Page 22 of Claiming His Baby At The Altar

Heart pounding hard, she pulled the item, a summery cream strapless dress, over her head. It was a dress she’d bought with a plan to shrink into it. She hadn’t shrunk enough and, despite its supposedly forgiving elasticated, floaty design, looked and felt far too snug around her waist and hips. The bra she was wearing also looked ridiculous with it but no way was she taking that off.

The wall she was hiding behind had shelves of shorts and rails of T-shirts and tops she’d also bought with vague plans of shrinking into them. She found a pair of high-waisted denim shorts that landed mid-thigh and pulled them on under the dress. At least they did up without her having to breathe in too much, so that was a nice surprise. Flora then grabbed a loose lime-green kaftan and shoved it over her head. Only then did she pull the dress down to her feet and step out of it, and only then did she turn around and notice Ramos’s reflection in the walled mirror on the far side. He was sitting on one of the plush rounded armchairs in her sleeping area.

He’d watched the entire charade.

With nowhere to hide, cheeks blazing with humiliation, she had no choice but to front it out.

Throwing herself into the armchair set at an angle next to his, she glared at him. ‘Have you never heard of knocking?’

‘I have indeed.’ His features were poker straight. Not even his eyes were giving anything away.

Flora wished she could be as controlled. ‘Then why didn’t you?’

‘A man doesn’t need permission to enter a room in his own home.’

‘This might be your house but this is my room and you coming in without my permission is a gross invasion of my privacy.’

‘Go and complain to someone who cares. Have you allowed your puppy dog in here?’

‘What puppy dog?’

‘Yourpuppy dog. Mateo. I understand you two have developed a certain...closeness.’

Understanding hit her. Flora’s mouth opened but the understanding was so abhorrent that it took a few beats for anything to come out. ‘You cannot be serious? I mean, seriously? You think I’m having an affair with Mateo?’ Shaking her head, she laughed, not with humour but sheer disbelief.

‘Are you?’ An edge came into the tight control of his voice.

‘Your mind belongs in the gutter.’

‘Flora, I have asked you a question. Answer it.’

‘Of course I’m not having an affair! He’s a friend. Or am I not allowed friends?’

‘He’s an employee.’

‘So what?’

‘He was flirting with you.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she snapped. ‘He’s nearly seven years younger than me.’

‘And you are seven years younger than me. What’s the difference?’

‘I’ve just had a baby, that’s the difference.’

‘I saw you with my own eyes. Laughing together...’

‘Oh, we were laughing, were we? Must be having an affair, then. No other reason for it. Well done, Poirot. Case solved.’

‘You think this is amusing?’ he asked dangerously.

‘I think it’s hilarious.’

‘You have spent five months keeping to yourself, always using the excuse you are too tired to join me in anything—’

‘Ihavebeen too tired. It’s taken me all this time to feel like my old self.’

‘I let it go because I knew you were recovering from the birth and adjusting to motherhood,’ he continued as if she hadn’t just interrupted him. ‘And then I come home from a stressful trip and find you half-dressed and laughing with another man.’

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