Page 36 of Hidden Heir With His Housekeeper

She took a deep breath, eased it out slowly to keep her temper in check.

The waiter appeared with a bottle of sparkling water, some freshly baked focaccia and a saucer of olive oil to dip it in, giving her a chance to gather her thoughts.

She had prepared a hundred persuasive answers to the question of why she hadn’t contacted him sooner over the last five months, but she could see now, every one of them had been riddled with half-truths and blatant lies, as well as assumptions about how he would respond to the news of her pregnancy, which she didn’t know him well enough to make.

He’d been incredibly cruel to her that morning—not just in the judgements he’d made about her, but the way he’d spoken to her... But the night before, he had been very different, treating her with care and tenderness, while taking responsibility for the burst condom. She still didn’t know which of those men was the real Mason Foxx—the arrogant, overbearing bastard who had accused her of terrible things or the man who had held her in his arms and shown her a pleasure she had never even believed existed.

She eased another steadying breath out through tight lungs, attempting to quell the burst of awareness. She needed to focus, because his nearness had always had the potential to derail her common sense.

She dropped her head, stared at the hands clasped tightly in her lap. She examined the reddened skin on her knuckles, the small burn on her thumb from when she’d ironed her uniform for the first time—and gulped down the shame which threatened to gag her.

‘I guess that’s part of it,’ she admitted, forcing herself to meet that probing gaze.

The truth was, sheshouldhave contacted him as soon as she’d known she was pregnant. And he deserved an honest answer. Or as much of an honest answer as she was capable of giving him.

‘You... You accused me of things which weren’t true. I hadn’t intentionally seduced you to get a marriage proposal out of you for my father’s benefit,’ she managed, hating the defensiveness in her voice and the way his eyes sharpened.

Did he still think her virginity had been a trick to snare him? Why should she care if he did? What he’d said had been ugly and hurtful, but by protesting her innocence was she giving him permission to make those accusations in the first place?

But he didn’t say anything, didn’t challenge her, so she forced herself to continue and say what needed to be said.

‘But youwereone of several men on a list my father had given me that afternoon.’ She gulped down the ball of humiliation in her throat, sickened again by how easily she had once allowed herself to be manipulated. And how little she had done to fight against—or even call out—her father’s cynical agenda. ‘He told me he wanted me to...’ she lifted her fingers to do air quotes ‘...engage withyou. That’s why he hired a stylist and an expensive designer gown and a chauffeur-driven car to take me to the event. So you were right about his intentions. But when I met you, I didn’t know who you were, and when you told me your name...’ The heat seared her collarbone, but she made herself continue. ‘I already felt...something... With you. And it had nothing to do with his list or fulfilling his agenda.’

‘Something, huh?’ One dark brow lifted, the scepticism in his expression not letting her off the hook for a second. ‘I think you’re going to have to do better than that, Beatrice.’

Bother. Apparently, he was not going to be satisfied with euphemisms. But then why would she have assumed he would be? Mason Foxx was nothing if not direct. It was one of the things she had once found so attractive about him.

She cleared her throat.

Why was it so hard to talk about that livewire connection, when they’d made a baby together? It was just sex after all, and chemistry. It had only been a big deal for her because it had been her first time, heronlytime. But the emotional connection she had kidded herself they’d shared that night had all been in her head.

‘Well, you were very hot, and I responded to you in a way I hadn’t thought I’d ever respond to anyone...’ She hesitated to take a gulp of the fizzy water. ‘Sexually speaking,’ she continued, impossibly grateful suddenly that he’d probably paid a king’s ransom to empty the restaurant. ‘My father created the Medford Ice Queen to snare men like you and Jack Wolfe.’ She stared at her hands again. ‘And, although I had been unhappy for a long time, and had even taken language lessons with the vague idea of coming to Europe and breaking away from his influence, I had let him believe I was willing to be that person. And I’d never explicitly disabused him of that fact.’

She raised her head to find him watching her, but the accusation had gone, to be replaced by a disturbing heat she recognised.

She looked away again, across the cliffs, determined to ignore it. Surely this continued attraction was nothing more than an inconvenient leftover from the physical sensations she had never been able to forget from that night?

Don’t fall into the trap of mixing insane chemistry with intimacy and affection again—because that will only make you vulnerable.

Maybe Mason Foxx wasn’t as unreasonable or unstable as her father, but he was still a powerful man who didn’t do soft or tender. Having a relationship with a man like him would always have been a disaster.

She met his gaze. ‘I didn’t really have a plan when I left London,’ she continued because he hadn’t said anything, his reaction impossible to decipher. ‘I just knew I needed to change.Everything. I ended up in Rapallo by accident. And the job at the Grande was pretty much the only one I could get without any experience. But after a while, things just started to fit.’

The waiter reappeared, accompanied by a female assistant holding a tray aloft. After laying two plates on the table, he whipped off the silver covers to reveal heaped helpings of the seafood linguini they’d ordered.

Her stomach knotted with apprehension. The scent of garlic, roast tomatoes and chargrilled langoustine filled Bea’s senses. But she’d never felt less like eating anything in her entire life.

As the waiting staff left, Mason picked up his fork and began twirling the pasta. As he swallowed the first bite, still not responding, she felt irritation collide with the bundle of nerves in her stomach.

She coughed, loudly.

He glanced up from shovelling the pasta into his mouth, swallowed. ‘Why aren’t you eating?’ he asked.

Seriously?

‘Because I’m not hungry. I can’t eat. Until I know what you have to say.’

‘About what?’

---