Zac’s building appeared ahead, and the car drew to a smooth halt by the sidewalk. ‘Valenti Enterprises’ was written in stark black letters across the steel structure. Bold, uncompromising. Powerful.
Rose shivered.
She’d walked away from Zac in his bed that morning and had taken one last illicit look as he’d lain there like a fallen god, the sheet tangled around his lower body, seductively low enough to give a glimpse of the hair arrowing down between his legs to all that potent masculinity that had sent her into orbit.
It had been a wrench to tear her gaze from him, and an even bigger wrench to walk away, expecting never to see him again. Expecting to hold that night in her memory like a perfect precious secret.
But now there was no hope of it staying perfect or precious or secret. It had been shattered to pieces and she had no one to blame but herself.
* * *
The journey up to Zac’s office seemed to take a nanosecond. Rose had barely had time to recognise the irony of the fact that time sped up when you least wanted it to, when a smartly dressed young man was opening a huge door and ushering her into a vast office.
She saw him immediately, which caused her to stumble to a stop barely inside the door. Zac was sitting behind a big solid wooden desk. She hardly heard the door close behind her with a soft click. His chair was high-backed. All the furniture was big...imposing. He looked bigger than she remembered, even though he was sitting down.
He wore a white shirt, open at the throat. Stubble shadowed that firm jaw and his hair was tousled, as if he’d been running his hands through it.
And then he stood up and her brain froze. He placed his hands on the desk in front of him, leaning forward
slightly. Rose had the uncomfortable sensation that he was deliberately keeping his desk between them.
Those bluer-than-blue eyes raked her up and down. His lip curled. ‘Do you think you can fool me with another demure outfit, Ms O’Malley?’
Ms O’Malley. Rose’s heart had slowed to a thump-thump of shock and guilt and misery. Of course he knew her real name now. She felt very self-conscious in plain black trousers and the white shirt that she wore for her work at a small local restaurant in Queens—one of the three jobs she’d been juggling. Her hair was up in a functional ponytail. No make-up.
Heat prickled up her neck and she gripped her handbag tighter in her hands, in front of her belly. ‘I’m not trying to fool anyone.’
Her voice came out strong and she sent up silent thanks. She was determined not to let him see how hard this was for her. All she wanted to do was apologise, try to explain. Except she couldn’t explain. And the opportunity for any apology had long since passed.
Zac made a rude sound. Then he straightened up and came around the table, and all of Rose’s dormant hormones started fizzing and jumping, oblivious to the waves of animosity coming from him across the room. He rested back against the desk and crossed one long leg over the other. And folded his arms.
Rose had had tiny glimpses of this remote man, and they had been downright intimidating. Right now he might as well be a complete stranger, so far removed was he from the seductive man who had bewitched her so easily.
Zac’s face seemed to get harder, and his mouth compressed, as if he was recalling something distasteful. ‘So, I’m curious...what’s the going rate for a virginal prostitute these days?’ And then he said, ‘That’s assuming you were actually a virgin? The blood was an ingeniously authentic touch if you weren’t.’
His crude words shredded Rose inside. ‘It wasn’t like that.’ She begged silently, Please don’t ruin it.
Zac stood up and said icily. ‘That’s exactly what it was like.’
Rose drew herself up, even though she felt mortally wounded. Already. And she was sure that he hadn’t even really started his attack. ‘I’m not a prostitute.’
Are you sure about that? mocked a small voice.
Zac sneered. ‘You’re sure as hell no meek and invisible maid either. You’re seriously expecting me to believe that both times we met were a happy coincidence, only for you to disappear into the ether and suddenly emerge from under whatever stinking place you inhabit months later, claiming to be pregnant with my child?’
Rose opened her mouth to assert that this baby was his, but he wasn’t finished.
‘You seem to be forgetting that it’s common knowledge now that the house where you work as a maid was my family home.’
She wanted to correct him—she wasn’t working there any more—but he laughed then, and it was harsh and cold.
‘I have to hand it to you both for such simple ingenuity, using the oldest trick in the book—the honey trap.’
Rose recoiled inwardly, realising that he assumed she’d been in league with his mother... And of course she had. However reluctantly.
He came closer and stopped dead in front of her, self-disgust written all over his face. ‘But your particular brand of honey came with a bitter aftertaste.’
Rose immediately felt protective of her baby, hating the wounding words. She interjected before he could say more. ‘I haven’t worked there for four months. And it wasn’t like that. I swear...’