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She pressed her hand to her stomach, and squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn’t excuse the liquid heat of desire in the pit of her belly on ignorance, she was simply stupid and weak and...
Oh, stop bleating, Gwen, and deal with it!
A tiny sigh huffed between her clenched lips as her slender shoulders lowered and her chin lifted fractionally in response to the bracing inner voice that had zero tolerance for self-pity.
It was one thing to acknowledge you had a problem, it was another entirely to find yourself staring it straight in the face. It left little room to hide from the fact, mortifying and shameful but inescapable, that when it came to Rio her hormones were utterly indiscriminate, though in her defence there couldn’t be many men who projected the aura of raw sexuality that he did.
She wasted one wistful moment wishing for a time when she had sincerely believed that respect and liking were necessary for sexual attraction, when she had believed that being paralysed with lust by an obsidian-eyed stare had anything to do with a mystical connection. No, actually she wasn’t wistful at all; it was scary to think how beneath her sophisticated facade she had been so totally vulnerable. She had had nearly three years to think about it and she had come to the conclusion that it had all been about her belated sexual awakening allied with her inexperience and timing. Yes, most importantly, it was always about the timing.
She’d told herself it could have been anyone who had sparked her desire; it had just happened to be Rio Bardales who had provided the catalyst, and the idea he wasn’t special whatsoever had been oddly comforting.
Misplaced comfort, as it happened. The second she’d seen him again she’d felt sick to her stomach and scared stiff. He had recognised her too—she had seen it in his eyes. The question was would he be curious enough to seek her out, talk to her, try and find out why she was here instead of New York? She clamped her lips tight over a snort of self-disgust for the idiot she had been. The simple fact was, she might have known a whole lot about financial forecasting, but when it came to life and men she just hadn’t had a clue.
Maybe she was paranoid after all, thinking he’d recognised her? She bore little resemblance to the sophisticated career girl on the fast track to success, with her designer clothes and strong sense of self-belief that she could achieve whatever she set her mind to.
Right now her mind was set to getting the hell out of here, as soon as humanly possible.
‘Max needs the bathroom,’ she hissed in Ruth’s ear.
Ruth started to get to her feet but responded to the pressure of Gwen’s hand on her shoulder and subsided back down.
‘I don’t want—’
Gwen smiled determinedly at the little boy. ‘Yes, you do...’
Looking slightly bewildered but not at all unwilling to leave the boring assembly, he trotted along beside Gwen as she made her dash for the side door.
Once in the cool, emotional calm of the long corridor lined with photographs of sporting achievements down the years of pupils past and present, she realised that she had really not handled that very well at all. In fact, probably the only thing she’d achieved was to draw attention to herself.
‘Miss...?’
‘Oh, yes, right.’ Her heels tapping on the floor, she led the boy to the nearest cloakroom.
‘Off you go. I’ll be waiting.’
Her excuse for escape vanished inside the boys’ cloakroom and Gwen let out a sigh as she leaned back against the wall.
This isn’t the time to panic, she told herself.
If not now, when?
She ignored the unhelpful insertion of her subconscious and reminded herself that Ellie was safely in the crèche, where it was most unlikely their VIP would be taken—the redbrick addition to the listed building was only a selling point to members of staff. No, he’d be taking the well-trodden route beginning in the photo gallery of alumni who had gone on to success and fame or, in some cases, had just had it handed to them on a plate, taking in the new state-of-the-art science block and then heading back via the restored, historically listed gardens for refreshments in the headmaster’s office.
She was safe and so, more importantly, was Ellie.
But she didn’t dare relax; people didn’t when nightmares started happening for real. Hand to her mouth, she straightened up and began to pace up and down until the trembling weakness in her legs made her stop. She placed her hands on the window sill, staring out at the quadrangle with its borders of herbs she had supervised her class planting last week.
Itwasgoing to be fine but she had to prepare for the worst, and hope...reallyhope for the best. Her smooth brow furrowed. The most important question was, how bad could the worst be?
This was a situation she had never anticipated happening when she had made her decision not to make contact with him after she’d discovered she was pregnant. It hadn’t been an easy choice to make or one she had ever foreseen she would have to. Having children had been something she had seen for herself, but only in the distant future when she was in a secure, loving relationship and had got far enough up the career ladder to be able to afford to step off the escalator temporarily and then afford excellent child care afterwards.
She was very conscious of the argument that morally a man had a right to know when he’d fathered a child and a child had a right to know who her father was, but what if that father had no interest in being a father? He’d demanded DNA proof of paternity once, she thought scornfully, so why would this time have been any different?
During her pregnancy there had been moments when she knew she wouldn’t ever tell him and others when she had come so close to making contact. She’d even composed emails she’d never sent. They’d generally been along the lines ofI thought you should know, but don’t worry, it’s fine that you’re not going to be involved in our child’s life, but any relevant family medical history would be appreciated.
She had see-sawed back and forth as she wrestled with the difficult choice throughout her pregnancy. There had been a deep sense of relief when she had finally made her decision while looking down with a sense of wonderment at her perfect newborn daughter, experiencing a swell of protective love she had never realised existed until that moment.
Why was she worrying about the rights of an accidental father who thought parenthood was just about making a genetic contribution? Presumably he’d ask her for DNA proof too. How could a man like that, a reluctant father, be good for her daughter? After all, this was all about what was best for her baby. Holding the warm, perfect person she had given life to, the cold-bloodedness of Rio’s attitude to being a father chilled her. She decided then and there that this baby would never know she had a father who didn’t want her.
