Clare Connelly - Bound By Their Christmas Baby

His eyes flew wide. ‘Raf?’

‘Rafael,’ she said with a small, distracted smile. ‘Our son.’

Silence fell, heavy and caustic, in the room. Gabe processed what she’d said, but it simply didn’t make sense.

‘We used protection.’

‘I know.’

‘It’s not possible.’

‘The three-month-old I have at home would beg to differ,’ she said calmly, even when her nerves were jangling.

Gabe nodded, a coldness to his expression. ‘What is this? You want money? Or something else?’

‘I thought you should know,’ she said with hauteur, reminding him of the silver spoon she’d grown up with.

‘You thought I should know that I’m a father. That supposedly the night we were together, you fell pregnant. How convenient!’

‘Not particularly,’ Abby said with a soft laugh.

‘Do you think I am this stupid? That I’ll listen to these lies? I should have followed my first instincts and had you kicked out. What the hell are you playing at?’

‘It’s the truth ,’ she said. ‘I have a son. His name is Raf Arantini and he’s the spitting image of his father.’

Gabe glared at her. She’d even used his name? Could it be true?

Presumably she hadn’t been on birth control, but he never slept with a woman without protection. And he’d never had any consequences come from his sex life before. So why now? And why this woman?

Because she was a liar. And though he couldn’t see the full picture, he knew with confidence that there was more to this story than she was telling him. It couldn’t be the truth. There was no way on earth he had a baby.

He needed time and space to think, and he sure as hell couldn’t do that with her in the room.

‘Get out of my office, Abigail. And don’t contact me again.’

He walked to the lift and pressed the button; it pinged open almost instantly.

She walked slowly and as she passed him he caught just a hint of her sweet vanilla fragrance. His whole body clenched.

‘You don’t believe me?’ she asked.

‘Do you blame me?’

Tears welled in her eyes but she met his eyes with obvious defiance. ‘It’s the truth.’

‘I don’t think you’d know the truth if it bit you on that perfect little arse of yours.’

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