Page 190 of Modern Romance Collection Books (5-8)

‘But...’ The girl looked around, then leaned closer. ‘I shouldn’t tell you this, but the elevator from the underground parking garage is undergoing maintenance, so everyone is having to come in the main entrance.’ She gestured to the doors Carrie had walked through. ‘Even Mr Meyer. He usually arrives within the next five minutes.’

‘Thank you,’ Carrie breathed, relief flooding through her that her exertions hadn’t been for nothing.

She didn’t have to wait more than thirty seconds.

She was still walking away from the reception desk when the doors parted and a man swept through them, enough power radiating from his tall, athletic frame to compel anyone in his path to take a hasty step back.

Damon.

He was exactly as he appeared in her thoughts, only better. A million times better. Tall and lean, but strong. His body was encased in a sophisticated dark navy suit, with a white shirt beneath. He wore no tie and his collar was unbuttoned. He carried his sensuality with ease, but it hit Carrie like a lash of lightning, making everything in her go weak.

He saw her straight away, and that burnished gaze of his landed on her. The fluidity of his movement faltered for the smallest second, and Carrie allowed herself a brief spark of hope that he would be happy to see her.

She was on the cusp of opening her mouth to say something, but then she saw the hardening of his expression—like flesh turning to stone. And her heart stuttered as the ice-cold recognition that at least one of her secrets was no longer so secret seeped through her.

He already knew who she was.

Anguish rolled over her in a single violent wave and she took a pleading step towards him. But Damon was already resuming his long stride, issuing words to the woman at his side and clearly planning to breeze straight past her as though she wasn’t there...as though she meant nothing.

It was exactly as she had feared—her Randolph blood marked her out at his enemy, worthy of neither his time nor his civility.

It was the reaction she had readied herself to face—or at least she thought she had—but the dismay strangling her heart was a pain greater than she had known to prepare for.

‘Damon, please. Wait. I came here to... I need to talk you. It’s... It’s important.’

He continued his stride, unmoved and unconvinced, reaching the elevator and stabbing the call button. It was on the tip of her tongue to shout out her pregnancy, just to make him listen, knowing that as soon as he stepped into that lift and the doors closed she’d have lost her opportunity, but she had not lost all her sense.

‘Please.’

But he ignored her once again, taking a step into the elevator. And then the doors were sliding shut. Spurred by desperation, Carrie rushed forward and thrust her handbag between the doors, forcing them to part again. Damon’s eyes moved to her with silent fury, but she stared fearlessly back at him.

‘You will want to hear what I came here to tell you.’

Randolphs were liars.Fact. And Damon had witnessed first-hand just how convincing a liar Carrie Miller was.

Yet there was something about the weight in her words that prevented him from beckoning Security and having her bodily removed from his building.

What if the something ‘important’ was something she knew about her father? Something that he was planning? What if he had somehow learned of Damon’s chances on the Caldwell project and was concocting a counter attack that would derail his whole revenge plan? Plotting something that would turn the tables on Damon? Something of that magnitude would surely account for Carrie’s stricken and pale expression.

Making a snap decision, he turned to address Isobel, issuing instructions through clenched teeth. ‘Reschedule my first meeting and make my apologies, please. Miss Miller and I will be in my office. Ensure no one disturbs us.’

Damon gestured for Carrie to step into the elevator. He stared straight ahead as the doors closed, determinedly not looking at her and resenting every moment of shared space and oxygen—especially when her scent infiltrated the air. Her betrayal still burned within his gut, and even if she was in possession of information that might be valuable, she had a nerve, showing up on his territory and demanding an audience.

Clearly she had inherited her father’s gall!

But, sour though he felt, Damon knew he could not roll the dice on whether she was being truthful—not with so much at stake.

Forty seconds later they arrived at his top-floor office. Damon secured the door behind them before striding briskly to stand behind his desk.

‘You have five minutes. So whatever information you came to here to impart, I suggest you speak quickly,’ he instructed, with taciturn impatience.

Carrie stared back at him, her chin raised and her eyes clear. ‘I’m pregnant.’

CHAPTER FOUR

‘PREGNANT?’DAMON’SHEART,which had momentarily stopped, restarted at a pace that was worryingly similar to a train about to fly off the tracks. Of all the things he had been preparing himself to hear, that hadn’t even made the list!

Through a rapidly descending veil of panic he scanned Carrie’s face for any sign of the changes pregnancy wrought, but there was nothing—not that their necessarily would be at only a few months along. He knew little about pregnancy, but enough to know that.

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