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His scowl deepened. ‘Don’t interrupt me.’
‘But——’
‘If things did work out,’ he said, his voice cutting across hers, ‘we’d have to agree to stay married for a time. For the child’s sake, of course.’
‘Grant——’
‘Three years, perhaps. That’s enough for him to form an attachment to us both, yet be able to adapt to our separation.’ His eyes flashed to her face, and a tight smile twisted across his lips. ‘You could manage three years as my wife, couldn’t you?’
She said nothing. After a long moment, Grant turned and strode to the sink.
‘This is terrible coffee,’ he said briskly, dumping the thick black liquid down the drain.
Hannah felt torn between the desire to laugh and to cry.
‘I know. I—I don’t know how you managed to drink any of it.’
‘And this is the world’s most depressing kitchen.’
She did laugh this time. ‘I couldn’t agree more. My landlord——’
‘We can’t possibly talk here.’ He swung towards her. ‘Why don’t we go out and have some breakfast? I had a law-school professor who wanted to make it illegal to discuss contract terms on an empty stomach.’
‘But we’re not——’
‘Hannah.’ He came towards her, clasped her shoulders, and helped her gently to her feet. ‘I’m starved, hungry enough to eat and drink almost anything—except for that coffee.’ He smiled. ‘What harm can there possibly be in joining me for a bite to eat?’
All the harm in the world, Hannah’s brain shrieked, but anything was better than being trapped in these tooconfining rooms while Grant spun his crazy story of babies and make-believe marriages that were all mixed up with a life she had once dreamed of.
And, before she could think, she gave him a little smile and agreed that there certainly couldn’t be any danger in joining him for breakfast.
He had come to her flat in his car. She had never seen it before, and when it turned out to be sleek and black and very close to the ground she thought that it suited him, that it had about it an aura of danger and risk and masculine aggression, just as he did.
He settled her into the seat beside him, his fingers brushing hers as she and he locked their seatbelts at the same time. A tremor shot through her, and he frowned.
‘Is something the matter?’ he asked.
She shook her head and folded her hands tightly together in her lap.
‘No, nothing.’
He nodded, then stepped on the accelerator. The car shot away from the kerb, its tyres hissing against the wet roadway. Hannah’s hair was loose—at weekends, when it wasn’t necessary to worry about looking professional, she rarely wore it back—and the wind, coming through the open windows, whipped it about her face.
‘Shall I close them?’ Grant asked, his hand hovering over the buttons that controlled the electric windows, but she shook her head.
‘No,’ she said, ‘the breeze feels good.’
And it did, she thought as they crossed the Golden Gate Bridge, the high arches trailing wisps of fog. The wind tugging at her hair made her feel wonderful, free and wild in a way she hadn’t felt in years.
She glanced at Grant, seated beside her, and suddenly she wondered what would have happened if they’d met years ago, if it had been he and not her ex-husband who’d given her her first kiss, who’d touched her intimately for the first time. There’d have been none of this cold, clinical talk of contracts and artificially conceived babies then; they’d have come together naturally, in each other’s arms, with warmth and laughter and passion.
She turned her head away sharply. What was the matter with her? She didn’t feel anything for this man. He was the impossible bastard who had cost her her job. Now his arrogance had taken him into uncharted depths: it had made him propose a mockery of a marriage so they could have a child, a child born not through an act of love but through a medical marvel, and she, fool that she was, had let him babble on about it.
‘Listen, Grant,’ she said sharply, and she angled towards him, the demand that he take her home on her tongue. But they were already turning into the parking area outside a restaurant with a red-tiled roof and a soft Spanish name, and with a sigh Hannah decided that it might be easier and safer to tell him she’d had enough of his nonsense in a place where they’d be surrounded by other people.
Maybe then he’d give in gracefully and take her home instead of hammering away at her like a trial lawyer.
They were seated at a round table in a glass-enclosed courtyard where succulents and brightly coloured flowers grew around a softly bubbling foundation. Grant ordered for them both, things she usually loved—huevos rancheros and cornmeal tortillas, fresh mango and steaming cups of hot coffee laced with rum and chocolate. But every mouthful caught in Hannah’s throat. All she could think of was the insanity of Grant’s request, and her even greater insanity in letting him, even for a minute, think she’d been willing to listen. She should have—she should have thrown him out the door of her apartment, she should have—
‘You have the right to know about the failure of my marriage.’
She looked up, startled. Grant was leaning towards her, his expression intent.
‘I made it sound last night as if it were all my ex-wife’s fault.’ He frowned. ‘But I have to bear the blame, too. We were wrong for each other, and I should have seen that. The marriage was a colossal mistake.’
Hannah cleared her throat. ‘Well,’ she said briskly, ‘well, that’s—that’s very interesting. But—’
‘But the experience did teach me something,’ he said, almost sternly. ‘I learned that marriage isn’t for me. I like my life just as it is. The freedom, the time to dedicate to my work…’
And to your women, Hannah thought, and a strange lump rose in her throat.
‘It’s just that, as the years pass, I look at other men with their children…’ He cleared his throat. ‘I don’t know why I’m telling you all this, Hannah—except that I think you feel much the same, don’t you?’
‘Yes. But—’
‘That’s why you’re the perfect woman for this—this undertaking. Do you see?’
Hannah shook her head. ‘No. I don’t see. I don’t see at all.’
‘Of course you do,’ he said impatiently. ‘You just aren’t ready to admit it.’
She stared at him. He was impossible. Impossible! He had set his sights on something, and nothing would stand in his way, not even common sense.
But she knew how to deal with a man like this. You just shook your head, pushed back your chair, and walked away.
He caught her hand as she started to rise. ‘Sit down, Hannah!’
‘Let go!’ she spat as she fell back into her seat. ‘I don’t know why I let you talk me into——’
‘What are you afraid of? This won’t be a real marriage, dammit! And our divorce will be quick and painless.’
‘It’s out of the question.’
‘Why? Give me one good reason.’
‘I don’t have to.’
‘Humour me. Tell me why you won’t accept my offer.’
‘Well—well, there’s—there’s something cold-blooded about having a child through such—such artificial means.’ Colour rushed to her cheeks. ‘Not that I’m for a minute suggesting——’
‘I suppose it does sound cold-blooded. But it would be a child that both of us wanted, and we wouldn’t be hurting anyone.’
‘Look, if this is such a great idea, why not trot it out for someone else?’ Her eyes met his. ‘We both know there’s no scarcity of women in your life.’
‘That’s true enough,’ he said calmly. ‘But you’re special.’
There it was again, that stupid little lift of her heart.
‘Indeed?’ she said, as calmly as he.
Grant nodded. ‘Aside from feeling as I do about marriage and children, you’re bright and resourceful. And I’ve seen you with Tommy; I know you’re good with
kids.’
Why did it sound like a shopping list? Hannah shifted uneasily. ‘So? None of that’s unusual.’
‘We don’t bore each other. And we find each other attractive. Physically, I mean.’
She forced herself to go on looking straight at him. ‘Even if that were true,’ she said stiffly, ‘what would such things have to do with an arrangement like the one you’re proposing?’
He smiled. ‘I know you think I’m crazy, Hannah, but I’m not crazy enough to commit myself to the company of a woman I find dull or unattractive.’
She stared at him helplessly. Why was she letting this continue? She wasn’t going to agree, no matter what he said.
‘And you’re independent.’ His smile faded, and his expression grew businesslike. ‘That’s vital. The last thing I’d want is to enter into an agreement like this with a woman who might decide that married life was what she’d always wanted.’
The cold words stung, although there was no reason why they should. If, by some miracle, she ever thought about marrying again, it would be to a gentle, predictable man, one just the opposite of Grant Maclean.
‘Well, that’s certainly not a description of me,’ she said with a chill smile.
‘No. It’s not.’ He leaned forward. ‘And yet, for all those admirable traits, Hannah, you’re alone. Think about the years stretching ahead. How will you fill them?’
Her eyes flashed to his. ‘That’s a cheap trick, trying to make my life sound empty when it’s——’
‘You’ll have that little flat, a couple of holidays in Hawaii or Las Vegas, and your job. Is that enough?’
‘I have friends.’
‘And sooner or later every last one of them will be caught up in Parents’ Day and Scouts,’ he said with cruel directness. ‘Where will that leave you?’
Without warning, tears rose in her eyes. She twisted her hand free of his, shoved back her chair and got to her feet.
‘I want to go home.’
‘Hannah——’
