Carole Mortimer - A D'Angelo Like No Other

Michael dragged his gaze away from that arrestingly beautiful face to instead stare down in horror at the pink-dress-clad baby this young woman held out in front of him; horror, because he had absolutely no experience with holding young babies. How could he have, when he had never been this close to a small baby since being one himself?

He recoiled back from the now-drooling infant. ‘I don’t think—’

‘I’ve found that it’s best not to think too much around Sophie and Sam, especially now they’re teething,’ he was assured dryly. ‘You might want to put this on your shoulder to protect your jacket.’

The woman handed him a square of white linen as she dumped the baby unceremoniously into his arms before turning to stride back across the office, giving Michael a perfect view of her curvaceous denim-covered bottom as she bent down to unclip the strap that secured the second, still-whimpering baby into the pushchair.

Michael held the first baby—Sophie?—at arm’s length, totally at a loss as to what to do with her, and more than a little disconcerted to find himself the focus of eyes the same beautiful deep violet colour as her mother’s. A steady and intense focus that seemed far too knowing, almost mocking it seemed to him, for a baby of surely only a few months old.

Eva lifted Sam up out of the pushchair as she straightened, more than a little annoyed that the two gabbling Archangel employees had woken the babies up at all; it had taken the whole of the walk from the hotel to the gallery to lull them into falling asleep in the first place, after a disjointed night of one or other of the twins—and consequently Eva—being woken up with teething pains.

As a result both Eva and the babies were feeling a little disgruntled this morning. Which didn’t prevent her from almost laughing out loud as she turned to find D’Angelo was still holding Sophie with both arms straight out in front of him, a look of absolute horror on his face, as if the baby were a time bomb about to go off!

But Eva only almost laughed...

Because there had been very little for her to laugh about these past few nightmarish months.

Those memories sobered Eva instantly. ‘Sophie doesn’t bite,’ she snapped impatiently as she cuddled a denim-and-T-shirt-clad Sam in her arms. ‘Well...not much,’ she amended ruefully. ‘Luckily they both only have four teeth at the moment...’

Michael wasn’t known for his patience at the best of times—and right now, in the midst of this chaos, was far from the best of times. ‘I’m more interested in knowing what they, and you, are doing in the private area of Archangel, than in hearing how many teeth your children have!’

The woman’s pointed chin rose as she looked at him with hard and challenging violet eyes. ‘Do you really want me to discuss that in front of your employees, Mr D’Angelo? I take it that you are Mr D’Angelo?’ She quirked a derisive brow.

‘I am, yes.’ Michael scowled darkly. ‘Discuss what in front of my employees?’ he prompted cautiously.

Her mouth thinned. ‘The reason I’m in the private area of Archangel.’

He gave an impatient shake of his head. ‘As I have absolutely no idea what your reasons might be I can’t answer that question.’

‘No?’ she scorned.

‘No,’ Michael bit out harshly. ‘Perhaps you would care to come through to my office...?’

Pierre, a man several years his junior, voiced his concern by launching into all the reasons—in French, of course!—as to why he felt it inadvisable for Michael to be alone with this woman, with several less than polite references made as to whether or not she was quite sane, along with the suggestion that they call security and have her ejected from the building.

‘I understood all that,’ their visitor answered in fluent French as she turned her glittering violet and challenging gaze on the now less than comfortable Pierre. ‘And you can call security if you want, but, I assure you, I’m quite sane,’ she mocked Michael.

‘I never doubted it for a moment!’ Michael drawled, equally mockingly. ‘It’s fine, Pierre,’ he assured in English. ‘If you would care to come through to my office...?’ he prompted the woman again, before stepping out of the doorway to reveal the room behind him, still having no idea what to do with the baby in his arms. Especially as the baby—Sophie—was now smiling up at him beguilingly as she proudly displayed those four tiny white teeth.

‘She likes you,’ the baby’s mother announced disgustedly as she continued to carry Sam at the same time as she manoeuvred the pushchair past Michael and into his office.

He hastily placed the piece of white linen on his shoulder and hefted the baby into one arm before he was able to close the office door behind him on the wide-eyed and slightly worried stares of Marie and Pierre.

‘Wow, this is some view...’

Michael turned to see the violet-eyed woman gazing out of the floor-to-ceiling-windows at the view up the length of the Champs Élysées to the Arc de Triomphe; that view, and the prestigious address, were the main reasons for choosing this stunning location for the Paris gallery. ‘We like it,’ he drawled with hard dismissal. ‘Now, if you wouldn’t mind explaining yourself...?’ he added pointedly. ‘Beginning with who you are?’ Michael had wondered briefly if she wasn’t the persistent Monique from Rafe’s past, but the English accent seemed to say not.

Eva turned, still holding a now-quiet Sam in her arms. ‘My name is Eva Foster.’

‘And?’ D’Angelo prompted when she added nothing else to that statement, those obsidian-black eyes blank of emotion.

Eva eyed him impatiently. ‘And you obviously have absolutely no idea who I am,’ she realised with horror.

He arched dark brows. ‘Should I have?’

Should he have? Of course he should, the arrogant, irresponsible jerk— ‘Perhaps the name Rachel Foster would be more helpful in jogging your memory?’ she prompted sweetly.

He frowned darkly even as he gave a slow shake of his head. ‘I’m sorry, but I have absolutely no idea what—or who—you’re talking about...’

A red tide seemed to pass in front of Eva’s eyes. All these months of heartache, chaos, heartache, loss, and, yes, just plain heartache, and this man didn’t even remember Rachel’s name, let alone Rachel herself—!

‘What sort of man are you? Don’t bother to answer that,’ Eva added furiously as she began to pace the office. ‘Obviously so many women pass in and out of your privileged life, and your no doubt silk-sheeted bed, that you forget about them as soon as the next one takes up occupancy—’

‘Stop right there,’ D’Angelo advised harshly. ‘No, I didn’t mean you, little one,’ he added softly as Sophie gave a protesting whimper at the tone of his voice. His eyes were as black and piercing as jet as he turned back to Eva. ‘Are you implying that you believe I’ve been...involved with this Rachel Foster?’

Eva’s eyes widened angrily, her cheeks warming with temper. ‘This Rachel Foster happens to be my sister, and, yes, you’ve been “involved” with her. In fact, you’re holding part of the evidence of that involvement in your arms right now!’

Michael instantly stared down at the baby he held. Not a newborn, certainly, probably a few months old, possibly five or six, and very cute, as babies went, with her mop of black hair, those violet-coloured eyes, and her little face screwed up in concentration as she played with one of the buttons on the jacket of his several-thousand-pound suit.

If this woman, this Eva Foster, was trying to say that he was somehow responsible?

Shades of yesterday...

‘I’ve never met your sister,’ Michael stated firmly. ‘Let alone—I’ve never met her,’ he repeated coldly. ‘So whatever scam the two of you are trying to pull here I would advise that you forget it—’ He broke off abruptly as one of Eva Foster’s hands made loud and painful contact with one of his cheeks, causing the baby in his arms to let out another deafening wail. ‘That was uncalled for,’ he bit out between gritted teeth, his jaw clenched as he jiggled the baby up and down in his arms in an effort to silence her screams.