Читать книгу The Other Man - Karen Van Der Zee - Страница 8

HIS RUDENESS rendered her speechless for a moment. This was not the Aidan she remem-bered—the one with the impeccable upbringing and superb manners and sophisticated ways.

Hands clenched, she followed him, furious for his intrusion. “What do you want?” she asked coldly.

He stepped through the open French doors onto the stone terrace, where Churi sat in her playpen playing with her toys.

He put his hands on his hips. “Why don’t you introduce us?” he asked, ignoring her question.

“Her name is Churi. I want you to leave.”

He smiled at the baby. “Hello, Churi,” he said gently.

The baby looked up at him with large brown eyes—eyes that looked too big for her small face.

Aidan glanced back at Gwen. “I’d appreciate a cup of coffee. Strong, please.” Another order. Who did he think he was?

Gritting her teeth, Gwen glared at him, her body rigid. “This is not a restaurant.”

“I’m aware of that,” he said with infuriating calmness. He was looking at the baby again. “Has she been ill?”

“No, she hasn’t,” Gwen said tightly, feeling her nerves begin to jump. She wanted him gone—fast, now. “You shouldn’t be here. This is a small town. People talk.”

He cocked a faintly contemptuous brow. “It does not interest me in the least what people might say.” He allowed a significant pause. “I do not arrange my life according to the wishes and opinions of others.”

As opposed to what she had done years ago-according to his opinion. A wave of hot anger washed over her. She wanted to slap his arrogant face, but with an effort she managed to control herself. For a fleeting instant she heard again his voice, saw his face as he had looked at her that fateful evening years ago. You can’t allow your mother to decide for you what to do, and how to live. You’re not thirteen. You’ve got to live your own life. She pushed the memory away, curling her toes as if it were a physical effort.

“What do you want?” she asked coldly, wanting not to feel disturbing feelings, trying to block them out.

“There’s something we need to discuss.”

“There’s nothing to discuss.”

“Oh,” he said lazily, “we can think of some-thing. There’s plenty of unfinished business.”

“It was finished twelve years ago.”

His mouth turned down at the corners. “Oh, was it now?” His voice was low. “Then why did you come to my house?” He moved a little closer, his eyes locking hers.

Her heart began to beat wildly. He was too damned intimidating with those pale, piercing eyes in that dark face. Too male, too overpowering.

“Stay away from me,” she said shakily. She felt like a little girl again and she hated it. She hated to feel the insecurity he seemed to evoke in her.