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His expression was grim. “Put your clothes on, Ava. We are going out.”
She blinked, confused and uncertain. “Cris?”
She’d been dreaming. She’d been dreaming they’d made love in the middle of the day, like two teenagers with nothing better to do but indulge their hormones.
She shook her head, and then sat bolt upright. It had been no dream. They’d actually done it. She had done it, with their daughter asleep upstairs and the front doors to the house unlocked. She clasped a hand to her forehead, and let out a noise of regret. Why couldn’t she think straight around him? Why did he turn her into a pile of sensuality and little else?
He reached down and tossed her dress onto the bed beside her. “Now, Ava.”
Her eyes were enormous in her pale face. “I …” She swallowed, but reached for the dress. Apart from anything, she felt at a disadvantage now that she was naked. He watched her pull the flimsy cotton over her head with satisfaction and then reached for his own shirt. He ripped it on, his mood dark and worsening by the minute.
“I’ve been thinking about something,” he said, while she pulled her underwear over her legs. Her hair was messy. He ached to run his fingers through it. But he couldn’t indulge his libido any longer. There were more important matters at stake.
“Yes?” She prompted, when he didn’t continue instantly.
“When you came to Rio, you came to my penthouse.”
She swallowed. “Yes?”
“And my house
keeper told you I didn’t want to see you.”
She felt dizzy. The memories were agonising to re-live.
“Yes,” she agreed coldly.
He took a step towards her, determined that he would see her face when he told her the truth. “Do you think that she might have convinced me, Ava, if you’d told her that the baby in your belly was mine?”
A million expressions burst on her face. All the colour drained from her flesh, and she fell to the side of the bed without taking her eyes from him. Her eyes were heavy with doubt and grief. Good. He hoped she was hurting. For whatever reason she’d decided not to tell him about Milly, it had been the wrong choice.
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Well?” He prompted, when she didn’t speak for a full minute.
“What … what do you mean?” She asked carefully, finally, her eyes no longer meeting his.
It was the wrong thing to say; she understood that instantly. “Even now you wish to lie to me? You hope perhaps you are wrong, and I that I do not know for a fact you have our child here, in this house? Even now, you wish to keep from me the fact that I am a father?”
Her mouth dropped. She shook her head. “It’s not like that.”
“My God, Ava, I am not a violent man, but I want to punch something.” A muscle clenched in his jaw and she understood how hard he was fighting to keep a hold on his temper. “How can you have done this?” His accent was thick; his words loaded with feeling.
“Cris …”
“Don’t.” He held an imperious hand up. It shook slightly. His passionate nature had transfixed her from the first. Now it terrified her. Not out of fear that he might hurt her, but because it forced her to confront the truth of how her decisions had affected him. “Don’t you dare make excuses.”
Ava squeezed her eyes shut and drew in a shaking breath. “You met Milly.”
“Yes, I met Milly.” He exhaled angrily and his nostrils flared wide. “When was she born?”
Her response was matter-of-fact. “September eighth.”
He shook his head. “I have a daughter.”
Tears streamed out of her eyes and down her cheeks. They dropped with thudding splashes against her thighs.
“Did you really think … My God.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “My God,” he repeated. “I’ve never known anyone like you. Are you crazy? Did you really think you could keep her from me?”
She bit down on her lip. A sob tore from her body.
