switch topics of discussion. It was only what she’d expected. Men like Damon did not while away the time talking about paintings. They mentioned them as a lead-in to getting what they wanted. Another reminder not to let down her guard.
Instead, she began thinking through the question and implications. This exhibition was almost over and she’d be going into detailed planning of her next project—a good time to take a day or two off if necessary to organize legal documentation for their wedding. “What do you have in mind?”
He rocked back on his heels, all casual confidence. “We fly out to New Zealand in three days, exchange vows and fly back. You’ll need a week off work to cover the flights and a couple of days there.”
Her stomach lurched. She seemed to have missed a step. “New Zealand?”
He lifted his shoulders then dropped them in a confident gesture. “Much quicker than waiting for the paperwork to go through in Australia. I originally considered Las Vegas, but decided the shorter flights to and from Auckland will be better for the baby.”
A group of gallery patrons gathered about the Monet so, feet on autopilot, Lily moved away toward the middle of the room. Damon followed.
Her mind whirred too fast for any one thought to be clear. She needed time; he was moving so fast. It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours since she’d agreed to marry him, and now here he was, asking her to leave the country in three days.
Her lungs labored to draw in enough oxygen. “Can I think about it?”
“Sure.” One corner of his mouth lifted in an incomparable show of self-satisfaction. “I’ve already booked the flights so there’s no rush to secure seats.”
The world stilled as a strong sense of déjà vu settled over her. This was what it’d been like to be involved with Damon Blakely the last time. She sometimes wondered why she hadn’t seen these warning signs when they’d first met. The cavalier attitude to other people’s plans and choices. The belief he knew better, that his decisions weighed more than those of mere mortals. The same warning signs her mother should have noticed in her father.
Defensive anger rose to fill her chest. “You booked tickets without checking with me first?”
The best seats, too, she knew without asking. The man had gall for an expensive gamble like that. But then he wouldn’t have seen it as a gamble—he always got what he wanted.
He lowered his voice and his eyes darkened, the pupils expanding to almost meet the black ring around his ice-blue irises. “This is a priority for both of us. We need to make sure our baby is legitimate.”
The anger dissolved as quickly as it’d arrived, leaving her deflated, empty. He was right. They did need to ensure the baby was legitimate for the terms of the will. She’d cede on this one point, but only because it made sense, not because of his tactics.
“I’ll need to check with the gallery director.” She shook her head and began heading for the staff offices, Damon almost a step ahead even when she led. “I’ll let you know by tonight.”
He dropped a casual arm around her shoulders, which she knew would be more to stop her walking in another direction than a gesture of affection. “Come to my place after work and tell me what you’ve arranged. You haven’t seen my new house yet.” His voice had deepened into black velvet.
He’d changed tactics, turned on the charm. Her mind could acknowledge the game plan in this move but her body reacted to the timbre of his voice with primal hunger down low in her belly.
The gleam in his eye told her he knew exactly the effect he was causing. He pressed his advantage, fingers caressing the exposed skin of her upper arm where his hand hung. She kept walking, trying desperately to control her rampant hormones that urged her to turn to him, to let him charm and seduce her, no matter the cost.
But no, the stakes were too high now. His agenda wouldn’t have their baby as first priority and that was the only agenda she could approve at the moment.
She stiffened and pointedly tipped her chin to his hand as it lazily stroked her sensitized skin.
Never slow on the uptake, Damon dropped his arm—but let it trace a lazy path down her back as he did so.
Damon always held himself in such control she wondered for the hundredth time if he’d shown any genuine feeling—besides desire—in all their time together.
Dismissing the thought, she waited for the next tactic he’d pull out of the bag. The wait was short.
“Melissa is cooking pasta tonight.” His tone was casual, as if he were doing her a favor. “She’d love to see you again.”
Lily thought of Damon’s housekeeper with her bush of light brown curls and ready smile. “I’d like to see her again, too, but I’m pretty tired these days after work.”
She was past the morning sickness stage and now the main side effect of her pregnancy seemed to be fatigue. Besides, she needed as much distance from Damon as she could get. Distance seemed to be the only effective strategy in resisting him, and even then its value was questionable. “I’d rather ring and have an early night.”
Immediately, his expression morphed into concern and he swung around in front of her, blocking her path. “Are you getting enough rest?” He clasped her elbow. “Perhaps this job is too much for you in your condition.”
Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, she hooked the sides of her hair behind her ears and took a deep breath before answering. “Damon, I’m fine. I’m a little tired from the pregnancy, but nothing to be alarmed about. I’m more than capable of doing my job.”
Though the thought had crossed her mind that if she was this tired at three and a half months, how would she cope at eight months? Or after the birth when she’d be struggling with disrupted sleep? She had no experience of babies, of motherhood, and that deficiency scared her.
He considered a moment then nodded with deceptive slowness. “Fair enough. I’ll bring Melissa’s pasta to you. What time will you get home?”
Her heart pinched tight. Despite his high-handed manner, it was nice to have someone other than her grandmother worry about her—even if it was only to guard an investment. So she smiled her gratitude even as she rejected his offer. “I’ll be fine. I made a big pot of soup last night and there’s some still in the fridge. I’ll heat that.”
She sidestepped him and continued toward the restricted access area.
Without missing a beat, he was beside her, matching her strides. “Soup? Does that have everything a baby needs?”
A gallery staff member walked past and waved. Damon watched Lily wave back but felt her tense beside him and instinctively knew her reaction was about his question not the colleague. He frowned. She didn’t like him helping?
She kept walking. “I appreciate your concern, but I can look after myself.” Her voice was calm and only a tinge of exasperation laced her words. “And now I have to go back to work.” They’d arrived at the doors to staff offices. “So if you’ll excuse me, I’ll call you tonight.”
He nodded, watched her swipe her security badge and walk through the door.
She was wrong.
