The Heir From Nowhere by Trish Morey Page B

at him now, at this dark mountain of a man, his eyes black with resentment for her, his hands curled into fists by his sides and she wanted to weep for him, weep at the unfairness that had resulted in her being the one to bear his child, weep for the trauma instead of the joy that should have accompanied this child’s existence.
    The sting of tears became too much and moisture soon dewed her eyes and spilled over onto her cheeks. She’d been so quick to judge him without knowing all the facts.
    ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, reaching out a hand to his arm.
    ‘No!’ He yanked his arm away before she’d barely brushed it with her fingertips. ‘I don’t want your pity!’
    She reeled away. She should have known he’d take anything she said the wrong way. She seemed to bring out the worst in him. She seemed unable to stop herself. ‘What would you prefer me to admit? That I’m actually relieved to learn you’re not making some kind of underhanded custody bid by locking me away here?’
    His eyes narrowed, lit by the kind of heat that had nothing to do with the sun and everything to do with raw anger. ‘You think me capable of that?’
    She swallowed, blue eyes meeting black. ‘It did cross my mind.’
    ‘You think so little of me, I’m surprised you would even trust me with my own child. Does it gall you now to go through with this?’
    She turned her head away. ‘That’s not up to me.’
    ‘No, it’s not. But still you judge. You think I care more for money than I do for this child. I fall short of expectations because I don’t make nuts and bolts. Instead, Imake money, which is what every damn person making nuts and bolts is trying to make. And yet somehow my success lowers me in your eyes.’
    She shook her head. ‘And you don’t think you judge me? You haven’t stopped judging me since the moment we met. Judging me and damning me and now locking me away in some gilded bloody cage.’
    ‘It’s hardly a cage!’
    ‘And you don’t consider my feelings. I’m not sure I should stay here. Not under the circumstances. Not with your wife gone. It doesn’t feel right.’
    ‘What?’ He slammed one hand down on the car roof alongside her, sending her skywards. ‘First you didn’t want to stay here because my wife might object. Now you won’t stay because she can’t. What are you really worried about, Mrs Cameron—that I might try to jump your skinny bones while you’re under my roof?’
    ‘No!’ Her face was burning up with indignation. Burning up with the stinging barb contained within his words. Jump her skinny bones? No way in the world. ‘You think I’d let you if you tried?’
    ‘Or that after a taste of the high life, you won’t want to go home?’ His skin was drawn tight, tendons cording in his neck while a savage pulse beat at his temple.
    ‘Fat chance. A person would have to be some kind of masochist to want to stay with you. I promise you, if I stay—and that’s a big if—it’s only until this child is born, and then you won’t see me for dust.’
    ‘Good.’ He sniffed and pushed himself away from the car. ‘So we understand each other perfectly, then. You have my assurance I won’t be tempted to take advantage of you and I have your assurance we’re not going to have separation issues in six months’ time. Seems we have the perfect arrangement.’
    Perfect arrangement?
    Or perfect hell?
    And suddenly six months under the same roof with this man didn’t sound like any sort of holiday at all. And still they remained there, glaring at each other, and there was no way she was going to break eye contact first lest he took that as some sort of victory.
    ‘Dominic, you’re here.’ The quietly spoken voice came from behind. He broke eye contact first and Angie rubbed her arms, grateful for the interruption. She turned to see an older woman, slim and smartly dressed. She smiled. ‘And you must be Angelina Cameron. Such a pretty name,’ the woman said, taking both her hands