Seven months later…

Erin checked that she had everything ready for the meeting; jug of iced water


in the refrigerator, glasses ready on the kitchen bench, coffee percolator loaded—Jane Emerson, her agent, never drank anything else—Earl Grey tea for Richard Long, her very English editor, and a plate of assorted cookies that should please everyone. The living room was tidy, the curtains pulled back to showcase the view of Byron Bay —white sand and crystal clear turquoise water.

She had bought this beach house four years ago. It suited her, right away from the bustle of major cities, especially for writing. She didn't care if the animated film people thought she was some prima donna author, insisting that they travel to her for the consultation on how her story was to be brought to the big screen. At eight months' pregnant, and determined on keeping that fact as private as possible, she didn't want any fanfare about this meeting.

The publicity could come afterwards, when everything had been signed. No doubt her editor and agent would make the most of it, eager to push more book sales on the back of a film created by Zack Freeman who also happened to be an Australian, and top of the tree at delivering the best computerised special effects. He'd won two academy awards for his work. Apparently he was now putting his creativity into animated movies. Erin was looking forward to meeting him, wondering what he planned to do with her story.


The sound of cars pulling up in the street outside drew her down the hallway to the front door. A glance at her watch assured her it was time for her visitors to arrive, just a couple of minutes short of ten o'clock. They were all staying at the plush Bay Resort on Johnson Street and had probably already established an acquaintance, either last night or this morning. She took a deep breath, mentally put on her author hat, tried to forget how ungainly she looked with her hugely swollen belly, and opened the door.

Richard and Jane were alighting from the first car, a local taxi. Jane was dressed in her London black business suit even though it was November here in Australia, and so hot today at Byron Bay, Erin had dressed comfortably in a sleeveless cotton shift. However, she had the air-conditioning on so Jane shouldn't suffer too much inside the house. Richard was in a suit, too, a grey pinstripe, very English.



Her gaze shifted to the second car, a white Mercedes. A tall, black-haired man, dressed in a lightweight grey suit, emerged from the front passenger seat. An even taller man, with dark blond hair and very broad shoulders underneath a tailored navy jacket, appeared from the driver's side. He turned towards the house and Erin reeled back in shock.

Peter Ramsey !

Disbelief fought with unmistakable recognition. A tumult of emotions roared through her, putting knots in her stomach, squeezing her heart, shattering her mind. All throughout her pregnancy she'd struggled with facing him about his unplanned fatherhood, and now he was here, about to see what a short weekend of intimacy with her had wrought. He'd hate her for it, accuse her of all sorts of nasty things…

No-o-o-o-o-o….

The scream inside her head pushed her feet into spinning around, moving out of sight. Sheer panic pelted her down the hallway, the need to hide, to avoid this meeting at all costs churning through her. She was breathless, heaving in agitation as she stopped at the sliding glass doors at the far end of the living room, gripping the handles to yank them apart. Pain speared across her lower back.

This frantic activity was not good for her, not good for the baby. She leant her forehead against the glass, willing her insides to calm down. Enough reason filtered through the chaos in her mind to tell her it was madness to run anyway.

They'd search for her if she was missing. This was an important business meeting. Millions of dollars were on the line. Richard and Jane had flown out from England for it. Escape simply wasn't possible.

'Erin ?"

Jane calling out for her.

She'd left the front door open. No escape.

Her ears picked up some subdued chat between her visitors out on porch.

Another call came, this time from Richard. 'Erin, are you there?"

She forced herself to answer."Yes. Come on through."

The pain was receding though it took an act of will to release the door handles and stand up straight. Jane was ushering the men into the living-room, talking brightly, diplomatically covering for their hostess's lack of courtesy in not greeting them properly at the door. They had to be faced now. She took a


deep breath, squared her shoulders and turned around.

Jane and Richard were a blur. So was Zack Freeman. Her eyes instantly focused on the father of her child, skating up from grey trousers, white shirt, navy and red striped silk tie, determined chin, no smile on his mouth, strong nose, riveting blue gaze which dropped from her face to the unmistakable evidence of full-blown pregnancy. His whole face tightened into grim shock.

'Erin, this is Zack Freeman who will be the creative director of the film,"

Jane prattled in cheery introduction."And Peter Ramsey who'll be underwriting the cost of production. Erin Lavelle, gentlemen."

The black-haired man was moving forward, offering his hand.

Erin stood rooted to the spot, stunned by the fact that Peter was behind this movie project. He knew who she was. He knew only too intimately who she was.

He'd hauled his gaze up from her belly and his eyes were like icy steel, stabbing into hers.

'Back off, Zack!" he commanded in a voice that cracked like a whip, stopping the other man in his tracks."This meeting is adjourned until further notice."

'What?"

'Why?" 'But…"

He waved a sharply dismissive hand at the flurry of shocked protests."Go back to the hotel and wait." He dug in his trouser pocket, drew out a set of keys and held them out to his business associate."Take them in my car, Zack."

His gaze had not so much as flickered from Erin yet he emanated so much intimidating power, no-one was inclined to fight his edict. Besides which, he was the money man, and the flow of tension between her and the big billionaire undoubtedly telegraphed there was a huge hitch in this morning's plan.

Richard was brave enough to ask," Is it okay to leave you, Erin ?" 'Yes. Go," she croaked out, resigned to the inevitable confrontation. They left.

Peter didn't move. Neither did she.

After a long nerve-tearing silence, he said," It's mine, isn't it?"

No doubt in his voice. No doubt in his eyes. Just wanting the fact confirmed by her, forcing the admission with ruthless determination.

'Yes," she acknowledged.


His mouth twisted in bitter irony."So your fling with me had a purpose.

Should I feel flattered that you chose my genes for your child?"

Her mind boggled over the assumption that her pregnancy had been planned, that she'd used him as a stud."It was an accident! An accident!" she cried, appalled that he could think she would choose single parenthood after all she'd said on the issue.

He threw up his hands in contempt."How big a fool do you think I am, Erin

? You kept your identity a secret. You lied about contraception…"

'I did not lie about taking the pill!" she hurled back at him."You can ask my doctor why it didn't work because I don't know. I was still taking it when I went to him five weeks after we parted."

'Five weeks!" he mocked."You've had a lot of time since then to let me know about this accident. Why did you keep it to yourself?"

'Because…" Her mind whirled around the reasons that had stopped her from making contact with him.

'Because…" he prompted with an air of relentless purpose. 'I didn't need your…your financial support," she blurted out.

Anger blazed from him."Being independently wealthy does not give you the right to keep me in ignorance of my own flesh and blood."

'I was going to tell you, Peter," she pleaded. 'When?" he bored in.

'After the baby was born. When it was a real child."

'A real child?" His voice rose in incredulity. His gaze targeted her baby bump."You don't think that's real?"

'There have been complications," she rushed out, trying to explain what she meant."I almost had a miscarriage. I was in bed for weeks, trying to keep the baby safe. Then I still wasn't well. The doctor diagnosed gestational diabetes so I've had to be very careful about my diet. It didn't seem…necessary to tell you until—" her hands flapped in wild appeal for his understanding '—until the baby was born alive and well."

'Necessary…" He turned the word into a savage indictment of her decision to leave him out of her pregnancy."Who looked after you when you needed looking after? Didn't it ever occur to you that I might want to provide every care to ensure that my child is safely born?"

No, it hadn't. She'd had no experience of men caring to that degree. It was women who did the looking after. But maybe he meant doing what she'd done herself."I hired a private nurse when I needed help."