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‘Don’t lie, Red.’
He hooked his thumb round her ear, brushing her hair back and framing her face. The gesture was gentle, and full of concern. Making her heart pulse painfully.
‘You can lean on me—you know that, right?’
‘I don’t need to lean on you,’ she said, denying the foolish urge to rest her head into the consoling palm and take the comfort he offered.
‘What are you so scared of?’ he said, cutting through the defences she’d spent ten years putting in place.
‘I’m not scared.’ How could he know that when he had never really known her? ‘Why would I be?’
‘I don’t know—you tell me,’ he said tightly. ‘Why did you let me go on believing you had an abortion yesterday?’
She stiffened and pulled away from him. How could he still read her so easily?
‘Why would I bother to correct you? I didn’t think it mattered any more. It was so long ago.’
‘Of course it matters. I deserve to know what really happened. Especially if you’re still having nightmares because—’
‘Why, Dane?’ she interrupted. ‘Why do you deserve to know? When you never wanted our baby the way I did?’
He tensed and something flashed over his face—something that might almost have been hurt. But it was gone so quickly she was sure she had misinterpreted it. Dane had never wanted the baby—that much she knew for sure.
‘If you had, you would have demanded to see me,’ she said, cutting off the painful thought. ‘Instead of assuming I’d had an abortion.’
‘I did demand to see you.’ Temper flashed in his eyes. ‘Your father had his goons throw me out.’
‘He...what?’ The breath left her lungs in a painful rush. Anguish squeezed her chest. ‘Did they hurt you?’
She could still remember those men. They’d terrified her, even though her father had always insisted they were there to protect her.
His eyes narrowed, and the annoyed expression was one she recognised. If there was one thing Dane had always despised, it was anything remotely resembling pity.
‘I handled myself,’ he said.
She didn’t believe him. At nineteen he’d been tough and muscular, and as tall as he was now, but he’d also been a lot skinnier, a lot less solid—still partly a boy for all his hard knocks. Four of those men against one of him would have done some serious damage.
She noticed the crescent-shaped scar cutting across his left eyebrow and knew it hadn’t been there before—she’d once known every one of the scars on his body. The scars he would never talk about.
She pointed at the thin white mark bisecting his brow. ‘Where did you get that scar?’
He shifted, avoiding her touch. She dropped her hand, aware of the heavy weight in her belly.
‘I don’t remember.’
He sounded unconcerned. But that guarded expression told a different story. He did remember—he just wasn’t prepared to discuss it.
The hollow pain blossomed. Why was she pressing the point? Maybe because he’d held her last night, through her nightmare...making her feel weak and needy. And then made love to her this morning with such unerring skill, coaxing the exact response he’d wanted out of her.
He’d held all the power in their relationship and it was now brutally obvious he held it still.
‘My father had no right to treat you that way,’ she said. ‘If you tell me what injuries you suffered I’ll have my legal team work out suitable compensation.’
Paying him off suddenly seemed like the perfect solution. The only way to get herself free and clear of him and the emotions he stirred in her. Her only chance of acquiring the distance she’d surrendered so easily ever since walking into his office yesterday.
‘Don’t play the princess with me. I don’t want your money. I never did. And I sure as hell don’t need it any more.’
‘It’s a simple matter of compen—’
