Million-Dollar Love-Child. Sarah Morgan
Читать онлайн книгу.
and dropped on to the bed, fighting off tears of frustration and anxiety.
She’d blown it. She’d totally blown it.
She’d planned to be calm and rational, to tell him the facts and explain the reasons for having kept Rio’s birth a secret from him for so long. But from the moment he’d walked into the room her plans had flown out of the window.
She’d been catapulted back into the past.
And she had less than twenty-four hours before the deadline came and went. Less than twenty-four hours in which to persuade a man with no morals or human decency to deposit five million dollars into the blackmailer’s bank account.
The blackmailer he didn’t even believe existed.
She took several deep breaths, struggling to hold herself together emotionally. It had been the hardest thing in the world to leave her child at this point in time, when all her instincts as a mother told her to keep him close. But she had known that to bring him on this trip would have been to expose him to even greater danger. And she’d hoped that she would only be in Rio de Janeiro for two days at the most. And after that—
She closed her eyes briefly and took a deep breath. She hadn’t dared think further than this meeting. Hadn’t dared think what would happen if Luc refused to lend her the money.
Even now, with the letter still lurking in her handbag, she couldn’t quite believe that this was happening. Couldn’t believe that someone, somewhere, had discovered the truth about her child’s parentage. She’d been so careful and yet somehow they knew.
And she’d left her son with the only person in the world that she trusted. The man who was a father figure to him.
As if by telepathy the phone in her bag rang and she answered it swiftly.
‘Is he all right?’
Jason’s voice came back, reassuringly familiar. ‘He’s fine. Stop fussing.’ They’d agreed not to discuss any details on the phone. ‘How are you? Any luck your end?’
Kimberley felt the panic rise again. ‘Not yet.’ She couldn’t bring herself to tell Jason that Luc didn’t believe her. Part of her was still hoping for a miracle.
‘But Luc agreed to see you this time? You met with him?’
Kimberley’s fingers tightened on the phone. ‘Oh, yes.’ And her whole body was still humming and tingling as a result of that encounter. ‘But he won’t give me an answer. He’s playing games.’
‘Did he fall on bended knee and beg your forgiveness for treating you so shoddily?’
Kimberley tipped her head back and struggled with tears as she recalled every detail of their explosive meeting. ‘Not exactly—’
‘I don’t suppose “sorry” is in his vocabulary.’ Jason gave a short laugh that was distinctly lacking in humour. ‘Hang in there. If he doesn’t come banging on your door in the next hour then he isn’t the man I think he is.’
Banging on her door? Why would he do that?
Kimberley gave a sigh. She knew only too well that Luc Santoro didn’t go round banging on women’s doors. Usually they fell at his feet and he just scooped them out of his path and dropped them in his bed until he’d had enough of them.
‘I wish I had your confidence. What if he refuses?’
‘He won’t refuse. Have courage.’ Jason’s voice was firm. ‘But I still think we should talk to the police.’
‘No!’ She sat bolt upright on the bed and swept her tangled hair out of her eyes. ‘Not the police. You saw the note. You know what that man threatened to do—’
‘All right. But if you change your mind—’
‘I won’t change my mind.’ She wouldn’t do anything that would jeopardize the safety of her child. ‘All I want is to deposit the money in his account as he instructed. I don’t want to do anything that might upset him or give him reason to hurt Rio.’
Limp with the heat and exhaustion, Kimberley snapped the phone shut and lay back on the bed and closed her eyes. For a moment she questioned her decision to stay in this small hotel with no air-conditioning in a slightly dubious part of Rio de Janeiro. At the time it had seemed the right thing to do because she didn’t want to squander money, but now, with the perspiration prickling her skin and her head throbbing, she wished she’d chosen somewhere else. She was hot, she was miserable and she hadn’t eaten or slept since the letter had arrived two days previously.
Instead she’d spent the time pacing the floor of her London flat, planning strategy with Jason. It had been hard to act as if nothing was wrong in front of her little boy. Even harder to board a plane to Rio de Janeiro without him, because apart from the time he spent at school or playing with friends, they were hardly ever apart.
She’d stayed at home when he was little and, with the help of Jason, a top fashion photographer who she’d met when she was modelling, she’d started working from home, selling her own designs of jewellery. She’d managed to fit her working hours around caring for her new baby and she’d worked hard to push all thoughts and memories of Luc Santoro out of her system.
And she’d dealt with the enormous guilt by telling herself that there were some men who just weren’t cut out to be fathers and Luc was definitely one of them. He was a man like her father—a man who shifted his attention from one woman to the next without any thought of commitment—and she vowed that no child of hers was ever going to experience the utter misery and chronic insecurity that she’d suffered as a child.
Finding the heat suddenly intolerable, Kimberley sprang to her feet and stripped off the rest of her clothes before padding barefoot into the tiny bathroom in an attempt to seek relief from the unrelenting humidity.
The shower could barely be described as such, but it was sufficient to cool her heated flesh and she washed and dried herself and then slid into clean underwear and collapsed back on to the bed, wishing that the ceiling fan worked.
‘Presumably this is all part of your plan to gain the sympathy vote, staying in a hotel with no air-conditioning in a part of town that even the police avoid.’ His deep, dark drawl came from the doorway and she gave a gasp of shock and sprang off the bed.
She hadn’t even heard the door open.
‘You can’t just walk in here!’ She made a grab for her robe and dragged it around herself, self-conscious and just horrified that he’d caught her in such a vulnerable state. Her hair was hanging in dark, damp coils down her back and she wasn’t wearing any make-up. She felt completely unprepared for a confrontation with a man like him. ‘You should have knocked!’
‘You should have locked the door.’ He strolled into the room and closed the door firmly behind him, turning the key with a smooth, deliberate movement. ‘In this part of town, you can’t be too careful.’
Hands shaking, she tied the robe at the waist, still glaring at him. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I was under the impression that you wanted an urgent answer to your request for funds.’ He strolled across the cramped, airless room and stared out of the smeared window into the grimy, litter infested street below. His broad shoulders all but obliterated the light in the room and she couldn’t see his face. ‘If your finances are in this bad a state, perhaps you ought to be asking me for more than five million.’
She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. She could hardly breathe, trapped in this tiny, airless room with Luc Santoro, who dominated every inch of available space with his powerful body. He was still wearing the sleek business suit and the jacket moulded to his shoulders, hinting at masculine strength and power. His glossy hair brushed the collar of his white silk shirt, just on the edges of what would be considered respectable in the cut-throat world of corporate finance. His hard jaw betrayed the tell-tale signs of dark stubble and at that precise moment, even dressed in the suit, he looked more bandit than