‘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.
‘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 her 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