Сандра Хьятт – The Magnate’s Baby Promise / Having the Billionaire's Baby: The Magnate’s Baby Promise / Having the Billionaire's Baby (страница 2)

Stupid.

She’d faked everything and he’d vowed never to repeat that failure again.

But this…this changed everything.

He tightened his jaw, teeth grinding together. After making mad, passionate love, Ava had run like a thief in the night. If not for those black bikini knickers he’d found tangled in the sheets, it could have all been just a delicious, erotic dream.

His thoughts spun out of control, fed by heated memories. And as he recalled every sigh, every touch, his shock morphed into something more sinister. Swiftly his mind clicked through options. Chance encounter or deliberate? Perhaps part of a calculated blackmail plan?

His harsh laugh exploded in the quiet office. If the child was his, it provided a neat solution to all his problems.

He slammed down his glass then picked up the phone. “Jenny—arrange for a car and inform the airstrip I’ll be flying within the hour.”

Replacing the receiver with deliberate slowness he stood, a low curse softly rumbling across his lips.

His baby.

Shards of intense possessiveness stabbed, threatening to choke off his air. If Ava thought he’d pay up and stay out of her life, she was very much mistaken. Every single day, in the midst of everything he’d attained, who he was and where he’d come from were never far from his mind. And no long-legged, dark-haired seductress with wide blue eyes would compromise his beliefs.

With gnawing apprehension, Ava realized she had to face facts—Jindalee was spiralling into a money pit and she had no way of stopping it.

She sighed, eyeing the final notices spread before her on the kitchen table. Absently she ran a frustrated hand over the tangle of hair that had slipped from its ponytail. She’d been certain people would jump at the chance to spend time at a real get-away-from-it-all rural retreat, so certain she’d sunk all her parents’ insurance money into the venture. She’d converted the homestead into a reception and dining area, built a five-cabin extension and refurbished the kitchen.

All to emphasise her spectacular downfall.

Her rooms were empty most weekends and she didn’t have the money or experience to keep on advertising. Despite her fierce determination to ignore the town gossips, she knew they’d feed on this until her belly started to grow, and then the Gum Tree Falls grapevine would be buzzing anew with “have you heard the latest on Ava Reilly?”

With burning cheeks she stood, eased out the kink in her back and took a deep breath. Tentatively, she placed a hand on her still-flat stomach.

A baby. Hers.

Wonder and shock tripped her breath, adding a shaky edge to the inhale. She tried to swallow but tears welled in her eyes. Quickly, she dashed them away. She hadn’t gone looking for a one-night stand, yet the stranger had commanded her eyes the instant he’d settled on the bar stool next to hers at Blu Horizon, an exclusive cocktail lounge at Sydney’s Shangri-La Hotel. He’d radiated confidence and wealth as if powered by some inner sun, from every thread of his sharply tailored black suit to the closely cropped, almost military haircut. Yet there was something more, something a little vulnerable beneath that chiselled face, all angles and shadow.

It was only after she’d snuck back to her girlfriend’s place at 2:00 a.m. that she’d discovered the real identity of the man who’d rocked her world. Mr. One-Click, heir apparent to the great Victor Prescott’s vast technology empire. Cal Prescott’s computer software had recently become number one in national sales. Hell, she’d just upgraded her office computer with the latest version.

She snorted at the irony. Cal Prescott was one of the richest men under thirty-five, a man who regularly dated supermodels and socialites. He was a man who avoided emotional entanglements, who revelled in his bachelor lifestyle. If working long hours and staying single was an Olympic event, he’d have a cupboard full of gold medals.

It was a good thing you left. A smart choice. The right choice. Still, a tiny doubt niggled. How could she single-handedly bring a baby into her life, a debt-ridden life to which she could add the grim possibility of being homeless, too?

She’d wavered between absolute joy and utter despair a million times this past week. And every time she always returned to one realization: fate. Karma. Destiny. Whatever it was called, the universe was telling her that despite everything, this baby was meant to be.

Ava Rose, life never throws anything your way you’re not capable of handling. Her mother’s favourite phrase teased her mouth into a too-brief smile before the familiar throb of loss hit. She let it sit there for a second before shoving it aside. Death and tragedy hadn’t defeated her before. A new life wouldn’t now.

She dropped her hands to the table and gathered up the papers. The pity party’s over. It was time to take action and get her life back on track. Somehow.

“Doing your paperwork, I see.”

Ava whirled, her brain tingling at the sound of that oh-so-delicious voice. A millisecond later, her stomach fell to the floor.

Cal Prescott stood in the doorway, broad and immaculately dressed in a dark grey suit, a chilly gleam in his eyes. Those eyes, once so intensely passionate, now so cold and distant that she wondered if she’d just imagined that night in Sydney two months ago. Those same eyes had creased with serious concentration as they’d shared hot, wet kisses in the privacy of his Shangri-La Hotel penthouse suite. Flared with hunger as he’d slipped her dress from her shoulders—

She slammed the door on those memories, barely managing a croak. “Cal.”

“Ava.” Cal’s voice, a slow-burning rasp that had turned her on so quickly, so completely, was the same, but little else was. His face was a study in frozen control, eyes reflecting only an impersonal, razor-sharp study as he remained still, somehow dwarfing her kitchen even from the relative safety of the doorway.

She was alone with Cal Prescott. Again.

The air thickened, heavy with expectation. A warm throb started up between her legs as she swallowed a single desperate groan.

“What…” She croaked then cleared her throat. “What are you doing here?”

His lip curled but he said nothing, a broad, tense statue intent on letting the moment swirl and grow. She steeled herself as his eyes flickered over her in thorough scrutiny, gathering up her dignity with a smoothing of her wayward hair. Yet his eyes followed those fluttery movements until she firmly jammed her hands in her back pockets.

He snorted, a sound so full of contempt that Ava took a cautious step backwards.

“Are you pregnant with my child?”

Ava grabbed the edge of the kitchen counter, reeling from the blow. How could he know? She’d barely had time to get used to it herself. She’d driven into Parkes for an over-the-counter test, then followed up at a free clinic. She’d told no one, not even Aunt Jillian.

She opened her mouth but nothing came out. Like an idiot she just stood there, blinking in shock.

“Who…how..?” She finally managed.

“Do not play the innocent, Ava.” His eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening imperceptibly. “Now answer me.”

The subtle threat behind his silky words, the fury reflected in every tightened muscle, was all too clear. Ava felt her cheeks flush and just like that, she snapped.

“Do you think I planned this? I didn’t even know who you were until after I—” she paused.

“Ran away?” He finished, his eyes way too perceptive.

She crossed her arms, refusing to let him see he’d struck a nerve. Yet her mind raced a million miles an hour until something finally clicked. “That’s why you’re here. You think I want money from you.” Bile rose in her throat, acrid and burning. “Get out of my kitchen,” she ground out.

“I’m not going anywhere. Is the baby mine?”

For one heartbeat, she seriously considered lying, but just as quickly rejected it. Apart from the fact she was a terrible liar, she wouldn’t. Not about something this important. So with fear of the unknown fluttering in her belly, she slowly nodded. “Yes, Cal. It’s yours.”

He paused. “A paternity test will prove it.”

“Yes,” she said firmly. “It will.”

His cold mask cracked, morphing into an expression so raw that she had to take a step back from the intensity.

He strode to her, the distance between them evaporating into an excruciating invasion of her comfort zone. He was Cal Prescott, and he was there, right there and amazingly, the urge to touch him, to smell him, thundered through her senses. She wanted to melt right into his very bones until she couldn’t tell where she finished and he started.

Anger poured off him, slamming into her, breaking through her thoughts. Then with a soft curse he abruptly whirled, shoving a hand through his hair, leaving short, tufted peaks in its wake. Hair that emphasised his ruthlessly angular face and framed those rich brown eyes to perfection. It was a face so achingly distant, one that screamed control and power in every muscle, every line.

“What do you want?” He demanded now, pinning her with sharp intensity.

Instinctively she placed a hand over her belly, which only succeeded in drawing his attention. Abruptly she shoved her hands back in her jean pockets. “From you? Nothing.”