‘I look after me, Mr Pirelli,’ Angie huffed, finding some of that lionhearted feistiness she tapped into from time to time. ‘I’m not a child.’
As much as he admired her courage, anger curled the corners of his senses. Her husband had walked out on her. He’d abandoned her, leaving her pregnant and alone. Who was there to look after her? Who was there to ensure she ate properly or make sure she took proper care of herself? There was no other option.
‘Get some things together,’ he ordered. ‘We’re leaving.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘You can’t stay here. You’re coming with me.’
‘No, I’m not. This is my home.’
‘What do you have to stay for? You have no family and no husband. You have nothing—except a child that doesn’t belong to you.’
About the Author
TRISH MOREY is an Australian who’s also spent time living and working in New Zealand and England. Now she’s settled with her husband and four young daughters in a special part of South Australia, surrounded by orchards and bushland, and visited by the occasional koala and kangaroo. With a lifelong love of reading, she penned her first book at the age of eleven, after which life, career, and a growing family kept her busy until once again she could indulge her desire to create characters and stories—this time in romance. Having her work published is a dream come true. Visit Trish at her website, www.trishmorey.com
Recent titles by the same author:
PRISONER IN PARADISE
FORBIDDEN: THE SHEIKH’S VIRGIN* HIS MISTRESS FOR A MILLION
* Part of the Dark-Hearted Desert Men mini-series
THE HEIR FROM
NOWHERE
TRISH MOREY
CHAPTER ONE
‘YOU don’t know me, but I’m having your baby.’
Was it possible for your blood to stop flowing before you were dead? Dominic Pirelli believed it, the way his veins suddenly clamped shut and his blood seemed to congeal in a heart that had itself long ago turned to stone. And even if he’d wanted to slam the phone down in denial, he was incapable of movement, one hundred per cent of his energy concentrated and distilled down, focused on just one tiny word.
No!
And then the need to breathe kicked in and he dragged in air, and slowly his pulse resumed, pounding out a message in his temples, echoing his disbelief. It was impossible! It didn’t matter what the doctor had tried to tell him this morning. It didn’t matter what this woman was telling him now. It had to be impossible.
‘… having your baby.’
The words played over and over in his brain, defying logic, making no sense. He dragged in air, trying to reestablish a foothold in a day gone mad.
This was not the way he was used to operating. On a normal day it took a lot to blindside Dominic Pirelli. Many a business competitor had tried to gain an advantage over him and been unsuccessful, washed away in the wake he left behind as he forged ahead with his own plans. Many a woman had tried to tie the billionaire investor down and failed, swept aside like so many brightly coloured petals on a fast-flowing stream.
On a normal day, nothing happened in his life that he didn’t professionally desire or personally sanction.
But today had ceased being a normal day one short, cataclysmic hour ago.
When the clinic had called with the news.
A mistake, he’d first assumed.
An impossibility.
It was so many years ago and someone had clearly pulled the wrong name from its files; someone had clearly rung the wrong number. And he’d argued exactly that, only to be told that the only mistake had occurred some three months back, when the wrong embryo had somehow been put in the wrong woman. And even through the torrent of apologies, he’d still refused to believe it could be true.
And then the phone had rung a second time and a woman’s voice uttered the words that turned a horrific concept into chilling reality.
‘I’m having your baby.’
He sank heavily into his chair, wheeling it around so that he could see something—anything—other than the nightmare that consumed his thoughts and vision. But the view he knew should be there, the picture-perfect view over a glittering Sydney Harbour, the yachts and ferries zipping their way beneath the Harbour Bridge and between the park-lined shores, was lost to him in a blur of incredulity. He squeezed his eyes shut and pinched his nose so hard that fireworks shot through his closed lids, but still nowhere near hard enough to blot out the anguish or the pain.
This could not be happening!
Not this way.
It was never supposed to happen this way!
‘Mr Pirelli …’ The voice resumed. Hesitant. Shaky. Almost as if the caller were as shocked as he was. Not a chance. ‘Are you still there?’
He exhaled. Long and loud, not caring how it sounded down the line. He didn’t care about anything right now, least of all about sounding civil. ‘Why are you doing this?’ he heard himself say. ‘What’s in it for you?’
He heard a gasp, a muffled cry and almost felt sorry for speaking his mind. Almost. But he’d only spoken the truth. Experience told him that people rarely did anything if not motivated by profit.
‘I just thought, given the circumstances, you should be informed.’
‘Like hell.’
A pause. ‘I’m sorry. I can’t help how you see it. I just wanted to talk to you. To see if we can find some way through this mess.’
This mess. At least she had that right. ‘You think there’s some way through this? You think there’s some simple solution that can be plucked from the air? Do you have fairies in the bottom of your garden, or simply in your head?’
He expected she’d hang up. He’d hoped she would, if only to terminate a conversation he didn’t want to have—wasn’t equipped to have.
Because he wasn’t sure he could hang up first. He was no more equipped to close off the chance of—what exactly?—the
