The Shock Cassano Baby

‘Did I say that?’

‘Well, no, but...’

‘In that case I’ll thank you not to make accusatory assumptions.’ His mouth flattened into a tight line, his eyes narrowing with warning.

Isobel scowled back—this was not a good start. She knew she was being horribly prickly, but her nerves were shot to pieces, her head all over the place. Being in Orlando’s company again was pure torture, and not just because of the pregnancy, nor the fact that he obviously had no intention of letting her raise the child alone, although that was bad enough. Far worse was the realisation that for these past few weeks she had been fooling herself.

Somehow, while they had been apart, Isobel had managed to convince herself that what had happened on Jacamar—the way she had fallen head over heels for Orlando—had been the result of some sort of Caribbean magic...a spell that would be easily broken when she returned to the UK.

But that theory had vanished like an icicle in a furnace the second their eyes had met in the boardroom this morning, when the attraction Isobel had felt for him had been so powerful, so immediate, it had slammed right into her chest. And that wretched kiss hadn’t helped, opening her up to all sorts of forbidden desires. She could feel them now, stubbornly pumping through her body under the grey skies of London, without a coconut or a palm tree in sight.

‘My car is over here.’

He hardly needed to point it out. If Orlando seemed out of place then his gleaming car looked as if it had been dropped down from another planet. Sleek, black and low, it had certainly caught the eye of the local residents, several of whom had sauntered over to inspect it, peering in through the windows and running their hands over the immaculate paintwork.

Isobel felt familiar panic creep through her veins. Not because of the circling hooded youngsters—she’d lived here long enough to know that they wouldn’t bother her—but because cars, fast cars in particular, terrified her.

She had been seventeen when a horrific car crash had all but decimated her family, killing her father and leaving her mother in a wheelchair. Isobel had received only minor injuries, but the course of her life had changed for ever.

Giving up any idea of going to university, she had determined there and then that she would honour her father by taking on the family business and dedicating herself to making Spicer Shoes a success. She’d hoped the hard work would be cathartic and that a thriving business would mean security for the loyal Spicer employees and for her mother, whose continuing care in a residential home was eye-wateringly expensive.

More than that, she’d hoped to be able to make her mother see that the world hadn’t stopped the day of the accident. That she still had her daughter—alive and well and desperate to have a loving relationship with her, desperate to make amends.

But in the seven years that had passed, even though the business was now poised on the brink of massive success, Isobel’s relationship with her mother had become more strained than ever—something that weighed more heavily on her shoulders than she would even admit to herself.

And then there were the panic attacks. The crippling anxiety that Isobel still battled against whenever she sat in a car. But time and some intensive therapy had helped—plus the determination that she was going to overcome her fear. Now, dragging in a deep breath, she released it slowly, the way she had been shown, and strode with great determination to meet her nemesis.

Opening the door for her, Orlando waited as she slid in. Distracted by the car’s admiring audience, he hadn’t seemed to notice Isobel’s fear, which was just the way she wanted it. She waited as he went round to the driver’s side, her nails digging into the palms of her hands.

‘What can she do?’

Outside, she could hear a conversation starting up.

‘Over two hundred, technically.’

Oh, dear God. Orlando had opened his door and was standing outside it, just the lower half of his body visible to Isobel, one foot resting on the car’s sill.

‘Cool. You ever done that?’

‘I’ve taken her up to one-fifty on the autobahn in Germany and she still seemed to have plenty left.’

‘Wow. That’s cool, man.’

The way Isobel’s anxiety levels were racing, she suspected they would give it a run for its money. Reaching across, she pressed the car horn, meaning to grab Orlando’s attention so that they could get going—get this ordeal over with before she lost her nerve completely. But the jarring sound made her shrink back into her seat, and as Orlando peered in she caught his puzzled look.

‘You okay?’

‘Fine.’ She whispered the word under her breath as she double-checked the clasp of her seat belt. ‘Can we just get out of here, please?’

Swinging himself inside with cat-like agility, Orlando turned the key in the ignition and the engine roared into life. As he pressed his foot on the accelerator it growled throatily. Through the windscreen Isobel could see the look of respect on the young men’s faces.

‘You seem very impatient.’ He glanced at her, his hands gripping the steering wheel. ‘I can’t see that it hurts for me to spend a bit of time with those guys.’

‘You won’t say that when your car is found burnt out on a piece of wasteland.’

‘And you accuse me of prejudice?’ He gave a dismissive snort.

Isobel glared at him. ‘Look, I’m not saying they are bad kids, but a flashy car like this is bound to be a target for joyriders. It’s like asking for trouble.’

‘Ah, so it’s my fault.’

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘It’s important not to write people off because of their backgrounds, Isobel. I was young once. I remember what it was like.’

‘I wasn’t suggesting we wrote them off.’ How had she dug herself into this hole? ‘I happen to get on fine with my neighbours. But I doubt very much that you have anything in common with them.’

Orlando raised his eyebrows, as if he were about to say something, then clearly changed his mind, turning his eyes back to the front. ‘I’m just saying there’s no harm in treating young people with respect—giving them something to aspire to rather than assuming that the trappings of success will provoke jealousy or criminality.’

Well, that was her told. His sanctimonious conceit was almost enough to goad Isobel out of her terror. Almost. But as the car took off with a sudden burst of speed, its tyres screeching on the tarmac as Orlando spun it around in the opposite direction, Isobel could only shriek.

‘For God’s sake!’

Gripping the sides of her seat, she twisted round to look out of the rear window, convinced she’d see the bodies of her neighbours scattered in their wake. Instead she could just make out grinning faces, arms raised in gestures of respect.

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

‘It’s what they expect of a car like this.’

They had slowed right down now, edging into the traffic of the main road. Isobel stared at his handsome, composed profile.

‘If you dangle a dream in front of someone you don’t want to disappoint them.’

Sinking down into the low leather seat, she willed her racing heart to steady. This was no dream...it was a nightmare.

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_3be955ca-759e-5a59-9a5e-751a7b3295cc)

‘PLEASE, SIT DOWN.’

Up on his feet, Orlando was gesturing to the chair opposite him, his impatient gaze following Isobel’s every move as she joined him at their table.

Having just about survived the car journey to the restaurant, she had made straight for the restroom to repair her make-up and give her churning stomach some time to calm down. Mercifully, the clogged London traffic had given Orlando no chance to exceed the speed limit, and when his first attempts at conversation had failed he’d accepted her silence and left her to endure the journey in peace.

She’d probably been away no more than five or six minutes, but judging by the scowl on Orlando’s face it was five or six minutes too long.

‘I’ve ordered for you.’

Leaning forward with the wine bottle in his hand, Orlando went to fill Isobel’s glass but she shook her head and reached for the carafe of water.