Tall, Dark... Collection

‘Wasn’t it?’ he challenged coldly. ‘I seem to remember it was you who bumped into me that evening…’

Hebe became very still, her breathing shallow as she stared at him, her blood seeming to have turned to ice in her veins. ‘And just what is that supposed to mean?’ she prompted slowly.

He shook his head. ‘You wouldn’t be the first woman to set this sort of trap for a man. What were you hoping for, Hebe? That I would pay you off—’

‘How dare you?’ she finally managed to gasp disbelievingly.

He couldn’t really think—believe—He did, she acknowledged dazedly as she saw the glittering anger in his eyes.

‘Give it up, Hebe,’ he bit out disgustedly. ‘The outraged virgin act doesn’t suit you at all!’

No, she hadn’t been a virgin when they went to bed together. She had had one previous relationship before Nick. But that had been five years ago, with a fellow student at university and the experience had not been repeated until that impetuous night with Nick. Nor since, either!

She really had been totally besotted with him, had found his attention flattering, his obvious desire for her to spend the night with him too tempting to resist.

She looked at him coldly. ‘Why are you turning all this round on me? I didn’t notice you using any protection that night either!’ she challenged.

He eyed her scornfully. He knew she had a point, but he was in no mood to admit that right now. ‘Because no one told me I needed to!’

‘Because I didn’t even think about getting pregnant!’ she snapped, standing up impatiently. ‘And I’m not! This conversation is acedemic,’ she dismissed. ‘I’m not pregnant. I’ve obviously just eaten something that’s disagreed with me—’

‘You haven’t eaten anything at all since yesterday,’ Nick reminded her impatiently.

Well, that was true. But it still didn’t mean—She could not be pregnant!

‘There’s one quick and easy way to settle all this,’ Nick decided brusquely, marching out of the bedroom.

Hebe quickly followed him, wondering what he was going to do. He was in the kitchen, putting his jacket back on when she got found him. ‘Where are you going?’ She frowned her confusion; she was the one who was leaving, not him!

He gave her a scathing glance. ‘To a chemist. To buy a pregnancy test. I don’t see any point in continuing our present conversation until we know one way or the other whether you actually are pregnant,’ he added grimly, picking up what appeared to be his car keys.

Hebe gave a firm shake of her head. ‘I won’t be here when you get back.’

Nick halted in the doorway, his face set into grimly determined lines as he turned back to her. ‘You had damn well better be,’ he warned angrily.

Hebe’s chin rose challengingly. ‘Aren’t you afraid of what else I might “pry” into while you’re gone?’ she taunted.

Nick gave a humourless smile. ‘Touch anything and I promise you you’ll regret it,’ he warned softly.

She believed him!

She believed his threat about her leaving too. But that didn’t stop her, as soon as she knew he had definitely gone, from quietly letting herself out of the apartment and making her way back downstairs, pausing only long enough to pick up her jacket and bag from the staffroom before leaving the gallery.

Nick really could just go ahead and sack her if he liked!

He might be used to issuing orders and expecting them to be obeyed, but after his insults she had no intention of obeying anyone who spoke to her in that autocratic tone.

And she refused even to think about his assertion that she was pregnant. Of course she wasn’t. The whole idea was ridiculous.

Besides, she had some telephone calls she needed to make before the close of business for the day—telephone calls she couldn’t make from Nick’s apartment.

She had a lot of friends from university working in the art world who, like her, had decided to work in galleries or agencies instead of painting professionally themselves. One of them, she was sure, would give her some sort of lead on Andrew Southern’s agent.

She was determined to track the artist down, no matter how impossible Nick seemed to think it was. Nothing was impossible if you had the right motivation. And she most certainly had that!

Where was her mother now?

Living in England somewhere? With a husband and possibly other children?

Maybe. Hebe had no intention of disrupting her life, but now that she had seen that portrait she just needed to know.

Was Andrew Southern her father?

Why, if he had loved her mother, hadn’t he married her when he knew she was expecting his child? If Hebe was his child…!

Why had she, Hebe, been given up for adoption?

None of those things had been of interest to her before she saw that portrait—and, whether he realised it or not, she had Nick Cavendish to thank for that!

It took half a dozen telephone calls once she got home to even track down Andrew Southern’s agent, and then a call to the agency only resulted in the receptionist telling her that she could make an appointment to speak to Mr Gillespie, and he would be happy to pass along any commission she might care to make, but she very much doubted he would be able to help Hebe in regard to meeting or talking to Andrew Southern personally.

Hebe made an appointment for the following day, anyway. If nothing else she could give the agent a letter, possibly a photograph of herself, to forward on to the reclusive artist. If her mother had meant anything to Andrew Southern at all—and that portrait seemed to say that she had—then the photograph of Hebe alone would surely be enough to pique his interest!

It was what she was hoping for, at least…

Nick banged forcefully on the apartment door, his anger not having diminished in the least on the drive over here after discovering that Hebe had indeed gone from his own apartment before he’d returned.

What did she think she was playing at?

He had told her to stay put.

She hadn’t.

He had told her they would talk further when he got back.

She hadn’t been there to talk to.

And he was furious. With her. With himself. With the fact that he had become more and more convinced since leaving her earlier that she was pregnant.

If Hebe was to be believed about having had no other relationships in her life—and her anger at the suggestion had seemed fairly convincing—then he was going to have baby…

A little girl who would look like Hebe. Or a little boy who looked like him. And Luke…

He banged on the door again, his fist raised a third time when the it suddenly opened. Hebe eyed him coldly from just inside her apartment.

‘There’s no need to break the door down, Nick,’ she snapped. ‘I was just eating a sandwich when I heard your—knock,’ she drawled pointedly.

He drew in an impatient breath. ‘What sort of sandwich?’ he demanded to know. ‘You do realise that there are certain things you can’t eat when you’re pregnant?’ he added impatiently as he walked past her into the apartment, to look around him curiously.