Page 109 of The Billionaire's Demand

‘What does it look like?’ she muttered, hating how good he looked, hating how her body immediately responded, and so turning away again quickly, focusing back on the wall of the baby’s nursery.

‘It looks,’ he said, with something very near derision in his voice, ‘like you have a death wish. Then again, I should have known that from the first time we met and you insisted on storming a boat.’

Libby jabbed the paintbrush angrily at the wall, though it had done nothing to deserve such brutality. ‘In case you’d forgotten, we’re going to have a baby in a few months. We need somewhere for that baby to sleep.’

‘How could I forget, Libby? It’s the reason we’re married, isn’t it?’

Libby’s heart popped painfully. She jabbed the wall again.

‘Besides which,’ he continued, voice deep and gruff and closer than before, and when she happened to glance down she saw he was standing at the base of the ladder, one hand on the metallic rungs, ‘we have many places for the baby to sleep. Should you even be breathing that stuff in?’ he demanded.

His question hurt. As though he couldn’t trust her to keep their baby safe.

‘It’s non-toxic,’ she snapped. ‘I’m not an idiot. And I don’t have a death wish. I’m perfectly safe up here,’ she said, ignoring the couple of times she’d almost fallen in the last ten minutes. That had only been because of Raul’s unexpected return. ‘And your apartment might have many, many bedrooms but none of them is ready for a baby.’

Silence prickled between them, and Libby’s anger was dangerously close to morphing into something else, something more like bitter sadness, so she ground her teeth and clung to her annoyance with Raul because it was so much safer than feeling sorry for herself.

‘So hire a goddamned decorator,’ he snapped.

‘Why? I like doing it,’ she said, mentally adding that she thought she’d done a good job, but to say as much to Raul might seem as though she was looking for his praise and she definitely wasn’t.

‘Because you can afford a decorator. Because they can do everything you want, without you risking a broken neck...’

‘Far better for them to risk theirs,’ she muttered, rolling her eyes. ‘It’s just a ladder.’

‘Then let me do this,’ he snapped.

‘No.’ She was being stubborn and churlish and she didn’t care. Emotions were exploding through her, none of them good.

‘You really are acting like a child,’ he said, but stayed right where he was, one hand firmly gripping the base of the ladder, the other, she suspected, ready to swing into action and catch Libby if she should fall.

She ignored his jibe, continuing instead to paint the sunbeams on the wall, taking her time, refusing to show how unsettling his proximity was. Finally, she was at the end of her reach, and needed to shift the ladder.

‘I’m coming down,’ she said curtly, expecting him to move. And he did, but only slightly, just enough to make a little more room for Libby. Holding the tin of paint, she gingerly climbed down the treads of the ladder until her feet were on the ground, and then shifted sideways, as far away from Raul as a single step would take her. But here, at ground level, the flecks of anger in his eyes were so much more obvious, and they sparked an answering feeling in her bloodstream. Fire threatened to ravage her internal organs.

She looked away, mutinous.

‘Are you finished?’

She pulled a face. ‘Does it look finished?’

Raul’s nostrils flared as he expelled a loud breath. ‘What else?’

‘Well, the sun has to go to that corner,’ she snapped. ‘If you want to help, go out of the room so I have more space to work.’ It was a large bedroom and Raul was just a man, but he was a big man, and his presence was at least treble his size.

‘Not on your life,’ he responded coldly. ‘Tell me what you want done, and I will do it.’

She gaped. ‘I’m enjoying myself.’

‘At great risk to our baby,’ he responded pointedly and Libby’s insides churned. He didn’t care about her; this was all about the baby. And, worse, he thought she didn’t care enough. He thought she was being reckless. Fear of being like her own mother flooded her; worry that she might be genetically incapable of doing this well gnawed at her. Tears filled Libby’s eyes but she desperately didn’t want him to see.

‘Fine,’ she said, bending down to replace the paint tin on the ground rather than handing it to Raul and risking touching him. ‘The sunbeams have to hit that corner. I’m going to make a tea,’ she said, hands shaking as she ducked her head and left the room, her heart turning into something sharp and blade-like, slashing against the fibres of her chest wall.

‘It’s done.’ His voice was without emotion ten minutes later when he strode into the lounge room. Libby was calmer now, the space from Raul and a cup of steaming hot tea were exactly what she’d needed to soothe her frazzled nerves. The reprieve was temporary. The moment he entered the spacious lounge, tension prickled along her spine.

She nodded curtly, didn’t quite meet his eyes.

‘Is there anything else?’

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