The Italian's Unwilling Wife. Kathryn RossЧитать онлайн книгу.
I don’t care about your feelings doesn’t mean I don’t care about him.’
The answer should have reassured her slightly, but it just stung at raw nerves. Still she held his gaze with determination. ‘He’s in the room at the far end of the corridor,’ she said quietly. ‘Let me go into the room first, just in case he’s awake. You are a stranger to him. I don’t want you scaring him.’
Damon considered her words for a second, and then stepped back to allow her to lead the way.
Her whole body felt as if it were shivering with reaction as she walked past him. She guessed she was in shock.
Why did Damon want to see his son? She couldn’t believe it was out of any paternal interest. Those sentiments didn’t fit with the man she knew him to be. Maybe this was just curiosity. Maybe he would take one look at his child, make a token pretence of being interested, before getting back into his car to get on with the real things in life that mattered to him, such as revenge and money and power… And, of course, womanizing.
Yes, that was probably what would happen, she told herself as she opened the door to Mario’s room.
She was relieved to see that the child was still sleeping. He was lying on his back, his face turned sideways against the pillow. He looked the perfect picture of peaceful innocence, his cherub mouth slightly parted, his long dark lashes resting against the satin-smooth skin.
She glanced back at Damon. ‘You can come in, but only for five minutes.’
‘I think your days of being in charge of this situation are over, Abbie,’ he said quietly as he stepped past her.
The words hit Abbie like a punch to the solar plexus. But the feeling was nothing compared to the reaction she felt, witnessing the powerful intensity on Damon’s features as he looked down at his sleeping child.
She felt her heart racing against her chest as the realization hit her that this was about far more than just idle curiosity, and to try and dismiss what was happening in such a way would be to vastly underestimate the situation.
For a long moment Damon just looked at his son. Then abruptly he turned and left the room.
For a second Abbie couldn’t move. Her mind was reeling with confusion—she couldn’t get a handle on this situation at all. What were Damon’s intentions? Why was he really here? Hastily Abbie followed him back out onto the landing.
He was already at the other end of the corridor. ‘So, now you’ve seen him,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Where do we go from here?’
He made no reply; he didn’t even look around at her, just headed down the stairs. The front door was still lying wide open, and he marched through it without closing it behind him.
‘Damon, where do we go from here?’ she asked again, a note of desperation in her voice. She needed to make some sense of tonight, needed to understand what Damon was thinking—and she couldn’t let him walk away without giving her some clue as to what was to happen next.
‘Damon?’ She followed him downstairs and out onto the porch. ‘Damon, please!’
His footsteps slowed and then he looked around. ‘That’s better.’ There was a gleam in his eyes as he looked over at her. ‘If you keep that tone in your voice, we just might get somewhere.’
The cold churning in the pit of her stomach intensified.
‘I agree that we need to talk rationally about this situation.’
He made no reply, and she thought he was going to climb into his car and drive away, but then to her surprise he went to the back of the vehicle and took out a small bag.
With the flick of a switch the car was locked again, and then he was heading back towards her with resolute strides.
Although there was a part of her that was glad he wasn’t just going to drive away, leaving her wondering what was going to happen next, she didn’t like the look of this latest development at all. Her heart thumped nervously against her ribs. ‘Where do you think you are going with that bag?’
‘I’m bringing it inside my house,’ he said curtly. ‘And then I’m going to have a drink and get into bed, because it has been a very long day and I’m tired.’
‘You can’t stay here!’
‘Why not?’
‘Because…I don’t want you here.’
He stepped past her and into the house. ‘Tough.’
The door slammed closed behind him.
CHAPTER THREE
FOR one horrible moment she thought he was going to turn the key in the lock, leaving her stranded outside in the dark in her dressing gown. But to her relief the door opened easily as she turned the handle.
With a mixture of trepidation and fury, she glanced around. His bag was at the base of the stairs and she could hear him opening and closing cupboard doors in the kitchen.
She followed the sounds and watched from the doorway as he found a bottle of vodka and poured himself a drink. ‘What are you playing at?’
‘I think I just told you.’ He lifted the glass in a mocking salute.
With difficulty she reined in her temper. This situation was not going to be resolved by losing her cool.
‘Damon, you can’t stay here. It’s not appropriate.’
He laughed at that. ‘As if you’d know anything about appropriate behaviour! I have to say, all those years mixing with the aristocracy at those English boarding schools weren’t wasted, were they? You’ve certainly learnt the art of pretending to be genteel.’
With difficulty she ignored the insult. ‘This isn’t solving anything. Why don’t you go and check into a hotel for tonight and then come back tomorrow? We can talk properly when we have both calmed down and are thinking rationally.’
‘I am calm.’ He took a sip of his drink and regarded her levelly over the rim of the crystal glass. ‘And I’m thinking very rationally. It’s one in the morning, there’s a storm coming in, and I have no intention of going to a hotel now—especially as I own a perfectly good house here.’
‘Damon this is ridiculous!’ Her voice rose in panic. ‘You are not being at all reasonable.’
One dark eyebrow rose. ‘Really? I think given the circumstances I’m being extremely reasonable. Let’s look at the facts, shall we? You don’t actually own this property. In fact, you are heavily in debt and behind with rent—’
‘I am no such thing!’
‘Plus you’ve hidden my child away from me, depriving me of precious time with him,’ Damon continued as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘I don’t think any court is going to look too kindly on you at all. In fact, I think you will be the one who is judged unreasonable.’
‘You’re twisting the facts!’ She pushed a distraught hand through her blonde hair. ‘I didn’t know I was pregnant until after you’d gone. I didn’t hide anything. And will you stop pretending that you give a damn about having a child? We both know that you would still have walked away from him even if I’d told you I was pregnant.’
‘Do we?’ Damon’s voice grated with sarcasm. ‘You don’t know the first thing about what I would have done, because you don’t really know the first thing about me.’
‘I know that you are a playboy who likes to roam the pleasure fields.’
‘Certainly.’ He inclined his head. ‘And I never planned on having children of my own. But you’ve changed that.’
Damon looked at her pointedly. ‘Enlighten me, Abbie. What were you planning on telling my son when he gets older? That his father is dead? Or that his father didn’t want to know him?’
Abbie