“Hold on a second.”
She twisted her head to fry him with stormy blue eyes. He studied her face. Embarrassed heat colored her cheeks, the skin stretched tight in a mask of fury. The sleek cat had fangs.
“You’re telling the truth?” He tested the possibility on his tongue.
“I would never lie about an innocent baby.”
The breath whooshed from him as though he’d taken an angry fist straight to the gut. He dropped his hand and stepped back. “Shit.” The spit in his mouth dried up, and the rough bristle of beard scraped against his palm as he ran his hand down his face. “I need another drink.”
He whirled away to return to the bar. The bottle of expensive scotch gurgled as he poured himself another glass. Christ. A baby. What the hell was he supposed to do now?
She hadn’t moved when he faced her once more. Her chin jutted up defiantly. “Getting drunk won’t change the facts.”
No, it wouldn’t, but tying one on might let him forget for a while. He tossed back the burning liquid in two gulping swallows. She claimed she’d set up a meeting to tell him about the pregnancy. He hadn’t called or stopped into the office upon returning from the Alaska junket, so he hadn’t picked up his messages. From the righteous anger on her face, he didn’t doubt he’d find the one of which she spoke.
Clearly, Shae Austin and she were friends, which meant Jane had been fully aware he’d been searching for her. Considering how she’d been avoiding him, wanting to meet with him now made no sense.
Unless she was telling the truth.
His throat muscles contracted in a spasm with his painful swallow. He was going to be a father.
He set aside the glass. “Come in and sit down. We obviously need to talk.”
“Why?”
Surprised at the question, he stared at her.
Close to the door, she faced him completely, but didn’t venture back into the room as she pointed at the bottle on the bar. “It’s clear the idea of a baby is a problem for you.” Her arm dropped to her side. “It doesn’t have to be. I’m perfectly capable of raising my child. I don’t need or want anything from you.”
“Is that right?”
She nodded. “That’s right. So, you see, we have nothing to talk about. Now, if you don’t mind, it’s been a very long day. Long week, actually. I really am sorry about Paris.” She spun around, flipped the lock, and swung open the door.
“Jane.”
She glanced over her shoulder, her gaze wary.
“We’ll talk tomorrow.”
The door slammed shut with a thud behind her.
Chapter Seven
The thought of telling her parents about the baby made Jane so jittery she couldn’t sit still, but that didn’t mean her laundry wasn’t a priority, and her kitchen floor really did need a good scrubbing. She made good use of her morning off. By nine a.m. her flurry of frantic activity had left her tiny apartment shining. Staring at her kitchen cabinets, she was contemplating rearranging them when a knock on her door made her jump.
She chewed her bottom lip. Her early morning caller wouldn’t be Keith. Out of town on business, her brother had promised to see her mid week when she called to tell him about the baby. Nor would the person knocking on her door be Gabe. He only learned her real name twelve hours ago. How could he have discovered where she lived this fast?
Melanie Archer’s grandson has the kind of resources to discover anything he wants.
Her stomach immediately began to roll. Gabe wasn’t just successful, he was loaded. His Park Avenue condo alone had to be worth millions. The grandson of the über rich Melanie Archer, for heaven’s sake! Why hadn’t Shae mentioned that important little gem?
Compared to the Archer communications and real estate empire, Jane’s family’s considerable financial concerns looked more like a chain of corner hot dog stands. Not that her family’s money had anything to do with her. She’d long ago cut all financial ties with her parents. The Whitmore wallet came with too many strings—like a loveless marriage. And the troublesome, two-million-dollar bequest from her grandmother would be pocket change to someone of Gabe’s background.
Last night’s parting shot indicated he wasn’t simply going to disappear as she’d prefer. Would he see their baby as an heir, or worse, a possession, while she already loved the little bundle of cells growing beneath her heart? What kind of chance would she have if he decided to fight her for custody?
Squaring her shoulders, she marched to the door. He’d all but accused her of being a liar and a gold-digger. She didn’t give a damn about his money, but she would beg, steal, lie, and cheat to keep anyone from taking her child.