Bound by Their Christmas Baby
Page 2
The woman swallowed, the slender column of her throat moving overtime as she sought to moisten her mouth. Gabe caught the betraying gesture with a cynical tilt of his lips.
‘That’s not true, I swear,’ she said, her fingers trembling when she lifted them to her temple and rubbed. Gabe’s eyes narrowed. She looked tired. As though she’d been run off her feet all day.
‘Oh, you swear?’ he drawled, moving closer, pressing his palms against the bench. ‘You mean we have your word that you’re telling the truth?’
The words were dripping with sarcasm.
‘Please don’t do this,’ she said softly, with such an appearance of anguish that Gabe could almost have believed her. If he hadn’t personally seen what she was capable of.
‘Did you know this woman is worth a billion dollars, Rémy? And you’ve got her, what? Ferrying things from the cold rooms?’
Rémy’s surprise was obvious. ‘I think you’ve got the wrong idea about Abby,’ he said with a shake of his head, dislodging the pen he kept hooked over one ear.
Gabe’s laugh was a short sound of derision. ‘I know, better than most, what she’s capable of. And, I can tell you, you don’t want her anywhere near your patrons.’
‘Abby?’ Rémy spread his hands wide. ‘What’s going on?’
She opened her mouth to say something and then shut it again.
Rémy pushed, ‘Have you met Mr Arantini before?’
Her eyes flew to Gabe’s and, damn it, memories of her straddling him, staring into his eyes as she took him deep within her, spread like wildfire through his blood, burning him from the inside out. He didn’t want to remember what she’d been like in his bed. He needed to recall only the way it had ended—with her taking photographs of top secret Calypso documents when she’d believed him to be showering.
His jaw hardened and he leaned forward.
‘Tell him how we met, Abigail,’ he suggested, and a cold smile iced his lips, almost as though he was enjoying this. He wasn’t.
She blinked her eyes closed. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she muttered under her breath. ‘It’s ancient history.’
‘If only it were,’ he said softly. ‘But here you are in my friend’s kitchen and knowing you, as I do, I can’t help but believe you have an ulterior motive.’
‘I needed a job,’ she said with a shake of her head. ‘That’s all.’
‘Yes, I’m sure you did.’ Gabe laughed, but it was a harsh sound, without any true mirth. ‘Trust funds are so hard to live off, aren’t they?’
‘Please—’ she focused her energy on Rémy ‘—I do know this man…’ Her eyes shifted to Gabe and her frown deepened. She was an exceptional actress. He could almost have believed she was truly feeling some hint of remorse. Pain. Embarrassment. But he’d been wrong about her once before and he’d never make that mistake again. ‘A long time ago. But that’s not relevant to why I’m here. I applied for this job because I wanted to work with you. Because I wanted to work. And I’m good at what I do, aren’t I?’
Rémy tilted his head. ‘Yes,’ he conceded. ‘But I trust Mr Arantini. We’ve known one another a long time. If he says I shouldn’t have you working here, that I can’t trust you…’
Abby froze, disbelief etched across her face. ‘You can trust me.’
‘Like you can trust a starving pit bull at your back door,’ Gabe slipped in.
‘Monsieur Valiron, I promise you I’m not here for any reason except that I need a job.’
‘Needing a job? Another lie,’ Gabe said.
‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’ She glared at him and the heat in that look surprised him. The vehemence of her anger. It was as though she were driven to defend herself by something other than pride, by true desperation. He’d felt it often enough to recognise it.
‘You forget how well I know what I’m talking about,’ he said smoothly. ‘You’re just lucky I didn’t press charges.’
She drew in a shaky breath. ‘Mr Arantini,’ she said crisply, ‘I’ve moved on from…that…how we met. And you obviously have too.’ She blinked her eyes and he had a sinking feeling in his gut that she was trying not to cry.
Hell. He’d never made a woman cry, had he?
Even that night, when he’d accused her, she’d been shocked and devastated, but she hadn’t cried. She’d taken his tirade, admitted that her father had asked her to contrive a way to meet him, to get close to him and find out all she could about Calypso, and then she’d apologised. And left.
‘I’m not asking you to forgive me for what happened between us.’
‘Good,’ he interrupted forcibly, wishing now he had a glass of something strong he could drink.
‘But please don’t ruin this for me.’ She turned back to Rémy. ‘I’m not lying to you, monsieur. I need this job. I have no plans to do anything that will reflect badly on you…’
Rémy frowned. ‘I want to believe you, Abby…’
Gabe turned slowly towards his friend, and his expression was cold, unemotional. ‘Trusting this woman would be a mistake.’
* * *
Abby was numb. It had nothing to do with the snow that was drifting down over New York, turning it into a beautiful winter wonderland, nor the fact she’d left the restaurant in such a hurry she’d forgotten to grab her coat—or her tips.
She swore softly, her head dipped forward, tears running down her cheeks. What were the chances of Gabe Arantini walking into the kitchen of the restaurant she happened to work in? Of his being friendly enough with her boss to actually have her fired?
A sob escaped her and she stopped walking, dipping into an alleyway and pressing herself against the wall for strength.
She’d never thought she’d see him again. She’d tried. She’d tried when she’d thought it mattered. She’d tried when she’d thought it was the right thing to do. But now?
Another sob sounded and she bit down on her lip. He hated her.
She’d always known that, but seeing his cold anger filled her with doubts and fears, making her question what she knew she had to do.
When had he come to New York? Had he been here long? Had he thought of her at all?
She had to see him again—but how? She’d tried calling him so many times, and every call had been unreturned or disconnected. Emails bounced back. She’d even flown to Rome, but he had two burly security men haul her from the building.
So what now?
It would serve that heartless bastard right if she didn’t bother. If she skulked off, licking her wounds, keeping her secrets, and doing just what he’d asked: staying the hell away from him.
But it wasn’t about what she wanted, nor was it about what Gabe wanted.
She had to think of their baby, Raf—and what he deserved.
Her chest hurt with the pain of the life she was giving their son. Their tiny apartment, their parlous financial state, the fact she worked so hard she barely got to see him, and instead had to have a downstairs neighbour come and stay overnight to help out. It was a mess. And Raf deserved so much better.
For Raf, and Raf alone, Abigail had to find a way to see Gabe—and to tell him the truth.
And this time she wasn’t going to let him turn her away without hearing her out first.
CHAPTER TWO
‘THERE’S A MISS HOWARD here to see you, sir,’ Benita, his assistant, spoke into the intercom.
From the outside Gabe barely reacted, but inside he felt surprise rock him to the core. She’d come to his damned office? What the actual hell? How many times did he have to tell her to stay away from him?
He reached for his phone, lifting it out of the cradle. ‘Did you say…?’
‘Miss Howard.’
He tightened his grip on the receiver and stared straight ahead. It was a grey day. A gloomy sky stretched over Manhattan, though he knew
at street level the city was buzzing with a fever of pre-Christmas activity.
It was on the tip of his tongue to tell his assistant to call the police, when he remembered a small detail. The way Abigail had been two nights earlier, her eyes wet with unshed tears, her lip quivering. As though she really did need that menial job.
He knew it to be a lie, of course. But what was the truth? What ruse was she up to? What game was she playing? Was she looking to hurt Rémy? Or was her latest scheme more complex?
He owed it to his friend to find out. But not here. His office was littered with all manner of documents someone like Abigail would find valuable.
‘Tell her I’m busy. She can wait for me, if she’d like,’ he said, knowing full well she would wait—and that he’d enjoy stretching that out as long as possible.
He stayed at his desk for the remainder of the day. Hours passed. He caught up on his emails, read the latest report from his warehouse in China, called Noah. It was nearly six when Benita buzzed through.
‘I’m all done for the day, Mr Arantini. Unless there’s anything else you need?’
‘No, Benita.’
‘Also, sir, Miss Howard is still here.’
His lips flattened into a grim line. Of course she was.
‘Tell her I’m aware she’s waiting.’
He disconnected the call and picked up the latest report on Calypso’s production, but struggled to focus. Five hours after she’d arrived, the suspense was getting under his skin.
With a heavy sigh, he stood, lifted his jacket from the back of a conference chair and pushed his arms into it, before pulling the door between his office and the reception area open.
It was still well-lit, but the windows behind Abigail were pitch-black. The night sky was heavy and ominous. Despite the fact Christmas was a month away, an enormous tree stood in one corner, and it shone now with the little lights that had been strung through its branches. They cast an almost angelic glow on Abigail. An optical illusion, obviously. There was nothing angelic about this woman.
Her eyes lifted to him at the sound of his entrance, and he ignored the instant spark of attraction that fired in his gut. He was attracted to character traits—intelligence, loyalty, strength of character, integrity. She had none of those things. Well, intelligence, he conceded, but in a way she used for pure evil.
‘What do you want?’ he asked, deliberately gruff.
She seemed surprised—by his tone? Or the fact he’d actually appeared?
‘I didn’t think you were going to see me,’ she said, confirming that it was the latter. ‘I thought you must have already left.’
‘My first instinct was to have you removed,’ he said. ‘You know I’m capable of it.’ Now heat stained her cheeks, and her chin tilted defiantly towards him. ‘But then it occurred to me that I should find out what you’re planning.’
‘Planning?’
‘Mmm. You must have some reason for working in my friend’s kitchen. So? What is it?’
She shook her head. ‘Gabe…’
‘I prefer you to call me Mr Arantini,’ he said darkly. ‘It better suits what I think of you and how little I wish to know you.’
She swallowed, and the action drew his attention to the way she’d dressed for this meeting. That was to say, with no particular attempt to impress. Jeans again, though she did wear them well, and a black sweater with a bit of beading around the neckline. She wore ballet slippers on her feet, black as well, but scuffed at the toes.
Her eyes sparked with his, emotions swirling in them. ‘Gabe,’ she repeated, with a strength he found it difficult not to admire. Not many people could be on the receiving end of Gabe’s displeasure and come out fighting. ‘The night we met, I was…’
‘Stop.’ He lifted a hand into the air, his manner imperious. ‘I do not want to rehash the past. I don’t care about you. I don’t care about your father. I don’t care about that night except for one reason. You taught me a lesson I’ll never forget. I let my guard down with you in a way I hadn’t done in years. And you reminded me why I don’t make a habit of that.’ He said with a shrug that was an emulation of nonchalance, ‘Now I want you to get out of my life, for the last time.’
‘Listen to me,’ she said.
‘No!’ It was a harsh denial in a silent room. ‘Not when every word that comes from your mouth is a self-serving lie.’
She clamped her lips together and his eyes chased the gesture, remembering how her pillowy lower lip had felt between his teeth. A kick of desire flared inside him. Desire? For this woman?
What was wrong with him?
Celibacy, that was what. He should have found someone else for his bed before this—why had he let the ghost of Abby fill his soul for so long?
‘You traded your body, your looks, hell, your virginity, because of what it could get you. That makes you no better than…’
He didn’t finish the sentence but his implication hung between them, angry and accusing.
‘I wanted you, Gabe, just like you wanted me. Calypso wasn’t a part of that.’ She blinked up at him, and he felt it. The same charge of electricity shot from her to him that had characterised that first night, their first meeting. It was a bolt of lightning; he was rattled by heavy, drugging need. God, would he forgive himself for acting on it? For leaning down and kissing her, for pushing her to the floor and making her his one last time before kicking her out of his life for good?
No.
She had used him; he wouldn’t use her.
That wasn’t his style. And, no matter how great the sex had been, he sure as hell wasn’t going to compromise his own morals just because he happened to find her desirable.
He jerked his gaze away and thrust his hands onto his hips with all the appearance of disregard. ‘I don’t want you now,’ he lied.
‘I know that,’ she said, a hint of strength in the short words.
‘So? What’s your plan, Abigail? Why work for Rémy?’
‘I need the job—I told you.’
‘Yes, yes.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘You think I’m stupid enough to buy into your lies for a second time?’
She looked startled. ‘It’s not…it’s complicated. And I can’t tell you what I came here to say with you glaring at me like you want to strangle me.’
He almost laughed—it was such an insane accusation. ‘I don’t want to strangle you,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to touch you. I don’t want to see you. I’d prefer to think you don’t exist.’
She let out a slow, shuddering breath. ‘You actually hate me.’
‘Sì.’
‘Okay.’ She licked her lower lip. ‘I get it. That’s…actually strangely good to know.’
‘You didn’t know this already?’
She shook her head and then changed it to a nod, before pacing slowly across the room. She jammed her hands into her pockets, staring at the shining doors of the lift.
Gabe’s impatience grew. He couldn’t have said if it was an impatience to be rid of her or a need to know what the hell she’d come to him to say. Why had he been able to ignore her for a year and now suddenly he was burning up with a desperate need to hear whatever the hell she’d come to him for?
Because he’d seen her again. And he’d felt that same tug of powerful attraction, that was why. He needed to exercise caution—it was a slippery slope with Abigail, almost as though she were a witch, imbued with magical powers to control and contort him. There was danger in her proximity. The sooner he could be free of her, the better.
‘So?’ he demanded when she didn’t speak. ‘What’s going on? Why are you here? What do you want this time?’
She was wary. ‘Well, I’d like my job back,’ she said, somewhat sarcastically.
‘Pigs might fly,’ he said. ‘You’re just lucky I didn’t tell Rémy the full sordid story of how we met.’
He considered it for a moment, his expression hard. ‘Yes.’
She squeezed her eyes shut and tilted her head towards the ceiling, breathing in, steadying herself. ‘You’re a bastard.’
‘So I’ve been told.’
He looked down at her again. She was slim. Too slim. Her figure had been pleasingly rounded when they’d met, curves in all the places Gabe—and any red-blooded man—fantasised about. Now, she was supermodel slender.
Her body was a minefield of distraction, but he’d been down that path before. No good would come from worshipping her physical perfection. He refocused his attention on the matter at hand: the sooner they dealt with it, the sooner she’d be gone and this would be over.
‘Why does it matter?’ he demanded. ‘We both know you don’t need to work—even if poor Rémy was foolish enough to believe your act. So, what’s the big deal?’
‘You’re wrong.’
‘Rarely.’
‘I needed that job. I needed the money.’
‘Your father’s company?’ he asked, frowning, a hint of something like genuine interest colouring the words. ‘It hasn’t gone bankrupt?’ He’d have heard, surely.
‘No—’ she shook her head ‘—I think he’s holding it together. But I don’t know. I haven’t spoken to him in a long time.’
‘Oh?’ Gabe was no longer losing interest in this. His blood was racing through his body and he took a step towards her, unconsciously moving closer. ‘Why is that?’
She swallowed, and appeared to be weighing her words—something Gabe hated. Liars always thought about what they wanted to say, and she was an exceptional liar.
‘He threw me out,’ she said, the words tremulous even though her eyes met his with a fierce strength.
‘He…threw you out?’ Gabe, rarely surprised, felt that emotion now. ‘Your father?’
‘Yes.’