by Zee Monodee
“So, short of you breaking and entering into your own flat, or me breaking down the front door for you, you cannot get in, right?”
Would he rub it in? At least he wasn’t gloating. Then again, maybe he was, inside.
“Come on.” He straightened. “You’ll stay at my place tonight.”
“What?” She jerked her head up.
“Listen, luv.” A trace of impatience rang in his voice. “Short of you waiting here on the footsteps for either the landlady or your best friends to show up, you have no place to sleep tonight. There are eight guest bedrooms in my house. You’ll have your pick.”
He did have a point. Ileana and Ilyanka weren’t bound to come home anytime before dawn, and that, too, if they weren’t spending the night with some bloke they’d each snared at the club. As for Mrs. Cheswick, no one knew when she’d be back. Not the first time she’d done a disappearing act on them.
But going to Michael’s place didn’t sound like such a stellar idea, either. Here she was, needing to get away from him, and she’d be spending the whole night a few yards from him? Unless he lived in a mansion the size of Wembley, he would be too close for comfort.
What was she to do?
“Jane.” He drew closer and peered into her face. “You need to rest. Think of the baby.”
She closed her eyes, and she did think of the baby.
That’s how she found herself twenty minutes later in Hampstead in North London, at Michael’s house.
And what a house, too. Not the size of a football pitch, but close. Even in the darkness, bathed only by the spotlights cleverly concealed in the garden, the detached dwelling with its distinguished white walls looked down with magnificence and majesty upon the street dotted with no less spectacular residences.
Chelsea was posh, but this area had something more than posh. It screamed money, yet in an understated, Old World way. Frankly, she’d have expected no less from Michael.
The wide gate that masked the entrance slid open soundlessly before them, and he sped the car into the large carriage driveway that led to the front porch. An awed gaze at the exterior revealed space enough to park ten cars. There lacked a water fountain in front of the house, but then, that sounded too frivolous for a ruthless tycoon like her companion.
The interior of the house surprised her. She hadn’t expected elegant simplicity, especially not the clean, contemporary setup of the place—the exterior had screamed something more along the lines of stuffy decor or opulent draperies and gilt like at the Ritz. The walls were crisp white, the furniture sleek and black, the floor made up of matte, polished wood of a pale, buttery colour. The only touch of fantasy in the setup came through big crystal chandeliers that gleamed and sparkled from the ceiling.
“I’ll show you to your room.”
His words broke her inspection, and she nodded.
He moved to the staircase at the far left of the entrance lobby. Jane had a glimpse of the lounge on the other side of the foyer, but she couldn’t do more than glean a look before starting up the stairs.
The parquet ran everywhere, and the first floor echoed the feel of the ground level. Here, the walls were not bare, a few abstract paintings in black and white displayed along the corridor, the effect nonetheless breath-taking.
Michael stopped in front of a door at the end of the floor. She pinned her slacked jaw closed and followed him into a spacious room done, again, in black and white. She’d risk a guess the colour scheme ran through the whole house, however many thousand square feet it comprised.
“There’s an adjoining bathroom over there.” He nodded to the left. “I’ll leave you, then.”
She nodded and went to sit on the bed. Peeling off the pashmina from her shoulders, she felt a pointed stare on her and looked up to see him eyeing her with a frown from where he stood on the doorstep.
“What?”
“Your clothes. You can sleep in that?”
She threw a glance at her garb and winced. He had a point. A miniskirt not even a foot long, and a tube top that was even shorter was not her idea of night time apparel. She never wore such clothes usually, but the twins had jumped around and pleaded, and she’d given in. They’d even raided their wardrobes to provide her these items. Now that she had boobs, as they said, she could wear a tube top without appearing to have switched her chest around with an ironing board. And they’d wanted her to be dressed like them.
Still feeling Michael’s stare, she shrugged. “It’ll be fine. Anyway, I’ll be out of here in a few hours, as soon as the locksmith starts work and can come take care of my door.”
He nodded before leaving, the door swinging closed behind him.
Jane exhaled. With him gone, she realized how much he sucked in her surroundings when he was around. What was it about him that affected her this way? True, he was handsome. Okay, he was gorgeous, but she’d seen her share of hunky men, and never had one had this effect on her.
But his kind was dangerous. Michael wasn’t a charmer, yet, a woman could easily fall under his potent brand of masculinity and hot alpha confidence. Many women had gotten their hearts trampled by men like him, lived to tell the tale, and ended up saying they’d do it all over again, just to know what it was like to be with such a man.
Would she be a victim, too? The way things were going, she was on the slippery path. However incensed she had been at his little show at the club, a part of her admired him for his guts and bravery. A few days earlier, he hadn’t known her from Eve, and still, he’d stepped in at such a critical time to help her, without asking for anything in return.
Really? a little voice prompted.
Oh, yeah, she almost forgot it every time. He seemed hell-bent on playing the part of the daddy. He probably thought it was a game, or a business venture. Either option implied he could step out when the going got tough.
She shook her head and sighed. He did believe he could get away with it. The thought brought back the anger that had reduced to simmering embers in her soul. What could she do, here? How could she beat a master strategist like Michael Rinaldi in this game of lurid chess? The frustration bubbled over, and she threw herself back onto the mattress with a silent shriek. Between that man and her condition, she would end up mad in no time.
A soft knock came at the door, and she sat up with a start. The movement triggered her tube top to slip a little, and she pulled the stretchy fabric up to cover her recently discovered cleavage.
At the same time, the panel swung open, and Michael poked his dark head in. Apparently satisfied that she was decent, he walked in. In his hand, he held a lump of what appeared to be soft cotton, which he handed to her.
“You might be more comfortable in this T-shirt.”
Jane opened her mouth, but no sound came out.
When would he stop taking her by surprise like this? Every time she thought she knew him a tad more, he went and did something like this.
She nodded her thanks as she retrieved the garment. He spun on his heel and left, closing the door behind him.
Hushed silence fell over the room in his wake, and for a long time, she clutched the soft fabric to her breast. Tiredness finally got the better of her, and on a yawn, she got up and discarded her clothes before slipping the T-shirt on.
A whiff of expensive cologne drifted to her nostrils.
Michael’s scent. Warm and musky, yet sophisticated and profoundly masculine. Like him.
What was this man doing to her? She didn’t need any more complications, and he spelled that with a capital C.
But rest first. She couldn’t even think straight anymore, so yes, sleep had to be the priority. With a sigh, she slid under the covers on the big bed and closed her eyes. Her last thought before exhaustion and a dreamless sleep claimed her was that she couldn’t allow Michael Rinaldi into her life. He was too much a man of contrasts, one who could easily win her heart if she let him. Yet, she also knew love didn’t belong in her life.
Her track record so far showed terri
ble choices, especially where men were concerned. Letting Michael in would be adding to that tally, and this, she refused to do.
***
Michael had a restless night, unable to shake off the fact that Jane slept a few rooms from his. He’d deliberately given her a guest room at the other end of the house from the master suite he occupied.
It wasn’t sexual hunger that made him contemplate her proximity. He had never had a chance to look at her as a potential shag, so that side of his desires wasn’t even ruffled.
No, the striking and different facets of the woman she was got to him. If he was true to himself, the very human woman she was unsettled him even more.
One minute, she was all sass and determination, bristling to take on the world and everyone in it, and the next, she appeared like a lost child in a woman’s body, unsure how to handle what life was throwing at her.
He tossed and turned, punching his pillow before lying back down.
How strange this night had turned out to be. Yet, in a way, he had to agree that he’d achieved what he’d set out to do. He’d wanted to negotiate with Jane to allow him to be by her side where her condition was concerned. He had attained that aim, brought her to the negotiation table.
Still, how had he found himself, twice at that, telling people he was her baby’s father? Where was the logic in there? He hadn’t even realized what he’d been doing at the club. A first for him. He who always thought everything out twice had been caught by what he most hated—impulsiveness.
In all deals, these two notions led to nothing good. It never paid to be brash in any negotiation.
So where had he landed himself, then?
Five o’clock chimed with him still staring at the glowing blue numbers on his bedside clock. After pulling himself out of bed, he changed into a pair of swimming trunks and exited his dressing room. In the corridor, he paused, tempted to go knock on Jane’s door to see if she had slept well. But he didn’t want to wake her; she surely needed rest in her condition. And, he also needed to clear the cobwebs from his thoughts. A few laps in the pool sounded like exactly what he needed.
Michael forced all thoughts out of his brain as he plunged into the water and allowed his body to slice through the tepid liquid. Focusing on his breath and form, he swam, then pulled himself out of the pool after twenty laps. Normally, he did a dozen or so, but today was Saturday. He didn’t have to be at the office at seven sharp. He also needed the release of the endorphins to clear his head and allow him to think through his future plan.
In the kitchen, he put the coffee machine on and waited until he had a steaming cup in his hand before settling down at the breakfast nook. His gaze on the garden, he sipped his coffee while attempting to arrange some semblance of sense and order into his brain.
Why did he get involved here in the first place? Umberto and needing to ward him off. Add to it Phillip’s sorry arse ways as a future dad, and his mother’s talks that he would probably react the same way, too. Then he’d found Jane pregnant, and alone.
And he’d led everyone to believe he was the father.
Truth be told, he would never consciously have placed himself in such a situation. Not that he’d have asked his girlfriend to get a termination, but he didn’t even have a girlfriend. The few women who had made it to his bed had only wanted to bask in his prestige and fortune. None of them had loved him for the man he was. He had also never seen himself as a family man, not having had a family as role model.
So, if he were to admit it, he would never openly contemplate the prospect of fatherhood.
But the situation, no matter how twisted, had come to him.
Cards had been dealt, he’d told Jane earlier. He had to play, too, didn’t he? A negotiator always made do with what he had and strove for the best outcome within those parameters.
What would it take to settle down, have a missus and a child?
And Jane ... She intrigued him. He could grow fond of her. Men in times past had settled down with a partner with much less affinity. She also wouldn’t want to stick around for his money; she had plenty of her own. He’d been surprised to learn who she was. Henley’s report stated she was the daughter of Marenka Maurel, a wealthy socialite from old French money. Jane’s late father had been literature scholar and amateur racing champion David Smithers, himself the son of Veronica Arana, a Venezuelan mining heiress. As things stood, Jane held twenty-three percent of shares from the Arana mines and hotels stocks.
Jane. They could be good together.
He had to speak to her, lay it all down before her, and show her how much sense it made for him to be a part of her life as her baby’s father. Every child needed a father, anyway. Why deny hers one? He would be good for the baby, and for her. If friends with benefits worked, why shouldn’t parents with benefits work just as well? In time, they could learn to feel affection for each other.
Quiet permeated from her room, and he opened the door after a soft knock.
She lay on the bed, curled in a ball, and something gripped his throat when his eyes grew accustomed to the dark and he noticed she wore his T-shirt. Her dark hair cascaded down her back, and her face appeared soft, smooth, relaxed.
Watching over her, he didn’t have the heart to wake her up. He turned on his heel and went back to the door.
A shrill ring startled him. He glanced back into the room. Jane didn’t stir. Her phone. He glimpsed her handbag on a settee near the bed, and reached it in two long strides. He closed his hand on a vibrating smartphone and drew it out. The screen read Marenka.
Jane’s mum. What did she want at eight in the morning?
He cut the call. If Jane hadn’t woken up yet, that meant she needed to rest. A lot.
As he slid the phone back into her bag, it started ringing again.
This time, he clasped the device and exited the room, closing the panel behind him.
He cut the call again, but it came through a third time. Realizing the woman wouldn’t give up, he threw caution to the wind and answered. “Yes?”
There was a pause at the other end.
“This is Jane’s number, isn’t it?” asked the low and throaty voice.
“Yes.” A smile made its way onto his lips. He hadn’t missed the incredulity in the woman’s voice.
“And who would you be?”
The tone had sweetened to all sugar and honey. Talk of a manipulator. He was used to dealing with the likes of Jane’s mother. Loved to shut them up, usually.
“Who would you be?”
He almost heard her choke on her reply, and he gulped back a chuckle.
“Where is Jane?” She sounded offended.
“Right now? Sleeping. I wouldn’t want to disturb her, in case you want me to give her the phone.”
“Why, you! I’ll call back.”
He let out a soft laugh when she cut the call.
So Jane put up with an old bat. No wonder the girl was so edgy.
True to her word, the phone rang again an hour later. In the meantime, he had showered and changed and was enjoying breakfast with the morning paper in the kitchen. Jane was asleep, still in her curled-up position last time he’d checked on her.
He had a snappy greeting ready when he answered the call. But a man’s voice greeted him.
“Before you cut the call, wait. I’m aware Marenka seriously rocked the boat earlier, and I’m calling to offer a truce.”
A prudent fellow. Sure needed a peacekeeper around the likes of Marenka Maurel.
“Accepted.” Michael settled back in the booth. “Who am I speaking to?”
“Name’s Damian Dalton. I’m engaged to Marenka. And no, she doesn’t know I’m calling. Who am I talking to?”
“Michael Rinaldi. Jane’s friend.” He hesitated only a brief second on the last word.
“Pleasure, mate. You the lawyer, by any chance? Fellow named Rinaldi handled a takeover deal for me a few years ago.”
Damian Dalton of Dalton Steel and Shipping.
“One and the same.” He let his shoulders drop, relaxing, now that he knew who he was talking to. “What can I do for you?”
“Well, I was wondering if Jane would want to come around to lunch today. Her mother wants us to meet, and I’m eager to make her acquaintance, too.” He paused. “I don’t know how to say this, but Marenka mentioned Jane was expecting, and ...”
Dalton’s discomfort rang palpable. Michael had enjoyed working for him. Though they hadn’t met face-to-face, he liked the way the man conducted his business; he was fair and proper in his dealings. “We’re both in on that boat, if that’s what you’re asking.”
There. He’d thrown out his card. No going back.
“Ah. Well, congrats, mate. So, seeing as you’re pretty much part of the family now, you’re invited to lunch, too. What do you say?”
He’d open Pandora’s Box if he agreed. From a few people last night to her family taking him for her baby’s daddy, the effect would only snowball.
Jane would have no way out, but knowing her, she’d still put up a fight. If he had all the exits covered, she’d have to give in. He was prepared to give this a go. All it would take was her acceptance.
With her family thinking his version of the truth as the reality, she would be in a very weak spot.
Hostile tactics, true, but nothing else would bring stubborn Jane around. He’d make it up to her later.
“You’ve got a deal. Where’s your house located?”
He tapped the address down on his own phone, which was close at hand, as always.
Cutting the call with Dalton, he paused to ponder over the situation. Was he getting sucked into a bottomless sand pit?
Stop thinking. The cards had been dealt, and he had to play his best hand.
Lunch out meant Jane would be spending the day. They would also leave for Dalton’s place together, and she wasn’t going to wear those scraps of fabric she’d worn to the club for a first meeting with her future stepfather.
