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Could this child really be his son? Slowly he looked up at Carrie, his jaw set. “You will allow me to take a paternity test.” It was a statement, not a question.
She sighed. “I’m telling you the truth. You’re the only man who could be his father.”
“How can you be so sure?” he demanded.
Her dark eyelashes fluttered against her pale cheeks as she looked down at the ground. She said, in a voice almost too quiet to hear, “Because you’re the only man I’ve ever…been with.”
He looked at her in shock. The only man? Ever?
Blinking, she lifted her gaze. “But someday I will find another,” she whispered. “I’ll find a man who will never abandon me or break my heart.”
Théo’s body stiffened. There it was again, her mention of a dream man, a perfect masculine paragon that Théo was already beginning to despise.
“Don’t bother thinking of him,” he said sharply. “If you’re telling me the truth, and Henry is my son, you will soon be my wife.”
Carrie stared at him, her eyes wide. For several seconds she struggled to speak. Then she choked out, “No!”
“You would put your hatred of me, and your selfish longings for romance, over the best interests of our son?”
Her lips turned down at the edges, and if possible she looked still more unhappy. “I’m not marrying you. Not when I know you will lose interest in being a father within a week—”
“You don’t know that,” he interrupted fiercely.
“Yes, I do. I know exactly the kind of man you are,” she said steadily. “A playboy who doesn’t want to ever be tied down, who lives entirely for his own selfish needs, who will never be faithful to any woman for longer than a week.”
“Don’t you dare presume to—”
“Marriage is a lifelong commitment—until death. It can only be based on love.” Her voice hardened. “And I despise you.”
Her words burned inside him, echoing and reverberating inside his soul. Once Carrie had looked at him with eyes full of adoration. Now she seemed to hate the sight of him.
Théo looked down at the small baby cuddling against his chest. The thought of some other, no doubt more deserving man raising his baby son felt like a knife in his throat.
“Henry will live with me in Seattle,” she said in a calmer tone. “He’ll be surrounded by people who love him. If you truly care about him, you will let him have a home.” She hesitated. “I’ll let you visit him whenever you wish.”
“Merci beaucoup,” he ground out.
Reaching over to the baby still in Théo’s arms, Carrie stroked her son’s back through his soft fleece pajamas. Lifting her gaze, she met Théo’s eyes. “You held me to the promise that our affair would be no more than a no-strings affair. If I had held you to the same standard I never would have given you this chance.”
He set his jaw. “What? The chance to know of his existence before you try to take him from me forever?”
“In Seattle I can give Henry a family who loves him. I can give him a real home.”
“In your parents’ rickety little house? While you support him as a waitress?”
Her cheeks went pink. “My family might not be rich but at least we don’t try to buy or sell people.” She shook her head fiercely. “I know what matters in life in a way you never will. And I’m telling you I’ll die before I’ll become your wife—paternity test or no.”
Théo saw the determined set of her expression and knew that his earlier threat to keep her prisoner was indeed empty. He might be ruthless, but he was no monster. Even if Henry proved to be his son, he couldn’t force Carrie to marry him against her will. He couldn’t hold her in the dungeon until she came to her senses, no matter what his Provençal ancestors might have done.
He would have to use less brutal means of persuasion.
“You must stay,” he said abruptly. “Surely you can see that.”
She bit her lip. “What’s the longest you think the test could take?”
“A month?” he hedged.
“A month? Forget it! There are labs in the States. We’ll go back to Seattle and—”
