Her Secret Pregnancy

Donna blinked at him in genuine astonishment. ‘Revenge?’

‘It’s a natural progression, if you stop to think about it,’ he mused. ‘You striking out, in a primitive kind of way, to make me pay for what happened between us.’

For a moment she was dumbfounded, and it took a few incredulous seconds before she could speak. ‘Marcus—please credit me with a little more intelligence than that. I’m not stupid enough to set myself up to be miserable—and pursuing some sort of vendetta against you would make anyone miserable.’

‘Maybe being miserable is a price worth paying.’ He shrugged. ‘Depends how badly you want to pay me back!’

She gave him a look of undiluted amazement, realising that maybe he didn’t know her at all. ‘What a disgustingly over-inflated ego you have, Marcus! Do you really think that I would stake everything I own on a venture like this unless I thought I could make some kind of success of it?’

‘I have no idea. Maybe I’ve misjudged you,’ he said, sounding as though he didn’t think he had at all. ‘But in that case—how did you manage to keep it so quiet for so long?’ he mused. ‘And why?’

‘How?’ She smiled. ‘I hired a good lawyer. You said yourself that Tony Paxman was expensive. Well, he’s good—and you always get what you pay for—that’s something else I’ve learnt. As for why…’ She met his gaze steadily. ‘I suspected that you might try and block the sale if you knew who was behind it.’

And she was right—damn her! Not because he feared competition—he’d always been able to deal with that. No, it was more to do with the effect she had on him…Marcus was silent as he dragged oxygen into his body and fought to swamp his instincts. He felt unwelcome heat invade him. She always made him want what he didn’t need…

Seconds ticked by as his heart thundered and the tiny hairs on the back of his neck stung like pin-pricks. He didn’t speak. Didn’t dare to. Not until he was sure that his feelings were under control once more. Only then did he speak, lacing his words with sarcasm. ‘So, it’s open warfare, is it, Donna?’ he drawled.

‘Of course not! I’m sure there’s room for both of us,’ she said mock-generously. ‘People will choose where they want to eat.’

‘As you did today,’ he remarked obscurely. ‘But maybe you had your own special reasons for wanting to eat here.’

Donna held her breath. ‘Like what?’

‘Like me.’

‘You?’

‘Mmm. Me. There are plenty of other places you could have taken your lawyer to. Maybe you just couldn’t wait to see me again.’

It was partly true—but not for the reasons he was implying, that she was still vulnerable where he was concerned. Seeing Marcus again had been intended to be the final proof that not only had she turned her life around, but she had succeeded in forgetting the man who had brought her nothing but heartache.

Donna opened her mouth without thinking, and the words came fizzing out before she could take them back. ‘And why would I want to see you again, Marcus? Why would I want to re-acquaint myself with a man who gave me nothing but grief? The man who strode in and took exactly what he wanted and found he couldn’t handle it afterwards! Was that the real reason you sacked me, Marcus—not because I’d lied to you, but because I re-minded you of what you’d done? Were you feeling guilty that you’d seduced a poor little virgin?’

‘You’re talking like a victim, Donna—and I can assure you that you were nothing of the kind. For an innocent you certainly knew how to be provocative.’ His mouth tightened as he lowered his voice. ‘As for seduction—that’s too fine a word to describe what was a very regrettable incident all round.’

‘A “very regrettable incident”?’ she repeated in disbelief. ‘My God—I’m going to enjoy becoming the most popular eaterie in town! I hope all your clients come flocking to me!’

He gave a sad shake of his head as he rose to his feet. ‘Oh, Donna,’ he sighed. ‘You may be older—but you don’t seem to have acquired a lot of wisdom along the way. Your hare-brained scheme won’t work. Believe me.’

‘Only time will tell!’

His smile was wry. ‘I’ll try very hard not to gloat when my prediction comes true.’

‘And I’ll be laughing all the way to the bank when it doesn’t!’

‘We’ll see.’ He tore his eyes away from that riveting glimpse of her breasts and walked out of the restaurant, leaving Donna and just about every other female in the room staring wide-eyed after him.

CHAPTER THREE (#u1f6d23b2-7e7a-57a7-a7c5-9125799bd923)

DONNA paid her bill and then made her way out of the restaurant, trying not to notice that people were staring and wondering if it was because she’d been sitting with Marcus.

It had not been the meeting she’d fantasised about. She had been naive. And stupid. Imagining that all those sparks of sexual attraction would have been extinguished over the years.

Outside, the afternoon sunshine was beginning to fade, and a tiny breeze had blown up which made her shiver, turning her flesh to goosebumps beneath the cream silk jacket.

She turned and walked up the street towards her newly purchased future, her high-heeled shoes clipping over the familiar pavements until she stopped outside The Buttress and looked up at it. At the worn, wooden door and the ancient brick—all warm and terracotta-coloured in the dying light of the sun. Hers.

The new sign would be erected tomorrow, and the notices would go out in all the trade press. The tea-room had been dominating her thoughts for so long now. She’d been bubbling over with excitement about all her plans and hopes for it—but seeing Marcus today had made her confront the fact that he still had the power to affect her in a way that no other man had ever come close to.

She felt the beat of her heart, heavy and strong, as she remembered the way he looked. Different. Older and rougher round the edges. All tousled and tough—and radiating an earthy sexuality she knew she was incompatible with.

The first time she had met him he’d been kind to her. Kind and caring, yes—but in the way that a Victorian benefactor might throw a bone to a starving dog…

As a teenager, Donna had arrived in Winchester on a rainy December day, dressed in jeans and a jumper and a worn tweed jacket she’d picked up at a car-boot sale and which had been too thin to withstand the constant drizzle. She’d been soaked. Her face had been bare of make-up, her lashes matted with raindrops and her hair a wild ginger mess frizzing all the way down down her back.

There had only been one week to go until Christmas, and there’d been fairy-lights threaded everywhere: outside all the shops and pubs, woven into the bare branches of the trees—their colours blurred like jewels through the grey of the relentless rain.

As she’d turned the corner into Westgate street Donna had seen the welcoming blaze of The New Hampshire hotel and had shivered. It was the sort of place you usually only saw in story books—a beautiful, elegant old building, with two bay trees standing in dark, shiny boxes outside. The windows were sparkly-clean and the paintwork gleamed. It was the kind of place which reeked of money. You could tell just by looking. And places like this were always looking for seasonal workers.

Clutching onto her holdall with frozen fingers, she’d pushed the glass doors open and walked into the foyer, where a man had been standing at the top of a ladder, positioning a huge silver star on top of a Christmas tree whose tip was brushing against the high ceiling.

Donna had quietly slid her holdall onto the thick carpet and watched him. He’d been wearing dark trousers, which had looked new and neatly pressed, and his shirt had been exquisitely made. Quality clothes on a quality body.

She had waited until the star was firmly in place. ‘Bravo!’ she cheered, and he looked over his shoulder, frowned, then came slowly down the ladder to face her.

His hair was thick and dark and tapered neatly into his neck, and his eyes were the most extraordinary colour she had ever seen. Icy and pale. Clear and blue. As if they had been washed clean. And Donna felt the first tiptoeing of an emotion she simply didn’t recognise.

He frowned again as he looked her up and down, and his voice matched his clothes. Rich. ‘Can I help you?’

The implication being that he couldn’t. That she was in the wrong place. The story of her life, really. She decided to brazen it out.

‘Do you have a room?’

The surprise in his eyes was gone almost as quickly as it had appeared, and he shrugged his shoulders apologetically. ‘I’m sorry. I’m afraid we’re fully booked. It’s our busiest time of year and—’

‘Actually, I don’t want a room,’ she interrupted quickly, thinking that it was nice of him to pretend that she could afford a room in a hotel when it was pretty obvious she couldn’t. ‘I’m looking for work.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘What kind of work?’

‘Anything. You name it—I can do it! I can wait tables—’

He shook his head. ‘I’m sorry. We’re a silver-service restaurant,’ he said politely.

‘Or peel potatoes?’

He smiled. ‘We have our full complement of kitchen staff.’

‘Oh.’ She pursed her lips together to stop them wobbling and went to pick up her holdall. ‘Okay. Fair enough. Merry Christmas!’