Page 82 of The Billionaire's Demand

‘Yes.’

‘Do you imagine I would leave you here, struggling in squalor, raising a child I helped make?’

‘I—’ She looked around, her cheeks bright red now, and tears filmed her eyes. His gut twisted sharply with regret. Squalor might have been pushing it. Libby’s apartment was down at heel but it was obvious she’d taken a lot of effort to make it bright and happy.

But this wasn’t the time to backpedal. He had to make her see sense.

‘I have never wanted children,’ he said quietly.

She glanced at him, lips tight. ‘You don’t need to have anything to do with our baby—’

‘That is no longer an option.’

Her eyes widened.

‘I didn’t plan this. I’m fastidious about protection for precisely this reason; I don’t take any chances. Yet here we are.’ He frowned, an idea occurring to him out of nowhere. An idea he hated with every part of himself and yet it formed with such clarity in his mind, he knew it was the only solution. His gut sank like a lead balloon. ‘Are you absolutely certain about this?’

She spun away from him, reaching into a drawer and removing an envelope. She hesitated a moment, then slid it across to him. He took it, peeled the triangle back and removed a small, square picture. Grainy, but recognisable enough.

An ultrasound photo. His child. He stared at it, waiting to feel that magical emotion people talked about in moments such as this, waiting to feel a rush of love for the blurry, blob-like thing, but all he was conscious of was a need to move all the pieces into alignment so he could protect this child, as no one had protected him. That wasn’t love, it was responsibility.

‘I had a scan to confirm it,’ she explained. ‘I’m definitely pregnant. Sorry.’

He handed the picture back without looking at it again. ‘It’s not your fault.’

She winced. ‘Still, it’s not ideal.’

‘No,’ he agreed. ‘It’s far from it. But we can’t change it now. So, let’s make a plan.’

Let’s make a plan.

Did he have any idea how comforting that statement was? Libby had spent the last two weeks feeling like she was going to be totally alone in this, and here was Raul, offering to take her hand in his, at least in terms of working out what to do next, and she could have wept with relief.

The feeling did not last long.

‘I did not know my father either, Libby. Nor my mother. I have only a few very vague memories.’ He frowned. ‘You and I have one vital thing in common,’ he said with steel in his voice. She waited, breath held, even as questions spawned in her mind about his upbringing. ‘We both know the particular insecurity that comes from a less than ideal childhood.’

She closed her eyes on a wave of recognition. Hadn’t it been the first pledge she’d made to this baby, when she’d learned of their existence? That she would shield them from the pain and uncertainty she’d lived with?

‘I will not allow history to repeat itself. Not for either of us.’ His nostrils flared on the statement and she heard the determination in his tone.

‘I feel the same way,’ she murmured. ‘It’s why I wanted to tell you.’

‘You wanted to give me the option of involvement,’ he said, brushing past her acknowledgement, ‘because your father and you didn’t have that. But it’s not enough, Libby. Not by a long shot.’

She pressed her back against the kitchen bench, needing strength. Her tea was tepid now; she took a sip anyway. ‘What are you suggesting?’

Silence fell. The ticking of the clock took on an almost ominous tone.

‘There is only one solution.’ His voice was flat, devoid of all feeling and warmth. She stared at him, waiting for the penny to drop, because Libby could see no option beyond the one she’d suggested. Unless he intended to fight her for custody? She blanched at the very idea.

‘Raul,’ she mumbled. ‘You can’t mean to try to take the baby from me?’ She trembled from head to foot. ‘I know I don’t have your resources, but I will do everything I can to be the best mother possible to our child. You can’t—’

‘That is not my intent.’ He spoke quickly, immediately dismissing the idea.

She didn’t feel the wave of relief she’d anticipated. She was on tenterhooks, waiting for him to say whatever was cogitating behind those intelligent eyes of his.

‘I want to raise my child.’

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