‘What did you do? Go and find good old Stu the moment I left? Is that why you were so upset with me—you had to slink back to meet him? I wondered why he wasn’t too upset the next day—you’d already smoothed his wounded ego. Well, don’t expect a bonus from me for what you’ve done just because you were away on business. It doesn’t work like that.’
She unwrapped her arms from around her and felt her hands ball into fists that pounded into her thighs. ‘What is your problem? Stuart wasn’t upset because he didn’t give a damn. He’d only asked me to go dancing. Yes, you were unnecessarily, unbearably rude that night but it wasn’t exactly as if he’d asked me to marry him.
‘Besides which,’ she continued before he had a chance to respond. ‘You really must have a pretty low opinion of me if you think I’m capable of falling into bed with any guy who crosses my path.’
‘Well—’ he pointedly gazed at her lower abdomen ‘—given your condition, you’ve obviously fallen into bed with somebody.’
‘Maybe not,’ she said, a smile emerging on her lips for the first time in their conversation. ‘Who said this baby had anything to do with bed?’
‘What the hell is that supposed to mean? And if you’re saying it didn’t happen while we were at the Gold Coast, when else have we been together long enough for this amazing conception to have taken place?’
She looked right at him, desperate to take the smug look off his face. ‘The office Christmas party.’
‘You weren’t even there. You said—’
‘Sam said I wasn’t there. I told you my mother was ill.’
He looked at her for a moment, his face a tangle of confused emotion. ‘Can’t you think of anything more original than that? Are you that desperate to pin this baby on me? Maybe I should have left you to Bryce, after all. Seems to me you two are made for each other.’
His words stung her deeply but not half as deeply as the realisation that her fears were true. He simply couldn’t abide the thought of having made love to her. Damien DeLuca would never have stooped to such a thing.
Well, damn him! It was the truth. He had to believe her.
‘I didn’t realise it would be so confusing for you. Tell me, exactly how many women did you make love to in the boardroom that night?’
Something in his eyes flared. Disbelief? Panic?
‘No,’ he said. ‘It’s not possible.’
‘Oh, it’s more than just possible,’ she said with a smile that should have hinted at much more.
‘Then tell me what you were wearing.’
She allowed the corners of her mouth to kick up another notch. Still he was fighting the inevitable. ‘I was dressed as Cleopatra. You were Mark Antony.’
‘And that proves exactly nothing. Other people would have seen us together. How do I know what you are saying is the truth?’
She sighed, remembering the words he’d greeted her with, the words that had warmed her soul deep and fixed her in his spell. ‘You said you’d been waiting two thousand years for me,’ she remembered, her voice barely more than a whisper as she recalled that special moment.
‘You could have overheard that.’
‘True,’ she acknowledged, her good feelings evaporating in the harshness of his desert-dry tone. ‘So maybe I should tell you about how you locked the door behind us and lifted me on to the boardroom table, the way you released my breasts into your hands and mouth. Or maybe I should tell you how you entered me, naked but for the leather on your feet…’
Watching his face, she caught the exact moment he realised there was no escape, caught his eyes darkening, the pupils dilating as if letting in the truth at last, the slideshow of emotions—surprise, shock and outrage moving fast over his features as he digested the news.
‘That was you?’
He sounded appalled. She’d expected nothing less but the words sliced into her all the more deeply now, knowing how she felt about him.
‘Hard to believe, I know.’
Hard to believe? He’d spent how many hours trying to track down the mysterious woman who’d plagued his hard, lonely nights and filled his dreams with unrelenting frequency since the ball and here she was, right under his nose the whole time. Yet still something didn’t make sense.
‘But your perfume—it wasn’t the same.’
For a moment she looked shocked. ‘No, it wasn’t. I wore my mother’s perfume that night. It seemed to go better with the outfit.’
So it was her. The woman in the filmy gown, with lush red lips and a body to die for, was none other than Philly, his little brown mouse—his little not-so-brown mouse—as it turned out. And she was here now.
In his bedroom.
Serendipity.
A very happy accident indeed, he considered, congratulating himself for preferring the privacy of his apartment to the sofa in his office when she’d collapsed. There was more than a little justice in the arrangement.
He moved closer. ‘I’ll need proof, of course.’
Her eyes darted up to his, uncertainty flickering in their hazel lights. ‘What? You mean DNA testing?’
‘Eventually, yes.’ He took another step closer, angling himself so that he was between the door and any escape route. She edged back against the wall of windows and he smiled to himself. There was no escape that way. ‘I was thinking of something much simpler for now.’
‘What do you mean?’ Now she’d just about plastered herself to the glass.
He came to a stop right in front of her. ‘You were wearing a mask. Even though you seem to know the details, someone could have told you.’
She moved to make a sound—a protest—but he shushed her with a finger pressed to her lips.
‘I just need to be sure you are who you say you are. If I’m to believe this story of a baby, I need to know it was you that I slept with.’
He looked down at her, noticed the kick of her chin as she swallowed, enjoying the play of emotions skitter across her eyes—perplexity, fear and something else.
Anticipation?
Oh yes, without a doubt if the outline of her peaked nipples through her summer dress was any indication.
‘What did you have in mind?’
He lifted a hand and she flinched. ‘Relax,’ he urged, his voice set to reassurance. ‘You were wearing a mask. I just wondered how you looked with your eyes covered—just to be sure.’
Her eyes blinked twice and she relaxed a fraction though her breathing was still tight. It wasn’t the only thing, he reflected, shifting slightly as he lifted his arm, placing his hand palm down across her eyes. Her lashes moved against his skin, soft and like the touch of a feather before they fluttered closed.
‘There,’ he said, his voice little more than a whisper, ‘that’s more like it. Now, lift your head towards me so I can see you properly.’
His hand under her chin tilted her face higher. Her breathing was shallow, her breath warm and inviting and there was no way he was going to be able to resist.
‘Are you convinced now?’ Her voice was tremulous and soft, her breath sweet on his face.
‘Almost,’ he said. ‘Just one more thing.’
He dipped his head and angled