‘Inconvenience money,’ he offered, watching her intently now, ‘given what you’re undertaking and given your own plans for a child have been delayed. Surely you must be anxious to try again.’ He was sure he had her now. Her point-blank denials had been frustrating him but they hadn’t lasted long until she’d been the one to ask what was on offer. It had been the crack he’d been waiting for. Nobody would do what she was doing for nothing, and with that lapse she’d proven it. He waited while she stared at the glass in her hand, waited while she weighed up his words, wondering if already she was counting the dollar signs; wondering if she even realised she was worrying that bottom lip of hers with her white teeth. The gesture spoke of an innocence he knew she couldn’t possibly possess. Yet still he found himself unable to look away.
And then she looked up and met his gaze. ‘Look, that’s actually very sweet of you, Mr Pirelli,’ she said, ‘but my next pregnancy is my business. And I’ve decided I can wait.’
He couldn’t believe what he was hearing, not when he’d thought he had her, now when she’d been the one to ask what was on offer. He cursed himself for insisting on the recording device. It had to be what had made her so reluctant before and what was inhibiting her now. But he wasn’t about to give up yet. ‘What about your husband—what does he think?’
She looked anxiously around, and he wondered if she was looking for a waiter. But no, her water was still full so it couldn’t be that. ‘He…he’s happy for me to handle this.’
‘But surely he must be upset about this whole thing?’
She licked her lips, reaching for the glass. Not drinking, but just twirling the contents, as if searching for something to do and something else to focus on. ‘We’ve come to an agreement.’
‘What kind of agreement?’
Her glass stopped twirling. Her eyes snapped up. ‘The kind of agreement that’s between Shayne and me. The kind of agreement that doesn’t concern you.’
‘Doesn’t it, given right now you’re carrying my child?’
What did he want? Blood? She was sick of her motives being questioned when she was only here to offer him his baby. Had he never heard of the words thank you? ‘Look, Mr Pirelli, do you actually want this baby or not? Only there’s an adoption list a mile long.’
‘This baby will not be adopted!’
‘Fine. But you’re lucky there’s even going to be a baby, given what the clinic offered!’
Cold hard silence descended over the table. Like a blanket of fog, it chilled the atmosphere and set his face to stone.
‘What did the clinic offer?’
She cursed the impulse that had made her lash out at him, cursed the words that had issued from her mouth when she’d never had any intention of acting upon them. But maybe he needed to hear them. Maybe then he would appreciate what she was trying to do. She swallowed, her throat almost too tight to get out the words. ‘They suggested I have an abortion. Cover the whole thing up quietly. Without you ever knowing.’
Skin pulled tight over cheekbones, the cords of his throat stood out rigid and tight, a throbbing pulse at his temple, and she was suddenly back in her dream, the snarling dog closing in on her, its powerful shoulders bringing it ever closer until she could almost feel its hot angry breath against her face. Was this the man she’d imagined in her nightmare? Was this man the snarling danger in the dark?
‘I said no!’ she insisted, shaken by the return of the images in her nightmare. ‘Obviously, I said no.’ It had never been an option as far as she was concerned.
‘Obviously, you said no,’ he echoed, the words sounding as if they’d been ground out of all the dark, jagged places inside him. ‘Because you realised this baby was worth more to you alive. You decided you could sell it instead.’
‘No! You honestly believe I could sell this baby—your baby—back to you? What kind of person do you think I am?’
‘I don’t know what kind of person you are, Mrs Cameron. I don’t know why anyone would want to willingly bear someone else’s child—a stranger’s child. Why would they do that, if not for money, when you are clearly on the bones of your arse.’