‘What do you think?’ he demanded. ‘That I did it deliberately? That I somehow hoped for this particular little scenario?’ His blue gaze bored into her. ‘What was I thinking?’ He gave a low, bitter laugh. ‘That’s the trouble, you see, Catherine—I wanted you so badly that I wasn’t thinking at all.’
‘A wanting fuelled by contempt,’ she observed bitterly, noticing that he didn’t deny it.
‘And when is the—?’
His deep, musical Irish voice faltered just a little.
He stared down at the figures he had been working on, and she noticed that it was the first time he had let any emotion creep in.
He looked up again. ‘When is the baby due?’
‘They aren’t sure.’
The blue gaze became more intense. Quizzical. Silently demanding some kind of explanation. And of course he was entitled to one. She was here, wasn’t she? She had foisted paternity on him and with that he had earned certain entitlements.
‘I wasn’t really sure about my dates myself, that’s all. June—they think.’
‘June.’ He stared unseeingly out at the panoramic view from the window. ‘So I’m to be a father some time in June?’
‘Not necessarily.’
Now it was his turn to flinch, the dark-featured face looking both pained and quietly thunderous, and she realised that he had grossly misinterpreted her words.
‘No, no, no!’ she defended instantly. ‘I didn’t mean that. What I mean is that you don’t have to have anything to do with this baby. Not if you don’t want to.’ He had not
sought fatherhood, and therefore he should not be shackled by it.
‘So why exactly are you here, Catherine?’ He narrowed his eyes at her thoughtfully. ‘Is it money you want?’
His mercenary judgement was like a slap to the face, and Catherine blanched as she shakily tried to rise to her feet. But there seemed to be no power to her legs. How much more hurt could he inflict on her?
‘How dare you say that?’ she hissed with an angry pride. ‘You may be a big, powerful, rich businessman, but if you think I’ve come here today begging—begging for your largesse,’ she repeated on a shuddering breath, ‘then you are very much mistaken, Finn Delaney!’
‘So just what do you want? A ring on your finger?’
‘Hardly!’ she contradicted witheringly. ‘Strange as it may seem, I have no desire to tie myself to a man who thinks so badly of me that he believes I would treat my child as a commodity! Actually, I came here today to tell you about the baby simply because I felt that as an intelligent human being you would want to accept your share of responsibility for what has happened.’
‘Catherine—’
‘No!’ Anger was giving her strength—beautiful, restorative strength. ‘You’ve made your views perfectly clear. Don’t worry, I won’t be troubling you again!’
‘I guess you could always sell your story to the highest bidder,’ he said consideringly, and then ducked instinctively as something whizzed across the room.
Catherine had picked up the nearest object to her on his desk, which happened to be a large and very heavy paperweight, and it flew a foot wide of him and bounced deafeningly against the wall, bringing a marvellous landscape painting shattering down beside it, the glass breaking into a million shards.
The office door flew open and Sandra, his assistant, ran in, her eyes taking in the scene in front of her with disbelief. ‘Oh, my God! Is everything all right, Finn?’ she asked, her soft Irish accent rising in alarm. ‘Would you have me call Security?’ She stared at a white-faced and mutinous Catherine. ‘Or the police?’
But Finn, astonishingly, was laughing—a low, gravelly laugh.
He shook his head. ‘No, no—leave it, Sandra,’ he said. ‘Everything’s fine. Miss Walker was just getting in a bit of target practice!’
‘But unfortunately I missed!’ said Catherine, her voice tinged with a slight hysteria. Her chair scraped back as she struggled to her feet.
‘That will be all, thanks, Sandra,’ said Finn quickly.
Sandra gave him one last, mystified stare before exiting the room and shutting the door behind her, just as Catherine reached it.
But Finn was quicker, beside her in a moment, where he caught hold of her shoulder. ‘You’re not going anywhere!’