shallow, spoilt socialites like you don’t believe in taking responsibility for your actions, do you? You think you can do what you want, and sorry is just a word.’ His voice grated with sarcasm. ‘But let me assure you that angry is a bit of an understatement for how I’m feeling right now.’
Abbie glared at him furiously. ‘I am none of the things you have accused me of being.’
‘And Father Christmas really does slide down chimneys on Christmas Eve.’
The scorn in his voice made Abbie’s temper soar. But, as much as she would have loved him to know the truth about the past, she knew she could never tell him about her mother now. She had tried to explain her actions to him at their last meeting. She had braved the contempt in his eyes, and had haltingly started to open up to him, only to have him laugh scornfully in her face and cut her off. She couldn’t go through that again. The pain of trying to tell him something so raw, so deeply personal, was beyond endurance. And why should she put herself through that when it was clear his opinion of her hadn’t changed? He thought she was a liar, and he wouldn’t listen to any explanation—wouldn’t believe her, anyway. It all hurt far too much.
Some things were best left in the past, she told herself firmly. What mattered now was her child’s welfare.
That fact made her swallow her fury and keep her cool. ‘So you want to punish me,’ she forced herself to continue. ‘I can handle that. But going to a court to get access to a child you don’t want—that isn’t going to make this right. Please don’t take this out on Mario.’
‘How do you know I don’t want him? You’re making sweeping assumptions.’ Damon’s voice was cool. ‘What did you think was going to happen when your father told me I had a child? Did you think I’d just throw money at you and disappear? If that’s what you want, then you are dreaming. Because, believe it or not, I’m thinking about what is best for my son now. Something you seem incapable of.’
‘I have always put my son first,’ Abbie told him fiercely. ‘And I don’t want anything from you.’
He fixed her with a look that told her in no uncertain terms that he didn’t believe her.
She swept an unsteady hand through her hair. Obviously he was never going to believe that she was anything other than a scheming witch. ‘So what are you going to do?’ she asked quietly. ‘What do you consider best for Mario?’
Damon didn’t answer her immediately. He appeared to be thinking about his options. Abbie could feel her nerves twisting and stretching. Was he deliberately trying to torment her? Was this part of his revenge? Maybe she should be flinging herself on his mercy instead of being confrontational.
But on the other hand maybe that was what he wanted. Her father used to enjoy controlling her through fear. When she’d tried to rebel, he’d reminded her of what he could do, and she would be yanked quickly back into line.
The memory made her angle her chin up defiantly to meet Damon’s cool gaze. She had sworn that no one would ever have that power over her again. ‘If you go for custody, I’ll fight you every step of the way.’
‘That’s your prerogative.’ He shook his head. ‘I admire your spirit—but of course I will break it.’
He watched the bright glitter of fury in her eyes. She was so very beautiful—more so than she had been at eighteen; her father had been right about that. The thought stole, unwelcome, into his mind and he found his gaze drifting down once more over her body. He could see the firm curves of her breasts through the thin silk of the gown, and because the bright lights of the lounge were behind her he could also see the long, shapely outline of her legs.
She had always been attractive, but she had matured into a stunningly desirable package. Pity about her cold, mercenary heart, he thought dryly.
Abbie noticed the way he looked at her—noticed, and bizarrely felt her body throb, as if his eyes were actually touching her. She tried to ignore the feeling, tried to pretend it wasn’t happening. How could she feel like this when her mind was racing with fear—when she hated him? ‘Maybe you just have rage issues that need to be readdressed, Damon,’ she said evenly.
He laughed. ‘Maybe you are right.’ He put his glass down on the draining board with a thud.
‘So what are you going to do?’
‘Right now, I’m going to bed,’ he said calmly.
‘You can’t!’
‘Why not?’
‘Because you can’t make statements like that and just leave things! I need to know what your intentions are regarding Mario. You are not really thinking of fighting me for custody, are you?’
Damon stared at her for a moment. When John Newland had told him he was a father, he had been shocked—then he had been furious. All kinds of emotions had been racing through him ever since. Some of the feelings had come as a complete surprise to him—such as the feeling of protectiveness when he had looked down at his sleeping child.
Yes, he’d decided a long time ago that he wasn’t going to settle down and have children. But the fact was he had a child, and abandoning him wasn’t an option. He couldn’t walk away from that responsibility; he strongly believed in doing the right thing.
But what was the right thing in this situation? His eyes flicked over towards Abbie, and for a second he found himself thinking about her father’s words to him in the boardroom.
Abbie could be of use to him.
The words sizzled provocatively through his consciousness. Abruptly he tried to dismiss them. ‘I’ll sleep on the problem, and we’ll discuss terms in the morning,’ he grated tersely.
He was so arrogant! So infuriating! She watched as he walked past her towards the lounge.
‘I don’t want to discuss terms in the morning. I want to discuss terms now! And it may have escaped your notice but there are no spare beds in the house. All the rooms you looked into tonight are empty. The only other bed in the house is mine.’
He turned slowly and looked at her. ‘Is that an invitation?’
He watched the flare of heat under the creaminess of her skin with detachment.
‘You know it’s not.’
‘Do I?’ He shrugged. ‘Nothing you would stoop to would surprise me. In fact, when I faced your father in the boardroom at Newland he made me a very bizarre offer.’
‘What kind of an offer?’
‘The deal was that I help him retain his place on the board, and in return I get you.’
‘What do you mean, you get me?’ Her voice was stiff.
‘Just what I said. In return for my help getting him back on the board of directors, he said he could arrange for you to… Well, accommodate me in whatever way I saw fit, really. I’m not sure if he was selling you as a trophy wife who would have very useful business connections, or the convenient mistress there to entertain me in bed, plus play hostess when required—that kind of thing. Of course, the second option caught my interest more at first. As you know, I’m not the settling-down type. But then, I didn’t know
