Their Secret Baby (3 page)

Except that Sean might have mentioned to Caitlin their conversation about the baby. Which left him totally confused about what he could or could not say.

And so when he
did
speak, rushing in to cover his momentary hesitation, he sounded as shocked and disapproving as any maiden aunt learning of the baby for the first time.

Clearly Caitlin thought so too.

‘She’s not mine!’ she responded with sharp defensiveness. ‘She’s—she was—my cousin’s child.’

‘We’ve had a bereavement in the family recently,’ Bob put in by way of an explanation.

‘I’m sorry.’

He had to force himself to say it. Not that he wasn’t sorry that Amelie was dead. She had been so vivid and bright and full of life that no one could have known her and not felt sadness that she had gone. But his wife had walked out on him, not once, but twice. Once when she had said that she never wanted children. And the second time when, after a pretence at a ‘reconciliation’, she’d realised he’d guessed she only wanted him for his money. He’d been used once too often to have any affection left.

Besides, it stuck in his throat to sympathise with these two, who had taken advantage of his wife’s death to steal away his child and keep her for themselves.

‘So you’re looking after her baby?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Doesn’t she have a father?’

Father and daughter exchanged a swift, secret look of something shared. Something they were not prepared to let the world in on.

‘They were badly estranged—Amelie and her husband.’ It was Bob who explained. ‘And he was never interested in children. In fact he told her to have an abortion—that’s why they split up.’

‘What?’

This time, Rhys just couldn’t help himself. In spite of every effort he put into holding it back, the raw-voiced exclamation of shock and disbelief escaped him.

Amelie had claimed that
he’d
wanted her to have an abortion? How could she? How
dared
she?

And how dared these people…?

‘I know. You can’t imagine it, can you?’

For a couple of dazed seconds he couldn’t even interpret Bob’s tone, let alone recognise what had motivated it. But then he saw the way the older man was thinking.

He’d taken Rhys’s outburst as an indication that he was appalled by Amelie’s husband’s behaviour. Somehow, just when he thought he had given himself away, he had apparently managed quite the opposite.

Bob Richardson was looking at him with open approval and even his daughter seemed to have eased up on her ‘you are the spawn of the devil’ stance. She was actually looking at him with less than total loathing in her eyes. Ruthlessly he pressed home his advantage.

‘How lucky that you were there to take the—a little girl—?’ this time he managed to sound more as if he was feeling his way into the subject ‘—take her in.’

‘We couldn’t do anything else.’

It was Caitlin who spoke, sounding strangely defensive, for no reason that Rhys could see. And there was a wary look about the golden eyes that piqued his curiosity sharply. She was holding something back. And every instinct he possessed told him that it was something she was holding back from her father too.

‘Of course not.’

God, but he hated having to sound so soothing, so much in agreement. But it was the only way.

He suspected that if he made his move now, went in all guns blazing, he would be very much in danger of frightening her into total flight. He could push her to snatch up the baby and run—and if she did then his weeks of careful investigating would all be for nothing. It could be months before he found her again.

Months before he held his baby daughter in his arms.

The baby whose name he didn’t even know yet.

So instead he swallowed down the anger and forced himself to maintain the soft-toned approach.

‘We wouldn’t need to go very far. We could have dinner in the hotel if that would suit.’

‘Oh, that—’ Belatedly Bob Richardson realised it was not up to him to answer. ‘Cait?’ He threw her a speaking look. ‘I’ll babysit for you.’

Caitlin knew what that look meant. Her father wanted her to do this. He thought it would be good for her.

And the truth was that it probably
would
be good for her. She couldn’t lock herself away and mourn Josh for the rest of her life.

Perhaps she’d had it all wrong, she thought, looking into the blue, blue eyes of the man in front of her. There was nothing about this Matthew Delaney that should worry her. The problem had all been with her from the start.

‘Well?’

‘I—I don’t know.’

‘I really would like it if you’d have dinner with me,’ he said softly. And at her side Caitlin felt her father stir and move away quietly and tactfully. ‘Please.’

What could she say? How could she refuse when those brilliant eyes were fixed on her face, and his voice had softened so enticingly as he’d added that final word?

Admit it, a voice whispered inside her head. Go on, admit the truth. You’re flattered and frankly stunned that a man as good-looking and charismatic as this should be interested in you. After Josh, and his betrayal, you find it hard to believe that anyone like this would want you to have dinner with them.

Josh had been a stunningly good-looking man, and wealthy too. She had always thought that it just wasn’t possible he would choose her over anyone else. She had been convinced that one day someone more equal to him would come along and he’d lose interest and go with her instead.

And when Amelie had come into their lives, her suspicions had proved exactly right.

But was that any reason to turn down this man’s invitation?

‘Who left the rose?’

His response was a wide, wicked grin that lifted her heart and did disturbing things to her blood pressure, making her pulse tap-dance excitedly.

‘Young Sean,’ he said simply, openly. ‘I think he has a terrible crush on you. But don’t tell him I told you.’

‘I won’t…’

How could she say anything else when he was letting her off the hook in a way? He could have made a big thing of the fact that she had suspected him—accused him openly.

‘And—and yes. I will have dinner with you tonight.’

If he had made any clever comment, or looked triumphant—anything that made her feel edgy in any way—then she would have changed her mind and hastily withdrawn her agreement.

But he didn’t. He just smiled, briefly and gently and alarmingly pleasantly, and murmured, ‘Thank you,’ in a low, husky voice that made her toes curl in quick reaction.

‘Would eight o’clock suit you?’

‘It should be fine. I’ll just check the bookings diary.’

She was glad of a chance to escape and move to the reception desk, concentrating her attention on pulling out the diary, riffling through the pages and finding the date. It was as she bent her head over it that she heard him come close up behind her.

‘Eight’s a problem…’

She studiously avoided looking at him, her heart jumping erratically in response to his silent closeness so that she knew her colour must be heightened, her eyes over-bright.

‘But if we make it half-past?’

‘That’ll suit me.’

‘Great.’

As she scribbled down the appointed time, a lock of soft brown hair fell forward over her face, getting into her eye. With an exclamation of annoyance she brushed it back, tucking it behind her ear.

The tiny gesture did disturbing things to Rhys’s struggle for composure. Already his precarious hold on his temper had been threatened by what she had told him about the baby. The rage that had boiled up inside him at the way that he—as her cousin’s estranged husband—had been painted totally black was still lurking inside, barely under control.

He could only pray that his outward appearance had hidden the way that his hands had been clenched into hard fists where they were pushed deep into his pockets.

But now another feeling clutched at his guts, twisting sharply. A different, but equally primitive feeling. A physical hunger that burned away thought.

But not all thought.

Because, totally unexpectedly, mixed in with the most basic, most primal hunger, he had a sudden rush of sympathy. Of tenderness. A longing to hold and protect—to
cherish
this woman.

It was the line of her cheek that did it. The delicate curve of her jaw, the faintly rose-tinted pallor of her skin.

They were fine and feminine and totally irresistible. And he couldn’t fight the appeal they made to his senses.

His mouth felt dry, his throat tightening. He leaned closer, the faint, floral scent of her perfume swirling round him like a fragrant cloud. His thoughts swam, his body tightening, and he could barely see as his lips came closer, touched the fine-skinned area under her ear and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the warmth of her flesh.

Caitlin froze for a second, then reacted sharply. Her head swung round, translucent eyes wide and startled.

‘What—?’

Anger was the first thing that sprang to her tongue. Anger and rejection.

But as soon as her gaze locked with the deep blue of his, suddenly the rejection evaporated. And the anger vanished immediately afterwards. Instead she had the scarily composure-shaking feeling that she was looking into the eyes of fate. Of something she didn’t yet understand, but which was going to affect her life forever.

‘Did that break the rules?’ he questioned softly. ‘Because if it did then I can’t say I’m sorry.’

‘Yes—no…’ Caitlin managed, not sure at all how she should answer or even what she was answering.

Rules? What rules? It seemed as if even ordinary, everyday life had lost its meaning and her grip on life was slipping away from her fingers.

‘No,’ she decided at last and that seemed to be the answer that pleased him. At least his eyes seemed less dangerous, and his mouth curved faintly at the corners into something that was almost a smile.

‘I couldn’t resist it. I wanted to kiss you. I have done from the start. Just as I wanted you to have dinner with me tonight.’

‘I—I’m glad. I wanted it too.’

And the really scary thing, Caitlin reflected as she watched him walk away, tall, dark, devastating and totally disruptive to her peace of mind, was just how true that was.

‘I
THINK
it’s time we left.’

Rhys glanced briefly at his watch then lifted a hand to summon the hovering waiter.

‘Do you realise that we are the only people left in here?’

‘Are we?’

Startled, Caitlin glanced round her sharply, the movement reflected and repeated over and over in the dozens of gold-framed mirrors that lined the walls of the restaurant.

‘Where did everyone go?’

‘To the bar. To their rooms. To bed.’

Was it only in his mind that those words had the sensual echoes that reverberated around them, like the ripples from a stone thrown into the stillness of a pond? Or had the big golden eyes that had focused on him so intently all night suddenly darkened and deepened as if her thoughts were reflected there?

The three days since his arrival at the hotel might not have changed very much. But the three hours since she had joined him in the restaurant tonight had resulted in much more than he could have hoped for.

In those three hours, Caitlin Richardson seemed to have become another woman entirely. So much so that he hardly recognised her as the uptight receptionist who had greeted him on his arrival at the Linford.

The physical change had been the first, the most amazing thing. The shock had been so great that he had simply stared in disbelief, all hope of speech deserting him. And for the first time in the months since he had learned of his daughter’s existence, all recollection of the baby fled from his mind in a second.

He had only one thought in his head and that was that he
wanted
this woman. He wanted her so badly that it hurt like a kick in the gut, making him fight to suppress a groan of response.

The neat navy and white uniform she had worn had been replaced by a silk dress in a deep, rich peacock-blue, tight-fitting and clinging all the way down her elegant frame to just above her knees. The bodice was sleeveless, strapless, boned in a way that enhanced the slight curves of her small breasts, lifting and displaying them in a way that made his breath catch in his throat, struggling to force his eyes away. And over it she wore a gauzy top of some toning, transparent fabric that flattered the delicate ivory of her skin, shading and defining it in a subtly enticing way. Fine shoes, so fragile as to be almost non-existent, with a small, thin heel, emphasised the slender length of her legs sheathed in the finest silken stockings.

The soft brown hair that had been so ruthlessly scraped back before now hung in a sleek and glossy mane, and the way that it caught the light from the elaborate chandelier showed that it had strands of bronze and gold gleaming amongst the brown, like the glow of the softest candlelight. And some skilful touch with make-up had made her eyes huge, her lashes thick and impossibly long, her mouth soft and glossy and tormentingly kissable.

But the biggest change had been in her personality. Just like her hair, she had softened and warmed, seeming determined to relax and enjoy herself. She had smiled. She had laughed. She had chatted easily and apparently openly. And she had given every impression of enjoying the evening thoroughly.

Which gave him hope for moving the next stage of his plan along before too long.

And added the kick of anticipated pleasure to sweeten the mixture he was aiming for.

‘Would you like a drink in the bar—a liqueur, or brandy?’

‘No, I think not. I’d better get back.’

Was that regret in her voice? He certainly hoped so. It sounded as though she was reluctant to leave.

Reluctance suited him down to the ground.

‘I’ll walk with you.’

That brought a look of surprise and frank disbelief to her face.

‘I only have about a hundred yards to go.’

‘But I always walk my date home at the end of the evening.’

He watched her register the word ‘date’, turn it over in her mind, debate with herself whether she was going to let him get away with it.

‘There’s no need—’

‘Caitlin—’ he broke in sharply ‘—let me do this.’

He’d pitched his voice just right—aiming at a blend of concern and insistence, with a touch of need threading through it. And he knew he’d hit home as she opened her mouth to refuse, then stilled, and carefully closed it again.

‘Matthew, I really don’t think this is necessary.’

‘But I do.’

She couldn’t know what it did to him to hear her voice, soft and faintly husky, use his name—or at least the name that he had given her. Something twisted sharply deep inside in response and he had to clamp his mouth tight shut against the sudden impulse to tell her the truth.

He would have to do so sooner or later, but first he hoped to win her round to viewing him with at least a degree of favour. That way he would have the advantage of her when he finally revealed why he was here.

When he demanded that she hand his child over to him.

But at the same time there was a need that tied his nerves into knots. The need to hear her use his real name. And to use it other than in a way to try and put him off.

He could just imagine what those soft tones would sound like in the darkness of the bedroom. In the sensual aftermath of lovemaking. In the height of passion…

Oh, hell—no!

He was intensely grateful that the need to open the heavy swing doors, to stand back, holding one while she went before him, was activity enough to distract both her attention and his from the embarrassingly frank way his body was betraying him. He was hard and hot and hungry, his pulse thudding dangerously.

The blast of cool night air in his face from the courtyard outside did something for the heat, but little to ease the hunger, or the race of his pulse. And quite frankly the sight of Caitlin’s elegant form, just a couple of metres in front of him, with her straight back, slim hips, the curves of her buttocks swaying as she moved, only worsened the way he was feeling. So much so that he paused, fighting his reactions, struggling for control.

It was a long, long time since he had felt like this about any woman. And it was damned inconvenient that it should happen now, with
this
woman. When he needed to be in control of every move, every thought. When he wanted to make sure that he was the winner, not her.

‘Matthew?’

She had stopped a short distance away and was looking back, a faint frown creasing the space between her brows.

‘Matthew?’ she said again and he realised that for a few dangerously revealing seconds he hadn’t recognised his assumed name and was too slow reacting to it. ‘I thought you wanted to walk me back.’

‘And I got the distinct impression that you didn’t want me to bother.’

Damn. He’d aimed for sounding offhand and missed it by a mile.

‘So what is it to be, Caitlin? Yes or no?’

What is it to be? The words swirled round in Caitlin’s thoughts as she struggled to find an answer. Any answer. An answer that would get her off this emotional see-saw she had been riding ever since this man had appeared in her life.

She had felt, if not happy, then at least secure. If she let nothing new into her life, nothing emotional, then nothing could hurt her. At least that was the way she had reasoned. But then this Matthew had walked into the hotel and seemed to have blasted straight through the defences she had built around herself and her heart

He had touched her; mentally if not physically. And she didn’t want to be touched.

‘Well?’

Why did she get the idea that he was asking much more than the simple question that had started this? Looking back at him, she could see how the moonlight had fallen on his face so that she could see only one half of it. The profile that was directly towards her. The rest of his features were totally in shadow, unseen and totally impossible to interpret.

Which fitted with the way she felt about him. The idea she had that he was not really showing her his true self. That she could only see one part of him. The part that was in the light.

But what about the part that was in the darkness?

No, she was being ridiculous! Determinedly she gave herself a brisk mental shake, wanting to dispel the foolish fantasies that were clouding her thoughts. What could he do to her, for heaven’s sake? What could happen in a short walk, with the lights and the windows of the hotel rooms on all sides?

And why was she saying no when the truth was that she wanted to say…?

‘Yes.’

The response slipped past her lips before she had time for a second thought and when he moved to her side she knew she didn’t want to think again. Once more that unexpected feeling of being young, female and
alive
bubbled up inside her and she knew she was going to go with it.

She
wanted
to go with it.

She had been alone too long. Much longer than anyone in her family realised. She had enjoyed herself tonight with this stunning, charming, fascinating man. And for the first time in long, lonely months she had forgotten that her lover—the man she had believed was a heartbeat away from becoming her fiancé—had betrayed her with her cousin Amelie.

And so when his hand bumped against hers, as so often happened when two people were walking together, she didn’t snatch hers away, but let it linger suggestively.

He took the hint and folded his fingers around hers, warm and hard and strong, and the sheer reality of his touch grabbed at the breath in her throat, stilling it and holding it captive just for a second. And when she could breathe again she felt light-headed with the rush of oxygen to her brain. And the rush of something else, very different, very primitive, to other, ultra-feminine parts of her body.

‘I enjoyed myself tonight,’ she told him. ‘The meal was wonderful.’

‘You have your father’s chef to thank for that.’

‘For the food, yes. Marcel is brilliant. But it was the company I enjoyed more.’

‘I’m glad you felt that way.’ His voice was low and sounded huskily sincere. ‘I enjoyed it too.’

Already they had made their way down the paved path and come to the bottom of the steps that led up to the small building that formed her home. Caitlin paused and glanced up at him.

‘Well, here we are—home safe and sound, after that long, difficult journey.’

The grin that spread across his face in response to her gentle teasing was wide, brilliant and totally unrestrained. His face was in the full light of the lamp so that she could see both sides of it, bright and clear. And the formerly hidden, the shadowed side was just the same as the rest, open and friendly, and devastatingly, lethally attractive.

And what had she been expecting? she reproved herself sharply. She had to stop being so stupidly fanciful.

‘You’ve done your duty. Brought me home.’

‘Safe and sound.’

One long finger reached out to rest against her cheek, and he bent his dark head very slightly, looking deep into her eyes.

‘So this is goodnight…’

‘It doesn’t have to be.’

She didn’t know she was going to say the words until she heard them floating on the cool night air.

‘You always see your dates home…I always offer mine coffee when they walk me to my door. So…’

‘Yes.’

He didn’t pretend to need any further explanation of what she meant. Even as he spoke his arm was coming round her shoulders, sliding down her back to her waist, turning her slightly towards the steps. And then he dropped a soft, tender kiss on her upturned face.

‘And I always say yes.’

Caitlin felt as if the arm at her back had lifted her from the ground, as if her feet weren’t treading on the damp stone of the steps, but she was almost floating upwards towards her door. They started slow but then the pressure at her waist increased and her movements picked up speed until she was almost running, running to the top and across the tiny courtyard.

She actually let an exclamation of annoyance and impatience escape her at the thought that the door was shut—that she would have to fumble for her key, delaying more than she wanted the time when she was alone with this man in the privacy of her home.

‘At last!’

The words escaped her in an instinctive sigh and she could have sworn that she heard them echoed, an octave lower, by Matthew as he came through the door behind her, his movements hurried and abrupt as a sudden cloudburst threatened to drown him in a torrential downpour.

‘I am
so
glad that you invited me in!’ he declared, shaking his dark head so that raindrops flew from his hair, spattering against the walls.

‘Because of the rain?’ Caitlin teased, unexpectedly breathless and knowing it had nothing to do with the rush up the steps and through the door.

There was laughter in his face as he turned to look at her. But the amusement faded, ebbing away fast as his eyes met hers, locked and held.

‘No, not because of the rain,’ he said in a voice that was rough-edged and dark. ‘Because of this…’

Reaching out, he caught hold of her arm, pulling her towards him, not roughly but not gently either. She came up against the hard strength of his body with a force that knocked some of the breath from her body. Breath that she hadn’t quite been aware of holding in until she heard the faint, shocked, ‘Ooof!’ that escaped her.

It was the only sound she was capable of as his arms folded round her, enclosing her tightly, and his head came down, the skin of his cheek cold and fresh with the night air against her own.

But the mouth that captured hers was hot. Hot as hell—or did she mean hot as heaven?

Because heaven had to feel like this. Like this rich, violent rush of joy that almost made her swoon away from its impact on her senses. The thick, ragged pounding of her heart forcing the blood through her veins with an almost savage throb. And the instant, yearning response that met his kiss with another of her own, with a need and a hunger that was a delight in the same moment that it veered dangerously close to pain.

Heaven had to be this bright, this burning, this unbelievable.

So much so that the loss of it felt like the loss of life itself.