‘It wasn’t difficult. You don’t exactly blend into a crowd at the moment. I saw the erratic press reports about your...condition, and I worked out that the baby could be mine. I kept thinking that if that were the case you would contact me.’ There was a pause and his eyes burned into her. ‘I kept waiting for you to get in touch, and when you didn’t I thought...’
His words tailed off. He’d thought that maybe he’d been mistaken, that it wasn’t his baby at all. And hadn’t the thought of that eaten him up with jealousy? The idea that he might have been just one in a line of men who had graced her bed? But the feeling hadn’t left him, and neither had the strange certainty which had flooded through him. It had been certainty which had made him track her down. Which had made him board his private jet to Singapore, where he had been informed that she was staying alone in Raffles Hotel.
Intently, he stared at her, and he could feel the powerful beat of his heart thundering in his chest. The crazy thing was that he wanted to go over there and place the palm of his hand on her belly, as if to convince himself that this was real. And if he did that could he guarantee that the same dark hunger wouldn’t flicker into life, the way it always did? Why was it that, no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise, he could never seem to stop wanting her?
‘Is there something you need to tell me?’
Justina nodded as a wave of emotion threatened to overwhelm her, but somehow she held it back. Don’t act ashamed or intimidated, she told herself. Just deal with the facts. But it was far from easy, because as she faced the accusation in his eyes a terrible yearning threatened to flare up inside her. She found herself wishing this could all have been different. That they were the same two people they’d once been—a couple in love who were planning to be together for the rest of their lives.
But it was not like that. It was nothing like that. Pointless to waste her time wishing that it was. Pretend you’re doing a television interview, she told herself. Act calmly. Take the emotion out of the subject and try not to turn this into a confrontation.
Her voice was almost gentle. ‘Is that a roundabout way of asking whether you’re the father, Dante?’
CHAPTER FIVE
‘AM I?’ DANTE STARED at her, and his eyes had never looked colder than they did right then. ‘Am I the father of your baby, Justina?’
For a moment she hesitated, tempted to tell him no. Because wouldn’t that be easier all round? He could go back to New York and the life he’d made there. She would never have to see him again. Never. Financially—and hopefully emotionally—she could manage to be a good, single mother. Lots of women were.
But then she thought of the child she carried. The baby who was currently kicking beneath her fluttering heart as if it was trying out for a foetal football team. Could she wilfully deny her child the knowledge of its father just because that father didn’t love her? Wouldn’t that be the most selfish thing she could ever do—especially since she knew the pain and deprivation of growing up without a father? She knew how that could leave an empty hole which nothing could ever fill. She felt fiercely protective of this new life within her—and if she was being protective then that ruled out being selfish, didn’t it? It might be better for her if Dante was out of her life, but it wouldn’t be better for the baby.
‘Yes,’ she breathed—and then she said it again, so that there could be no going back. ‘Yes, you are.’
For a moment he said nothing. He could hear the loud ticking of a clock as a surge of adrenalin flooded through him—his body automatically gearing itself up for fight or flight. He stared down at the elegant table beside him, on which stood a bowl of fruit so perfect that it might have been made from wax. For a split second he wanted to smash his fist through it. To see the apples disintegrating into pulp and the squashed oranges spurting out their juice. The desire was so strong that his big hands clenched into tight fists and he almost raised one. Until he forced himself to face facts as well as to re-exert the habitual control which had momentarily threatened to desert him.
Don’t forget that this is a very single-minded woman, he told himself, as he stared into her wide amber eyes. Who will do anything to get what she wants out of life. He had witnessed her steely ambition first-hand. He had seen how she’d always put her career before him—it had been the main reason why he’d called off their wedding. So he needed to find out all the facts—not just the ones she had chosen to tell him.
‘How can you be sure it’s mine?’
Justina heard the rough challenge which distorted his voice. The question hurt—mainly because it sounded genuine and not asked simply as an attempt to insult her. Did he really think she behaved that way? Picked up men at weddings before taking them back to her room to have sex with them? She wondered how he would react if she told him that he was the only man she’d ever been intimate with, and that was how she knew he was the father. Would he laugh at her or simply pity her for spending the past five years without being able to move on?
‘I just am,’ she said flatly.
He shook his head. ‘You’ll have to do better than that.’
‘What are you talking about?’
His mouth twisted. ‘If you recall, you told me that you did “all right” with men.’ He remembered the casual way she’d said it, and his own corresponding stab of jealousy. The overpowering sense of darkness which had shadowed his soul at the thought of other men making love to her the way he’d done. ‘I got the distinct feeling that I wasn’t the only one who shared your favours—not least from the enthusiastic way you climbed on top of me and ground those hips of yours so expertly against mine. I certainly didn’t think that what happened between us on the night of the wedding was in any way unique.’
It was the cruellest thing he could have said, and Justina prayed that her face didn’t register the hurt which was curling up inside her. He thought she was a tramp. He’d just come out and said so. ‘Then why are you here if you believe that?’ she questioned. ‘Why this dramatic appearance—ambushing me in the lobby of my hotel as if you were in some kind of movie?’
‘I’m here because I want the truth.’
‘Why not just phone me up and ask me? Surely that would have been simpler for a man as busy as you?’
His gaze was steady. ‘Would you have taken my call?’
Beneath his intense scrutiny, Justina shrugged. She wanted to save face. She wanted to hurt him back, as he had just hurt her. And instinctively she wanted to do the one thing she suspected would appal him so much that he might even contemplate going away and leaving her alone. She wanted to deny him. To let him know that she didn’t need him. She wanted to offer him the freedom to walk away and leave her to face this on her own. ‘Probably not,’ she said eventually.
He nodded his head and turned to stare out of the window. Somehow it was easier to contemplate the courtyard gardens than continue to confront the fecund swell of her belly—though the white frangipani blossoms on the trees might as well have been lumps of snow for all the notice he took of them. But the brief respite was all he needed to regain his composure, and when he turned back he nodded.
‘So it is true,’ he said, his voice filled with silken venom. ‘I have often been accused of cynicism, but even I couldn’t believe that a woman could be quite so manipulative as you have been. It seems I was wrong.’ There was a pause as his gaze raked over her, and even as the words formed on his lips he could feel the betraying leap of desire. ‘You just wanted a stud, didn’t you, Justina?’