You sometimes had to fight dirty to win wars and he’d won a lot.
‘Are you threatening me?’ she asked weakly.
‘I seldom threaten,’ Matt returned neutrally, his navy eyes never leaving her face. ‘I rely on everyone else seeing sense.’
She was tempted to smile at a remark that was so typically him. ‘I can look after myself, Matt. I’ve spent a lifetime doing that.’
‘But was that something you chose to do, or something that circumstance chose for you?’ He allowed that to sink in before continuing. ‘All good things come to an end and, while you’re waxing lyrical about the joys of single parenting and the nightmare of being harnessed to someone for the sake of a child, I think you should contemplate what it might feel like when you try to explain to our son or daughter down the line that they were denied the stability of two parents because you wanted to be free to find the perfect guy.’
Violet whitened. ‘That’s below the belt—and whoever said anything about a perfect guy?’
‘And I’m very sorry that I have to bring it up, but bring it up I shall—you won’t be returning to Melbourne. In your condition, long haul travel can’t be a good idea.’
‘You can’t kidnap me, Matt!’
‘Kidnap?’ He smiled slowly and she felt that familiar warmth spread through her body, felt the tingle between her thighs that was a sharp reminder of how much power this man had over her. ‘You have a very colourful image of the sort of man I’m capable of being. I draw the line at many things. Kidnapping is one of them.’ He paused and their eyes locked, his stunning navy gaze pinned to her face so that even blinking felt like an effort.
‘You act as though doing the right thing is somehow a crime,’ Matt told her softly. ‘When it comes to children, they should be put first, because they’re the ones who end up bearing the scars from selfish, self-serving parents. When your father was showing me those pictures of you in his photo albums, what I saw was a guy who might have gone off the rails when it came to drink and drugs but who, when it came to the things that count, was right there. Am I wrong?’
Violet shifted uncomfortably. ‘I get what you’re saying, but that doesn’t mean that we have to get married, Matt. We can both be here for our child even if we live apart.’
‘And have separate relationships?’
‘I...I hadn’t thought that far ahead.’ She stumbled over her words. The picture he was painting was rolling towards her with the inexorability of a tank, crushing all her fine intentions and her conviction that a union born from convenience was beyond the pale. She wanted to marry for love. What was wrong with that?
‘I have no intention of letting any man bring up a child of mine,’ he said bluntly. ‘You can talk as much as you like about sanitised, modern caring, and sharing partnerships where all sorts of extended family members chip in, but that doesn’t work for me.’
Violet shook her head in pure amazement at the tangent his thoughts had taken but, then again, Matt Falconer was not averse to dramatic exaggeration if he thought that it suited his purpose, as it did now.
That said...
Her mind drifted. What was good for the goose was good for the gander...
As if he had a direct hotline to her thoughts, he tilted his head back at a proud angle and arrowed searching eyes to her face. ‘And tell me how you’re going to feel if and when I find myself a doting mother figure for our child.’
‘I didn’t think you went for the kind of women who doted on little kids,’ Violet muttered, for want of anything better to say, and he gave an eloquent shrug of his broad shoulders.
‘Needs must,’ he stated succinctly. ‘I would hardly be interested in continuing my current lifestyle, given the circumstances. As a father, I would want to introduce moral standards that would serve as an example to my child as he or she got older. I hadn’t foreseen the necessity for getting serious with any woman but then, face it, I also hadn’t foreseen that I would be in this position at this point in time.’
Violet was beginning to get a headache and the nausea was creeping up again. She lay back against the pillows and closed her eyes for a few moments.
‘We can carry on this conversation at a later date,’ Matt said gruffly. He turned away, and she was only aware of him talking again to the doctor he had previously called when he spun back round to face her and said without preamble, ‘You’re sick and my guy is coming over right now to examine you.’
‘You have a guy?’ Relief washed over her. It felt treacherously good to have someone take charge. She’d taken charge all her life. For the first time, it was great letting go! She didn’t want to have any more uncomfortable conversations. She didn’t want to think about that question he had posed, didn’t want to project to a time when she might have to look at him with another woman—a woman wearing his ring who would be trying hard to bond with their child. ‘You have a random person who drops whatever he’s doing to rush over if you get a headache?’
Matt grinned. He relaxed, marvelled at how that quirky sense of humour could break through the clouds like a sudden, unexpected ray of sunshine. She had her eyes closed and her breathing was shallow, and the concern that ripped through him was shocking. Of course, she was having his baby, and he wouldn’t have been human if he hadn’t been sick with worry—because she was clearly not going to be one of those who blossomed in pregnancy—but he just wanted to reach out and smooth the strands of hair from her face.
‘University friend,’ he told her. ‘I’ve done him one or two favours in the past. As it happens, this is the first time I’ve ever had to call upon his professional services.’
‘Of course it is.’
‘Never get ill. I’m as strong as an ox.’
‘I don’t need a doctor.’
‘What you need...’ Matt heard the ping of his phone announcing the arrival of his pal of old ‘...is to learn to depend on someone else for a change.’
Violet had to admit that it was bliss. The doctor was earnest, serious and treated Matt with the fond affection that came from many years of friendship. He was excellent at what he did, even though he was not an obstetrician but ‘a brain guy’, as he jokingly called himself.
‘He knows everything there is to know when it comes to the human body,’ Matt asserted.
‘That’s either a good thing,’ Phillip said as he examined her with quick, efficient hands and asked pertinent questions as he did so, ‘because I would clearly be a genius, or a bad thing, because a jack of all trades and master of none isn’t great in an operating theatre...’
High blood pressure was the verdict. Not dangerously high, but high enough to be a cause for concern. It wouldn’t be a good idea to overdo anything. Likewise, the sickness was more pronounced than usual, but not in the red zone. Combined, the young doctor declared as he headed for the bedroom door, they pointed in the direction of her having to take it easy and get a certain Matt Falconer to start discovering the joys of domesticity.
‘So,’ Matt drawled once he had shown his friend to the door and returned to the bedroom, ‘I guess that settles the immediate question of what happens next in this scenario. It’s safe to say that you won’t be going anywhere any time soon...’
CHAPTER EIGHT
EVERYTHING MOVED QUICKLY after that satisfied assertion. She had been advised bed rest by a doctor, no less, and it would have been the height of irresponsibility to ignore the advice.
That had been the first arrow shot over the parapet, a warning shot of the series of persuasive arguments that were shamelessly piled on through the course of Violet’s bedridden week.
‘I don’t want you fighting me on this,’ Matt told her on more than one occasion. ‘You’re not interested in giving me a chance because I don’t happen to live up to the mental image you have of the sort of guy you’d always dreamt of marrying, but it would be wrong to let our child pay for your sceptic
ism.’
Violet thought back to his track record, but she knew better than to constantly remind him of it because at the back of her mind, like the promise of a storm lurking behind the illusion of clear, blue skies, was always the notion that he might fight her in court.
He’d hinted at it, and she was terrified of taking him to task on the subject because she didn’t want to hear him confirm her worst nightmare.
He had also planted a seed of treacherous unease in her head, and not only had it taken root, but it had begun to grow at an alarming rate, like the beanstalk in the fairy story. One minute there had been a harmless bean, and the next minute the bean had sprouted into a rampaging plant inhabited by fearsome creatures.
How would she feel when he began seeing another woman? That was the thought that occupied her as she remained in his sprawling apartment, ordered to stay put, her every need met either by his housekeeper, who came in daily to clean and prepare meals, or by him when he returned from work at stupidly early hours, even though she kept telling him that there was no need.
How would she find the strength to stand back and watch as another woman invested in their child?
She couldn’t foresee finding another man. No one could compare to Matt, and she would never have the luxury of moving on, because he would be on her doorstep week after week, relentlessly present.
And in the meantime, on doctor’s orders, he returned to the apartment with the regularity and perfect timing of a well-oiled Swiss watch, clumsily warming the food his housekeeper had prepared, asking her about her day, coaxing conversation out of her.
Everyone at work was asking after her, he had informed her the evening before. As soon as she was back on her feet—and that should be in the next few weeks, if Phillip was on target with his prognosis—she would have to pay them all a visit. No one could believe that he was going to be a father. She would have to show them her swelling belly to prove it.
Typically, he didn’t give a hoot what his employees thought of this development and, when she had vaguely mentioned that her showing up pregnant might be some cause for embarrassment, he had burst out laughing. Why? he had asked with genuine curiosity. Who cared?
After a mere ten days of being treated like a china doll, Violet found that she was getting used to having him around. Indeed, she discovered that she actively and guiltily looked forward to hearing the turn of the front door handle as he entered the apartment.
Bit by bit, he was wearing down her defences and making her question the decisions she had made.
He had stopped trying to argue her into submission. Instead, he was doing it by stealth. She wondered whether it was a cunning tactic or just a method of winning that came easily to him.
The nagging thought that he was a man who wasn’t made for settling down—a man who would always find temptation lurking round every corner and who would eventually be unable to resist, however dedicated a father he turned out to be—was being replaced by the dawning hope that she could somehow turn him into the guy she wanted him to be. Namely, a guy who could return her love. Given time. It happened, didn’t it?
Summer was fading fast into autumn. Outside, the days were getting shorter. She chatted to her father every day on the phone. Somehow, he had cottoned on to the fact that Matt had proposed marriage. She thought she might just come right out and ask him whether he had been having man-to-man conversations with her dad behind her back. She wouldn’t put it past him.
Today, bored with languishing on a chair watching telly and reading, Violet dismissed the housekeeper and busied herself making dinner. Ever since she had moved into the apartment, the fridge had been kept in a state of readiness, well stocked with enough food to pander to her appetite whenever she might feel the need to tuck into something nutritious.
It had made her smile because the Matt she remembered when she had worked for him was a guy who had enjoyed his fast food, and she had never pictured him with a fridge containing anything but the bare essentials.
Now it was impossible to open the fridge without being bombarded by a giddying array of healthy options, from salad leaves and tomatoes to yogurt drinks awash with healthy bacteria.
She prepared a simple pasta dish, having looked up a recipe on her phone. It looked okay.
She had also done something about dressing in something other than the comfortable, loose cotton bottoms she had brought with her from Australia, and tired tee shirts which were wonderfully soft but hardly the height of glamour.
From the very moment her life had been turned on its head and she had found herself living in Matt’s apartment, Violet had been determined to make sure that she kept her distance. It was unsettling enough having him around, knowing that two doors down was his bedroom, without provoking any unnecessary interest by wearing clothing that looked as though she cared.
She didn’t.
Yes, she was pregnant. Yes, they had had a brief moment in time together, and so what if she was still attracted to him and he knew it? That didn’t mean her head had stopped functioning. She had made her mind up, had decided that she had to detach herself from him if they were to have any sort of amicable relationship over time. They would have to learn to be friends and the way to do that was not to let her body start calling the shots.
So she had dressed down. If she’d been able to hang around in her work clothes, she would have been sorely tempted, but there was no way she could wear anything but loose-fitting clothes. Being comfortable helped the nausea, for a start.
He had gradually bought her stuff, showing up a couple of times with bags that he had casually tossed on the sofa.
‘You hadn’t banked on being cooped up in this apartment,’ he had explained, ‘And you probably hadn’t banked on staying in the country for this length of time. You need more things to wear, so I got you a few things.’ He’d shrugged, headed to the kitchen for a drink and then vanished into his home office to work for a couple of hours, cutting short her protestations with an impatient wave of his hand as he’d disappeared out of sight.
Violet had taken the bags into her bedroom and inspected his offerings with indecent curiosity.
A couple were wearable. Loose silk culottes. Most weren’t. They contained the right element of stretch—he’d clearly got advice from a sales assistant who had assured him that his purchases could accommodate a pregnant stomach—but the clothes were sexy, designed to draw attention, which was what she had adamantly decided not to do.
Until tonight.
Tonight, her head would no longer be in charge. The thoughts that had been turning over in her mind had borne fruit and she had come to a decision, one which left her nervous as a kitten as she waited for the sound of the door being opened.
She felt every muscle in her body clench when, at a little after seven, Matt pushed open the door to his apartment. She was waiting in the living room, standing in the doorway with a glass of juice in her hand, more to give herself something to do than because she was thirsty.
He stopped dead in his tracks and she could almost see his jaw drop in slow motion.
Which would have been hilarious if she wasn’t busy trying not to feel sick.
‘Am I in the right apartment?’ he quipped when he had gathered some of his self-control and galvanised his legs into motion.
Eyes still on her, he dumped his leather laptop bag on the ground and shrugged off his faded, black denim jacket, which he dumped on top of the laptop bag. He slowly moved towards her, looking at her with such intensity that she knew her skin was turning bright red. Matching the stretchy dress she had chosen to wear. One of the inappropriate items she had foreseen would hit the back of the wardrobe, never to see the light of day again.
Until she’d decided that it would be tonight’s statement piece because a big decision warranted something more dramatic than jogging bottoms and a tee shirt.
‘I’ve cooked.’
Violet cleared her throat, eyes skittering away the closer he got, until he was so close that she could smell the woody scent of his aftershave.
‘You’ve cooked,’ Matt murmured, his breath a feathery caress against her burning skin. ‘What happened to Marita? Did you stuff her in a cupboard somewhere because her soufflé wasn’t up to scratch?’
His voice was a warm caress and her skin burned in response. Now that she had come to a decision, she allowed her mind to wander into all sorts of previously forbidden terrain... Lying in bed next to him, his touch, the low, silky murmur of his voice, the strength of his arms wrapped around her. The thought of just being able to drop her guard and laugh at his sense of humour. Only now did she realise how exhausting it had been, keeping up her defences, not allowing herself to fully relax because she’d been so scared that if she took her eye off the ball she would cave in.
All those thoughts he had generated in her head...that beanstalk that had seemingly sprung up overnight... It no longer felt like caving in. It felt like an inevitable outcome and she wasn’t sure whether he had deliberately engineered that or not.
‘I’m feeling so much better.’ She tilted her head to look at him. He was so stupidly good-looking, she thought. All sexy alpha male with a sense of humour that could pull a smile from a block of ice.
‘Does that account for the change of outfit as well?’ His voice was lazy and curious but his eyes were serious with intent.
‘Do you like it?’
Matt stilled. His eyes never left her face. ‘I’ve either done something wrong or else you’re about to tell me something I won’t be interested in hearing. Which will it be?’
His Secretary's Nine-Month Notice (Mills & Boon Modern) Page 12
