by Andie Brock
This was his father’s legacy—a legacy Orlando couldn’t wait to get shot of. Finding out that he had to go to Trevente in person to do just that had only fuelled his rage. But despite putting his legal team on to it there appeared to be no way of circumnavigating the ancient Italian laws—no getting out of climbing the twisty stairs to the stuffy office of the family solicitor, shaking hands with notary, or the mayor, or whoever else had to witness his signature in this archaic system.
Only then would he be able to arrange for the sale of the whole damned place and finally walk away—wash his hands of his heritage for ever.
Now Orlando’s eyes scanned the defiant figure who stood before him. So he was being dumped. There was a novelty value there, to be sure, but that didn’t compensate for the sharp sting of rejection, the virtual slap on the cheek. Not to mention his disappointment that he was going to be denied a brief period of escapism with this lovely young woman.
The sensible thing would be to take Isobel’s words at face value. Shake her hand and say goodbye. But his body was far from sensible where Ms Spicer was concerned. It had been from the very first moment he had seen her arrive on his Caribbean island, wobbling to stand up in the motor launch. Even now it was refusing to accept what he had been told, and the tightness in his groin was showing no sign of abating. He realised he wanted answers, needed answers, before he could walk away.
Isobel had retreated further from him now, deeper into the room, and she stared at him with something like mutinous rebellion. He watched as she pushed back her shoulders, tucking her glossy chestnut hair behind one ear. Her cheeks were stained with twin streaks of colour, her wide green eyes unnaturally bright. Something was going on here. And she wasn’t leaving until he had damned well found out what it was.
Forcing himself to find some of the legendary calm that he was so famed for, Orlando moved over to the table and pulled out two chairs.
‘Sit down, Isobel.’
Isobel hesitated, then did as she was told, crossing her legs and smoothing the short but sensible pencil skirt over her thighs. Seating himself opposite her, Orlando watched her top leg start to jiggle, and immediately his very male attention was drawn to the jut of her knee through the sheer tights, the graceful sweep of her calves down to those ankle boots with their vertiginously high heels.
He’d noticed them as soon as she had walked into the boardroom—as had every other person sitting around that table. Their vivid red colour had flashed brighter than a robin’s breast in the glass and steel setting of this modern office building.
Immediately his thoughts had flown to how he would remove them, sliding down the zippers at the side and inching them off her feet whilst Isobel was splayed across his bed, waiting for his attentions. That would work. Or maybe leaving them on, removing the rest of the clothes from her luscious body and waiting for those long legs to wrap around him, boots and all, with the suede rubbing against his skin, the scratch of the heels down his back.
Hearing Isobel clear her throat, he forced his way back to the present, his eyes back up to her heated face.
‘So...’ He leant back, stretching long legs out in front of him. ‘Am I allowed to ask why the change of heart?’
Isobel shifted uncomfortably in her seat. ‘It’s not a change of heart.’
‘What, then?’
He could see her struggling to find the right words. Her lips, he noticed, were still swollen from the force of their kiss—a kiss that had affected them both equally, no matter how much Isobel tried to cover it up.
‘This is just for curiosity’s sake, you understand. I will obviously respect your decision, no matter what the reason.’
‘I know that.’
‘So...?’ he repeated.
Goddammit, why didn’t she have the guts just to come out with it? It wasn’t as if he hadn’t worked it out for himself by now anyway.
Impatience, and a possessiveness he didn’t want to acknowledge, made his voice a growl. ‘Perhaps you would like me to make it easier for you?’
At this, Isobel’s green eyes shot up from where they had been watching her hands twisting in her lap. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You’ve met someone else.’ Orlando was surprised by the way just saying those words made him want to go out and punch something—hard. ‘A new boyfriend?’
‘Ha!’
Isobel’s bitter laugh, coupled with the look of astonishment on her face, told him he’d got that wrong and for a fleeting moment relief washed over him.
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Orlando.’
Was that so ridiculous? They hadn’t seen each other for over a month. Plenty of time for some young gun to step in and claim Isobel for his prize. But it would seem that wasn’t the case. Orlando’s clenched fists loosened momentarily, before tightening again as another thought took hold.
‘An old boyfriend, then?’ His eyes narrowed, piercingly intense now as he waited for her answer. ‘Perhaps someone you failed to mention when we were on Jacamar?’
‘Of course not!’ Isobel straightened her spine, tossing back her head so that the mane of hair gleamed richly. ‘I would never have slept with you if I had had a boyfriend. What sort of a person do you take me for?’
Orlando shrugged. ‘I don’t know, Isobel, you tell me. Presumably not the same person I knew on Jacamar. Because she appeared to enjoy my company every bit as much as I did hers.’
‘I did!’ Her reply came out in a burst of anguish before she lowered her voice in soft confession. ‘Of course I did.’
She turned her head to one side, but not before Orlando had caught sight of the flush of heat that had flooded her face. He waited, watching with cold interest as she struggled to find her composure.
‘I’m not denying that what happened between us was...mutual.’ The intensity of his gaze demanded more. ‘Was...good, in fact. But that was in the past. Circumstances have changed.’
‘Evidently.’
He didn’t have time for this. Orlando felt what little patience he’d had march out of the door.
Pushing back his chair, he drew himself up to his full height and looked down on this infuriating woman. ‘Look, Isobel, I’m not here to mess about or to play games. I’ve only got a short time in London and I thought it would be nice to spend some of it with you. Even if it’s just dinner. But I’m certainly not going to force your hand.’
Standing with his feet apart he folded his arms decisively across his chest.
‘If you have other plans, or would rather not, that’s fine too. Just say the word.’
‘Two words, actually, Orlando.’
Orlando narrowed his eyes, something about the tortured expression clouding Isobel’s face halting the pumped up pride in his chest, preventing any sharp retort from escaping. Instead he grew very still.
‘Go on.’
Isobel dragged in a deep breath and he found himself willing her to just damn well come out with it. But nothing, absolutely nothing, could have prepared him for the words when they eventually came.
‘I’m pregnant.’
CHAPTER TWO
‘PREGNANT?’
Isobel watched as Orlando’s face turned to stone, his features hardening, his jaw clenching.
‘No.’ Getting to his feet, he stared down at her, his body rigid with tension. ‘You can’t be.’
‘It’s true, Orlando.’ Isobel heard her reply through the roar in her ears—flat, dull, as if spoken by somebody else.
‘And I am the father?’
Pain lanced through her. Did he really know her so little that he had to ask that humiliating question?
She sat up straight, bracing herself, meeting his penetrating gaze with icy contempt. ‘Yes, Orlando, you are the father. Considering you are the only person I have ever had sex with, I think we can take that as definite.’
Orlando’s eyes narrowed with stunned disbelief. ‘The only one? You mean...?’
‘Yes, exactly that. I was a virgin, Orlando.’
&n
bsp; Darkness twisted his handsome features. ‘I didn’t know.’ Then, more harshly, ‘Why the hell didn’t you say?’
‘Why would I?’ Isobel replied, with a calm that threatened to shatter like glass. ‘It was irrelevant. It still is irrelevant.’
‘Not to me, it isn’t.’ Cursing under his breath, Orlando shook his head, then raised a hand to his brow.
‘And this pregnancy... You are quite sure about it?’
‘Quite sure.’
She let her eyes slide to the floor, to the pair of handmade Italian shoes that were planted in front of her.
The shoes moved a couple of steps away and, raising her eyes again, Isobel saw Orlando raking a hand through his hair, his expression one of abject horror.
‘The split condom?’ He fired the question at her as the spinning cogs of his mind whirred to find an explanation.
Isobel gave a small nod. ‘It has to be.’
She had been over it a hundred times, convinced this had to be the only answer. During one of their many mad, passionate, crazy lovemaking sessions on the island of Jacamar she had heard Orlando curse, then reach out for another condom before pulling her back into his arms. She remembered the raw panting of his breath, the pounding of his heart beneath his ribcage as he straddled her once more, intent on finishing where he had left off, taking them both soaring to the heights of ecstasy they’d so badly craved.
As she had fallen asleep in his arms, sweat-sealed and sated, her body still shuddering with the aftershocks of pleasure, it had never occurred to her that the course of her life was about to change for ever.
Cursing again in his native tongue, Orlando turned on his heel, striding over to the wall of windows, where he braced his hands against the glass, resting his forehead between them. Isobel stared at the stark outline of his rear view, his stiffly held posture radiating tension.
‘How long have you known?’ He spoke the words over his shoulder.
‘I just did the test this morning.’
Orlando spun around. ‘So you haven’t had it confirmed by a doctor?’
‘I don’t need to, Orlando.’ Isobel knew she had to extinguish the look of hope in his eyes. ‘These tests are extremely accurate. And, besides, I can already feel the changes in my body. I’ve had my suspicions for a couple of weeks, but I wanted to be absolutely sure before I told you.’
Moving away from the window, Orlando came to sit down again, pulling up his chair so that he was positioned directly opposite Isobel, close enough for his knees to brush hers. Isobel crossed her legs tightly, pulled at the hem of her skirt.
‘Then we must figure out how we are going to proceed.’ Running his hand over his jaw, Orlando cupped his chin, his eyes narrowing with concentration as they searched hers.
How we are going to proceed. The words made Isobel’s skin prickle with alarm as she watched his wall of self-control slide back into place. Because she knew the kind of man Orlando was: powerful, ruthless. One who liked to make all the decisions, to bend others to his will. Who even now looked as if he was about to take command, address the problem of this pregnancy with cool detachment and deal with it as he saw fit.
Well, Isobel would never let that happen. She sure as hell wasn’t going to have him ruling her life, calling the shots. She had done the right thing by telling him she was carrying his child, but as far as she was concerned that was it. From now on the responsibility and the decisions were all hers. She needed to make that very clear.
Leaning forward, Orlando rested his splayed hands on his thighs, his dark gaze holding hers with brooding intensity. Isobel could see his mind racing as he tried to come to terms with this information, tried to shape it into some form he could control. He was so close now she could feel the air move with each steady breath, catch the faint scent of his cologne, see the amber flecks in his eyes.
She took in a breath to try and steady the pounding of her heart. This was what Orlando did to her. He messed with her head, made her feel things she didn’t want to feel. She was still trying to fight off the effects of that earlier kiss, the burning ache that had spread through her body and continued to pulse low down in her abdomen. He shouldn’t have done that—it wasn’t fair...he had broken the rules. Because they both knew that what had happened on Jacamar—that crazy, heady cocktail of wild abandonment and mind-blowing sex—had to stay on Jacamar.
As he had pulled away from their final hug the message in Orlando’s eyes had been loud and clear. That was great. Emphasis on the was. And Isobel had played along, knowing it was the only way, ignoring the hard knot in her throat, covering up the wobble of her chin until she had been chugging away from the sunshine island with the wind in her face and horizontal tears leaking from her eyes.
Because she had known then, as she knew now, that she was going to have to fight against her feelings for Orlando with all her might. Losing her heart to this magnetic, masterful man would mean nothing but misery, that was a certainty.
Over the past couple of weeks—from the first creeping realisation that her period was late to the hideous certainty that she was pregnant—she had given serious thought to keeping the news to herself. That way she just might be able to protect her heart and control her own destiny. If Orlando didn’t know about the child she would be free to raise it as she liked. Financially it would be a struggle, but she could do it. It wasn’t as if she wanted anything from him. She wouldn’t be hounding him for maintenance. And she most certainly didn’t expect him to marry her.
But, tempting though it was to try and keep Orlando out of the equation, practically it would be a nightmare. And, more than that, ultimately she knew that her conscience would never let her go through with it. After all, it was a man’s basic right to know that he was going to be a father.
Which was why she was seated here now, fighting off the sweeping feelings of longing with sweaty palms and a deliberately steely stare.
‘It’s not something you have to figure out, Orlando.’ Edging back into her seat, Isobel concentrated on the job she had to do. ‘I will be the one deciding how to proceed.’
‘Scusi?’ A muscle twitched ominously in his jaw.
‘I mean I am prepared to accept full responsibility.’
‘“Full responsibility”?’ Dark brows drew together.
‘Yes. I don’t expect anything from you.’ Isobel paused to take in a breath, strongly suspecting from Orlando’s chilling calm that this wasn’t going her way. She tried again. ‘Obviously I would never stop you from seeing the child—if you want to, that is—but in terms of raising it, I want to make it clear that I expect that role to be solely down to me.’
‘Do you, indeed?’ Orlando’s voice dropped menacingly low.
‘Yes.’
‘Incredibile.’ Orlando pushed himself back forcibly enough for the chair to rock on its legs. ‘Let me get this straight. First you tell me that I’m going to be a father, and then you hit me with the news that you intend to raise the child alone and without my support. Is that right?’
‘Yes.’ Isobel blinked hard but remained defiant. ‘I told you because I thought you had a right to know—not because I want anything from you.’
‘Very kind of you, I’m sure.’ Sarcasm ripped through his voice. ‘So, having been given this information, what exactly did you expect me to do with it? Say “Thanks for letting me know” and then walk away? Forget all about it?’
‘If that’s what you want, yes.’ Isobel was determined not to buckle under the force of his contemptuous stare. ‘You have that option.’
‘Ha!’ Orlando gave a cruel laugh. ‘Believe me, I don’t. And neither do you, come to that, no matter how much you might want it.’
‘Orlando, look—’
Hearing a tap on the door, Orlando held up his hand to silence her as his PA appeared, framed prettily in the doorway.
‘Not now, Astrid.’
His barked words brought a flash of surprise to Astrid’s face before she quickly pulled down the mask of profess
ionalism.
‘My apologies, but I thought you would want to know that your one-thirty appointment has arrived.’
Orlando rubbed his temples. ‘Yes, of course. Tell them I’ll be five minutes.’
‘Certainly.’ Turning on her dainty heel, Astrid left the room, closing the door behind her.
‘We need to talk, Isobel, but not here.’ Pushing back the sleeve of his jacket, Orlando glanced at his watch. ‘I have meetings all afternoon, so it will have to be this evening. I should be free by seven o’clock.’
Isobel hesitated. Part of her—a big part—wanted to decline his less-than-cordial invitation. Tell him that as far as she was concerned there was no point in spending a torturous evening together. Orlando’s cold, calculating reaction to the news of her pregnancy had confirmed her worst fears. He had shown no compassion. Never once had he asked about her, about how she felt.
She had done her duty in telling him about the baby—now she just wanted to be left alone to pick up the pieces and carry on as best she could. But one glance at the determined set of Orlando’s jaw, the hint of steel in his eyes, told her that that was about as likely to happen as holding back the ocean with a wall of sand.
Rising to her feet, she picked up her bag and plastered on the most neutral expression she could muster. ‘Very well, if that’s what you want. I’ll see you this evening. Where do you want to meet?’
‘Leave your address with Astrid.’ Giving her no chance to disagree, Orlando stood before her, all tall, imperious command. ‘I’ll pick you up at seven.’
* * *
Orlando watched as Isobel hurried from the room, those provocative heels clicking accusingly on the polished wooden floor. He could hear her talking to Astrid in the outer office before finally taking her leave. Only then did he allow himself to sink down into a chair and put his head in his hands.
