what purpose?’ she demanded. Anger rose to the fore, darkening her eyes. ‘I live in France, you reside in New York.’
‘Samuel is a Cristopoulis. He has a heritage,’ Dimitri endorsed with quiet savagery. ‘I intend to ensure he claims it.’
‘With you?’ She was like a runaway train, unable to stop. ‘What are you going to do, Dimitri? Engage a nanny during Samuel’s visits? Maybe look in on him as he sleeps when you leave your apartment in the morning, and again when you return long after his bedtime?’ She picked up her napkin and thrust it on the table. ‘Is that your idea of parental visitation rights?’ She rose to her feet and gathered her purse. ‘Hell will freeze over before I’ll allow it.’
He watched her with interest, admiring the fire, the sheer will beneath her fury. A mother defending and protecting her own, he mused.
The waiter chose that moment to deliver the main course, only to stand poised as he sensed the onset of a scene.
Chantelle turned away from the table, only to have her escape forestalled as Dimitri’s hand closed over her wrist.
She tried to wrench her hand free, and failed miserably. Fury pitched her voice low. ‘Let me go.’
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