One dark eyebrow swooped upwards. ‘Rio?’
She blushed. ‘I chose to name him after the city where he was conceived.’
‘How quaint.’ Luc’s tone was a deep, dark drawl loaded with undertones of menace. ‘So if I’ve already paid for the pushchair and the nappies, what else is there? He needs a new school coat, perhaps? His feet have grown and his shoes no longer fit?’
He still didn’t believe her.
‘Last week I received a kidnap threat.’ Her voice shook as she said the words. Perhaps the truth would shake him out of his infuriating cool. ‘Someone out there knows about our son. They know you’re a father. And they’re threatening Rio’s life.’
There was a long silence while he watched her, his dark eyes fixed on her pale face.
They were sitting too close to each other. Much too close.
Her knee brushed against his and she felt the insidious warmth of awareness spread through her body. Against her will, her eyes slid to the silken dark hairs visible on his wrist and then rested on his strong fingers. Those long, clever fingers—
Her body flooded with heat as she remembered how those fingers had introduced her to intimacies that she’d never before imagined and she shifted slightly in her chair. His eyes detected the movement. Instantly his gaze trapped hers and the temperature in the room rose still further.
‘Show me the letter.’
Did she imagine the sudden rough tone to his voice? Relieved that she could finally meet one of his demands, she delved into her bag and dragged out the offending letter, dropping it on the table next to him as if it might bite her.
He extended a hand and lifted the letter, no visible sense of urgency apparent in his movements. He flipped it open and read it, his handsome face inscrutable.
‘Interesting.’ He dropped the letter back on the table. ‘So I’m expected to shell out five million dollars and then everyone lives happily ever after? Have I got that right?’
She stared at him, stunned, more than a little taken aback that he didn’t seem more concerned for the welfare of his son. Still, at least now he’d seen the evidence, he’d know she was telling the truth.
‘Do you think paying is the wrong approach? You think we should go to the police?’ She looked at him anxiously and rubbed her fingers across her forehead, trying to ease the pain that pulsed behind her temples. She’d gone over and over it in her head so many times, trying to do the right thing. ‘I have thought about it, obviously, but you can see from the letter what he threatened to do if I spoke to the police. I know everyone always says you shouldn’t pay blackmailers, but that’s very easy to say when it isn’t your child in danger and—’ her voice cracked ‘—and I can’t play games with his life, Luc. He’s everything I have.’
She looked at the strong, hard lines of Luc’s face and suddenly wanted him to step in and save her the way he’d saved her that first night they’d met. He was hard and ruthless and he had powerful connections and she knew instinctively that he would be able to handle this situation if he chose to. He could make it go away.
‘I think involving the police would not be a good idea,’ he assured her, rising to his feet in a lithe, athletic movement and pacing across the office to the window. ‘Police in any country don’t generally appreciate having their time wasted.’
Her eyes widened. ‘But why would this waste their time?’
He shot her an impatient look. ‘Because we both know that this is all part of your elaborate plan to extract more money from me. I suppose I should just be grateful it took you seven years to work your way through the last lot.’ His voice was harsh and contemptuous. ‘It was a master stroke suggesting we contact the police because it does add credibility to the situation, but we both know that would have proved somewhat embarrassing if they’d agreed to be involved.’
She stared at him in stunned silence. ‘You still think I’m making this whole situation up, don’t you?’
‘Look at it from my point of view,’ he advised silkily. ‘You turn up after seven years, demanding money to help a child I know nothing about and whose existence you cannot prove. If he’s my child, why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant seven years ago?’
‘I’ve already explained!’ She ran a hand over the back of her neck to relieve the tension. ‘Over and over again I rang and came to your office and you refused to see me. You wouldn’t even talk to me.’
He’d cut her dead and she’d thought she’d die from the pain. She’d missed him so much.
‘Our relationship was over and talking about it after the event isn’t my forte.’ Luc gave a careless shrug. ‘Talking is something else that’s more of a woman thing than a man thing. A bit like guilt, I suppose.’
‘Well, just because you’re totally lacking in communication skills, don’t blame me now for the fact you weren’t told about your child!’ Her emotions rumbled like a volcano on the point of eruption. ‘I tried to tell you, but your listening skills need serious attention.’
His eyes hardened. ‘It’s a funny thing, but I always find that I become slightly hard of hearing when people are begging me for money.’
She stared at him helplessly. ‘He’s your son—’
He held out a hand. ‘So show me a photograph.’
‘Sorry?’
‘If he exists, then at least show me a photograph.’
She felt as though she was on the witness stand being questioned by a particularly nasty prosecutor. ‘I—I don’t have one with me. I was in a panic and I didn’t think to bring one.’ But she should have. Should have known Luc would ask to at least see a picture of his child. ‘I wasn’t expecting to have to prove his existence, so no, I don’t have a photograph.’
One dark eyebrow swooped upwards and his hand fell to his side. ‘What a loving mother you must be.’ His tone was dangerously soft. ‘You don’t even carry a photograph of your own child.’
She exploded with exasperation. ‘I don’t need to carry a photograph of him because I’m with him virtually every minute of every day and have been since he was born! I used your money to buy a little flat so that I could stay at home and look after him. And now he’s older I work from home so that I don’t miss a single minute of being with him. I don’t need photographs! I have the real thing!’
He inclined his head and a ghost of a smile touched his firm mouth. ‘Good answer.’
She shook her head slowly, helpless to know what to do to convince him. ‘You think I’m making all this up just to get money for myself?’
‘Frankly?’ The smile vanished. ‘I think you’re a greedy, money-grabbing bitch who wants five million dollars and is prepared to go to most distasteful lengths to achieve that goal.’ His eyes scanned her face. ‘And you can abandon the wounded look—it’s less convincing once you’ve already ripped a guy off big time.’
Her mouth fell open and