Her fingers clenched until the knuckles showed white. ‘Why?’
‘You want me to spell it out?’
He’d sat on the fringes of her life and watched as Ariane’s treasured belongings were sold off, one by one? To what purpose?
‘I instructed an agent to buy every item you and your mother have been forced to sell.’
What manner of man was he?
One who was prepared to do anything to achieve his objective.
Something which chilled her to the bone.
Danielle examined his chiselled features and felt her nerves stretch to breaking point. ‘Why?’
His gaze was unwavering, and his lips curved slightly in a faint smile that was totally lacking in humour. ‘A whim, perhaps?’
A man of Rafe Valdez’s ilk hadn’t built his life by indulging in a whim. Her eyes flashed with barely hidden anger. ‘Please. Don’t insult my intelligence.’
He lifted the goblet and took a measured sip of wine, then held the stemmed glass and slowly swirled the contents, studying the texture and colour for several seemingly long seconds before shifting his gaze to fuse with her own. ‘You intrigue me.’
Something jolted deep inside, and raced through her nervous system with alarming speed. Only a naïve fool would mistake his meaning, and she was neither.
Pride, and sheer courage, enabled her to query with icy calm, ‘With almost the entire city’s female population, eligible and otherwise—’ She paused deliberately, then added with polite sarcasm, ‘I fail to see the fascination.’
The waiter served coffee, his smile fixed as he sensed tension thick enough to slice with a knife, then he retreated with polite speed.
Danielle banked down the desire to do the same.
Only the certainty that Rafe Valdez would ignore any histrionics kept her in her seat.
‘My father and his father before him laboured in the d’Alboa family vineyards, and considered it an honour to serve such a wealthy landowner.’ His gaze never left hers. ‘Ironic, wouldn’t you agree, that the son of an immigrant peasant has the power to rescue the granddaughter of the revered Joaquin d’Alboa?’
A cold fist closed around her heart. ‘This is about revenge?’
He smiled, but there was little warmth evident. ‘I was merely explaining the connection.’
Danielle watched as he spooned sugar into his black coffee, then lifted the cup to take a measured sip.
His gaze speared hers, his expression enigmatic. ‘Everything has a price, don’t you agree?’
Why did she get the feeling this was manipulation at its worst? Yet she had to ask. ‘What is it you want?’
‘A child of my own to whom I can bequeath my fortune. A child born in wedlock. Who better to conceive and gift me that child than a descendent of the d’Alboa aristocracy?’ He watched her features, saw the comprehension, the doubt, then the anger.
‘Are you insane?’ she demanded in a voice she didn’t recognise as her own. ‘There are plenty of needy children in the world. Adopt one.’
‘No.’
She cast him a look of total incredulity.
‘It’s a question of needs,’ Rafe offered with damnable imperturbability. ‘Yours and mine.’
‘The hell it is!’
His gaze narrowed, and his expression assumed an implacability that was frightening. ‘That’s the deal. Take it, or leave it.’
Dear heaven. It was unconscionable. Wasn’t it?
‘Let me get this straight,’ she said tightly. ‘You’re advocating I marry you, and act as a surrogate mother to your child…then walk away?’
He didn’t pretend to misunderstand her. ‘Not until the child enters the scholastic system.’
She wanted to hit him, and nearly did. ‘Are we talking kindergarten level, pre-school, or school?’
His eyes narrowed fractionally. ‘School.’
‘Almost seven years, given I should be sufficiently fortunate to fall pregnant immediately?’
‘Yes.’
‘For which I’ll be recompensed to the tune of approximately two hundred thousand dollars for each year?’ She paused to bank down the anger and take a fresh breath. ‘Paid up front in the manner that free-holds the apartment, clears all debts, restores all Ariane’s prized possessions, and resettles the boutique?’
‘Yes.’
‘And what of the years I spend as your wife?’
‘You get to enjoy all the fringe benefits of living in my home, acting as my social hostess, a generous allowance.’ He waited a beat. ‘And sharing my bed.’
She forced herself to conduct a raking appraisal of his features. ‘Forgive me, but I don’t see having sex with you as a bonus.’
His expression didn’t change. ‘That’s a foolish statement,’ Rafe drawled with a tinge of humour. ‘For someone who has no experience of me as her lover.’
She banked down wild images of that powerful body engaged in intimacy, and held his gaze. ‘Really? Is that knowledge gleaned from superb feminine acting and countless “you were wonderful, darling” compliments?’
‘Do you require recommendations as to my sexual prowess?’
Why did she have the feeling she was fast moving out of her depth? ‘And when I’ve fulfilled my side of this diabolical scheme you’ve devised…what then?’
‘Elaborate.’
‘After the divorce,’ she said succinctly.
‘That is something for negotiation.’
‘I want all the facts now. Do I get to have visiting rights to my child? Or am I to be cast aside after my use-by date?’
‘A suitable arrangement will be made.’
‘How suitable?’ she persisted.
‘It is not my intention to banish you from the child’s life.’
‘But you’ll legally limit it to minimum time during the holidays and the occasional weekend.’ He’d employ the best legal brains in the country to ensure his influence over the child was total.
‘And naturally a pre-nuptial agreement will ensure I walk away after the divorce with nothing.’
‘You’ll
