Page 153

She lifted a hand to her temple, pressing it there. His touch was strangely reassuring, given he was the one inflicting this emotional distress on her, and yet she pulled away from him—finally—and moved back to the armchair, sitting down with a thud and staring straight ahead. The wheels of her mind were spinning, but it was as though they were stuck in mud. She couldn’t see anything beyond his proposal, such as it was.

‘You don’t want to marry me.’

‘I don’t particularly want to marry anyone, but then, I also never planned on having children.’ He crouched down in front of her, unnervingly close once more. Unnervingly, because she liked him being there, even when she knew she shouldn’t. His eyes were the most distracting shade of brown; she couldn’t look away from them, even when anger was hardening something in the middle of her chest.

‘I didn’t know you’d feel like this.’

‘I’m glad. I presume if you had known, you would have decided against telling me.’

Her lips parted on a rush of breath. She needed to think, and it was impossible with him so close. She reached out a hand for her water, took a sip, then replaced the glass on the coffee table, and the whole time he stayed crouched on his haunches, watching.

‘Put yourself in my shoes,’ he suggested, moving one hand to her knee. Her body rejoiced at the contact; her mind struggled to focus. ‘You’ve turned up out of the blue, told me we’re having a baby, that you’re going to raise the baby alone back in England. Wouldn’t you fight, with your dying breath, for your child in that situation?’

‘But—’ But what? Wasn’t he right? Didn’t he have a point? More than that, wasn’t this, deep down, what she’d always, always wished someone had done for her? She’d never known her father, beyond the fact he hadn’t wanted children—hadn’t wanted her. It was the one subject her mother had always shut down, refusing to discuss, and Sarah might never have known anything about the man were it not for the way her mother’s pain-relief drugs had affected her, towards the end. He chose not to be in your life, Sarah. He didn’t want us.

And now Tate was here, telling her he wanted this baby, enough to fight like hell for them. It was everything she’d secretly wanted, to make her feel validated—for her father to have fought for her. ‘Yes,’ she whispered, closing her eyes on the admission.

‘Yes, you’ll marry me?’

Her eyes opened with shock. ‘No,’ she corrected. ‘I meant I’d fight for my child. I meant I understand.’

His hand on her leg moved upwards slightly, drawing her attention back to him, and this. Their physical connection had almost eaten her alive that night, and she could feel it building again, his sensual touch pulling at something on a cellular level.

‘What do you suggest, then?’

She stared at his hand, fighting the urge to inch forward, to press up into it, so the weight of his palm was more satisfyingly against her thigh.

‘I don’t know.’ Honesty was the best policy, after all. ‘I never imagined you’d react like this.’

‘You don’t know me,’ he said, after a beat.

‘Exactly.’ Triumph seared her. ‘Which is why it would be a disaster to get married.’

‘We can get to know each other. That’s inevitable, anyway—we’re going to be raising a child together.’

The reality of that was clawing at her now. The knowledge that he was right. This baby was a form of glue; it would hold them together for the rest of their lives, whether she liked that or not. ‘But it doesn’t mean…we don’t need…’

‘You googled me,’ he said, voice low and serious. Her eyes flicked to his and she caught the grim line of his face. ‘I presume you saw something about my own childhood?’

She frowned, trying to remember if she had seen anything like that. ‘I didn’t do a deep dive or anything,’ she murmured. ‘Once I knew who you were, that was enough.’

His eyes flared. ‘I see.’

‘What about your childhood?’ she pushed, biting on her lip.

‘My mother raised me on her own, until I was four. At which point, she got bored of being a parent, I can only presume, and brought me here.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘My father cheated on his wife with my mother. I was the result.’ He spoke without emotion, but it didn’t matter. His sparsity of words landed more heavily with Sarah than if he’d waxed lyrical about the pain of this. ‘He didn’t know about me until my mother rolled up on his doorstep—here—and announced that I was his.’

Sarah’s eyes widened. She wanted to comfort him, but pride held her silent. Pride, and something else. A feeling that if she spoke, he might stop, and she didn’t want him to.

‘What followed was a protracted, public paternity suit. There were a tonne of court appearances, and finally, my mother was paid off, enough to make it worth her while to leave me here.’

Sarah’s lips parted. ‘What?’

‘Despite the fact she’d brought me here to get rid of me, she made sure she was well compensated for the “loss”.’