done the right thing. You’d have forced me to marry you, felt trapped against your will, and then taken out your frustration on both me and my daughter for the rest of your life.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do. Parenthood, especially when you’re in it out of obligation, isn’t all fun and games. When the newness of having a child wears off, the reality and the permanence of it sets in. I know it, you know it, and I won’t have my daughter go through the pain of your resentment just because a playboy happened to get one of his flings pregnant.”
“What makes you so sure I’d resent it?” he flung back, leaning close enough that she could see the hot flare of rage in his eyes. “When you’re the one who couldn’t handle the intimacy of a real relationship?”
“You want to blame it on me? Fine,” she said, the old pain twisting deep in her bones. “I can handle your hatred. Emma can’t.”
He looked at her in grim silence, the muscles of his forearms flexing as he debated his next words.
Try and deny it, she thought. Try and claim you’re capable of loving a child you never wanted to have.
“I would never hate my own child,” he finally said. “You’re wrong to assume I would.”
“I’m not,” she said, swallowing hard against the knot crowding her throat. “Men with your past do not do well with fatherhood. There are thousands of unwanted children out there who can attest to the fact.”
“I am not one of those men.”
“Well, I can’t take that risk. And neither can Emma.”
“Too bad. It’s no longer your choice.”
His words sent a chill through her veins. “What are you saying?” she breathed.
“You know exactly what I’m saying, Colette,” he said, the flinty anger in his eyes promising the retribution she’d feared since the day she’d watched that first pregnancy test strip turn blue. “Because I am going to do the right thing, five years too late. We’re getting married. Tomorrow.”
“No.”
“Yes. You marry me or I take you to court to establish my parental rights. I use my wealth and my connections to wage a legal war for custody you’re incapable of winning.”
“You wouldn’t dare!” she breathed.
“Try me,” he said with an implacable stare.
“But I can’t marry you!” she gasped. “You’re insane to think I’d agree to that!”
He glared at her. “You’re insane to think I’ll settle for anything less.”
Her pulse rioted beneath the surface of her skin while her mind raced with alternatives. She could skip town again. She could hide. Change her name, move to a small Midwestern American town, and live off cash earned waiting tables. He’d never find her.
“And don’t even think about running away again,” he warned, reading her thoughts as if she’d spoken them aloud. “Now that I know about Emma, you won’t be able to pack so much as a toothbrush without me finding out about it.”
“You’d have me followed?”
“Every minute of every day,” he continued, his voice filled with a cold, calculated threat that made her legs go numb. “If you even dream about stealing Emma from me again, I’ll make you pay.”
“You can’t do that!”
“No? Watch me,” he said, as calmly as if he were ordering wine with dinner. “Fight me in this, and I will make your life a living hell.”
“Why? Why would you do such a thing?”
“Because I want my daughter, and no one will stop me from having her.”
“But you have no interest in fatherhood! Why would you change now?”
“You act like I owe you an explanation. I don’t.”
“If you try to be her father just because you think it’s your duty, because you feel compelled to meet your obligations, you’ll only end up hurting her.”
“That’s a chance you’ll have to take, isn’t it?” he said, leaning close enough that she could see his pupils flare with banked rage. “Marry me, grant me unlimited access to my child, and you’ll be on site to protect her from any harm you think I might cause.”
“And what about the rest of the Whitfields? How do I protect her from them?”
“I’ll take care of my family.”
“How? Your family will never accept me or Emma. You know they won’t.”
“I don’t give a damn about who they will or won’t accept. This is my life.”
“It’s not just your life. It’s all of our lives now. Yours. Mine. And Emma’s. And there’s not a single Whitfield who thinks I’m viable wife material. It’s unlikely that they’ll think any better of our child.”
He muttered