Damaso Claims His Heir. Annie West
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If only she didn’t respond at that visceral, utterly feminine level. She couldn’t afford to be distracted by such rampant masculinity.
‘We’re not talking about people. We’re talking about us and our child.’
Our child. The words resonated inside Marisa, making her shiver. Making the possibility of pregnancy abruptly real.
She put out a hand and grabbed the back of a nearby settee as the world swam.
Suddenly he was there before her, his hand firm on her elbow. ‘You need to sit.’
It was on the tip of her tongue to say she needed to be alone but she felt wobbly. Perhaps she should rest—she didn’t want to do anything that might endanger her baby.
And just like that she made the transition from protest to acceptance.
Not only acceptance but something stronger—something like anticipation.
Which showed how foolish she was. This situation had no built-in happy ending.
Marisa let Damaso guide her to a seat. The pregnancy no longer felt like a possibility, to be disproved with a second test. It felt real. Or maybe that was because of the way Damaso held her—gently, yet as if nothing could break his hold.
She lowered her eyes, facing the thought of motherhood alone. Learning to be a good mother when she had no idea what that was. The only things she’d ever been good at were sports and creating scandal.
Marisa bit down a groan, picturing the furore in the Bengarian royal court, the ultimatums and machinations to put the best spin on this. The condemnation, not just from the palace, but from the press.
In the past she’d pretended not to feel pain as the palace and the media had dealt her wound after wound, slashing at her as if she wasn’t a flesh-and-blood woman who bled at their ferocious attacks.
‘I’ll get the doctor.’ Damaso crouched before her, his long fingers still encircling her arm.
‘I don’t need a doctor.’ She needed to get a grip. Wallowing in self-pity wasn’t like her and she couldn’t afford to begin now. More than ever she had to find a way forward, not just for herself, but for her child.
‘You need someone to care for you.’
‘And you’re appointing yourself my protector?’ She couldn’t keep the jeering note from her voice.
For the first time since he’d shouldered his way into her suite, he looked discomfited. Eventually he spoke.
‘The baby is my responsibility.’ He spoke so solemnly, her skin prickled.
‘Sorry to disillusion you but I don’t need a protector. I look after myself.’ She’d learned independence at six, when her mother had died. Now she only had vague memories of warm hugs and wide smiles, of bedtime stories and an exquisite, never-to-be-repeated certainty she was precious.
‘Reading the press reports about your activities, I can see how well you’ve done that.’
Marisa’s chin shot up, her furious gaze locking with his. ‘You shouldn’t believe everything you read in the press.’
Except everyone did, and eventually Marisa had given up trying to explain. Instead she’d been spurred to a reckless disregard for convention and, at times, her own safety.
That stopped now. If there was a baby...
‘So I should give you the benefit of the doubt?’ He leaned closer and her breath snared in her lungs. Something happened to her breathing when Damaso got near.
‘I don’t care what you think of me.’ In the past that had worked for her. But with Damaso things were suddenly more complicated.
‘I can see that. But I also see you’re unwell. This news has come as a shock.’
‘You’re not shocked? Just how many kids do you have littered around the place?’ Marisa strove for insouciance but didn’t quite achieve it. Absurdly, the thought of him with a string of other women made her stomach cramp.
‘None.’
Ah. Maybe that explained his reaction.
‘Let me propose an interim arrangement.’ He sat back on his haunches, giving her space.
It was a clever move, she realised, as her racing pulse slowed.
‘Yes?’
‘You want a second pregnancy test. Let me take you to the city and arrange a medical examination. Then, if the results are positive, we talk about the future.’ He spread his hands in a gesture of openness.
Yet the glint in his dark eyes hinted things weren’t so simple.
But what did she have to lose? He only proposed what she’d already decided. And, as owner of the lodge, he could get her out of here quickly, without waiting for a scheduled flight.
‘No strings?’
‘No strings.’
Doubt warred with caution and a craven desire to let someone else worry about the details for once. If he tried to trample her, he’d learn he was messing with the wrong woman.
‘Agreed.’ She put out her hand, using the business gesture to reinforce that this was a deal, not a favour. A tiny bubble of triumph rose at his surprised look.
But, when his hand encompassed hers, engulfing her in its hard warmth, her smile faded.
* * *
Marisa twisted in her seat as the helicopter’s rotors slowed. Damaso saw anger shimmer in her eyes as she glared at him. ‘You said we’d go to the city.’
‘São Paolo is inland, not too far away.’
‘You lied to me.’ Her mouth set in a mutinous pout that made him want to pull her close and kiss those soft, pink lips till all she could do was sigh his name.
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