LITMIR.BIZ

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She didn’t want to jeopardise the undoubtedly sizeable settlement she was due when her child—his child!—took that hated name and came in line to inherit the Lyndon-Holt fortune.

      Zac was dangerously close to the edge of his control, and he didn’t like to admit that even before, when his life had been ripped asunder, he hadn’t felt so volatile. He’d vowed never to let himself be put in that position again—at the mercy of secrets and lies. And yet here he was, teetering on the very lip of it.

      He turned abruptly away from that pale face and those huge eyes and stalked to the window. He couldn’t look at her and not fall over the edge.

      He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but he’d expected her to show something different from the innocent persona she’d projected both times they’d met before. He’d expected her to be confident. Triumphant. Crowing. Greedy.

      And she was none of those things. Or not yet, at least. She just had those huge eyes that looked so damn full of something that mocked him for his initial weakness. Because he’d believed in it. In her.

      The revelation that she’d used her physical innocence as a bargaining chip that night made him bilious. Her virginity might have been real, but every other moment had been a poisonous fabrication.

      He recalled persuading her to stay and those eyes looking at him with such unbelievable torment. As if she’d truly had to wrestle with her conscience. And then she’d run, perfecting her act, before popping up again the following week. What an unmitigated fool he’d been to trust that it had been mere coincidence.

      As much as Zac would have loved to have her escorted from his building and excised from his life for good, he couldn’t. She was pregnant. He’d noticed the barely perceptible thickening of her waist that she was trying to hide under that bag. And he hated that he’d noticed. And that it wasn’t having a cooling effect on his hormones. Hell, as soon as he’d seen her photo in the paper his libido had roared back to life.

      Pregnant. He was still reeling from that shock and coming to terms with the fact that he most likely was the father. He’d never contemplated this reality, too intent on making sure the Lyndon-Holt name died out with his grandmother. As he’d told her years before, she could take her bitter legacy to the grave or leave it to a cats’ home for all he cared.

      Yet he knew that as much as he might blame the woman in his office right now, and his grandmother, he only had himself to blame, really.

      He was the one who’d been weak. His hyper-vigilance had been blown apart as soon as he’d laid eyes on that pale, slender back. Her unadorned beauty. A beauty that would be tainted in his eyes forever now. He’d had moments of suspicion but he’d ignored them, too in heat for her. Like a rabid dog.

      He’d arrogantly assumed he had an edge over his peers after everything that had happened to him, but he’d learnt nothing. This was a brutal lesson in recognising his own lack of humility. His complacency.

      He’d been the susceptible fool who had succumbed to that sweet, hazy lovemaking in the darkest hours of the night, when she’d obviously—in spite of her inexperience—sensed her opportunity and made the most of it. Milking him so exquisitely with her tight body that he’d not even realised it wasn’t a dream because he’d never felt anything like it before.

      But it hadn’t been a dream. It was a living nightmare. And now his weakness meant that everything he’d wanted to do to avenge the people who had given him life was for naught.

      He went still then, as something struck him—a glimmering shard of possibility. A way he could still prevail. As it took root in his mind, for the first time since he’d heard this news the rage inside him cooled a fraction. Because there was a way he could turn this around. A way to thwart his grandmother’s nefarious plans. A way to avenge his parents far more profoundly than he’d ever anticipated.

      By giving life to another name. His father’s name. Valenti.

      When Zac felt slightly more in control he turned around, but seeing Rose standing there in his office still hit him like a punch in the gut. Her eyes looked too big. He noted too that she looked as if she’d lost weight, making her seem even more ethereal and delicate. It tugged on something inside him. Unwelcome.

      He had to focus. Remember who she was. What she’d done. And try to salvage something out of this mess.

      ‘Sit down,’ he snapped, more forcefully than he’d intended. Her slight flinch impacted on him in the same unwelcome place. She didn’t move immediately, and Zac paced forward and pulled out a chair, not liking it that she looked paler now. ‘Sit. Before you fall down.’

      He found himself pouring her a glass of water before he’d even registered the impulse. He handed it to her and she looked up at him as she took it, some colour returning to her cheeks.

      ‘There’s no need to talk to me like a dog, and I’m not some wilting lily.’

      With any other woman Zac would have been horrified at his behaviour, but this was her. She was as low as they came. He went back around his desk and sat down, loosening his tie and opening the top button of his shirt, feeling constricted. It was time to assess exactly what he was dealing with.

      ‘I presume you signed a contract?’

      The colour in her cheeks made something ease inside Zac. He told himself it was satisfaction that she’d decided not to try and play him with some meek little act. Good—he wanted her feisty and showing her true colours. So that it wouldn’t be hard to remember the sheer gall it had taken for her to sell her virginity and her womb to the highest bidder.

      She took a sip of water. When she looked at him again she seemed to square her shoulders, as if preparing for battle. He told himself grimly that she didn’t even know what a battle was yet.

      ‘Well?’ he rapped out, impatient.

      She swallowed, the movement of her throat drawing his eye down to where he could see the hollow just above her collarbone. He remembered tracing that hollow, tasting it with his tongue… And suddenly the irritation was joined by a rush of lust so intense that Zac was glad he was sitting down.

      He hated himself for the desire to let his eyes linger on her. She was beautiful enough to hurt, with rose-gold tendrils of hair escaping to frame that treacherous face. Damn, but he ached to be close to her again, remembering all too easily how it had felt to thrust into that tight embrace.

      He couldn’t believe it. Even after the worst betrayal his libido had no issues with this treacherous woman. All he felt was pure base need. Regardless of who she was and what she’d done. It killed him to know that his own body could perpetuate the betrayal.

      ‘I can’t tell you anything,’ she answered.

      It took a moment for her words to sink in, and then anger propelled Zac up out of his chair. He paced away from the desk—away from her. Not many people had the nerve to stonewall him, and he almost felt a grudging respect.

      But when he turned to her again he just said coldly, ‘Can’t? You mean won’t.’

      Distaste for everything she represented and her obvious collusion with his grandmother made him realise very quickly that he had to seize control of this situation.

      As if she could sense what was coming, she asked him, ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’

      There was the faintest tremor in her voice but Zac told himself it was just fear, because on some level she had to suspect now that she would not win against him.

      ‘I’m taking full responsibility for my actions. Starting now.’

      ‘What do you mean?’

      He looked at her, tightening every muscle in his body against the effect she had on him even now. ‘What I mean, my sweet, poisonous Rose, is that I’m going into damage limitation mode and you’re coming with me.’

      Rose stood up from the chair, her bag dropping to the ground, the glass still in her hand. ‘What are you talking

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