Baby for the Billionaire - By Maxine Sullivan Page 0,148
the time Connor had gotten a now screaming-in-protest Dylan out of the shower and switched off the faucets, Victoria was no longer in the bedroom.
He frowned as he took in the neatly made bed. He’d expected to find her languishing amongst the covers, reading the papers and perhaps sipping a second cup of tea.
But the room was empty.
And only a hint of Victoria’s subtle fragrance lingered.
No matter. He’d find her as soon as he’d dressed Dylan, and he’d share what he had planned for the day.
Fifteen minutes later Connor had dressed himself and the baby and come downstairs to find Victoria in the kitchen, buttering a piece of toast. She started as he entered, Dylan riding on his right hip.
He halted in the doorway. “I was going to make breakfast in bed for you.”
“I can’t stay. Sorry.” She gave a rueful shrug. “I need to go to work.”
“Work?” For the first time he noticed she was wearing black trousers and a crisp white shirt with pin tucks down the front. “Today?”
Her eyes slid away from his. “Bridget called. I need to go into the office.”
Disappointment flooded Connor. He’d planned—
The hell with it. It didn’t matter a toss what he’d planned. His plans didn’t fit with Victoria’s goals for her life.
Resentment tasted bitter on his tongue. Last night had given him a false sense of wonder. He’d hoped …
Blast what he’d hoped. Victoria’s career would always come first. He’d married her knowing that, so why the hell was he so disappointed?
Because of last night. Because of the way she’d touched him and responded so sweetly and because of the wonder he’d thought he’d seen in her eyes.
He’d been here before. Yet this time, despite knowing exactly what Victoria’s priorities were, despite being armored against her, he’d begun to believe that this time it would be different.
That what they shared was special.
That Victoria was nothing like Dana.
And she was different—he knew she genuinely cared for Dylan, whereas Dana had only ever raised the topic of children as a precursor to a discussion about marriage.
Victoria wasn’t manipulative … she wouldn’t sleep with him to get a partnership, or beg for a baby when all she wanted was a ring on her finger.
But she did share the same ruthless, single-minded ambition that had driven his ex-lover. And he couldn’t help resenting the fact that Victoria would always put work first.
He’d been a victim of—and survived—that vicious circle once. He had no intention of being devastated a second time. And this time it wasn’t only his heart at risk. This time there was Dylan—his own son—to consider, too.
He wouldn’t—couldn’t—allow Victoria to be so cavalier about her responsibility to his baby. His baby.
But now was not the time to get into that. Let her go to work. He wasn’t about to blurt it all out in a moment of anger. He’d held off telling her that Dylan was his baby this long because she’d been so worried that he intended to take Dylan away from her. He could wait a little longer. Once he’d cooled down he would confront her with his relationship to Dylan—and with what he’d decided to do about it.
It was time for Victoria to learn who called the shots.
“Do what you want,” he bit out and swung away.
She shifted from one foot to the other, clearly uneasy. “What are you going to do?”
“What I’d planned.” He gave her a look of scorching contempt. “I’m taking Connor to the beach. We’ll spend a day doing what families do.”
He watched as her eyes darkened and a not-very-nice sense of victory swelled him. She’d made her choice.
And so had he.
Eleven
Over the next week and a half Victoria avoided Connor.
The tightening tension gave her a sense of sitting on the lip of a volcano about to erupt.
Outwardly Connor was civil, and he still read to Dylan every night while she fed the baby his final bottle of the day. But they’d barely spoken since that fateful Sunday morning.
When she met his eyes she could glimpse the gathering turbulence in the darkening storm of gray. There was a confrontation coming and, like the coward she was, she avoided him by using the best excuse she had—work.
As soon as Dylan had eaten breakfast she kissed him goodbye and left him in Anne’s capable hands. She came home after a work day and desperately avoided Connor in the evenings—with the exception of Dylan’s bedtime. Afterward she retreated to her room—and her laptop.