The Millionaire's Love-Child

Through the open window came a sudden low chorus of howls.

‘They didn’t have your correct address on record. I only found this place through Katrina King.’ From his rather dubious glance around her modest little flat he didn’t need to tell her what he thought about it. ‘I seem to recall you being close friends when you worked at Cadman Sport.’

So he had remembered that. And he had gone to great lengths to find her, even looking up the only friend and colleague she kept in touch with from her old job.

‘Have you had your son DNA-tested? Or whatever it is they do to ascertain parenthood these days? Is that why you’re so certain your little boy’s been mixed up with mine?’

She couldn’t help the scorn in her voice, betraying the hurt and the anger she was suddenly feeling, not so much with him but with the hospital and those people responsible for placing her—placing all of them—in such a harrowing situation.

‘No, I haven’t.’ He looked down at his sleek black polished shoes again. ‘Yet.’

‘Why not?’ The question seemed torn from her, but then she read the answer in those green-gold eyes. He wanted to know. Of course he did. But likewise, he didn’t want to know. And it struck her then, in startling clarity, the implications that such a test could lead to. Because if his boy wasn’t the baby that Naomi had given birth to…

She froze, staring at the table with her palette and her paints and all the colourful trappings that made up her world and provided her with an income and stability. She’d want to know, and yet would balk from the truth just as Brant was doing. She couldn’t bear ever to know for certain that Sean wasn’t her son.

A small sound from the adjoining room had her jumping up instinctively. Their voices—or the cat’s howls—had woken him. But not for long. He was quiet again, still sleeping as she opened the brightly painted door to peer through the crack, then closed it again.

‘Can I see him?’

She swung round, gasping at finding Brant standing right behind her. At five feet four she suddenly felt dwarfed by his six-foot-plus frame.

‘No!’ Her arms flew out across the door-well, and above her panicked response she heard a sudden skirmish outside. Bouncer defending his territory, protecting all he valued, all that was his. ‘No, not now,’ she enlarged in what she hoped was a more conciliatory tone.

The light from the window struck fire from the man’s hair as he dipped his head. ‘I understand.’

Did he? From the taut lines of that fiercely chiselled face she understood herself that he was exercising a formidable restraint. This close to him, she caught the elusive scent of the cologne he must have used that morning; could almost feel the tangible warmth emanating from his hard body. And rising through the trauma of the moment was the shocking recognition of his flagrant sexuality, the memory of how once, too inexperienced to resist it, she had made a total fool of herself with this man.

But that was ten lifetimes ago, she told herself. Before he had relinquished his glorious bachelordom and married the sophisticated Naomi Fox.

She wondered if he was remembering it too, or even if—heaven forbid!—he was aware of her raging emotions, before he took a couple of steps back, giving her space: cool, remote, detached. When he had telephoned earlier he had warned her that this wasn’t exactly a social call, the simple statement assuring her, as it was probably meant to, that whatever had happened between them in the past was just that—in the past.

‘I can get you counselling,’ he said. ‘It was offered to me.’

But you refused it. Of course you did, she thought, certain that no one could direct or analyse the thoughts and feelings of Brant Cadman better than Brant Cadman himself.

She lifted her hands, palms upwards, as though she was fending off something threatening, saying disjointedly, ‘I…don’t need counselling. I just…want you to go.’

‘I don’t think you should be left alone.’ His face was grim with concern.

‘I’m not alone. I’ve got Sean.’ Her chin lifted with determined ferocity. ‘I don’t care if it’s true—what you say. I won’t be giving him up.’

He seemed about to say something else, perhaps to contest her remark, but then his lips compressed on whatever it was, and he said, ‘I want what’s best for Jack—as I’m sure you do for Sean. I appreciate that this has been a terrible shock and that you need time for it to sink in. But there are things we have to discuss. Work out. I’d like to come back tomorrow.’

She knew she couldn’t deny him that if what he was saying was true. Nevertheless, a deep, resisting fear showed in her velvet-brown eyes.

‘It’s all right, Annie.’ His gaze raked over the anxious lines of her face with its pert nose, softly defined mouth and the gentle curvature of her jaw. Briefly his eyes shaped the long line of her throat and the smooth slope of her shoulders, gently tanned from minutes snatched in the early-June sun, and, lifting his gaze back to hers, he said softly, ‘Are you going to be all right?’

She nodded, but thought, What does he care? He’s only interested in his son. Or who he thinks is his son.

Panic brought her into the bedroom after she had shown him out.

In his little bed, Sean was stirring, wisps of nut-brown hair highlighted against the white pillow. The cats might have disturbed him earlier, but everything was quiet now. Through the little lace curtain she could see Bouncer preening himself further along the wall, smug in his obvious victory.

She wondered what her parents would think if they had been here today. But they were twelve thousand miles away in New Zealand.

Over three years ago, when her architect father had taken early retirement and he and his wife had decided to emigrate, they had wanted Annie to go with them. At the time, however, she had just fallen madly in love with Warren Maddox. It had been a whirlwind romance. A time of foolish dreams, planning for a wedding that was to take place only six months after their first meeting. When he had jilted her for Caroline Fenn, an up-and-coming model he’d met on one of the firm’s promotional assignments only two weeks before the wedding, Jane and Simon Talbot had begged Annie to join them, but determinedly she had declined. She was fine, she had told them, wanting to carry on with her life, pretend nothing had happened. In truth, she had been dealt such a blow that she had just wanted to remain alone to lick her wounds.

When she had had Sean, however, against her protests, her mother had made the long journey to be with her, over-protective, fussing in her well-meaning way, so that it was with mixed emotions, two weeks later, that Annie had seen her off on her journey home. Six months later she had taken Sean and flown over to spend Christmas in Auckland with them, returning after a month. That was nearly eighteen months ago.

Now Annie had to quell the strongest urge to ring her parents, hear her father’s understanding tones, but it would be the middle of the night in New Zealand and she had never been one to run for help at the first sign of trouble.

As Sean’s hazel eyes opened and he gave her a wide grin, adoringly Annie picked him up. He felt cuddly and warm in his soft pyjamas.

Everything would be sorted out, she tried convincing herself. He had her father’s ears, didn’t he? And everyone said he had her cheeky smile and her colouring.

But as she looked at the child in her arms, reminding herself of all these things, all she could see was the strong, daunting features of Brant Cadman.

The letter came from the hospital the following morning. It told Annie to contact them as soon as possible.

When she rang they said they wanted to send someone out to see her. Perhaps the following day? But Annie insisted that if they had something to tell her, she was coming up to town herself. Today.

She didn’t tell them that she knew what it concerned. Or anything about Brant Cadman. Ridiculously, she was nursing the hope that if she didn’t bring his name into it, this whole harrowing nightmare might not be true.

For what other reason the hospital might be writing to her, she didn’t stop to imagine. The fact that Brant had said he would be calling round again today was very real and she was keen to get out of the flat before he arrived. She didn’t think she could face him until someone told her for certain that there had been a mix-up. Until then, he presented a dark threat to everything she cherished.

‘I take it you know Brant Cadman was here,’ Katrina King told her as soon as Annie rang to ask her friend if she would have Sean for a couple of hours. A year older than Annie, the woman worked from home as a freelance sportswear designer. She loved children and had volunteered to entertain Sean if ever Annie needed a babysitter. ‘You did get my email, didn’t you?’

She hadn’t. She’d been too worried and overtaken by the man’s visit to even remember to check her emails.

‘When did he call?’ was all Annie could respond with.

‘About coffee-time yesterday. Still looking like every woman’s darkest fantasy. What did he want?’ Katrina asked, sounding suspicious.

‘Just to see me,’ Annie returned, thinking how pretentious that sounded, but at that moment she couldn’t begin to tell her friend the nature of Brant’s visit.

‘I’ll bet!’ Katrina’s words held a mixture of caution and envy, but Annie ignored them.

‘See you later,’ she said quickly, ringing off.

She didn’t want to let Sean out of her sight, but decided it would be best if he was with Katrina. Her friend only lived a short drive away, and fifteen minutes later, with Sean safely delivered into the woman’s care, Annie was driving back through the suburbs only to realise that, with all the trauma of what was happening, she had forgotten both the letter from the hospital and the name of the person she was supposed to see.

Forced to make a detour back to the flat, she was tripping down the steps again to her little purple Ka when she saw the dark blue Mercedes saloon suddenly pulling up in front of her home.

Brant Cadman! She didn’t even need to look at the driver to know it would be him. Not too many cars of that sort parked outside her modest little address!

She felt her whole body tense as he unfolded himself from the big car.

‘Good morning.’