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‘Frankly, I don’t know,’ she admitted. ‘But it makes about as much sense as anything else I could come up with to explain you being here.’
And it was a lot more feasible than the inspired, but seriously misguided notion that Scarlet was embarrassed to admit she had entertained for a brief mad moment when she had seen him standing there. The one that relied on him having spent the last ten days wrestling with an overpowering attraction for her he could no longer resist.
So it wasn’t exactly plausible, but it was a well-known fact that some men liked glasses and flat chests, and if you were going to fantasise you might as well do it properly.
He walked towards her and for a moment Scarlet thought he was going to carry on past her and through the door, but her optimism proved premature. Instead of walking through the door he casually wrenched it from her grasp. It closed with a very decisive click.
‘I’m sorry if I alarmed you.’ He watched her rub her shoulder and the indentation between his brows deepened. ‘Did I hurt you?’
She looked from the closed door to the man—he was alarming her some more and also, much more disturbingly, he was exciting her. ‘And that would bother you?’ She delivered a brittle laugh. ‘Credit me with a little intelligence.’ Even if I’ve shown precious little of it to date. ‘You obviously get a kick out of bullying women. And you’re not sorry, so don’t say you are,’ she hissed furiously.
His eyes narrowed on her belligerent face. ‘You make it extremely difficult for a man to be sorry,’ he ground out grimly.
‘Yes, I know you don’t like me, which makes it even more difficult to imagine why you’d want to talk to me or what you’d want to say, and quite frankly I don’t want to know!’ she lied grandly as she opened the door again. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, it’s late and I’m busy.’
His even teeth flashed white in his dark face as a smile that had nothing whatsoever to do with humour formed on his sensual lips. ‘You won’t sleep tonight…’
Scarlet froze, her body stiffening as if in anticipation of a blow.
‘Curiosity killed the cat and you’re going to be wondering what I did it for,’ he warned. ‘Admit it, you will.’
Scarlet exhaled. She was light-headed with relief and willing to admit almost anything. For a split second she had jumped to the totally irrational conclusion that he possessed some insider knowledge of the dreams that had given her several nights of broken sleep recently.
Dark, erotic dreams.
Angie is always telling me I need to get out more—she’s right!
Was it possible that at some subconscious level she was as frustrated as her friend claimed? That could account for the dreams and the fact she hadn’t been able to get him out of her head.
‘I’ve told you, I’m busy,’ she repeated dismissively.
‘Well, you can tell him to clear off.’ His fine nostrils quivered in distaste. ‘I will not be dismissed.’
He might not know much about bringing up a child, but even he knew that a single mother with a series of boyfriends hardly provided the sort of stable background a child needed—his child needed.
She blinked, and tore her eyes from the nerve clenching spasmodically in the hollow of his lean cheek. This conversation was like walking in halfway through a film after the vital scene when the hero’s motivations had been explained.
Roman would be the hero, of course; he had hero written all over him. She, on the other hand, would be one of the character actors, which would suit her—nobody remembered your name and you were always in work.
Fame was not something she craved.
Roman O’Hagan’s touch, however, was; you had to face your weaknesses if you were going to overcome them.
‘Him who?’ she enquired, still without the faintest idea what he was getting at.
He swallowed, the action causing the muscles in his brown throat to visibly ripple, and gave her a look of simmering hostility.
Scarlet heard a door in the hallway outside open and heard the distant murmur of voices.
‘Whoever you are so busy with,’ he elaborated, totally ignoring the warning hand she raised to her lips.
Scarlet, who didn’t want the world to know her business, closed the door. ‘Whoever?’
He shot her an impatient look and strode purposefully towards the bedroom door. Before Scarlet had any clue of his intention or could cry out in protest he yanked it open with such force it thudded loudly against the wall.
‘You can’t go in there!’
Ignoring her outraged yell, he stepped inside her bedroom. Breathless with anger, she brushed past him. ‘What the—?’ she began, planting her hands on her hips and glaring at him.
Roman O’Hagan is in my bedroom…talk about a reality-fantasy clash!
When Roman discovered no lover on the bed, but a neat pile of freshly laundered clothes on the bottom of a narrow single bed waiting to be put away, his sneering expression relaxed into bafflement.
‘Where is he?’
The fantasy version had not involved him growling at her contemptuously. She pulled back in alarm as her thoughts shifted in the dangerous direction of what he had done. It wasn’t soon enough to prevent a wave of warm, sexual lethargy working its way through her body.
‘Where’s who…?’ She gave her head a little shake to focus her thoughts.
‘The innocent act is quite unnecessary,’ he assured her in a cold, clipped voice. ‘It’s nothing to me who you choose to sleep with.’ Even as he said it it struck Roman rather forcibly that his behaviour suggested the exact opposite.
A disinterested observer who didn’t know any better might actually have concluded he was the wronged lover. Making a conscious effort, he forced his hands to unclench.
Belatedly Scarlet caught his meaning; her eyes widened. ‘You thought…’ The low laugh began softly and increased to a full-blooded husky chuckle as the humour of the situation struck her.
She didn’t know which was funnier: Roman O’Hagan, the man who had probably slept with more women than she had had hot dinners, having the nerve to get all sniffy because she was entertaining a man, or the idea that she was indulging in an evening of lust!
In these pyjamas too. She looked down at her casual but not sexy attire and released another low gurgle of mirth.
Roman inhaled, his nostrils flaring. ‘You think this is funny?’
Scarlet stared at him incredulously. ‘Not funny—hilarious—!’ she corrected, cracking up again.
Bringing up Sam and holding down a full-time job did not exactly leave her with much time or energy for romantic adventures. Dating when you were a single mum was not a simple business and Scarlet had decided it simply wasn’t worth the hassle.
As her laughter faded away she weighed the odds; he didn’t seem drunk, but in view of a dearth of any other possible explanation for his presence, or his bizarre behaviour, she voiced her suspicions out loud.
‘Have you been drinking?’
‘I have not been drinking.’ The denial was issued between clenched teeth.
‘Do you mind? Entry to my bedroom is on an invitation-only basis.’ She tossed her head and centred her scornful gaze on his devastatingly handsome dark face. ‘And you’re not invited.’
‘I’m devastated.’ The derisive look he gave her brought an angry glitter to Scarlet’s eyes.
‘You would be if you knew what you were missing!’ she heard herself jeer.
‘If that was an invitation, I’ll pass,’ he replied, continuing his suspicious visual examination of the room.
‘It wasn’t.’ If he was going to insult her, the least he could do was look at her while he did it.
‘You’re alone?’
‘And this would be your business because?’
He drew an exasperated breath. ‘Are you totally incapable of answering a simple question?’
Scarlet shook her head in disbelief. ‘I’m not answering any of your questions. Why on earth should I?’
He contemplated her belligerent face for a moment before saying in a placatory manner, ‘We can take this into the other room if you prefer.’
Scarlet vented a brittle laugh as she followed him into the living room. ‘Wow, you’re all consideration,’ she drawled with mock admiration. ‘You really have got the most incredible cheek. You barge in here uninvited. You let me think something has happened to Sam and then turn it around and interrogate me!’ She gave a weary sigh. ‘Will you just go?’
‘It’s seven-thirty.’ His glance rested pointedly on her pyjamas. ‘Why are you dressed for bed?’
‘Oh, I always wear these when I plan an evening of seduction.’
Her sarcasm brought a dark line of colour to the slashing angle of his incredible cheekbones.
‘Then you’re alone?’
‘I was,’ she retorted drily.
He looked around the room, registering the blurred frozen image on the TV screen, the box of chocolates and the untouched glass of wine. His glance reached the box of toys tucked into a corner and he frowned.
‘Is…?’ He swallowed. ‘Where is Sam?’
‘Sam is sleeping over at a friend’s, the Bradleys, which is probably just as well in the circumstances.’
‘The circumstances being?’
‘Three-year-olds don’t react well to being woken up.’
‘Ah.’ His facial muscles clenched, exaggerating the sharp contours and angles of his face. He really did have bone structure to die for, she thought, despising the weakness that made her incapable of not staring. ‘I didn’t think.’
‘About anything other than what you want? I’d already worked that one out. No doubt it’s acting on impulse that makes you such a financial success?’
‘I know you’re not Sam’s mother.’
She waited, her expression attentive but confused, until it occurred to her he was expecting some sort of response. ‘Not his birth mother, no,’ she agreed. The adoption had made her his legal guardian.
She was cool, he had to give her that. ‘You didn’t ask me how I knew you weren’t his mother?’
She shrugged her shoulders and still betrayed none of the guilt he had expected her to when confronted. ‘I suppose I assumed someone mentioned it in passing. David, maybe?’
‘David?’
‘The vice-chancellor.’
‘You call the vice-chancellor David?’ His voice was heavy with suspicion.
‘He went to school with my uncle, I’ve known him since I was a little girl so, yes, I do call him David.’
‘And he knows Sam isn’t your son?’
Scarlet shook her head in total bewilderment. ‘It’s not like it’s a secret. Everyone knows, I suppose.’
He looked at her, his dark brows drawn into a straight line.
‘Why? What did you think?’
His eyes were hidden beneath the lustrous sweep of his lashes as he looked across at her, but his attitude suggested he was wary. ‘Then who is Sam’s birth mother?’
‘My sister Abby was Sam’s mother.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
COMPREHENSION struck Roman with the force of a tidal wave. Of the scenarios he had imagined—and he had imagined plenty—this one had never occurred to him.
The people he employed on those occasions when he required a background check were both efficient and discreet. He could have had the information she had just provided in literally a matter of hours, maybe less. Instead he had taken a far more tortuous route, and had his DNA compared with the hair sample he had taken from the child.
At the time he had told himself that the fewer people who knew what he was doing, the less chance there was of the story leaking out. He’d wanted to know for certain he didn’t have a son without having to involve a whole string of people. Now he was forced to consider the possibility that the truth had only been part of what he had wanted—he had wanted someone to blame.
Not just someone.
The stranger who was bringing up his child without his knowledge had to be guilty of something—! He had wanted to confront Scarlet, to make this personal—it was personal!
His stillness was scary, she thought. It was actually a relief when his shoulders lifted and a soundless sigh shuddered through his powerful frame.
‘Was…?’
Scarlet looked away and with a gesture that was intensely weary rubbed the bridge of her nose; the glasses were gone but the habit remained. She blinked hard to clear her blurry vision as tears filled her eyes.
Damn—! She really didn’t want to cry in front of him.
It wasn’t as if she couldn’t talk about Abby without getting upset; she made a point of talking about her with Sam, who had a photo of his mother in his room.
‘Here, have this,’ he said brusquely.
She released a wry laugh as she automatically took the glass he handed her. ‘I was wondering if you ever say please?’ she explained in reply to his questioning look.
A puzzled frown developed on her smooth brow as their glances meshed. ‘Why are you here, Roman?’
‘Your sister is dead?’
Scarlet nodded, and took a swallow of the wine.
‘I’m sorry.’
