The Contaxis Baby (6 page)

Lizzie wakened with a start, feeling horribly queasy.

Sebasten was asleep. Sliding as quietly as she could from the bed, she fled to the bathroom, where nature took its course with punishing efficiency. Humbly grateful that Sebasten had not witnessed the final reward for her own foolishness, Lizzie got into the shower and used his shampoo to wash her hair. Even the already familiar smell of his shampoo turned her inside-out with intense longing. She felt weak, frighteningly vulnerable and yet crazily happy too. Yet hadn’t she honestly believed that she was in love with Connor? What did that say about her? Connor had never lowered her to the level of sniffing shampoo bottles. Connor had never turned her brain to mush with one smile, never made her feel scared…

Yes, she was scared, Lizzie acknowledged as she made use of the hair-dryer and surveyed her own hot, guilty face in the mirror. She was in wholly uncharted territory and she was scared that Sebasten would just think of her as a one-night stand and would not want to see her again. Wouldn’t that be just what she deserved? After all, how much respect could he have for a woman who just fell into his arms the very first night she met him? A woman, moreover, whom he had had to sober up first from the most disgusting state of inebriation. Shame and confusion enveloped Lizzie as she recalled how she had behaved and how he had reacted: angry and sardonic but essentially decent in that he had looked after her.

In the bedroom next door, Sebasten asked himself if he ought to be sympathetic towards her being ill and decided that support or sympathy might only encourage her to repeat the offence in the future. No, he definitely didn’t want to risk that. He might be almost convinced that she was not an habitual drunk but it was his nature to be cautious with women. So they had a future? He could not remember ever thinking that with a woman before and it really spooked him.

Springing out of bed, Sebasten lifted the phone and ordered breakfast and might well have made it into the bathroom to join her in the shower had he not stood on her tiny handbag where it had been abandoned on the floor the night before.

With a muttered curse as he wondered whether he had broken anything inside it, he swept it up and the contents fell out because the zipper hadn’t been closed. Reaching for the items, he thrust them back into the bag and in that rather impatient handling her driver’s licence slipped out of her purse. He studied her photograph with a smile and was in the act of putting it back when he saw the name.

Liza Denton.

What the hell was Lizzie doing with another woman’s driving licence in her possession? Sebasten stilled with a dark frown until he looked back at the photograph and the truth exploded on him with all the efficacy of an earthquake beneath his feet. Lizzie was usually short for Elizabeth but mightn’t it also be a diminutive for Liza? In thunderous disbelief, he recalled the club manager pointing out the small blonde on the dance floor the night before. It dawned on him then that the man might well have been pointing at Lizzie instead, for the two women had been standing together.

In a rare state of shock, Sebasten stared back down at the photo. Lizzie was Liza Denton, the vindictive, man-hungry tramp who had driven his own kid brother to self-destruction. Sebasten shuddered. Not only had Lizzie pretended to have only the most tenuous acquaintance with Connor, but she had also outright lied by giving him a false surname! Her awareness of the notoriety of her own name and her deliberate concealment of her true identity was, in his opinion, absolute proof of her guilt.

Lizzie Denton was a class act too, Sebasten acknowledged as he threw on clothes at speed, ferocious rage rising in direct proportion to the raw distaste now slicing through him. That he should have slept with the woman whom poor Connor had loved to distraction! That he himself should then have been taken in to the extent of believing her to be a virgin! Sebasten snatched in a harsh breath.

On top of that first shattering discovery the conviction that the judgement and intelligence that he prided himself on should have fallen victim to a clever act was even more galling. Of course, it had been an act calculated to impress! So calculating a woman would be well aware that, for a male as cynical and bone-deep Greek as he was, a pretence of sexual innocence had immense pulling power. For he had liked that idea, hadn’t he? The idea that he was the first to make her feel like that? The first to stamp that look of shellshocked admiration on her lovely face?

And why had she done it? Well, hadn’t she told him that herself? And very prettily too with tears glistening in her big green eyes. Her adoring daddy had pulled the plug on her credit line and she had to be desperate to find a rich and generous boyfriend to keep her in the style to which she was accustomed, sooner than accept the hard grind of the daily employment that others less fortunate took for granted as their lot in life. Then Lizzie Denton had not bargained on dealing with Connor’s big brother, had she?

In the fiery space of a moment, Sebasten knew exactly what he was about to do and little of his usual caution was in evidence. He would play her silly games until she was wholly in his power and then when she least expected it he would dump her as publicly as she had dumped Connor. He would repay lies with lies, hurt with hurt and pain with pain. It might not be the towering revenge he had quite envisaged but then why should her entire family suffer for her sins when it was evident that her father had already repudiated his daughter in disgust? It would be a much more personal act of vengeance…

With a chilling smile hardening his handsome mouth, Sebasten knocked on the bathroom door, cast it open only a few inches, for he did not yet trust himself to look her in the eye without betraying the sheer rage still powering him. ‘I’ll see you for breakfast downstairs…’

CHAPTER FOUR

H AVING stolen one of Sebasten’s shirts from a unit in the dressing room to cover her halter top, Lizzie descended the stairs in hopeful search of a dining room. She was a bag of nerves, her heart banging against her ribs.

Sebasten had not even waited for her to emerge from the bathroom and he had sounded so cold and distant when he had said that he would see her downstairs. After the night they had shared, it was not the way she had naively expected him to greet her and now she was wondering in stricken embarrassment if he was eager just to get her out of his house. Perhaps only some refined form of good breeding had urged him to offer breakfast at noon.

One look and I was hooked…wasn’t that what Sebasten had told her the night before? For an instant, she hugged that recollection to her and straightened her taut shoulders. But then maybe that had only been the sort of thing the average male said when things got as far as the bedroom. When she had no other man to compare him with, how would she know? Furthermore, he wasn’t the average male, was he? Lizzie stole an uneasy glance at the oil paintings and the magnificent antique collector’s cabinet in the huge hall. Everywhere she looked, she was seeing further signs of the kind of stratospheric wealth that could be rather intimidating.

A manservant appeared from the rear of the hall and opened a door into a formal dining-room, where Sebasten was seated at the end of a long polished dining-table. Colliding unwarily with veiled dark golden eyes as he rose upright with the kind of exquisite manners that she was unused to meeting with, she felt a tide of colour warm her pale complexion, and broke straight into nervous speech. ‘I pinched one of your shirts. I hope you don’t mind.’

‘I should have sent out for some clothes for you,’ Sebasten countered, throwing her into a bewildered loop with that assurance and then the unsettling suspicion that he brought a different woman home at least three times a week. ‘My apologies.’

As the unfamiliar intimate ache at the heart of her tense body reminded her of just how passionate and demanding a lover Sebasten was, Lizzie dragged her tense gaze from his in awful embarrassment and sank down fast into a seat.

Sebasten was very tempted to give her a round of applause for her performance. The blushing show of discomfiture was presumably aimed at convincing him that she had never before spent a night with a man and faced him the next morning.

‘I have an apartment you can use,’ he murmured evenly.

Startled by that sudden offer of accommodation, Lizzie glanced up. ‘Oh…I wouldn’t dream of it.’

‘I can’t bear to think of you being homeless,’ Sebasten quipped.

‘Well, I won’t be after I’ve found somewhere of my own, which I intend to do today,’ Lizzie hastened to add, grateful for the distraction of the food being presented to her by the manservant.

‘It’s not that easy to find decent accommodation in London,’ Sebasten countered.

‘I’ll manage. Thousands do and so will I. In fact, I’m looking forward to proving to my father that I can look after myself,’ Lizzie admitted. ‘I did offer to leave home after Dad remarried but he wouldn’t hear of it. He had a self-contained flat built in the stable block at the back of the house for me.’

Settling back in his antique rosewood carver chair, Sebasten cradled his black coffee in one lean brown hand and surveyed her with a frown-line dividing his level ebony brows. ‘I can’t understand why the indulgent father you describe should suddenly go to the other extreme and practically throw you out of your home.’

Visibly, Lizzie lost colour and after some hesitation said, ‘Dad thinks he’s spoilt me rotten—’

‘Did he?’

‘Yes,’ Lizzie confided ruefully. ‘And I have to be honest and admit that I loved being spoilt.’

‘Any man would feel privileged to offer you the same treatment,’ Sebasten drawled, smooth as glass.

Lizzie laughed out loud. ‘Stop sending me up!’ she urged.

Grudging appreciation flared in Sebasten’s veiled gaze. She was clever, he conceded. She had not snatched at the apartment he had mentioned and was determined to demonstrate an appealing acceptance of her reduced circumstances. ‘So what are your plans?’

Lizzie thought of the number of bills she had to settle and almost flinched. Before leaving home she had trotted up the sum total of her liabilities, and she was well aware that without her father’s generous allowance only the sale of her jewellery and her car would enable her to keep her head above water on a much smaller budget. However, she had no intention of startling him with those uncomfortable realities.

‘Somewhere to live is my first priority and then a job.’

It was evident that he had made use of another bathroom while she hogged his own. His black hair was still damp, his strong jawline clean shaven and she couldn’t stop staring at him. Inherent strength and command were etched in his devastatingly attractive features and, regardless of the little sleep he had enjoyed, no shadows marked the clarity of his dark golden eyes. Even in his mood of cool reserve that increased her own apprehension as to how he now saw her, she was fascinated by him.

‘On the career front, try the Select Recruitment agency.’ Sebasten not only had a controlling interest in the business but also used it to recruit all his own personal staff. ‘I’ve heard that they’re good.’

‘They would need to be,’ Lizzie remarked with a wry twist of her lush mouth. ‘I have no references, only basic qualifications and very little work experience to offer.’

‘I’m sure you’ll manage to package your classy appearance and lively personality as the ultimate in saleable commodities. It all comes down to presentation. Concentrate on what you can do and not what you can’t,’ Sebasten advised.

Grateful for his advice and the indirect compliment, Lizzie nibbled at a delicious calorie-laden croissant spread with honey and sipped at her tea. Did he want to see her again? She thought not. As her hand trembled, the cup she held shook and she set it back on the saucer in haste. Don’t be such a baby, she urged herself furiously, willing back the stinging moisture at the backs of her eyes. Indeed she might console herself with the reflection that what had been so special for her had probably been equally special for him in that she could not credit that he made a regular habit of sharing cold showers with a drunk.

As the grandfather clock in the corner struck the hour, Sebasten rose to his feet again with a sigh. ‘I’m afraid I have a lunch engagement I can’t break at my club but my chauffeur will drive you back to wherever you’re staying. Please don’t feel that you have to hurry your meal.’

‘It’s OK…I’ve finished anyway.’ With a fixed and valiant smile, Lizzie extracted herself from behind the table with uncool speed and walked back out to the hall ahead of him, her hand so tight on her bag that her knuckles showed white. No, she wasn’t very good at this morning-after-the-night-before lark and possibly it was a lesson she had needed. Never, ever again would she drink like that, never, ever again would she let a squashed ego persuade her to jump into bed with a guy she had just met.

Possibly being awkward and gauche came naturally to her, Sebasten reflected in surprise, raising a brow at her headlong surge from his dining room. She was behaving like one of his dogs did when he uttered a verbal rebuke: as though he had taken a stick to her. He was pretty certain that Connor had not exercised similar power over her and grim amusement lit his keen gaze.

‘I might as well give you a lift,’ he proffered equably, determined to drag out her discomfiture for as long as he could. ‘What’s the address?’

Ensconced in the opulent limousine while Sebasten made a phone call and talked in Greek, Lizzie was just counting the minutes until she could escape his company. She watched him spread the long, shapely fingers of one lean, bronzed hand to stress some point that he was making and her tummy flipped at the helpless recollection of how he had made her feel in his bed: driven, possessed, wild, ecstatic. All unfamiliar emotions on her terms and mortifying and painful to acknowledge in the aftermath of an intimacy that was not to be repeated.

Having made arrangements to have her followed every place she went, Sebasten flipped open a business magazine out of sheer badness until the limo drew up outside the smart block of flats where she was staying. Only as she leapt onto the pavement like a chicken fleeing the fox did he lean forward and say, ‘I’ll call you…’

Lizzie blinked and her long, naturally dark lashes swept up on her surprised eyes as she nodded, staring back at him while his chaffeur hovered. ‘You don’t have my number,’ she suddenly pointed out and before he could be put to the trouble of asking for it, she gave him the number of her mobile phone.

When Lizzie finally sped from view, slim shoulders now thrown back, marmalade hair blowing back like a banner in the breeze and long, perfect legs flashing beneath her short skirt, Sebasten was recovering from the new experience of being told that nobody had a photographic memory for numbers and then directed to punch hers straight into his phone so that he didn’t forget it because she wouldn’t be at her current address much longer.

Without a doubt, he was now recognising what might have drawn Connor in so deep, Connor, who had had strong protective instincts for the vulnerable: that jolly-schoolgirlish bluntness she practised, that complete seeming lack of a cool front, that seductive, what-you-see-is-what-you-get attitude she specialised in. And it was novel, different, but it was indisputably a pose designed to charm and mislead, Sebasten decided in contemptuous and angry dismissal.

Did I really make him put my number straight into his phone? Lizzie asked herself in shock as she stepped into the lift. Oh, well, he already knew how keen she was and at least that way she deprived herself of the time-wasting comfort of wondering if he had just forgotten her number when he didn’t call. And he wouldn’t call, she was convinced he wouldn’t call, because he had been polite but essentially aloof.

At no stage had he made the smallest move to touch her in any way and yet he was a very hot-blooded guy, the sort of male who expressed intimacy with contact. Indeed, looking back to the instant of their first meeting the night before, she was challenged to recall a moment when he had not automatically maintained some kind of actual physical contact with her. Yet in spite of that, when she joined him for breakfast he had been as remote as the Andes around her. Then why had he offered her the use of an apartment? Maybe such a proposition was no big deal to a male who might well deal in property, maybe it had even been his way of saying thanks for a sexually uninhibited night with a total tart. After all, weren’t all single men supposed to secretly crave a tart in the bedroom?

As Jen answered the doorbell, Lizzie was pale as death from the effects of that last humiliating thought.

‘You have a visitor,’ Jen informed her in a disgruntled tone, her pretty face stiff with annoyance. ‘Your stepmother has been plonked in my sitting room since twelve, waiting for you to put in an appearance.’

At that announcement and the tone of it, Lizzie stiffened in dismay. What on earth was Felicity playing at? All that needed to be said had been said and it was still a punishment for her to even look at her stepmother. And did Jen, who had invited her to stay in the first place, really have to be so sour?

‘Look, I’ll get changed and get rid of her and then I’ll be out of here just as fast as I can get my cases back into my car,’ Lizzie promised, hurrying down to the bedroom, refusing to subject herself to the further embarrassment of greeting Felicity in an outfit that spelt out the demeaning truth that she had not slept anywhere near her own wardrobe the night before.

Clad in tailored cream cotton chinos and a pink cashmere cardigan, Lizzie walked into Jen’s sitting room ten minutes later. Felicity spun round from the window, a tiny brunette, barely five feet one inch tall with a gorgeous figure and a tiny waist that Lizzie noted in surprise was still not showing the slightest hint that she had to be almost four months pregnant. Her classic, beautiful face was dominated by enormous violet-blue eyes. Predictably, those eyes were already welling with tears and Lizzie’s teeth gritted.

‘When your father told me what he had done, I was devastated for you!’ Felicity gushed with a shake in her breathless little-girl voice. ‘I felt so guilty that I had to come straight over here and—’

‘Check out that I would continue to keep quiet about you and my former boyfriend?’ Lizzie slotted in with distaste, for the brunette’s shallow insincerity grated on her. ‘I gave you my word that I wouldn’t talk but it’s not something I want to keep on discussing with you.’

‘But how on earth will you cope without your allowance?’ Felicity demanded. ‘I’ve been thinking…I could help you out. Maurice is very generous and I’m sure he wouldn’t notice.’

Hush money, Lizzie found herself thinking in total revulsion. ‘I’ll manage.’

Felicity gave her a veiled assessing look that was a poor match for her tremulous mouth and glistening eyes. ‘You’ve never been out there on your own and you don’t know how hard it can be. If only I didn’t have our baby’s future to think of, I swear I would have told your father the truth.’

The truth? And which version would that be? Lizzie thought back to the conflicting stories that Felicity and Connor had both hurled at her in the aftermath of her inopportune visit to the cottage which had become their secret love-nest. Her stepmother’s priorities had been brutally obvious. Felicity had had no intention of surrendering her comfortable lifestyle and adoring older husband to set up home with an impecunious lover. As he had listened to the brunette lie in her teeth about their affair and accuse him of trying to wreck her happy marriage, Connor’s jaw had dropped, his disbelief palpable. When her stepmother had followed up that with the announcement that she was pregnant, Lizzie’s shock had been equal to Connor’s devastated response.