A short while later she exchanged fitted jeans and tailored shirt for shorts and a cropped top, then she set to work.
Dusting, mopping and polishing helped Shannay expend some nervous energy, and she wielded the vacuum cleaner with zealous speed.
Another five minutes and she’d be done, then she’d hit the shower, dress, make the few calls and head off to Nicki’s kindergarten facility.
The ring of the in-house phone was barely audible above the sound of the vacuum cleaner, and she shut it down, then she crossed the room and tamped down a strange prickling sense of foreboding … which was crazy.
For several days she’d been on tenterhooks waiting for Marcello to make his move, agonising when it would happen and what it might entail.
Oh, for heaven’s sake, she railed in silent self-castigation. It could be anyone buzzing her apartment … so take a deep breath and go check the security-video screen.
The tight security features employed here were some of the main reasons she’d purchased the apartment.
Protection and safety were an issue in any large city, and she rested more easily knowing she’d taken every available precaution.
The insistent ring of the buzzer impelled her to cross the room … and her breath hitched painfully in her throat the moment she recognised the male figure revealed on-screen.
Marcello Martinez … in person.
His monochrome image did little to detract from his forceful features … the strong facial bone structure, piercing gaze and well-shaped mouth.
Shannay felt her stomach muscles clench in unbidden reaction, for it took only one look at him for all the memories to flood back.
The good ones where his care and passion ignited something wild deep within her soul … and the not-so good when the arguments began to escalate into varying degrees of anger.
Pick up, why don’t you?
Delaying the inevitable wouldn’t achieve a thing.
Her fingers shook a little as she caught hold of the receiver, intoned a brief acknowledgment and saw his features harden.
‘Buzz me in, Shannay. We need to talk.’
She bit back an angry retort. ‘I have nothing to say to you.’
For a moment his gaze became faintly hooded, and his voice assumed a dangerous silkiness. ‘I intend to see my daughter.’
‘You have no proof she’s yours,’ she was goaded into stating.
His dark eyes seemed to pierce her own via the video link. ‘You want to do this the hard way?’
‘We lost the art of polite dialogue a long time ago.’
Marcello’s expression hardened, and she had the uncanny sensation he could see her … which was, of course, impossible.
Yet that fact did little to aid reassurance, or prevent the shivery finger of fear feathering the length of her spine.
It was easy to close down the video screen. Not so easy to cast him out of her mind, and his forceful image refused to subside despite every effort she made to conquer it as she quickly showered, pulled on black dress jeans, added a singlet top, some faux bling, swept her hair into a casual twist and applied minimum make-up.
Then she caught up her bag, collected keys, locked the apartment and took the lift down to the basement car park. Nervous tension rose up a notch as the doors slid open, and she stepped out and began walking towards her sedan … only to falter fractionally as she caught sight of a tall male figure leaning against the passenger door.
CHAPTER THREE
MARCELLO.
With one hand resting in his trouser pocket, the casual stance portrayed studied indolence … a look she knew to be misleading, for it bore the stamp of a predator awaiting the opportunity to strike.
For a wild second she considered turning back towards the lift. Except she refused to give him the satisfaction.
Besides, it was paramount she collect Nicki from kindergarten.
He wanted a confrontation? She’d darned well give him one!
Shannay lifted her chin and fixed him with a determined look … which presumably had little or no effect, for his position remained unchanged as she drew close.
Her shoulders lifted, she straightened her back and she fearlessly met his dark, almost black eyes.
OK, so she’d start out being civil. ‘Marcello.’
‘Shannay.’
The timbre of his faintly accented voice curled round her nerve-ends and tugged … much to her dismay. She didn’t want to be affected by him, nor did she want any reminder of what they’d shared.
Which was a travesty, given the fact that they had Nicki’s existence as living proof!
‘This is a private car park.’
One eyebrow slanted in open mockery. ‘Next, you’ll ask how I accessed entry.’
‘I don’t have time for idle conversation.’ She made a point of checking her watch.
‘Then we should get straight to the point.’
His drawled response rankled, and she determinedly ignored the icy chill scudding the length of her spine.
‘Which is?’ As if she didn’t know!
Eyes as dark as sin became hard and implacable. ‘My daughter.’
His raking appraisal was unsettling, and she made a concentrated effort to strengthen her resolve.
‘The father is not listed on her birth certificate.’
A protective choice at the time, and, she had to admit, motivated by an act of defiance.
‘I’ve accessed hospital records,’ Marcello enlightened with deadly softness. ‘Nicki was born full-term. Which narrows down the time of her conception to around six weeks before you left Madrid.’
She knew what was coming, and she closed her eyes as if the action would prevent the damning words he would inevitably relay.
‘I’ve authorised a DNA paternity test through a private biolab.’ He waited a beat. ‘They have my sample, and require one from Nicki, preferably within the next twenty-four hours.’ A muscle bunched at his jaw. ‘I have the requisite paperwork for you to sign.’
She wanted to hit him … hard, preferably where it would hurt the most.
‘No.’ Her voice was terse as she battled with her anger, and his eyes hardened.
‘You refuse permission?’
‘Yes, damn you!’
‘Then I file for custody, and it gets ugly.’
The chilling finality in his voice succeeded in sending a wave of fear washing through Shannay’s body.
He could command the finest legal brains in the country to present a case in his favour.
No surprise there. It was a measure of the man to ensure every detail was in place before he struck.
‘You bastard.’
One eyebrow lifted in a gesture of deliberate cynicism. ‘No descriptive adjectives, Shannay?’
‘Too many,’ she owned grimly, hating him more than she’d hated anyone in her life.
‘Your call. You have twenty-four hours to provide me with your decision.’
Her eyes sparked dark fire.