Читать книгу Baby for the Greek Billionaire - Susan Meier - Страница 13

AT EIGHT O’CLOCK THAT NIGHT, after two hours of reading depositions, with Gino splitting his time between the swing and the playpen across from her desk, Whitney asked Mrs. Tucker to bring a bottle to the nursery.

She didn’t look for Darius or even let him know she was putting Gino to bed. The mood in the nursery was subdued, as if Mrs. Tucker knew Darius should have been called in at least to say goodnight. Still, good employee that she was, she didn’t say anything as she fed Gino his bottle.

But Gino fussed as if he, too, knew something was off balance, and Whitney began to feel a tad guilty for being so angry. Then as she tucked the covers around Gino’s neck and his soft baby blankets brought Layla to mind, she remembered that she’d trusted Darius. She’d told him the truth about the reason for her troubles with Gino and he’d used it to further his plan to keep the baby with him. Permanently.

Needing a break from thinking about all this, instead of returning to her office, she headed for the kitchen to make herself a cup of cocoa and maybe an omelet, since she hadn’t eaten dinner.

It took her a minute to find the kitchen. Coming from the other side of the huge house, she got slightly disoriented. When she finally found it and pushed open the door, she stopped dead in her tracks.

The space wasn’t appointed to be a regular household kitchen, but looked like the kind of kitchen found in a restaurant. Stainless-steel appliances and hanging racks of pots and pans surrounded a long stainless-steel prep table that sat across from a sixteen-burner stove. Only a few cupboards lined the back wall.

Still, big or not, the kitchen had to have cocoa and milk. She headed for the refrigerator and easily found milk. When she spotted the eggs and cheese, she smiled. An omelet was a definite possibility.

She pulled supplies out of the refrigerator and went on a quest for mugs, plates and utensils. Unfortunately, the cupboards didn’t hold so much as one mug, one plate or one fork. As quickly as her mood had lifted at the sight of eggs, it plummeted. What good would it do to find the eggs and cheese, if she didn’t have anything to eat them with?

Hearing the door open, she spun to face it and saw Darius enter the room. He looked cute and cuddly in a big sweatshirt and sweatpants. Then she remembered he wanted her to live here permanently and her fury returned full force.

She sucked in a breath, told herself not to let her anger rule her. It was better to find out now that he was the kind of guy who would use her confidences against her, rather than later. At least now she knew not to get too friendly with him.

But just as she was about to freeze him out of the kitchen with a cold shoulder and a frigid stare, she realized he might know where the utensils were, and if she wanted food—and she did—she needed him.

Though it galled her, she very quietly said, “Are there any mugs or plates or forks in this house?”

He took a step into the room. “Probably.”

“But you don’t know where they are?”

He shook his head. “Sorry.”

She stifled a curse. “I just want a simple cup of cocoa.” She opened and closed two more doors, working to control her temper and not start another fight. “And maybe an omelet.”

“If you’re hungry, we can call Cook.”

“Or I could just make myself something.” His spoiled, pampered, rich-guy attitude fed her bad mood. He didn’t live a real life. Probably never had. He wouldn’t know a genuine emotion, especially not trust, if it came up and bit his butt.

“You rich people.” She shook her head. “You’re so helpless.”

He sauntered the rest of the way into the kitchen. “Hey, I am not helpless. My dad might have been rich, but my mother wasn’t. She not only cooked, but she had a job. And she taught me to cook.” He pulled a skillet from the arrangement hanging over the prep table. “What kind of omelet would you like?”

Though all that surprised her, the last thing she wanted was for him to wait on her. She wanted to maintain her independence. She didn’t want to trust him. She certainly didn’t want to depend on him. Hell, from here on out she wasn’t even sure she wanted to be friendly with him.

“I’ll make my own omelet.”

“No. You smeared the good name of Andreas with your snotty comment that I was helpless. I have honor to defend.”

Right. Honor. A guy who used her trauma to try to get her to live with him was not a man of honor.

“Okay, how about this? I’ll hunt for everything you need and you make your own omelet?”

Unfortunately, she was so hungry that she couldn’t turn him down. “All right. Fine.”

He rubbed his hands together, as if he were enjoying this. “What should I look for first?”

His enthusiasm only grated on her nerves. “I found the refrigerator so I know where to get just about everything for the omelet. But I have no clue where to find the cocoa.”

“I’m on it.” Turning to the right, he headed off and disappeared down a short hallway. After a few seconds, he emerged with cocoa but not the mug.

She frowned at it.

He laughed. “Don’t get huffy. We eat off plates every day. Drink out of cups. They have to be around here somewhere.”

While she broke eggs into a mixing bowl, ignoring him, he glanced around again. Then he disappeared down the short hall to the left. A few seconds later he was by the prep table holding two mugs and two plates.

“Here you go.”

“Two?”

“You’re not going to share?”

With a sigh, she added an extra cup of milk to the pot on one of the sixteen burners, her ire simmering. If this weren’t his house, she’d lambaste him for thinking he could join her when he’d betrayed her trust. But it was his house. And he’d helped her find the dishes. If she refused to share, she’d look petty. Childish.

“Sure. I’ll share.”

Apparently missing the sarcasm in her voice, he smiled, and, spotting the onion and green pepper she’d laid out beside the chopping block, he ambled over to them. While she stirred her cocoa, he cut both the onion and the pepper.

She sighed. “Stop helping me.”

“I have to.” Chopping the onion and pepper and not looking at her, he added, “Not only will the cocoa get cold while we wait for you to make the omelet if I don’t get it started for you, but I have to make up for upsetting you when I suggested you live here permanently.”

“Huh!” Damn. She’d said that out loud. Sucking in a breath she turned on him. Since he’d started the conversation, they might as well have at it. “Do you really think you can make up for using what I told you against me? I trusted you. I told you something I don’t talk about with anyone else and you used it.”

“I didn’t ‘use’ it. I simply pointed out the truth. You’re having trouble and the three of us living together helps you. But there’s more to me wanting Gino here than just that. Did you miss the part of the conversation where I told you Gino loves us both? He could have us both. Every day. If you’d live here.”

“Did you miss the part where I have a life?”

“And you can keep it. You’d just live it from Montauk instead of the city.”

“I like my home.”

He stopped, caught her gaze. “Now who’s being spoiled and pampered and even a little bit prissy?”

Icy pain froze her limbs. “Prissy? “ After almost two years of caring for a baby and three years of mourning the loss of that precious child, the word prissy rumbled through her like thunder announcing an impending storm.

He winced. “Sorry. That was sort of over the top.”

Oh, he wanted her to think he was sorry, but he wasn’t. She had his number. He’d apologized only so she’d focus on what he’d called her and not on their real issue. There was no way she’d let him get away with that.

“You apologize for your words, but you skate over the actual problem.” Pain rippled through her again. Not because of her anger over being called prissy when she was anything but, but because for some reason or another she believed he should know she wasn’t prissy. And the only way to avoid dissecting that would be to force them back to their actual problem.

He dropped the knife and strode over to her. She snapped off the burner under the cocoa. If he wanted a fight, she was ready to give it to him.

“I know you love Gino. I see it in your eyes. You might have agreed to take custody only wanting to fulfill your friend’s last wishes. But you like him now.”

Once again, he was skirting the issue and she refused to let him. “Of course I do, but that doesn’t change the fact that you used something I told you against me.”

“I only pointed out the truth.” He sighed. Stepped closer. “I thought that since you trusted me enough to tell me, that I could speak honestly about it, too.”

That brought her up short and she didn’t know how to answer. Had he really only been speaking honestly? Had it been so long since she’d spoken honestly about Layla and Burn that she didn’t know what an honest conversation felt like anymore?

The truth of what he’d said rippled through her.

She did need help with Gino.

And he was Gino’s other guardian. He had a right to be concerned.

Her skin burned with shame. Especially since she didn’t want to admit any of it. He’d only been speaking the truth, but she was so out of the loop, she hadn’t realized it and had accused him of using what she’d told him. And the truth was that she still did need help.

She wanted to turn away, to run, but she couldn’t. Behind her was a sixteen-burner stove that ran almost the length of the room. In front of her was six feet of angry man.

“Maybe I’m just not ready to talk about it yet.”

He gurgled a sound of disgust. “You won’t ever be ready if you keep avoiding it in every discussion.”

His angry voice echoed through the room and she realized how upset he was. She could understand his annoyance if he were defending himself against her accusations, but he wasn’t. Not really. He was talking about her. Angry about her.

“Why are you mad?”

He forked his fingers through his hair. “Because you’re a nice woman.” He snagged her gaze, his brown eyes sharp, filled with banked fury. “You’re a smart woman. I know you didn’t deserve what happened to you. But it did and you have to get through it to the other side. Yet you won’t.”

“Hey! You try losing everything! Your hopes. Your dreams. Your baby. Your sweet little blue-eyed baby girl who hadn’t done anything to anybody.” Her breath hitched. “You try losing that much, being responsible for that loss, and then putting your life back together.”

“What do you think I’m doing here … with Gino … with my brothers … after my dad’s death?”

She gaped at him. “You think losing your dad compares? ”

“No. But when you add the fact that I lost my mom only a few months before, I think I’m in the ballpark. She was fifty-three. Smart. Funny. Everybody’s best friend. My dad’s biggest defender. And one day she gets to work, has a heart attack and dies.” He grabbed Whitney’s shoulders as if forcing her to focus in on what he was saying. “I’m alone except for that little boy upstairs and two brothers who hate me, shouldering the burden of a company that’s floundering. Do you think I don’t look around some days and want to pack a bag for Tahiti, buy a hut and a bottle of tequila and just say, ‘screw it all’?”

“It’s not the same.”

“No. It’s not. But just like my troubles don’t give me license to stop living, neither do yours. And they sure as hell aren’t going to turn into the reason you expect me always to give you your own way.” His eyes sharpened. The anger in them flared.

Instead of being frightened, Whitney felt something sharp and sexual click inside her. They were both strong, passionate, vital people. Though she didn’t think his trauma was worse than hers, she did believe he at least had a partial understanding of what she was going through. She was sort of sorry that she’d pushed him, but not completely. The score now felt even. Everything was out in the open.

But they were also toe to toe. Stimulated. Attracted. He’d promised he wouldn’t kiss her again, but suddenly that promise seemed to belong to another universe, another time, another two people.

He held her gaze. Their physical attraction vibrated between them. Their anger withered and her breath shivered in her chest.

He was going to kiss her.

She told herself to turn and run. She knew the outcome of the last kiss. She hadn’t been able to control herself. She’d wanted everything from him. Not because she loved him but because her body was desperate for release, satisfaction, closeness.

But making love with a man who was virtually a stranger wouldn’t give her the satisfaction or closeness she sought. Sex would be a cold, hollow, empty substitute for affection.

She couldn’t let him kiss her.

Yet she had no path of escape.

Even as she thought that, his hands slid off her shoulders. He took a step back, away from her, then turned and walked out of the kitchen.