the air to emphasise his anger. ‘I refuse to be manipulated by you. I want a paternity test and once I’ve proved conclusively that you are a liar, I never want to see you or hear from you again. Do you understand?’
‘How can you be so sure that I’m lying?’ Freya whispered numbly. Clearly Zac’s opinion of her couldn’t sink any lower and she was shocked by how much it hurt. The contempt in his tone made her want to shrivel but pride brought her head up. The silence between them vibrated with a tension that shredded her nerves and she visibly flinched when he swung round and stared at her.
His expression filled her with a curious sense of foreboding and she felt her stomach churn. She could not tear her gaze from the sculpted beauty of his face but his eyes were hard and cold and, despite the stifling warmth of the hospital ward, she shivered.
Zac paused and then said unemotionally, ‘Because I had a vasectomy—years before we met. The truth is, chérie, that it’s medically impossible for Aimee to be my daughter.’
CHAPTER TWO
ZAC watched the shock and confusion on Freya’s face with clinical detachment before he glanced at Aimee. The little girl stared up at him solemnly, her pretty little face surrounded by her mass of curls and her pink cheeks glowing with health. She was not a Deverell, thank God, he thought with quiet certainty. This child would not suffer the way his twin sisters had suffered—victims of the devastating illness that had taken their lives before they were a year old.
He had been a teenager when his mother had given birth to twins. The babies had appeared normal but within a few months both had died from an incurable genetic disorder and after their deaths doctors had warned his parents there was a fifty-per-cent chance that he had also been affected. He had escaped the illness but there was no test available to show if he carried the gene.
The trauma of watching his sisters die and witnessing his parents’ grief had never faded. As an adult he had made the decision that he could not risk the slightest chance of passing on the gene to his own children and had taken the necessary steps to ensure that he would never be a father. The faint regret he’d felt at the time had soon faded and he had moved on, determined to enjoy his life and take advantage of the benefits his billion-pound fortune afforded him.
He couldn’t have children, but why would he want to be tied down to the responsibilities of a family when he could afford fast cars, power boats and all the trappings of his wealth? He enjoyed an endless supply of beautiful women who entertained him briefly before he grew bored and looked around for new pleasures.
Freya had intrigued him for longer than most but he had never viewed her as becoming a permanent feature in his life. It hadn’t occurred to him to mention his vasectomy when she had been his mistress and he felt under no obligation to explain the reason for it now.
Freya stared wildly at Zac, feeling as though the world had actually shifted on its axis. ‘The operation must have failed,’ she croaked, struggling to assimilate his shocking announcement. ‘I don’t understand how it could have happened, but Aimee is your child,’ she insisted desperately.
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Zac snapped irritably. ‘It’s impossible.’ Although that wasn’t strictly true, he acknowledged silently. He’d always known that the procedure carried a one-in-two-thousand chance of reversal, but when Freya had sprung the news of her pregnancy, less than an hour after his security guard, Michel, had seen her with Simon Brooks, he had angrily assumed that she’d been having an affair with the Englishman for weeks and that the baby she was carrying couldn’t possibly be his own. He was still convinced that this was the case and he felt a surge of disgust for Freya and her pathetic excuses.
He would have marginally more respect for her if she stopped lying and admitted that she’d been caught out, he brooded darkly, his lip curling in contempt. She was beautiful—more so, if anything, than she had been two years ago—but beneath her exquisite shell she was rotten to the core and once he had the proof he would have nothing more to do with her.
‘The nurse informed me that you’ve been discharged,’ he said tersely, raking his eyes over Freya’s pale face as he strode towards the door. ‘Hurry up and get dressed. We’re flying to Monaco immediately where I’ll make the necessary arrangements to carry out the DNA test and end this wild speculation once and for all.’
Half an hour later, Freya’s temper was at boiling point. Zac seemed to think he could just waltz back into her life and take over. ‘I am not going to Monaco with you,’ she repeated for the twentieth time as she followed him across the hospital car park and watched him strap Aimee into the child-seat that his secretary had apparently lent him when he’d driven down from London. It was still raining hard and he had turned up the collar of his leather jacket. With his hair slicked back from his face and his black brows lowered in an ominous scowl he looked more gorgeous than ever and she groaned silently at her body’s traitorous response to him.
He was mean, moody and magnificent, she thought bleakly, not to mention the most arrogant, overbearing man she had ever met. Two years ago he had swept her away on his boat and straight into his bed. She had given him her virginity but he had stolen her heart, she thought sadly. After a lifetime devoid of any emotional security she had willingly become his mistress, but his cruel rejection had almost destroyed her and she could not risk returning to the place where she had once been so happy.
‘I agree that we need to do a paternity test,’ she said when he made no reply. ‘But why can’t we do it here in England? I don’t want to go anywhere with you.’
‘Tough.’ Zac checked Aimee was secure and then opened the driver’s door and slid into the car. ‘I have an urgent meeting with the Deverell board tomorrow at the Monaco office and so it’s more convenient for me to have it done in my private clinic at home. Get in the car,’ he snapped testily when she continued to stand outside in the rain. ‘I’ve chartered a private jet and my pilot can’t wait all day.’
Freya glowered at him as she climbed reluctantly into the passenger seat. Her heart was thumping painfully in her chest and she wished she had the nerve to snatch Aimee and run. The torrential rain, her injured wrist and the bitter knowledge that he could effortlessly outmatch her in speed and strength made her stay put, but she edged as far away as possible from him once inside the car and stared pointedly out of the window.
‘You’ll have to give me directions to your flat,’ he said when he turned out of the hospital gates. ‘Aimee’s pushchair and a bag of her clothes are in the boot, courtesy of your grandmother,’ he added, his voice simmering with barely concealed anger. ‘You can have twenty minutes to pack, but I intend to leave within the next hour.’
Freya leaned back and closed her eyes wearily, overwhelmed by his determination. When Zac wanted his own way he invariably got it—but unless he intended to kidnap her and Aimee, he couldn’t make them get on his plane.
She was acutely conscious of him sitting beside her and when she peeped at him from beneath her lashes, the sight of his strong, tanned hands on the wheel made her feel weaker than ever. Once those hands had skimmed every inch of her body and explored her so intimately that the memory made her blush. He smelled of rain and damp leather, and the subtle scent of the cologne he favoured was achingly familiar, tantalising her senses and forcing her to remember the mind-blowing passion they had once shared.
It was over, she reminded herself angrily as she tore her gaze from his stern profile. He had tried and convicted her before she’d even understood the crime she was supposed to have committed. In a strange way his revelation about his vasectomy was almost a relief. His savage anger and rejection
