Читать книгу A Billionaire and a Baby - Marie Ferrarella, Marie Ferrarella - Страница 11

Trying to contain his anger, Sin-Jin slammed the door the second the woman was inside. The Irish Setter jumped. Greta looked up at him accusingly. The feeling was mutual.

Taking out the ammunition, he parked his rifle in the corner and deposited the shells on the coffee table. “You’re lucky I don’t call the sheriff.”

Sherry took in her surroundings. The ceiling in the living area was vaulted, with heavy wooden beams running across it. The look of massive wood was everywhere. It was a man’s retreat, built by a man for a man. If Adair brought women to his friend’s cabin, they hadn’t left any telltale marks. Even the framed photograph on the mantel had no people in it, just a scenic panorama of what looked like the Lake Tahoe area.

She turned to look at him, fighting an odd wave of discomfort unlike any she’d experienced in the past nine months, a passage of time marked with a great many moments of discomfort. Sherry tried to focus on his face. His expression was as cold as the weather outside.

“You didn’t call the sheriff because you don’t want to be laughed at, Mr. Adair.” She pointed toward the framed photograph. “Is that Lake Tahoe?”

“Yes.” Impatience echoed in his voice. “As for calling the sheriff—”

Feeling suddenly woozy, Sherry collapsed in the nearest chair without bothering to ask if she could. It took effort to complete her thought. “Not many people would see their way clear to your feeling threatened by a pregnant woman.”

He looked down at her and glared. The woman was making herself right at home, wasn’t she? “You don’t threaten me, Ms. Campbell, you annoy me.”

As if to defuse the moment, Greta eased herself into the space formed by her arm and the chair, the setter’s indication clear. She wanted to be petted. Sherry obliged the dog, taking comfort in the soothing act.

“Why? Because I’m trying to find out more about you than what can be read in those lackluster press releases your corporation issues?”

He strode into the kitchen, which was just off the living room and turned on the tap. “Exactly. This is a very public world we live in. I’m just trying to maintain a shred of privacy in it.” Holding the filled glass of water in front of him, he crossed back to her. “Used to be a man’s right.” He thrust the glass toward her. “I’d like to go back to those times.”

Feeling suddenly unbelievably shaky, Sherry took the glass in both hands and drank deeply. She started to feel better. Whatever had been wrong a moment ago had passed, thank God. She was herself again. Something, she figured, Adair wouldn’t be overly thrilled about.

Her mouth curved.

“You’re right—it is a public world we live in, when almost everyone’s life can be laid bare with the right keystrokes on the computer. The Internet is an endless font of information—yet there isn’t anything about you.” Her mouth dry, she took another long sip, letting her words sink in. “It’s almost as if you didn’t exist outside of the nine to five business world.”

He thought about the past week. He’d barely had time to come home and change. It felt as if he hadn’t slept at all. “It’s hardly nine to five.”

She realized that generalization didn’t apply to him. “All right nine to midnight. The point is—” still petting the dog with one hand while holding on to the glass with the other, she moved slightly forward on the chair “—who are you?”

The warmth in the cabin was imprinting itself on the woman’s cheeks. Sin-Jin wondered how he could be annoyed and attracted at the same time. No doubt about it, he definitely needed to get out more.

“The point is, business takes up all my time and who I am is my business.”

The man was good, she’d give him that. He’d probably drive a lawyer crazy under cross-examination on the stand. “Nicely put, Mr. Adair. You know how to use words to your advantage.”

Sin-Jin narrowed his eyes. “If I did, you wouldn’t be here.”

“Speaking of here,” she gestured around the cabin, “how is coming here business?”

Enough was enough. He shouldn’t even be talking to her. “I think you’ve asked enough questions.”

It was an interesting phenomenon. The more Adair scowled, the more at ease she seemed to feel. “We’ll put it to a vote.” She glanced down at the Irish setter at her side. “How about you, dog?”

An unfamiliar possessiveness came over him. “Her name’s Greta.”

Sherry nodded at the backhanded introduction. “Even better. The personal touch.” She looked into the setter’s eyes. “How about you, Greta? Do you think I’ve asked enough questions? No?” She looked up at Adair, the essence of cheerfulness. “That settles it. The vote’s two to one—I already know how you’re voting—for me to continue.”

Not that he wasn’t amused in some strange, abstract sort of way, but it was time to cut this short. “In this case, might makes right.”

She raised her eyebrows innocently. “You’re planning on Indian wrestling me?”

“No, I plan on carrying you to your car if necessary, fixing said car if necessary, and sending you back on your way.”

She twisted around to look at him. “You really know how to fix cars?”

He put his hands on the back of the chair, debating slanting it just enough to urge the woman to her feet. “Don’t change the subject.”

She’d come too far to be sidetracked now. Even though that strange feeling was back, she couldn’t be deterred from her purpose. “That is the subject—you are the subject.” He might not realize it, but she was picking things up about him. “What else do you know?”

The smattering of patience that he’d temporarily uncovered was gone. “I know when to end a conversation, something you apparently do not.”

Time to switch tactics. She looked around. “Your friend has good taste.”

The comment was out of left field, catching him short. “What?”

“Your friend,” she repeated with emphasis. “The man who this cabin belongs to. John Fletcher,” she added for good measure. “He has good taste.”

The statement almost made him smile. Sin-Jin looked around, as if seeing it for the first time through someone else’s eyes.

“Yes,” he finally allowed, “he does.” He looked at the half-empty glass of water she was still holding. “Are you finished with that?”

“Not yet.” To prove it, she took another long sip. For some reason it just made her hotter. “You know, it’s true what they say, about mountain water,” she added when he looked confused. “I’m a tap water person myself, but there is a difference.” She held the glass aloft as if to underscore her point.

Sin-Jin leaned his hip against another chair, his arms crossed before him as he regarded her. “Do you ever stop talking?”

“Feel free to jump in anytime.” Her grin was wide and inviting and for a moment, managed to sneak in through a crack. He found himself being drawn in.

“I—” Stopping, Sin-Jin shook his head and laughed. She’d almost had him for a second. “That was transparent.”

Undaunted, she shrugged. “Sometimes it works. Most people find me easy to talk to.”

Yes, he supposed he could see that. But there was another factor involved. “When would they ever get a chance?”

She cocked her head, her eyes warm, coaxing. “All you have to do is start. Once you do, I’ll shut up.”

But better people than she had tried to worm their way into his world and get close to him. He’d stopped each in their tracks. Other than with Mrs. Farley, all his relationships were hallmarked by a distance, a space that none were allowed to cross.

“Sorry, Ms. Campbell, but I don’t intend to tell you anything about myself.”

She wasn’t going to go away empty-handed, and something was better than nothing. There was no telling how one thing could lead to another. “All right, then tell me about John Fletcher. How long have you two been friends? When did you meet him? Did he go to the same school as you did?”

He felt as if he was being shelled with torpedoes. “I value my privacy and John values his.” His expression was unshakable. “We’re leaving it at that.”

She stared at him for a long moment, reading her own meaning into his words. “Oh.”

“What do you mean, ‘oh?”’

“Just that. ‘Oh.”’

The word was even more pregnant than she was. Visions of a headline rose in his mind. He wasn’t about to drop it until she laid his fear to rest. “What are you implying?”

Her smile was easy, kind. Sin-Jin had no idea that there could be so many layers involved in such a simple action as the curving of the lips. “Now who’s asking questions?”

Irritation sealed itself to frustration. “I have a right to ask questions if the subject concerns me.”

“I thought you weren’t going to be a subject.” She would have been enjoying this more if part of her wasn’t beginning to feel like a can of tuna fish being cracked apart with a rusty can opener.

He blew out a breath. As much as he hated drawing people into his life, maybe he should be calling the sheriff. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re infuriating?”

If she only had a nickel…

“Occasionally,” she said, tongue in cheek. “It usually happens when I stumble across a secret they don’t want to let out.”

“There is no secret to let out.” He almost shouted the words at her.

Sherry pressed the issue just a little, although she had pretty much decided what his answer was going to be, and that she believed it. “Then you and this John Fletcher are not in a relationship?”

“No.”

She was the soul of innocence when she asked, “And you’re not gay?”

Damn it, just because there wasn’t a string of women in his wake… “Of course I’m not gay,” he shouted. “I wouldn’t have found you attractive if I were.”

That caught her by surprise. She hadn’t felt remotely attractive for months now. Pregnant whales were not deemed attractive, except perhaps by other whales. Desperate other whales.

“You find me attractive?”

“Yes,” he shouted again, then lowered his voice, “in a very irritating sort of way. Now, if you’re finished with your water…” Not giving her time to answer, he took the glass out of her hand and put it squarely on the table. “I think it’s time you showed me where this car of yours allegedly died.”

Taking her arm to help her to her feet, Sin-Jin was surprised at how much resistance met the offer.

A beat before he took the water from her, she’d felt something awful happening. She looked up at him with wide eyes. “I don’t think I can do that.”

“And why is that?”

Spacious or not, the room began to feel as if it closed in on her and there was this awful pain emanating from the center of her body. “Because I think my water just broke.”

He was almost disappointed. You’d really think a reporter could do better than that. “Ms. Campbell, I wasn’t born yesterday or the day before that.”

She was having trouble breathing. “I don’t think that when you were born…is going to be an issue, but this baby…wants to be born…today.”

She almost had him believing that something was wrong. Except that he knew better. He looked at her icily. “How convenient.”

“Not…really.” Convenient would be if she could get someone else to give birth to this baby for her.

The hitch in her voice had him pausing. He was beginning to have his doubts at how accomplished an actress she actually was. “You’re serious.”

She sucked air in, trying desperately to remember what it was that Lori had said. The last eight weeks of classes seemed to vanish from her brain as if they’d never taken up space there. “Yes.”

“You came up here on your due date?” The woman really was crazy.

Sherry wished that she’d listened to all those people who’d cautioned her about being careful, even though it went against her nature. “No…I came up here…almost a month away…from my due day.”