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, locking eyes with her. “Whatever you feel I did or didn’t do in the time we lived together, you’ve paid me back with a vengeance, Nicole, withholding my child from me all these years.”
She flinched at the hit, then lifted her chin defiantly. “It was for the best.”
“We’ll never know, will we? Just don’t forget the photo albums. That would be inflicting serious injury on top of insult.”
He left her with those words.
There was a lot to be organised and achieved before Friday night.
CHAPTER TWELVE
NICOLE had not heard from Quin since Tuesday morning, not by telephone nor by e-mail. She arrived at his apartment at eight o’clock on Friday evening, not knowing what to expect from him, trying not to expect anything but the usual sex-fest that characterised their nights together.
This was the thirteenth night, and while she wasn’t superstitious, Nicole could not shake an ominous feeling about it. The deal was still on but the limits of the situation had changed with Quin’s knowledge of Zoe and his determination to be a father to their daughter.
A new beginning…but a new beginning to what?
Was Quin capable of making the future different to the past?
She was carrying a much larger bag than usual, having brought the photo albums he’d requested and her grip on its handles was so tight, her nails were digging into her palm as she waited for the door to open. It hurt to let Quin into the years that had belonged to her and Zoe. She felt she was giving up too much too soon. If he didn’t keep his promise…
The door opened.
Her heart skittered nervously as she came face-to-face with Quin again. He beamed her a welcoming smile which she couldn’t return. The turbulence in her mind and stomach overrode any normal civility.
“Come on in,” he said warmly. “There’s someone here I want you to meet.”
Shock completely paralysed any movement forward. She couldn’t believe he would bring a third party into a night of personal and private revelations. Or weren’t the photos of Zoe’s life important to him—just a curiosity which could be satisfied any time at all?
Her mouth finally returned to working order. Enough to say, “I don’t think so, Quin.” Glaring steely determination, she added, “Our deal doesn’t involve anyone else.”
He sucked in a deep breath. The bullet-grey eyes seared hers with their own determination and the welcoming air changed to ruthless purpose. “It’s my mother, Nicole. Come all the way from Argentina to meet you and her grand-daughter.”
His mother!
Whom she had never been invited to meet in the past!
Nicole’s mind reeled over this totally unexpected move from Quin. What did he mean to gain by it? How was she supposed to respond?
“Argentina?” she repeated dazedly.
“That’s where her family lives. My mother returned there three years ago to be with them. It’s her home country.”
“Yours, too?” Nicole croaked, desperately trying to slot this new information into her very limited knowledge of Quin’s background.
A careless shrug accompanied his reply. “Not anymore. I’ve made my home here. Please…my mother is tired from the fourteen-hour flight from Buenos Aires, but she wants so much to meet you…”
He stepped back, beckoning Nicole into his penthouse. Her feet moved, pulled by a curiosity that demanded satisfaction. As Quin ushered her past the open kitchen area, she saw a woman rising to her feet from one of the leather sofas near the view of the harbour—a tall, handsome woman, whose strong-boned face was etched with fatigue, her heavy-lidded, dark eyes looking almost bruised by the shadows around them.
Her only make-up appeared to be a plum-red lipstick, and her iron-grey hair was pulled back into a neat bun. Despite this austerity, or because of it, she exuded a rather intimidating dignity, probably enhanced by the stylish black suit she wore and the jet earrings and necklace, all of which made Nicole feel overwhelmingly underdressed for this meeting in her jeans and peasant blouse.
Her feet faltered, coming to a halt as the thought struck that she was probably viewed as a loose woman by Quin’s mother—living with her son, having his child out of wedlock, not even telling him about the pregnancy so they couldn’t be properly married as good girls undoubtedly would in Argentina. A tide of hot embarrassment raced up her neck and burnt her cheeks even as she feverishly reasoned this was all Quin’s fault, not hers. She’d done what he’d wanted until it had become too…too wrong!
Quin pried the carry-bag from her grip, passing it to his other hand as he took hold of her elbow to draw her forward. “Nicole, this is my mother, Evita Gallardo.”
“Not…not Sola?” Nicole babbled in bewilderment.
“When I returned home, I resumed my maiden name,” Quin’s mother explained, wincing apologetically at her son as she added, “There was too much shame attached to the name of Sola.”
