‘Well, after what I heard Corinne saying on the phone…’ he began, with his voice thickened by desire, ‘I don’t think I need even question whether it’s mine, need I?’
As the Mercedes took a sharp left-hand turn that tipped Grace nearly into his lap, shame and humiliation leaped like angry flames to scorch her pride.
‘You bastard!’ Automatically her hand flew up and was instantly dealt with by a stronger one before it could make contact with his cheek.
Deftly she found herself pressed back against the cream leather upholstery with that long, lean body angled across hers.
‘Believe it or not, it was meant as a compliment,’ he breathed with menacing softness.
‘Some compliment!’ It came out on a squeak as excitement ripped through her, her senses leaping into overdrive from the hard, arousing weight of his body. Trying to collect her thoughts, she guessed it would be a major boost to his ego to realise he was the only lover she had ever had. But if he knew that then she would be lost, she thought despairingly, his to do whatever he wanted with, because she would have no defence then against his devastating sexual magnetism.
‘Don’t believe all Corinne tells you,’ she got out tremulously, because he hadn’t moved. He was still holding her captive as if he didn’t trust her not to fly at him the instant he let her go. Or maybe he just liked being in control…
The need to assert command over her own actions had her wriggling against it.
He merely laughed at her ineffectual struggling. ‘I won’t, if you promise not to,’ he said, letting her go.
‘Promise not to what?’ she quavered, even though he was sitting back on his own side of the car again now.
‘Believe everything that Corinne Culverwell says.’
His tone was less than complimentary at the woman with whom he had supposedly shared a recent spell of unfettered passion. So what was he implying? Grace wondered with a leap of hope that made her despair at her own weakness in wanting to believe anything he might chance to tell her. That he really had gone to Madeira just to finalise a deal, as he had assured her he had on the phone that morning?
And if she believed that she would believe anything! she thought, realising that she was in very grave danger of trusting him—at least where his integrity was concerned.
The Mercedes pulled up at the kerbside and Seth handed her out onto the pavement. A young family passed them, a mother pushing a toddler in a buggy, a child of about four riding piggyback on the shoulders of the man beside her. They were all laughing, at ease with one another; happy.
Moments later Seth was guiding Grace through the foyer of one of London’s most exclusive apartment-blocks. Chandeliers glittered, silver shone from highly polished surfaces, catching the reflection of a massive floral-display in the centre of the main area, while Grace’s pumps sank into a carpet as soft as manicured grass.
This sort of luxury wasn’t new to her. She had been born to it and had been accustomed to it until Culverwells’ diminishing fortunes had meant everyone having to tighten their belts. But the young man with the motorbike who had had to drag himself out of virtual poverty had to have striven hard for this type of living—the cars, the plane, the power. Unbelievably so. She couldn’t help but be impressed and a little overawed by the drive and determination he must have had to bring it about.
Nevertheless, as he brought her up in a lift with mirrored walls and they stepped out into a luxurious suite of rooms on the top floor of the building, she murmured, ‘Trying to impress me, Seth? What are you trying to prove? That you’ve done well for yourself?’
His mouth pulling down on one side, he gestured for her to precede him into a huge room with deep pale sofas and panoramic views of their great city, which at this time of day was a glittering universe of twinkling lights. ‘I don’t think I need to do that. I leave proving to lawyers and those whose job it is to provide us with our daily bread. But, yes, I have done well.’
‘And you’re flaunting it for all you’re worth.’ His droll comment lent a curve to her mouth, though, and she realised that what she had just said wasn’t totally true. Though the sumptuous drawing room in which he was inviting her to sit down was well-appointed, it was also uncluttered and exuded an air of understated elegance that was both tasteful and refreshing.
‘What did you prefer, Grace—my being poor and totally at your mercy?’
Her eyelids pressed against the dark wells of her eyes as she sank down into the sofa’s cushioning softness. Would he flay her with that for ever? It didn’t make it any easier that her head felt as though it was splitting in two.
That rough edge to his voice, however, made her wonder if he meant at her mercy emotionally, until she realised how dangerous it was to think like that. Seth Mason was hard. He only meant at the mercy of the circumstances that getting involved with her had got him into.
‘And you think,’ she said feebly, looking painfully up at him, ‘That by getting me pregnant you’ve got me at yours?’
His soft leather shoes made only a light sound over the varnished floor. ‘You aren’t at my mercy, Grace. Just at the mercy of your inability to resist whatever this thing is between us. Just as I am.’ The curl of his mouth was self-mocking. ‘And right now, yes, you are carrying my child. But don’t worry. The situation can be easily remedied.’
She jumped up, and wished she hadn’t when her head felt as though it had just exploded. Even so, that didn’t stop her tossing back, ‘That’s about the sort of reasoning I’d expect from you! If you think I’m going to simply take the easy way out just because you can’t bear to think of your enemy presenting you with a baby—wasn’t that what you said we were the day you took over the company? Enemies?—you’ve got another thing coming! I don’t want anything from you beyond a little recognition that you’re its father. You can play around with whoever you want to, just so long as you acknowledge that. It makes no difference to me.’
‘On the contrary.’ His slow stride over the immaculate floor was measured, predatory. ‘I find your being pregnant with my child rather satisfying.’
Whatever she had been expecting, it wasn’t that.
‘Why?’ she asked guardedly. ‘Because you think it would be one in the eye for the Culverwells to have to acknowledge your offspring as one of theirs?’
She meant because of the desire he’d been nursing all these years to avenge his family for the way they had suffered. Too late, though, she realised how it had sounded, as if he’d be tainting the pedigree blood of her family with the questionable origins of his.
For a moment his eyes blazed, but then his lashes came down and something like self-satisfaction shaped that hard mouth as he said, ‘If it pulls you down off that class-conscious cloud you’re obviously still clinging to, then, yes, I can’t deny that it’s a rather ironic twist of fate—don’t you think?’
Because he hated snobbery, Grace knew, as much as she did now, although she knew she could never convince him of that in a million years.
‘And you will have something from me, Grace. I’m not asking you to take the easy way out. In fact, I strictly forbid you to do anything that would harm our child. No, we’re going to assume responsibility for this little one’s life—together. And that means a marriage licence.’
‘A marriage licence?’ She was staring at him, wide-eyed with shock, her heart seeming to stand still. ‘You can’t be serious?’
There was no humour in his face as he advised, ‘Believe me, I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life. There’s no way any child of mine will grow up without the close presence of a father in