Annie West - Damaso Claims His Heir

‘A month and a day, remember, Marisa? This is as much my business as yours.’

She didn’t move, not so much as a muscle. Her unnatural stillness disturbed him.

‘When were you going to tell me?’

Still she said nothing. Damaso’s skin tightened till it felt like hundreds of ants crawled over him.

‘Or weren’t you going to? Were you planning to get rid of it quietly with no one the wiser?’

Damaso grimaced at the pungent sourness filling his mouth. Had she decided to get rid of his child?

His child!

He’d been stunned by the news he was to be a father. It had taken hours to come to grips with the fact he’d have a child—blood of his blood, flesh of his flesh.

For the first time in his life, he’d have family.

The idea astounded him, scared him. He, who’d never expected to have a family of his own. Yet to his amazement part of him welcomed the idea.

He didn’t know exactly how he expected this to play out. But one thing was absolutely certain: no child of his would be abandoned as he’d been.

No child of his would grow up alone or neglected.

It would know its father.

It would be cared for.

He, Damaso Pires, would make sure of that personally. The intensity of his determination was stronger than anything he’d known.

He must have moved for he found himself behind Marisa. Her hair stirred with each breath he exhaled. His fingers flexed, as if to reach for her hips and pull her to him, or shake her into speech.

‘Say something!’ Damaso wasn’t used to being ignored, especially by women he’d known intimately. Especially when something as profoundly important as this lay between them.

‘What do you want me to say?’ When she turned, her eyes were wide and over-bright. ‘No, I hadn’t planned an abortion? No, I hadn’t decided when I’d tell you, if at all? I haven’t had time even to get my head around the idea of being pregnant.’

She jabbed a finger into his sternum. ‘I don’t see this being as much your business as mine.’ Her finger stabbed again. ‘If I’m pregnant, I’ll be the one carrying this baby. I’ll be the one whose body and life and future will change irrevocably. Not you.’

Her finger wobbled against his chest; her whole hand was shaking, Damaso realised. He wrapped his hand around hers but she tugged loose from his hold and backed away as if his touch contaminated her.

Too late for that, my fine lady.

* * *

Marisa watched his harsh mouth curve in a smile that could only be described as feral. He looked dangerous and unpredictable, his eyes a black gleam that made her want to step back again. Instead she planted her feet.

How had he turned the tables, so his intrusion on her privacy had become a litany of accusations against her? Enough was enough. She was tired of being bullied and judged.

‘Obviously you’ve had time to jump to all sorts of conclusions about this pregnancy, if there is one.’ She fixed him with a stony gaze.

‘You deny it?’ He scowled.

‘I reserve judgement until I’ve got a second opinion.’ She braced her hands on her hips, refusing to cower before his harsh expression. ‘But obviously you’ve gone beyond that stage.’

‘I have.’ His gaze dropped to her stomach and she felt a hot stirring inside as if he’d touched her there. Abruptly, his dark eyes locked on hers again. ‘There’s only one sensible option.’

‘Really?’

‘Of course.’ His brooding features tightened, a determined light in his eyes. ‘We’ll marry.’

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