Текст книги "A Scandal, A Secret, A Baby "

Автор книги: Sharon Kendrick

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 14 страниц) [доступный отрывок для чтения: 6 страниц]

‘You know, we’ll need to get him a passport as soon as possible,’ Dante said suddenly. ‘If we’re taking him to Tuscany.’

Justina realised that they’d slipped seamlessly from talking about a hypothetical trip to Tuscany to acquiring a passport for the journey—and wasn’t that Dante all over? He would always try stealth before he tried coercion but the end result was always the same: he got exactly what he wanted.

* * *

Their journey plans were set in motion and Justina went shopping for new clothes, since none of her own seemed right. She wanted to wear something normal and flattering after months of being swaddled in loose clothes, but it was more than that. The last time she’d seen Signora D’Arezzo had been at the height of her fame, when she had very definitely been dressed like a pop star. She’d been into glitter and pizazz and making a statement—but nearly six years down the line her tastes had changed. She still bought trendy, but these days she gravitated towards the less garish.

She loaded up her shopping basket with silk and cashmere and splashed out on some new underwear, telling herself that she was only buying it because her shape had changed. But she felt a flare of colour in her cheeks as her fingers drifted over a lacy thong and she imagined Dante removing it.

Loaded down with baby equipment, they travelled to a private airfield north of London, where the D’Arezzo jet was ready and waiting. They left England on a drizzly day and touched down in Tuscany, where only a few faint clouds floated in an azure sky, and Justina tried to remember the last time she’d had anything approaching a holiday.

At Pisa airport they were whisked straight through the various border controls with the kind of adulation which Justina hadn’t witnessed since she’d been on the road with the Lollipops. But then, Dante was on his own territory here, she reminded herself. People knew him. They revered and respected him. The D’Arezzo family had lived in the region for centuries, and his aristocratic air had never been more evident than when people stopped to compliment him on the baby.

Yet she felt wistful as she watched him carry Nico through, while officials beamed and touched the baby’s raven curls. And she noticed the sideways looks which greeted her as she followed in his footsteps—the glances at the fingers of her left hand, noticeably bare of a wedding ring or any kind of show of commitment from Dante D’Arezzo.

Perhaps they think I’m the nanny, thought Justina as they walked out to a waiting car. She touched the heavy silk of the jacket she was wearing over black skinny jeans as if to remind herself of who she really was. This was a jacket she’d paid for herself—not gone crawling to a man for an allowance to finance it. She was self-supporting and she should be proud of that.

‘You okay?’ questioned Dante, looking up from where he’d just finished buckling Nico into a baby car-seat.

‘I’m fine,’ she said, trying to ignore the butterfly nerves which were building in her stomach.

‘You look amazing,’ he said softly as the car pulled away.

His statement caught her by surprise and Justina glanced up, slightly appalled to hear herself trotting out that most predictable of responses. ‘Do I?’

‘You certainly do. Nobody would ever guess you’d had a baby so recently.’

‘Until they see the baby, of course,’ she said pleasantly, trying to ignore the instinctive sizzle of her skin. She told herself that he was good at making a woman feel as if she was the centre of the universe—heaven only knew he’d had enough practice at it. He’s a player, she reminded herself, and all players do that. He went to bed with someone barely a week after your engagement had broken down. That is not the behaviour of a man who professed to love you and only you.

She thought about all the things which remained unsaid between them. That strange intimacy which they’d shared during the birth, when Dante had been there for her in a way she’d never imagined he could. He’d been strong and protective and gentle, and in those highly emotional moments she’d felt close to him again. She had thought she wouldn’t want him there, but now she didn’t like to imagine what it might have been like if he hadn’t been.

But there were other things which also remained unsaid—things she wasn’t proud of. Neither of them had mentioned that erotic encounter on the sofa, after which he had just walked out of the door as if nothing very remarkable had happened. And he hadn’t made any move on her since, had he? Even now that her body had pinged back into shape and she’d begun to forge her own routine around Nico, Dante still hadn’t looked at her with anything approaching desire.

She kept telling herself that having no physical intimacy made sense on every level. It was too easy to build dreams when a man was making love to you... But that didn’t stop her wanting him or being so aware of him. As if her body had been programmed to react with excitement whenever he was close.

Turning her head, she stared out the window as the car drove past high green mountains and tried to concentrate on the beauty of the Tuscan countryside. All she had to do was be a good mother to her baby—that was the most important thing.

Before long, the motorway gave way to more rural roads, and although it had been over five years since she’d last been here Justina was surprised by how familiar it all seemed. The D’Arezzo home wasn’t immediately visible from the road—mainly because the gardens and estate had been planted so that it would blend into the land around it. A long drive led up to the house and behind it soared more green hills, studded with ancient olive trees and a variety of fruit orchards, and lower down were the prize-winning D’Arezzo vines themselves.

The palazzo grew closer, with its dark golden walls and its shuttered windows. Justina stared up at its clock tower and all the different wings which had been added over the years and couldn’t fail to be impressed—just as she’d been the first time she’d set eyes on it. Here lay centuries of stability and continuity and a definite place in the local community. It was something she’d never had herself, and a lump rose in her throat as she realised that this was not just Dante’s heritage but Nico’s, too. That his blood made him part of this place and she had no right to deny him that heritage.

The big car came to a halt in the courtyard, and she was surprised to see Dante’s mother waiting for them. In the past, the housekeeper had greeted them, and the meeting with Beatrix D’Arezzo had been postponed until the formal pre-dinner drinks.

Justina watched as Dante carried Nico towards his mother and hung back a little as she saw Beatrix lean eagerly towards the baby. Saw her touch his cheek with wondering fingers before exclaiming, ‘Caspita, e uguale a suo padre!’

Justina smiled as Beatrix came forward to greet her. Her crash course in Italian years earlier might have only left her with a rudimentary grasp of the language, but she understood the gist of that. Baby Nico was certainly the image of his father!

‘Justina!’ said Signora D’Arezzo with a smile. ‘Welcome back. And congratulations on the birth of such a beautiful little boy.’

The words sounded genuine and Justina nodded, acutely aware that Dante was watching her.

‘Mille grazie, Signora D’Arezzo,’ she answered, and then she smiled back. ‘He’s gorgeous, isn’t he?’

‘Gorgeous, indeed, and the image of his father at the same age!’ said Beatrix indulgently. ‘But you look tired, Justina. Travelling is always tiring—especially for such a new mother. Would you like to see your rooms, so that you can all settle in?’

Justina gave a grateful smile. ‘That sounds perfect. Thank you.’

‘Dante?’ Signora D’Arezzo turned to her son and said something in Italian before turning back to Justina. ‘We haven’t had a baby here for a long time, but we will do our best to make you feel at home.’

It was Beatrix’s kindness which was affecting her more than anything, Justina realised as she nodded her thanks. Or maybe it was more complex than that—because Signora D’Arezzo was exhibiting a motherliness towards her which she wasn’t used to. Her mother had never been big on hugging—unless it involved a man with a big wallet. She’d treated her daughter more like an adornment than a real person—and hadn’t that been one of the things which had made Justina determined to be as hands-on as possible with her own son, determined that he should feel her love from the start?

She followed Dante as he carried the baby through the winding corridors of the ancient villa before stopping before an enormous set of wooden doors. Inside, the main room was tall and arched, lined with ancient books on one wall and with a huge fireplace big enough to roast a hog in. Windows on three sides overlooked the undulating Tuscan landscape, and Justina gave a sigh of pleasure.

‘Like it?’ asked Dante.

‘Who could fail to like it?’ She looked at the paintings and the dark furniture, the silken rugs on the cool floor. ‘It’s the kind of place people dream of visiting.’

He pointed to an open door through which she could see an antique cot on which sat a battered-looking teddy bear.

‘Nico’s going to go in there. Obviously.’ He smiled. ‘Would you like to see where we’ll be sleeping?’

At first Justina pretended she had misheard him. But her heart started to race as he pushed open an adjoining door, where a large room was dominated by one enormous bed.

‘We’re sharing a room?’ She gave a light laugh. ‘Are you serious?’

‘Totally serious.’ The shrug of his shoulders was unapologetic. ‘My mother is making an effort to be modern, and she has put us in together because she thinks we’re a couple now.’

‘And you haven’t bothered to enlighten her that we’re not?’

‘I haven’t told her that we find ourselves here as a result of a one-night stand, if that’s what you mean.’

His assessment was brutal—was that deliberate?—and it hurt. ‘How ironic that when we were here as a couple we were at opposite ends of the house,’ she observed, swallowing down the sudden lump in her throat. ‘Meaning that you had to come creeping into my room at the dead of night.’

‘I don’t remember you objecting too much at the time, tesoro. As I recall, the subterfuge rather turned you on.’

Justina bit back the objection which had sprung to her lips, because it hadn’t been the subterfuge which had turned her on—it had been him. Dante had only used to look at her and she would be melting with desire. She met the mockery in his eyes and the sudden flip in her stomach made her realise that nothing very much had changed. He could still turn her on with just a look—and wasn’t that dangerous, given this new proximity? On one level she was honest enough to admit to herself that she was desperate to have sex with him again, but on another she knew that it would be complete madness.

Nico stirred and she held out her arms for him, relieved to be able to press her burning cheek onto his downy little head. ‘I’d better feed him,’ she said.

Dante nodded. He had seen the look of confusion which had clouded her amber eyes and he wondered how hard she was going to fight him. And fight herself. ‘Why not go over there?’ he said, indicating an old rocking chair which sat in front of one of the windows. ‘While I unpack.’

Justina carried Nico over to the window, crooning a little as she did so, before unbuttoning her silk shirt and latching him on to her breast. She’d never sat in a rocking chair before, and the creaking rhythm was oddly soothing. It made her feel timeless—and safe. Dreamily, she stroked the baby’s head as he fed, and in the background she could hear the sounds of Dante pulling open drawers and shutting wardrobes.

By the time she was finishing he had returned and was standing watching her. His eyes were as soft and dark as molten jet and suddenly she felt almost shy. But how could she possibly feel shy in view of everything that had happened between them?

She tried for flippant instead. ‘What do you think you’re looking at?’

‘At you. You look unbelievable. Like a Madonna. A Madonna in skinny jeans.’

‘Will you stop it?’ She could feel her cheeks getting hotter by the second. ‘I’m busy feeding your son.’

‘And you do it so well.’

‘It’s a biological function, Dante,’ she said drily. ‘Every woman does it.’

But every woman did not do it. Dante knew that. And once again Justina had surprised him. Hadn’t he thought that she would be itching to wean Nico and leave him in the care of a nanny, so that she could concentrate on her songwriting? But she hadn’t. She had embraced motherhood with an enthusiasm he could never have envisaged. And wasn’t that what made this whole scenario seem almost miraculous? Justina sitting in a rocking chair at the D’Arezzo palazzo, feeding their baby. She looked light years away from the black-eyed temptress who had once strutted the stage to the appreciative roars of thousands of fans.

He continued to watch as she settled Nico down, but he sensed a certain restraint about her as she moved away from the cot—as if she’d also moved away from her comfort zone. And he didn’t want her uptight. He wanted her soft and giving—the way he’d been fantasising about for too long now.

‘The bathroom’s through there,’ he said. ‘You might want to go and freshen up.’

Glad to escape from his unsettling scrutiny, Justina went into the bathroom, where she stripped off and stood beneath the warm torrents of water and tried to put Dante out of her mind—easier said than done when desire kept straying into her mind with dark and dangerous thoughts. And she couldn’t hide in the shower all day.

She wandered back into the bedroom, clad only in a towel and found Dante standing there, his expression unfathomable as he watched her walk in. She supposed she should say something on the lines of I didn’t know you’d be here—except that would have been a lie. Where else would he be when they were supposed to be sharing a bedroom?

‘Is Nico okay?’ she questioned awkwardly.

For a moment he didn’t move, and when eventually he nodded Justina could see that his powerful body looked as tense as she felt.

‘Fast asleep. Want to see?’

Nodding, she followed him into the adjoining bedroom, where their son lay sleeping in the antique cot, the wood very dark against the pristine whiteness of the bedclothes. For a moment she just stood and watched the steady rise and fall of his little chest, marvelling at the thought of the tiny heart which beat within it and the fact that she and Dante had created this living miracle between them. Out of one reckless act of passion this beautiful little child had been born.

And what of Nico’s life? she wondered suddenly. Would he suffer as she had suffered because a man and a woman had come together as she and Dante had done? Not thinking about the consequences of their actions, thinking of nothing but the heat of the moment and the overwhelming lure of desire? Growing up, she had hated her own illegitimacy, and yet now she had bequeathed that same pain to her child.

With a strangled little sound she turned and walked back into the bedroom, scarcely aware that Dante was close behind her. At least not until his hand had reached out to her bare shoulder and was turning her round.

‘Justina? What’s wrong?’

She shook her head. How could she admit to the great cauldron of insecurity which was bubbling away inside her when all she could think about was the burn of his fingers on her bare flesh?

‘This is wrong—this whole farce of us coming here with our baby and being put in this room together as if we’re all some kind of happy family,’ she said desperately, shaking his hand away. ‘We’re wrong!’

‘No!’

His voice was fierce as he pulled her into his arms, his voice unsteady as he pressed his face close to hers. So close that she could feel the heat of his breath fanning over her skin.

‘We have never been wrong. How can it possibly be wrong when it feels like this whenever I touch you?’

‘Dante—’

‘Kiss me,’ he growled. ‘And then tell me again that we’re wrong. Do that and I’ll never lay another finger on you.’

She opened her mouth to say that was cheating. That she didn’t want to kiss him. But that would have been a lie. Because hadn’t she wanted this all along? Deep down hadn’t she been yearning for this—the hard pressure of his kiss and her own urgent response to it? Hungrily, her lips sought his, and he tugged at the towel and let it slither to the floor, so that she was completely naked.

For a moment he pulled away so that he could look at her, sucking in a breath as his gaze burned over her, and she was so lost in the moment and the way he was making her feel that she did nothing. She could feel her nipples springing to life beneath his hungry scrutiny, and the melting desire which was pooling insistently at the fork of her thighs.

‘Dante,’ she breathed. ‘This is...’

‘Inevitable,’ he bit out, as he began to tug at his belt. ‘It’s been inevitable for a long time now. Because you are beautiful. The most beautiful woman I have ever seen. And I am aching for you. I am crazy for you, tesoro.’

No, this was crazy, she thought. Dante was talking with an emotion she hadn’t heard in a long time and stripping off his clothes with ruthless efficiency, while she just stood there and watched him! She bit her lip as she saw his erection springing free, and a rush of desire flooded over her as he splayed his hands over her bare hips and pulled her down onto the bed.

‘Dante,’ she whispered, ‘we can’t do this.’

‘Want to bet?’

‘But your family,’ she said desperately.

‘Dinner isn’t for hours.’

‘But—’

‘No more buts, Justina. Especially when we both know you don’t really mean them. Don’t you realise this is siesta time and you’re in Italy now?’

His lips were trailing fire as they brushed over her neck and her eyes closed as her head fell back against the pillow. ‘Oh,’ she said indistinctly.

‘I want to kiss every inch of you,’ he breathed. ‘I want to touch every part of your body. Do you know that?’

Now his finger was stroking its way over her breast, teasing over the aching mound until it alighted with teasing precision on the nipple. ‘I... Oh...’

‘Your breasts are bigger than they used to be.’

‘And do you...do you approve?’

He smiled against her lips. ‘Mmm. One hundred percent.’

His finger had moved down over her belly and quickly she sucked it in. ‘Dante!’

‘Relax. Why are you holding your breath like that?’

‘Because my breasts aren’t the only things which are bigger. My stomach is huge!’

He laid the flat of his hand over the slight cushioning of her flesh. ‘Your stomach is perfect. Just as you are perfect.’

‘No, I’m not.’

‘Will you shut up and come here?’

He bent his head to kiss her and Justina could feel herself almost drowning in the sweetness of that kiss and the things he had just said to her. He thought she was perfect! She clung to him as his fingers drifted to her bare knee and then made an almost careless journey up her thigh. He skated teasing little circles there until she was gasping, and then his finger flicked against her sticky heat and she gasped some more. And suddenly his possession became more important than immediate pleasure. She wanted to feel him. She wanted him deep inside her again.

‘Dante...’ she whispered.

‘What?’ he whispered back.

‘Please.’

‘Can’t wait any longer?’

‘N-no.’

‘Me neither, tesoro. Me neither.’

She held her breath as he moved over her, and the world seemed to stand still as he entered her with one deep and possessive thrust. She felt a great warmth suffuse her, and the breath she’d been holding escaped. She thought she felt him smile against her lips before starting to kiss her again. And Justina let go. Suddenly it was easy to let go. To forget about what had brought them here and concentrate instead on the way he was making her feel.

‘Oh,’ she breathed again.

Through the dark mists of his own pleasure he managed to get words out. ‘Does that hurt?’

‘God, no. It feels...incredible.’

‘I know it does. For me, too.’ He closed his eyes as he lost himself in the rhythm. He’d thought that the sex would be different, and it was—just not in the way he’d imagined. Justina was as tight and delectable as she’d ever been, but it felt... Dante groaned. It felt more than sex had ever felt before. Something which went deeper than physical pleasure. Was that because this body had given birth to his baby—because part of him had grown deep inside her?

He felt her thighs wrap themselves around his back and her fingers digging into his shoulders. He could feel her climax building, and even though he could have come in an instant he held back. He held back even though it nearly killed him—and only when she started to come did he let go and he thought his orgasm was never going to end.

For a while the room was silent, save for the shuddering sounds of air being gulped back into their starved lungs, like two people who had just been saved from drowning. And when their breathing was steady he kissed her for a long time—until the need to yawn became unbearable.

‘Charming,’ she said, stroking a fingertip over the rasp of growth at his jaw as he opened his eyes and looked at her.

‘I do my best,’ he murmured.

She could hear the sleepiness in his voice and for a moment Justina lay in the warm circle of his arms and let sensation ripple over her skin. His lips were pressed against her neck, and in that moment she felt utterly protected. She wanted to tell him that nobody else had ever made her feel this way. She wanted to blurt out the secrets she’d held hidden in her heart for so many years.

But Dante had hurt her. He had hurt her badly. Why would she risk that happening all over again? Why jeopardise everything with an emotional outburst when it was far better to play safe? She needed to protect herself against the threat of heartbreak—as much for Nico’s sake as for her own. Because a heartbroken mother did not make a good mother. She of all people knew that.

So sleep, she told herself. Take this opportunity to rest. You’re tired, you’re a new mother and you’ve got a family dinner to get through tonight.

Dante heard the slowing of her breathing as she snuggled against him and he stared down at the ebony hair which spread like treacle over the pillow. He studied the dark curve of her eyelashes and the paper-pale skin against which they brushed. She was pressed so close that he could feel the beating of her heart, and something like certainty crept over him.

He thought about the baby who lay sleeping in the next room. He thought about the harsh and unequivocal words of his lawyer as he acknowledged one fundamental truth. That he wanted this...this family. Just like she’d said, he wanted it all. Nico. Her. All of them together.

And Justina was going to have to start seeing things his way.

CHAPTER NINE

JUSTINA WOKE ALONE from a restless sleep, where images of green mountains were interwoven with the intimate caress of a man’s strong body and a silence where there should have been a baby’s cry. Startled, she sat bolt upright in bed.

A baby’s cry!

Momentarily disorientated, she looked around, trying to get her bearings, blinking back her faint feeling of disbelief. She was in Dante’s family villa. More accurately, she was in Dante’s bed. She stared down at the empty space beside her. Only he’d gone. Where...?

She jumped out of bed, grabbing at one of the rumpled sheets to wrap it around her naked body before stumbling into the adjoining room to find Nico’s cot empty.

A whimper erupted from her throat as she fought to control a rising feeling of panic. Where was her baby? She rushed back into the bedroom and threw on jeans and a sweater, before slipping her feet into a pair of flip-flops as she ran from the room to look for him.

But the palazzo was vast, and although she called out Dante and Nico’s names in an increasingly concerned voice her calls were met with a resounding silence.

She ran outside, her eyes skating over the horizon, over the distant mountains and the sunlight which was gilding the leaves of the olive trees. Only then did she see him, down among the neat rows of the vines. A tall, dark man pushing a buggy, silhouetted against the classic Tuscan backdrop. Her heart lurched with relief, but she felt the shimmering of something else as she began to run towards them. Something which felt uncomfortably like fear.

‘Dante!’

She saw him stop. Saw him lean down as if he was saying something to the inhabitant of the buggy. And then he straightened up and stood, perfectly still, watching her run towards him until she finally reached them, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

‘What are you doing?’ she demanded, her eyes raking over the cot. Her anxiety was only allayed when she saw that Nico was lying there, sleeping peacefully.

Dante heard the breathless accusation in her voice and something inside him hardened. ‘What does it look like?’ he demanded. ‘I brought Nico out for a walk in the fresh air.’

Her fears—which had seemed so real—now began to evaporate. ‘I thought...’

‘What did you think, Justina?’ he questioned acidly. ‘That I’d kidnapped our son?’

In the beauty of the Tuscan afternoon her response now seemed faintly ridiculous. ‘I woke up alone.’

‘I thought you could use the sleep.’

‘I’ve...’ She struggled to explain, wanting to wipe that cold, hard look from his face. ‘It’s all been a bit of an adjustment. Not just coming here, but getting used to having a baby around. This is the first time since he’s been born that he hasn’t been...’ She sucked in a deep breath. ‘That he hasn’t been there when I’ve woken.’

Slowly Dante nodded as he acknowledged what lay behind her behaviour, but he also knew that her actions were motivated by something that went much deeper than maternal anxiety. He had never wanted nor asked for the judgement of a woman until now, but for the first time in his life he could see that he needed to give voice to the one question which had remained unspoken.

‘Don’t you trust me, Justina?’ he asked quietly.

Justina looked at him. She knew what she should say. She should tell him that, yes, of course she trusted him—because wouldn’t that smooth things over? He would smile, and then they would kiss, and then make a fuss of Nico. And to anyone watching from the house they would look like the perfect family. But this wasn’t some sort of play, she reminded herself. This was real life—and being in bed with him this afternoon had made some of her defences come tumbling down. She couldn’t keep hiding from the truth simply because it was painful. Dante had asked her an unexpectedly honest question which deserved nothing but an honest answer.

‘Actually, no,’ she said. ‘Not really.’

He stilled, because somehow hadn’t he expected—hoped for—a different response? ‘So me being there for you during the birth and afterwards counts for nothing?’

Her gaze was steady. ‘I didn’t realise you were doing it to score Brownie points.’

‘I wasn’t,’ he defended, indignation catching in his throat as he looked at her long dark hair which was blowing in the breeze. And suddenly he wanted to make it very clear to her exactly where he stood on the subject of other women. ‘Don’t you realise that I haven’t looked at another woman since I met you again at Roxy’s wedding?’

‘How would I know that?’ she asked quietly. ‘I’m not a mind-reader.’

‘Let me tell you what it was like when I saw you again after all those years,’ he said slowly. ‘You blew me away—just like you did before. I couldn’t get you out of my mind. I kept telling myself to stay away from you. That we were bad for each other. I knew that. Only the temptation to come and find you was eating away at me.’

She didn’t say anything, because his words didn’t sound like affection or anything close to it. They sounded like addiction. Was Dante addicted to the emotional danger which had always existed between them? Was she?

‘And then I discovered you were pregnant,’ he said. ‘And my desire very quickly became anger. Anger that you didn’t bother to tell me. That you were prepared to keep me in the dark about the fact I was going to be a father.’

‘Surely you can understand why I did that?’

‘Not really, no. Was it power that made you keep it secret?’ he questioned. ‘Or control?’

Standing silhouetted against the dying apricot light of the Tuscan day, Justina thought that she had never seen him looking more indomitable, and yet his inherent arrogance almost took her breath away.

‘I’m amazed you can say all that to me with a straight face,’ she said. ‘You told me that it was never meant to be anything more than a one-night stand—so why would I foist on you the repercussions of that meeting? You were going to have a baby with a woman you despised. No...please.’ She lifted her hand as he opened his mouth to speak. ‘Let me finish, because it’s important. I thought that a baby would be the last thing you wanted and so I didn’t tell you. I can see now that was wrong, but I was trying to be independent.’

‘Of course you were.’

She ignored the sardonic note which had hardened his voice. ‘I should have given you a choice about how much involvement you wanted instead of assuming that you wanted none.’

‘Or was that what you wanted, Justina?’ His voice was silky-soft now. ‘For me not to have any contact with our child?’

She looked into his eyes. Weren’t lies sometimes kinder than the truth? She knew it would be easier all round if she just denied it. Yet she also knew that they had passed the point of twisting the truth in order to spare each other’s feelings. ‘Of course it’s what I wanted,’ she said. ‘I didn’t want you back in my life in any way. You bring with you too many complications, Dante.’

Dante heard the cool determination in her voice and saw the candid gaze from her eyes. Her words hurt far more than he had expected them to, but her honesty was curiously refreshing. It told him exactly where he stood and it told him just what he needed to do. ‘I guess that pretty much concludes all we need to say on the subject of paternity,’ he said. ‘Maybe we should now do something inherently civilised—like going inside to drink some coffee.’