telling the truth?’

The words were dripping with sarcasm.

‘Please don’t do this,’ she said softly, with such an appearance of anguish that Gabe could almost have believed her. If he hadn’t personally seen what she was capable of.

‘Did you know this woman is worth a billion dollars, Rémy? And you’ve got her, what? Ferrying things from the cold rooms?’

Rémy’s surprise was obvious. ‘I think you’ve got the wrong idea about Abby,’ he said with a shake of his head, dislodging the pen he kept hooked over one ear.

Gabe’s laugh was a short sound of derision. ‘I know, better than most, what she’s capable of. And, I can tell you, you don’t want her anywhere near your patrons.’

‘Abby?’ Rémy spread his hands wide. ‘What’s going on?’

She opened her mouth to say something and then shut it again.

Rémy pushed, ‘Have you met Mr Arantini before?’

Her eyes flew to Gabe’s and, damn it, memories of her straddling him, staring into his eyes as she took him deep within her, spread like wildfire through his blood, burning him from the inside out. He didn’t want to remember what she’d been like in his bed. He needed to recall only the way it had ended—with her taking photographs of top secret Calypso documents when she’d believed him to be showering.

His jaw hardened and he leaned forward.

‘Tell him how we met, Abigail,’ he suggested, and a cold smile iced his lips, almost as though he was enjoying this. He wasn’t.

She blinked her eyes closed. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she muttered under her breath. ‘It’s ancient history.’

‘If only it were,’ he said softly. ‘But here you are in my friend’s kitchen and knowing you, as I do, I can’t help but believe you have an ulterior motive.’

‘I needed a job,’ she said with a shake of her head. ‘That’s all.’

‘Yes, I’m sure you did.’ Gabe laughed, but it was a harsh sound, without any true mirth. ‘Trust funds are so hard to live off, aren’t they?’

‘Please—’ she focused her energy on Rémy ‘—I do know this man...’ Her eyes shifted to Gabe and her frown deepened. She was an exceptional actress. He could almost have believed she was truly feeling some hint of remorse. Pain. Embarrassment. But he’d been wrong about her once before and he’d never make that mistake again. ‘A long time ago. But that’s not relevant to why I’m here. I applied for this job because I wanted to work with you. Because I wanted to work. And I’m good at what I do, aren’t I?’

Rémy tilted his head. ‘Yes,’ he conceded. ‘But I trust Mr Arantini. We’ve known one another a long time. If he says I shouldn’t have you working here, that I can’t trust you...’

Abby froze, disbelief etched across her face. ‘You can trust me.’

‘Like you can trust a starving pit bull at your back door,’ Gabe slipped in.

‘Monsieur Valiron, I promise you I’m not here for any reason except that I need a job.’

‘Needing a job? Another lie,’ Gabe said.

‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’ She glared at him and the heat in that look surprised him. The vehemence of her anger. It was as though she were driven to defend herself by something other than pride, by true desperation. He’d felt it often enough to recognise it.

‘You forget how well I know what I’m talking about,’ he said smoothly. ‘You’re just lucky I didn’t press charges.’

She drew in a shaky breath. ‘Mr Arantini,’ she said crisply, ‘I’ve moved on from...that...how we met. And you obviously have too.’ She blinked her eyes and he had a sinking feeling in his gut that she was trying not to cry.

Hell. He’d never made a woman cry, had he?

Even that night, when he’d accused her, she’d been shocked and devastated, but she hadn’t cried. She’d taken his tirade, admitted that her father had asked her to contrive a way to meet him, to get close to him and find out all she could about Calypso, and then she’d apologised. And left.

‘I’m not asking you to forgive me for what happened between us.’

‘Good,’ he interrupted forcibly, wishing now he had a glass of something strong he could drink.

‘But please don’t ruin this for me.’ She turned back to Rémy. ‘I’m not lying to you, monsieur. I need this job. I have no plans to do anything that will reflect badly on you...’

Rémy frowned. ‘I want to believe you, Abby...’

Gabe turned slowly towards his friend, and his expression was cold, unemotional. ‘Trusting this woman would be a mistake.’

* * *

Abby was numb. It had nothing to do with the snow that was drifting down over New York, turning it into a beautiful winter wonderland, nor the fact she’d left the restaurant in such a hurry she’d forgotten to grab her coat—or her tips.

She swore softly, her head dipped forward, tears running down her cheeks. What were the chances of Gabe Arantini walking into the kitchen of the restaurant she happened to work in? Of his being friendly enough with her boss to actually have her fired?

A sob escaped her and she stopped walking, dipping into an alleyway and pressing herself against the wall for strength.

She’d never thought she’d see him again. She’d tried. She’d tried when she’d thought it mattered. She’d tried when she’d thought it was the right thing to do. But now?

Another sob sounded and she bit down on her lip. He hated her.

She’d always known that, but seeing his cold anger filled her with doubts and fears, making her question what she knew she had to do.

When had he come to New York? Had he been here long? Had he thought of her at all?

She had to see him again—but how? She’d tried calling him so many times, and every call had been unreturned or disconnected. Emails bounced back. She’d even flown to Rome, but he had two burly security men haul her from the building.

So what now?

It would serve that heartless bastard right if she didn’t bother. If she skulked off, licking her wounds, keeping her secrets, and doing just what he’d asked: staying the hell away from him.

But it wasn’t about what she wanted, nor was it about what Gabe wanted.

She had to think of their baby, Raf—and what he deserved.

Her chest hurt with the pain of the life she was giving their son. Their tiny apartment, their parlous financial state, the fact she worked so hard she barely got to see him, and instead had to have a downstairs neighbour come and stay overnight to help out. It was a mess. And Raf deserved so much better.

For Raf, and Raf alone, Abigail had to find a way to see Gabe—and to tell him the truth.

And this time she wasn’t going to let him turn her away without hearing her out first.

CHAPTER TWO

‘THERE’S A MISS HOWARD here to see you, sir,’ Benita, his assistant, spoke into the intercom.

From the outside Gabe barely reacted, but inside he felt surprise rock him to the core. She’d come to his damned office? What the actual hell? How many times did he have to tell her to stay away from him?

He reached for his phone, lifting it out of the cradle. ‘Did you say...?’

‘Miss Howard.’

He tightened his grip on the receiver and stared straight ahead. It was a grey day. A gloomy sky stretched over Manhattan, though he knew at street level the city was buzzing with a fever of pre-Christmas activity.

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell his assistant to call the police, when he remembered a small detail. The way Abigail had been two nights earlier, her eyes wet with unshed tears, her lip quivering. As though she really did need that menial job.

He knew it to be a lie, of course. But what was the truth? What ruse was she up to? What game was she playing? Was she looking to hurt Rémy? Or was her latest scheme more complex?

He owed it to his friend to find out. But not here. His office was littered with all manner of documents someone like Abigail would find valuable.

‘Tell her I’m busy. She can wait for me, if she’d like,’ he said, knowing full well she would wait—and that he’d enjoy stretching that out as long as possible.

He stayed at his desk for the remainder of the day. Hours passed. He caught up on his emails, read the latest report from his warehouse in China, called Noah. It was nearly six when Benita buzzed through.

‘I’m all done for the day, Mr Arantini. Unless there’s anything else you need?’

‘No, Benita.’

‘Also, sir, Miss Howard is still here.’

His lips flattened into a grim line. Of course she was.

‘Tell her I’m aware she’s waiting.’

He disconnected the call and picked up the latest report on Calypso’s production, but struggled to focus. Five hours after she’d arrived, the suspense was getting under his skin.

With a heavy sigh, he stood, lifted his jacket from the back of a conference chair and pushed his arms into it, before pulling the door between his office and the reception area open.

It was still well-lit, but the windows behind Abigail were pitch-black. The night sky was heavy and ominous. Despite the fact Christmas was a month away, an enormous tree stood in one corner, and it shone now with the little lights that had been strung through its branches. They cast an almost angelic glow on Abigail. An optical illusion, obviously. There was nothing angelic about this woman.

Her eyes lifted to him at the sound of his entrance, and he ignored the instant spark of attraction that fired in his gut. He was attracted to character traits—intelligence, loyalty, strength of character, integrity. She had none of those things. Well, intelligence, he conceded, but in a way she used for pure evil.

‘What do you want?’ he asked, deliberately gruff.

She seemed surprised—by his tone? Or the fact he’d actually appeared?

‘I didn’t think you were going to see me,’ she said, confirming that it was the latter. ‘I thought you must have already left.’

‘My first instinct was to have you removed,’ he said. ‘You know I’m capable of it.’ Now heat stained her cheeks, and her chin tilted defiantly towards him. ‘But then it occurred to me that I should find out what you’re planning.’

‘Planning?’

‘Mmm. You must have some reason for working in my friend’s kitchen. So? What is it?’

She shook her head. ‘Gabe...’

‘I prefer you to call me Mr Arantini,’ he said darkly. ‘It better suits what I think of you and how little I wish to know you.’

She swallowed, and the action drew his attention to the way she’d dressed for this meeting. That was to say, with no particular attempt to impress. Jeans again, though she did wear them well, and a black sweater with a bit of beading around the neckline. She wore ballet slippers on her feet, black as well, but scuffed at the toes.

Her eyes sparked with his, emotions swirling in them. ‘Gabe,’ she repeated, with a strength he found it difficult not to admire. Not many people could be on the receiving end of Gabe’s displeasure and come out fighting. ‘The night we met, I was...’

‘Stop.’ He lifted a hand into the air, his manner imperious. ‘I do not want to rehash the past. I don’t care about you. I don’t care about your father. I don’t care about that night except for one reason. You taught me a lesson I’ll never forget. I let my guard down with you in a way I hadn’t done in years. And you reminded me why I don’t make a habit of that.’ He said with a shrug that was an emulation of nonchalance, ‘Now I want you to get out of my life, for the last time.’

‘Listen to me,’ she said.

‘No!’ It was a harsh denial in a silent room. ‘Not when every word that comes from your mouth is a self-serving lie.’

She clamped her lips together and his eyes chased the gesture, remembering how her pillowy lower lip had felt between his teeth. A kick of desire flared inside him. Desire? For this woman?

What was wrong with him?

Celibacy, that was what. He should have found someone else for his bed before this—why had he let the ghost of Abby fill his soul for so long?

‘You traded your body, your looks, hell, your virginity, because of what it could get you. That makes you no better than...’

He didn’t finish the sentence but his implication hung between them, angry and accusing.

‘I wanted you, Gabe, just like you wanted me. Calypso wasn’t a part of that.’ She blinked up at him, and he felt it. The same charge of electricity shot from her to him that had characterised that first night, their first meeting. It was a bolt of lightning; he was rattled by heavy, drugging need. God, would he forgive himself for acting on it? For leaning down and kissing her, for pushing her to the floor and making her his one last time before kicking her out of his life for good?

No.

She had used him; he wouldn’t use her.

That wasn’t his style. And, no matter how great the sex had been, he sure as hell wasn’t going to compromise his own morals just because he happened to find her desirable.

He jerked his gaze away and thrust his hands onto his hips with all the appearance of disregard. ‘I don’t want you now,’ he lied.

‘I know that,’ she said, a hint of strength in the short words.

‘So? What’s your plan, Abigail? Why work for Rémy?’

‘I need the job—I told you.’

‘Yes, yes.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘You think I’m stupid enough to buy into your lies for a second time?’

She looked startled. ‘It’s not...it’s complicated. And I can’t tell you what I came here to say with you glaring at me like you want to strangle me.’

He almost laughed—it was such an insane accusation. ‘I don’t want to strangle you,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to touch you. I don’t want to see you. I’d prefer to think you don’t exist.’

She let out a slow, shuddering breath. ‘You actually hate me.’

‘Sì.’

‘Okay.’ She licked her lower lip. ‘I get it. That’s...actually strangely good to know.’

‘You didn’t know this already?’

She shook her head and then changed it to a nod, before pacing slowly across the room. She jammed her hands into her pockets, staring at the shining doors of the lift.

Gabe’s impatience grew. He couldn’t have said if it was an impatience to be rid of her or a need to know what the hell she’d come to him to say. Why had he been able to ignore her for a year and now suddenly he was burning up with a desperate need to hear whatever the hell she’d come to him for?

Because he’d seen her again. And he’d felt that same tug of powerful attraction, that was why. He needed to exercise caution—it was a slippery slope with Abigail, almost as though she were a witch, imbued with magical powers to control and contort him. There was danger in her proximity. The sooner he could be free of her, the better.

‘So?’ he demanded when she didn’t speak. ‘What’s going on? Why are you here? What do you want this time?’

She was wary. ‘Well, I’d like my job back,’ she said, somewhat sarcastically.

‘Pigs might fly,’ he said. ‘You’re just lucky I didn’t tell Rémy the full sordid story of how we met.’

‘Would it have mattered? He fired me anyway.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘Did that give you satisfaction? To see me embarrassed like that? To see me thrown out?’

He considered it for a moment, his expression hard. ‘Yes.’

She squeezed her eyes shut and tilted her head towards the ceiling, breathing in, steadying herself. ‘You’re a bastard.’

‘So I’ve been told.’

He looked down at her again. She was slim. Too slim. Her figure had been pleasingly rounded when they’d met, curves in all the places Gabe—and any red-blooded man—fantasised about. Now, she was supermodel slender.

Her body was a minefield of distraction, but he’d been down that path before. No good would come from worshipping her physical perfection. He refocused his attention on the matter at hand: the sooner they dealt with it, the sooner she’d be gone and this would be over.

‘Why does it matter?’ he demanded. ‘We both know you don’t need to work—even if poor Rémy was foolish enough to believe your act. So, what’s the big deal?’

‘You’re wrong.’

‘Rarely.’

‘I needed that job. I needed the money.’

‘Your father’s company?’ he asked, frowning, a hint of something like genuine interest colouring the words. ‘It hasn’t gone bankrupt?’ He’d have heard, surely.

‘No—’ she shook her head ‘—I think he’s holding it together. But I don’t know. I haven’t spoken to him in a long time.’

‘Oh?’ Gabe was no longer losing interest in this. His blood was racing through his body and he took a step towards her, unconsciously moving closer. ‘Why is that?’

She swallowed, and appeared to be weighing her words—something Gabe hated. Liars always thought about what they wanted to say, and she was an exceptional liar.

‘He threw me out,’ she said, the words tremulous even though her eyes met his with a fierce strength.

‘He...threw you out?’ Gabe, rarely surprised, felt that emotion now. ‘Your father?’

‘Yes.’

Why was he so shocked? He knew enough of cruel fathers and their ability to abuse their children’s affections to know Lionel Howard was capable of everything Abigail claimed.

‘Because of me?’

She nodded.

Gabe’s curse was softly voiced but forceful, and it filled the room. ‘Your father threw you out because you didn’t have photos of the Calypso project?’

‘No.’ She shook her head, her skin pale. ‘Not exactly.’

Gabe waited, but his impatience was making it difficult.

‘I mean, he was furious that morning. Furious that I had come back empty-handed. But it was a fury born of desperation, you know? He was desperate, Gabe. My dad isn’t a bad person, he’s just...’

‘Why,’ he interrupted coldly, ‘do you think I want to talk about your father?’

‘You have to understand...’

She was quicksand. He’d let her in and now he was sinking—back into her web of lies, her intriguing fascination. What a fool he’d been to think he could talk to her and not fall down this rabbit hole of desire.

‘No, I don’t. I don’t “have” to do anything where you’re concerned. I don’t know why you’re here. I don’t know why I didn’t have you escorted from the building. But I’m done. This is over.’

‘Wait.’ She licked her lower lip and then lifted her hand to her hair, toying with the ends in an unmistakably nervous gesture. ‘I’m trying to explain.’

‘Explain what?’

‘That night—it wasn’t what you think. I mean, I know I came to you because of Calypso, but from the minute I met you, that was just about you and me, and the way we felt.’

‘And yet you still took photographs. You thought you could have your cake and eat it too? A night with me and the chance to salvage your father’s company thrown into the mix?’

‘No. I didn’t think it through, obviously.’ She pulled a face. ‘I know it’s no excuse and it must sound pathetic to someone like you. It’s just... I’ve always done what he asked of me. It’s hard to rewire that.’

‘He asked you to do something borderline illegal.’

‘I know!’ she growled—a growl born of self-disgust. ‘I wish, again and again, I could undo that night.’ Her cheeks flushed. ‘I mean, not all of it.’

‘Ah,’ he said with dangerous softness. ‘Here we differ. Because if I had my way I would go back in time and never meet you. Never set eyes on you, never kiss you, never ask you to my room. I would undo every little bit of what we shared. I regret everything about knowing you.’

Her mouth dropped open. He’d hurt her. He’d shocked her. Good. He recognised, in the part of his brain that was still working properly, that he liked that. He liked seeing that pain on her face. She deserved it. It was only a hint of how he’d felt when he’d discovered that his lover was actually some kind of corporate spy.

‘And now,’ he said, ‘if you’ll excuse me, I have a date.’

Yes. He’d definitely landed that blow successfully. She physically reeled, spinning away from him in a poor attempt to conceal her reaction.

‘When I told Dad I hadn’t met you, he was angry. Angry because he’d told me exactly where you’d be. Angry because he thought I hadn’t tried hard enough.’

‘Yet you’re an accomplished liar,’ Gabe pointed out. ‘So I’m sure you managed to win him over.’

She didn’t react. Her eyes were glazed over, as though she were in the past. ‘Not really. I mean, he stopped being mad with me, but his business worries grew. He was losing his market share to you; he has been for years—’

‘It’s not his market share. It’s anyone’s for the taking. And the only reason Bright Spark is at the top of the ladder is because we release better products than our competitors.’

‘I know.’ She nodded, almost apologetically. ‘I’m just explaining his mindset.’

‘Whatever his mindset, you are your own person. You made a decision to manipulate me...’

‘I’m talking about after that,’ she said with quiet determination. ‘You know I’ve been trying to contact you.’

He tilted his head. ‘Apologies are fruitless, Abigail. There is no apology you could offer that would inspire my forgiveness. You’re a liar and a cheat.’

She shook her head but didn’t say anything. ‘It was bad at home. I was worried about him, and I didn’t feel well.’

Gabe lifted his brows.

‘When did you not feel well?’

‘A few months after we...after that night. I’d been tired—yet not sleeping.’

‘Guilt will do that to a person. Then again, I don’t know if you’re capable of feeling guilt.’

‘Believe me, I am,’ she promised, the words steady, so that he was at risk of believing her despite everything he knew her to be. ‘I’ve felt a bucketload of it since I met you. Anyway, I went to the doctor and...you can probably guess where I’m going with this.’

‘No,’ he said with a lift of his shoulders. ‘And frankly I’m bored of our conversation.’

‘Right, you have your date,’ she said, the words almost manic.

‘Yes,’ Gabe lied. Well, not strictly a lie. There were any number of women he could call. Just because he hadn’t done so in over a year didn’t mean they wouldn’t jump at the chance for a night with Gabe Arantini. He stared at Abigail for one long moment and then made to walk past her, only she reached out and grabbed his arm. ‘Gabe, stop. You need to let me say this.’

‘Why do you think I owe you anything?’

‘I was pregnant,’ she said, arresting him in his tracks completely. His eyes locked onto hers and in his face was a torrent of emotions. There was anger, disbelief, confusion, fury and, finally, amusement.

‘Nice try, Abigail, but I don’t believe you. You think this is a way to extort money from me? Or ruin me somehow? Is this your father’s idea?’

‘No!’ She was pale and shaking. ‘Gabe, I’m not making this up. I went to the doctor and they ran some tests. I was pregnant. You’re the only man I’ve ever been with.’

His eyes narrowed.

‘I didn’t tell Dad until I was five months along and I started to show. He demanded to know who the father was and when I told him he...’

Gabe could barely keep up, but somehow he answered calmly. ‘Yes?’

‘He kicked me out. He cut me off. I haven’t seen him since.’

Gabe felt as though he’d been punched in the solar plexus. He couldn’t speak.

‘It’s why I need that job. Why I’m working nights. I have a good babysitter who sleeps over, so I can work at night. And in the days I’m with Raf.’

His eyes flew wide. ‘Raf?’

‘Rafael,’ she said with a small, distracted smile. ‘Our son.’

Silence fell, heavy and caustic, in the room. Gabe processed what she’d said, but it simply didn’t make sense.

‘We used protection.’

‘I know.’

‘It’s not possible.’

‘The three-month-old I have at home would beg to differ,’ she said calmly, even when her nerves were jangling.

Gabe nodded, a coldness to his expression. ‘What is this? You want money? Or something else?’

‘I thought you should know,’ she said with hauteur, reminding him of the silver spoon she’d grown up with.

‘You thought I should know that I’m a father. That supposedly the night we were together, you fell pregnant. How convenient!’

‘Not particularly,’ Abby said with a soft laugh.

‘Do you think I am this stupid? That I’ll listen to these lies? I should have followed my first instincts and had you kicked out. What the hell are you playing at?’

‘It’s the truth,’ she said. ‘I have a son. His name is Raf Arantini and he’s the spitting image of his father.’

Gabe glared at her. She’d even used his name? Could it be true?

Presumably she hadn’t been on birth control, but he never slept with a woman without protection. And he’d never had any consequences come from his sex life before. So why now? And why this woman?

Because she was a liar. And though he couldn’t see the full picture, he knew with confidence that there was more to this story than she was telling him. It couldn’t be the truth. There was no way on earth he had a baby.

He needed time and space to think, and he sure as hell couldn’t do that with her in the room.

‘Get out of my office, Abigail. And don’t contact me again.’

He walked to the lift and pressed the button; it pinged open almost instantly.

She walked slowly and as she passed him he caught just a hint of her sweet vanilla fragrance. His whole body clenched.

‘You don’t believe me?’ she asked.

‘Do you blame me?’

Tears welled in her eyes but she met his eyes with obvious defiance. ‘It’s the truth.’

‘I don’t think you’d know the truth if it bit you on that perfect little arse of yours.’

CHAPTER THREE

ABIGAIL STARED OUT of the window, unseeing. It was a cold, snowy night, but she hadn’t put the heating on. Raf was bundled up in a fleecy suit and wrapped in blankets, fast asleep, and she was wearing about six layers. She wrapped her hands around her hot chocolate—it was a pale imitation, seeing as she’d taken to making it with water instead of milk, but it was still sweet and warm—desperately necessary after the day she’d had.

She’d gone over her conversation with Gabe all evening—while he was no doubt out at some glamorous restaurant or bar with an equally glamorous woman. He probably wasn’t even giving her a second thought. Why would he be? He’d made it clear he despised her and, more importantly, didn’t believe her. So why would he be thinking about a baby he didn’t believe existed?

She should have shown him a photograph, but Abigail hadn’t been thinking straight. A photograph would have convinced him of his paternity. They were so alike—Raf had Gabe’s dark eyes, his strong determined brow and curling black hair, though the dimples in his cheeks were all Abby’s. She curled up in the armchair by the window and watched as a child dressed as an elf ran past, followed by a happy-looking mum and dad, also wearing elf hats.

Fliers had been up in the street for weeks—tonight was one of the local school’s Christmas concerts—which explained why there’d been a procession of Wise Men and reindeer shuffling around her Brooklyn neighbourhood since she’d returned.

While Abigail hadn’t expected Gabe to be doing cartwheels about the fact he was a father, nor had she expected his reaction—utter disbelief.

For months, she’d tried to find a way to tell him about the baby they’d conceived. First, when she’d been pregnant, and then once Raf had been born. It had never, not for an instant, occurred to her that he wouldn’t believe her. She had run through almost every contingency—but not this one.

The coldness of his expression as she’d stepped into the lift and turned back to face him would always be etched into her mind. He hated her. He’d said as much, and in that moment she knew it to be true.

So, what was she going to do?

She looked around the apartment, empty save for a threadbare chair, a plastic table, a lamp that she’d bought at a thrift shop, and she felt hopelessness well inside her.

Even with her job, she’d barely been making ends meet. Now? She had forty-seven dollars in her bank account, rent was due and her baby needed formula and nappies. Before long, he’d need actual food and bigger clothes, and then what?

She couldn’t keep living like this. Raf deserved so much better.

She finished the hot chocolate and placed the empty cup on the floor at her feet and then curled her legs up beneath her.

Exhaustion was nothing new to Abigail. Pregnancy had been exhausting and she’d been sick almost the whole time. But then Raf had been born and she’d discovered that motherhood was a little like being hit by a truck. She was bone-weary all the time.

Her eyes were heavy and she was so tired that even the thought of getting up, showering and changing for bed seemed too onerous and so she stayed where she was, telling herself she’d just sleep for a moment. Just a little rest. Then she’d go to bed, wake up in the new day and scour the papers for help wanted ads. She’d get a new job. Gabe couldn’t have her fired from every place in the city.

A knock at the door woke her after drifting off. It was persistent and loud—so loud she was certain it would wake Raf if she didn’t act quickly. She scrambled up and moved towards the door, yanking it inwards without taking the precaution of checking who was there—a foolish risk given that the downstairs security door had been busted for weeks.

Still, she had thought it might be the upstairs neighbour, Mrs Hannigan, who seemed to always need something at inconvenient times. Even this though—nearly midnight—was a stretch for her.

Abby hadn’t expected—foolishly, perhaps—to find Gabe Arantini on her doorstep, his handsome face lined with emotions she couldn’t comprehend.

‘Gabe?’ The word was thick with sleepiness. She ran the back of her hand over her eyes in an attempt to wake up, but it only induced a yawn. ‘What are you doing here? How did you find where I live?’

His response was to brush past her and step into her apartment.

‘By all means, come right in,’ she snapped sarcastically. But the tart emotion disappeared almost as soon as it had arrived, swallowed by a sense of self-consciousness for him to be seeing her threadbare apartment.

‘Where is he?’

‘I... He’s sleeping.’

‘Of course he is,’ he said, the same thread of incredulity in his words now as had been there earlier that day.

He still didn’t believe her? How was that possible? She would just show him a photo. Her phone was on the chair. She’d get it and show some pictures to him. Then he’d have no doubt that she was telling the truth. She moved in that direction but his voice stilled her.

‘Stop, Abigail.’

She froze, turning around to face him once more. He was right behind her, his body close to hers, his angular face filling her vision.

‘No more lies.’

‘I’m not lying to you.’

He lifted a finger and pressed it to her lips. ‘I think you don’t even realise you’re doing it,’ he said. ‘I think you’ve lost sight of what’s true and what’s not.’

‘I...’

‘Shh...’ he said again, shaking his head. ‘I didn’t come here to hear more lies...’

‘Then why...?’

His eyes held hers and Abigail grabbed a deep breath because she knew what was coming and she had about two seconds to decide what she would do. Step backwards, away from him, or surrender to the intimacy of his kiss, even knowing it was stupid and wrong and wouldn’t achieve anything?

But oh, how she craved him. Ached for him. Desperately longed for him.

He was going to kiss her and she was going to let him. Heck, she was going to kiss him if he took much longer. The air around them seemed to hum and crackle with anticipation, their eyes locked, their lips parted. Time seemed to stand still. It was madness, but hadn’t it always been for them?

He dropped his head infinitesimally closer and she pressed a little higher, waiting, her mind blanked of the myriad reasons she shouldn’t let this happen.

Then he blinked and straightened.

‘What the hell is that?’

The question jolted her, dragging her out of the sensual fog.

‘Raf!’ She shot him a look of frustration and sanity began to seep back in. Gratitude too. How could she have let herself get sucked back into his sensual, distracting appeal?

In the seconds it took her to compute the situation, Gabe was already moving to the hallway. There was a bathroom on one side and a bedroom on the other. He followed the sound of the crying and pushed into the bedroom. He stood just inside the door, staring at the crib as though he’d never seen a baby in his entire life.

‘Excuse me,’ Abby said, moving past him to scoop up Raf. He nuzzled into her and she stroked his head, her eyes lifting to Gabe’s with a hint of triumph in their depths.

‘What is this?’ he finally asked, dumbfounded.

‘What do you think?’

‘It’s a baby.’

She could have laughed; it was so absurd. ‘Yes, it’s a baby. This is your son. You may remember I told you about him this afternoon?’

‘I...’ Gabe stared at the child with a look of utter confusion.

‘He needs to go back to sleep,’ she said, nodding towards the door. And purely because he was at such a loss he did as she suggested and stepped out of the room, leaving her to settle Raf on her own.

When Abby emerged a few moments later, Gabe was in the centre of the tiny living room, his expression grim.

‘You were telling the truth.’

‘Yes!’ she said emphatically. ‘Why would you think I wasn’t?’

He frowned. ‘You need to ask that?’

‘Gabe, I made a mistake that night. Admittedly, a big one. I get why you’re mad. But it was a mistake. A stupid decision. Contrary to what you might think, I don’t make a habit of lying to people.’

He rubbed his palm over his face and shook his head. ‘How is this even possible?’

‘Really? You need me to explain how that works?’

‘I mean, we used protection.’

‘Yeah. The doctor said that’s not infallible.’

He grimaced. ‘It was your first time. This shouldn’t have been possible.’

‘Okay, you need to stop saying that. You’re the only man I’ve ever been with and nine months after that night, almost to the day, Raf was born. So, whether it should or shouldn’t have been possible, that’s what happened.’

‘You should have told me,’ he said, harsh judgement in the statement.

Abby made a primal noise of irritation, a growl born of pure annoyance. She would be the first to admit she’d messed up the night they’d met, but she wasn’t going to be tarred with that brush for evermore. ‘I tried to! Damn it, Gabe, why did you think I was calling you?’

He paled visibly beneath his tan. ‘You... I presumed to apologise, or make up excuses.’

‘No. I mean yes to the apology thing, but mainly, Gabe, I needed to tell you about Raf.’

‘You’re saying you didn’t keep him from me intentionally?’

‘Are you serious? Do you really think I’d do something so immoral?’

His eyes locked onto hers and she sighed.

‘I guess you do think me capable of that. But Gabe, I would never, ever keep someone from their child. He’s your son. I had no intention of doing this alone. That’s why I went to Rome...’

‘Rome.’ His eyes swept shut, anguish on his features. ‘You knew you were pregnant then? You came to tell me?’

‘Yes!’ Pique at his reaction darkened her expression. ‘And you had me dragged out like some kind of criminal.’

‘Madre di Dio, Abigail. I didn’t know.’

‘Yes, well,’ she said stiffly. ‘If you’d given me a minute of your time, you’d have seen for yourself the evidence of my condition.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I was six months along.’

‘And they just dragged you out of the building?’

‘Well, they told me in no uncertain terms to go before the police arrived,’ she conceded.

‘I asked them to do that,’ he admitted darkly. ‘I didn’t want to see you. I was so angry you’d come.’

‘I know.’ She lifted her chin, defiance radiating from her slender frame. ‘But don’t you dare accuse me of intentionally keeping Raf from you.’

He shook his head, as if to clear the memory. ‘I cannot believe I have a son.’

What could Abby say to that? It was the truth. She waited for something—perhaps an apology. A commendation of how well she’d done? An admission that she’d tried to do the right thing, to tell him the truth?

And got instead: ‘And you’re raising him here? Like this?’

Her spine straightened and she squared her shoulders. ‘What’s wrong with it?’ she said.

‘It is a hovel.’ He glared at her. ‘How can you live like this?’

Her jaw dropped. His assessment wasn’t wrong but how dare he?

‘It’s fine,’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘And I’ll find something better before he’s big enough to notice. For now, this is fine,’ she amended.

‘This isn’t fine for a pack of rabid dogs, let alone my son.’

She stared at him as though he’d called her the worst name in the book. ‘I’m aware that it’s not ideal. I’m not blind. But it’s the best I could do at short notice and with very limited means.’

A muscle in his jaw throbbed and Abby stared at it, fascinated by the pulse point there. ‘So when your father discovered you were pregnant with my child, he turned you out of his home?’

She winced. ‘It was more complex than that. I mean, it proved that I’d lied about that night. That I’d let him down.’

‘Let him down?’ Gabe repeated incredulously. ‘Dio! He is unbelievable.’

‘I know that,’ she said. ‘I never thought he’d react like this. I mean, I thought he’d be angry, but not...’

‘To remove all financial support from his pregnant daughter, just because he hates me?’ Something in Gabe shifted and he was very still, his expression faraway, as though completely consumed by unpleasant thoughts.

Abby waited, her breath unconsciously held, for him to elaborate.

But in the end he shook his head. ‘It doesn’t matter. You are no longer his responsibility.’

‘I’m no one’s responsibility,’ she said stiffly, instantly rejecting that assessment.

‘Wrong, cara. You are mine.’

‘No.’ Abby’s denial was swift.

‘You are the mother of my child.’

Her hackles rose. ‘I’m a woman you spent one night with, a year ago.’

‘Sì. And you fell pregnant. I should have prevented that. I was experienced. This is my fault.’

‘Your fault?’ Now her maternal instincts roared to life. ‘I don’t consider Raf anyone’s fault. He’s a blessing.’

Gabe grimaced, uncharacteristically on the back foot. ‘I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.’

But she wasn’t to be placated. She had to set the record straight while she had a chance—if she didn’t control this, the situation could quickly move beyond her control. ‘You don’t owe me anything, Gabe. I’m not asking for a handout.’

‘You live like this,’ he said slowly, gesturing around the room, ‘and you think I don’t owe you anything?’

Frustration burst through her. ‘I know this place isn’t...’

‘It’s a dump.’

The insult hurt. ‘It’s home, for now.’

He crossed his arms over his chest, his expression intractable.

‘You say you wanted to tell me about the baby?’

She nodded.

‘And what did you expect me to say?’

Abby frowned, but her silence only seemed to spur him on. He took a step closer, his expression grim.

‘What did you want from me?’

She swallowed, and tried to find the words of the speech she’d imagined she’d give him, if ever he learned the truth. ‘Raf is your child too, and I respect the fact you might want to be involved in his upbringing.’

‘Oh, yes?’ he murmured, but there was a sharpness to the response, an underlying firmness she didn’t understand.

‘Your life is in Italy and we live here, but I mean, you visit the States and I guess, when he’s older, he could come over...’

Her sentence tapered off into silence. His eyes held hers for a long, icy moment. Then, with a guttural sound of disgust, ‘Look at this place, Abigail!’ He glared at her. ‘Why is it so cold? Why is the heating off?’ He stalked into the kitchenette and ripped open the fridge. ‘What are you existing on? I see two apples and one bread roll. What did you have for dinner?’

She bit down on her lip and ridiculous tears moistened her eyes. She dashed at them angrily. ‘I’m not crying because I’m sad,’ she clarified. ‘I’m mad! And I’m tired! And you have no right turning up on my doorstep at midnight only to throw insults at my feet!’

‘What did you think I would do? How am I supposed to react?’

‘I...’ She glared at him. ‘I don’t know. I just had to tell you.’

He dipped his head forward in silent concession. ‘I’m grateful that you did. And for the fact you haven’t used our son to attempt to blackmail me.’

‘Blackmail you?’ she repeated, aghast, flicking her fair hair over one shoulder. ‘What would I blackmail you for?’

His laugh was short and sharp. ‘Oh, I don’t know. Money. Power. Calypso prototypes?’

Abby had never hit a man in her life—or anyone, for that matter, but her fingertips itched to strike his arrogant face. ‘You’re a jerk.’

‘I’m the father of your child and, like it or not, I’m in your life now.’

She was very still, waiting for that thought to make sense. But it didn’t. ‘In my life how?’

Gabe shut the fridge door and moved to the pantry. It was almost empty, save for a tin of spaghetti and a bag of pasta.

‘How quickly can you pack a suitcase?’

‘Huh?’ She watched as he stalked back into the small living room.

‘Your wardrobe looked small. I presume you don’t have much. Is there a bag somewhere?’

‘I... No.’ She’d sold her designer set of luggage as soon as she’d moved into the apartment.

‘Fine. I’ll have one sent over.’

‘Gabe, wait.’ She lifted a hand in a determined appeal for his silence. ‘I don’t need a suitcase. I’m not going anywhere.’

He ignored her, speaking as though she hadn’t. ‘It’s too late to depart now. You should go to bed. I’ll...take the chair. We can leave in the morning.’

‘And where exactly do you imagine we’re going?’

‘Italy.’ He reached for his phone and, before she could respond, he began speaking into it. She had not a hope of comprehending as he spoke in his native tongue, but she picked out a few words—bambino...andiamo...subito.

He disconnected the call before giving Abby the full force of his attention.

‘The plane will be ready in the morning. My car is downstairs. Tomorrow, Abigail, we will leave.’

She shook her head emphatically. ‘No!’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m not going to Italy. This is my home. His home. And you... I know you’re his father, but I didn’t tell you so you’d take us away! I just wanted you to know because he’s your child and at some stage he or you might want a relationship. I don’t believe in secrets like this, okay? I have no right to keep a father from his child. But that’s the end of it. I’ve done my part. I told you about Raf, and when he’s older I’ll tell him about you.’

His eyes narrowed and his chest lifted with the force of the deep breath he sucked in. ‘Get ready. This is non-negotiable.’

‘You’re right. It’s non-negotiable. We’re staying here.’

‘Make no mistake about it, Abigail, my son is coming to Italy. I am giving you a chance to come with him. The decision is yours.’

Panic flared in her gut but she hid it behind anger. ‘There’s no way you can do that.’

‘Do you want to test that theory?’

‘You seriously think I’m going to move to a foreign country with a man I hardly know?’

‘No. I think you’re going to move to a foreign country with the man you’re going to marry.’

Her eyes flew wide and for a moment she thought she must have misheard. ‘What did you just say?’

His jaw tightened. ‘You heard me.’

‘But that’s crazy.’

He jerked his head in silent agreement.

She blinked. ‘But why?’

Something like anguish shifted through his dark gaze, showing how clearly he wished this step weren’t necessary. ‘Because it’s the right thing to do.’

‘Right, how?’ she demanded, wondering if she’d slipped through the looking glass into a bizarre parallel universe.

‘Because of what I can offer him, and what I can offer you. The security, the comfort, the support.’ He took a step closer. ‘I’m offering you the world, Abigail. The world for you and our son.’

Her heart twisted painfully inside her chest. She was like an outsider looking in. In that moment, she realised that marrying Gabe Arantini would have, in another lifetime, constituted a fantasy. If things had been different between them, if they’d met under different circumstances and they’d been allowed to enjoy getting to know one another.

‘This is the twenty-first century. People don’t get married just because of a baby.’

His eyes narrowed and she had the strangest sense that he was holding back on saying what he really wanted to say. Through teeth that were bared like a wolf’s, he said, ‘My son is going to grow up with two parents.’

‘Who hate each other? Do you really think that’s best?’

‘No.’ His eyes glowed with silent warning. ‘But it’s the best decision you can make. I have a son, Abigail. A three-month-old boy I knew nothing about. If you think I am leaving this country without him, if you think I have any plans of walking out of his life, even temporarily, then you are deranged.’

She sucked in a breath but her lungs didn’t fill sufficiently. She dug her fingernails into her palms, taking strength from the gesture. ‘Then stay here,’ she said after a moment, the words sounding reasonable and calm despite the tremors taking over her central nervous system.

He looked around the room with scathing contempt.

‘Not here here,’ she amended. ‘In New York.’

His eyes locked onto hers. ‘I have no intention of raising my child anywhere other than Italy. We will go there tomorrow and as soon as possible we will marry. Raf will grow up believing that he is wanted.’

‘He is wanted by me!’ she shouted and then winced at the very real possibility that such loud arguing would wake their son.

‘And by me,’ he said warningly.

‘No. I think it’s time for you to leave, Gabe. We can discuss this in the morning when you’re thinking straight.’

‘Do you think you have any right to dictate to me after what you’ve done?’

‘What I’ve done?’ she demanded, taking a step closer, wishing she were taller so that she didn’t have to crane her neck to look up at him. ‘And just what am I supposed to have done?’

‘You set all this in motion when you came to my hotel last year. Even if there had been no baby, no Raf, you have still shown yourself capable of making very poor decisions.’

‘You got that right,’ Abby muttered. ‘Sleeping with you was the biggest mistake of my life.’

She swept her eyes shut, instantly wishing she could retract the words because of course she could never really regret anything that had resulted in Raf. Besides, even without Raf, she’d be hard-pressed to regret what she and Gabe had shared. Only that her father’s machinations had been the cause of it.

‘I feel exactly the same way.’ The coolly delivered response slammed right into her heart and suddenly all the emotions of the previous year filled her up, like water in a bathtub.

‘Oh, go to hell,’ she muttered, slumping back against the wall and dipping her head forward.

‘I think I’m already there.’

The volley landed squarely in her chest, twisting her organs and supercharging her blood. She swallowed, but her throat was drier than the desert.

Two days ago she’d been working as a kitchen hand for one of New York’s most renowned chefs. She’d been exhausted and lonely but she’d been making it work.

And now she had this man, this handsome, arrogant billionaire who she couldn’t be in the same room as without breaking into a full-blown fight, demanding that she move halfway around the world and become his wife? Mrs Gabe Arantini?

She couldn’t marry him! God, what a nightmare! Why had she ever thought she had to tell him about his son? At least without seeing a lawyer first! Why had she been so naive? She should have kept Raf hidden from him. She should have moved heaven and earth to avoid this.

What an idiot she was!

‘I won’t marry you,’ she said angrily, her blood simmering. ‘I can’t. It would never work.’

‘Believe me, the last thing I want is to legally bind myself to you—or your father, for that matter.’ His eyes glazed with determination. ‘But it is the only way this will work. These are my terms, tempesta.’

‘It makes no sense.’ The words were stoic when her chest was crushing under the weight of his demands.

He stared at her long and hard. ‘I told you, I want our son to have a family. That’s...very important to me.’ The words were spoken with an iron-like determination but, even without that, Abby found the concept dug deep into her chest. A family? What would that be like? It had been so long since her mother had died, she could barely remember a time when they’d been a collective. Her father had emotionally shut her out many long years before he’d finally cut their ties altogether.

Abby was alone in the world. Her beloved mother was dead, her father had slammed the door on her, and now Gabe was threatening to take Raf away. She couldn’t lose her son; she wouldn’t let her son lose her either!

But, far from losing him, what if she could give him exactly what Gabe was offering? What if she could give Raf a real family?

‘A marriage born of hate cannot work,’ she said dubiously, her eyes flicking to his before skimming away.

He spoke softly, considering each word. ‘There is love too. I saw my son and loved him instantly. You are his mother. That means something to me, Abigail. No matter how I feel about you personally, I wish you no ill. I want to take care of you as well. Raf deserves that—to know that his father will protect his mother.’ Deep emotions rang through that last sentence, as though he’d dredged it up from deep within his soul.

She wanted to fight him. She wanted to tell him that what she most needed protection from was the power Gabe wielded over her, and the ease with which he could hurt her. She wanted to shout at him and rail against him but the last year had been long and draining for Abigail, and all the pluck she’d once held in her armoury had been dulled to the point of non-existence. Her fight had been washed away; sleeplessness and loneliness, abandonment and discord with her father had made her heart sore and heavy. She wanted to fight Gabe, she wanted to fight him so badly, but every day had been a battle and she found—in that moment—she had very little fight left.

What he offered was so tempting. She swept her eyes shut, desperately trying to rally some strength, some fight, some determination to keep him at a distance.

‘I don’t know how it would work.’

‘We don’t need to discuss semantics now.’

‘It’s not semantics!’ she insisted, reaching out a hand and wrapping her fingers around his wrist. ‘This is my life. Mine and Raf’s. You can’t expect me to just marry you.’

He expelled a sigh, a sound of impatience. ‘Why not?’

‘Seriously? Why not? I could give you a thousand reasons.’

‘I’m not interested in a thousand. Give me a single good one.’

His manner was imposing at the best of times but now, in this conversation, she could barely scrape her thoughts together.

She clutched at the first straw she found. ‘I hardly know you.’

‘How is that relevant?’ he said with a shake of his head.

‘You’re asking me to move to Italy and become your wife...’

‘I’m suggesting you choose the best-case scenario in this situation.’ He stared at her resolutely. ‘It is, of course, your decision.’

Her heart sank.

Her decision?

She was broke, alone, and hardly ever saw her tiny baby because of the hours she had to work just to get by. Everything she did was for Raf; wouldn’t she hurt her son by denying him all that Gabe could offer?

She was terrified of the way this man made her feel, but wasn’t motherhood about putting your child’s needs above your own? All she had to do, in order to make this decision, was ignore her own needs and wants and think of what was best for Raf.

Then the decision was a simple one.

She wanted Raf to have the best life in the world—she wanted to give that to him. She just had to dance with the devil...

Living with Gabe wouldn’t be a walk in the park, and nor would marriage to him. But for Raf? What wouldn’t she do? With a look of fierce strength and resolve, she nodded. ‘Fine. You win. We’ll come to Italy.’

‘You’ll marry me.’ It wasn’t a question, but he clearly wanted her to answer.

‘On one condition.’

He arched a brow, but said nothing.

Abby hadn’t been sure what she wanted to say, only that she knew she had to demand something of him—anything—to assert her position as an intelligent woman. Yielding power to him would be a disaster. ‘If I move to Italy and marry you—’

‘When,’ he interrupted, his expression daring her to disagree.

‘When I marry you,’ she agreed with soft defiance, ‘you’ll be a good father to him. You’ll spend time with him. He’s not a trophy son to be loved on Christmases and birthdays. I’m only doing this for Raf, so he’ll have what I...’

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.