The Unclaimed Baby by Melanie Milburne Page B

lawyer.’
    Instead of feeling she had won that round, Bronte felt as if she had lost much more than a few verbal points. She had lost his respect. She could see it in his eyes, the way they had stripped her bare. It was one thing for him to have the freedom to see who he liked when he liked but quite another for her to do the same. She had been his possession, his little plaything on the side, and it would infuriate him to think she had given herself to someone else while involved with him.
    â€˜Who was it?’ he asked through tight lips. ‘Anyone I knew at the time?’
    Bronte turned away. ‘I don’t have to explain myself to you. You certainly gave me no explanation for what you got up to when you weren’t with me.’
    He grabbed her arm and spun her around to face him,his expression still as menacing as the storm raging outside. ‘Who the hell were you seeing?’ he asked.
    Bronte tugged at his hold, squirming at the bite of his fingers. ‘Stop it, Luca. You’re hurting me.’
    His hold loosened, but not by much. ‘Tell me who you were seeing, damn it.’
    She felt tears approaching and fought them back valiantly. ‘Tell me who you were with in LA,’ she said. ‘What was her name? Was it someone famous or someone married so you had to keep it a big secret?’
    His eyes flickered for a moment, his mouth pulled so tight it was white-tipped at the corners.
    â€˜Was she very beautiful?’ Bronte asked, struggling now to keep her voice from cracking. ‘Did she love you? Did you love her?’
    He dropped his hand from her arm and stepped away. He rubbed the back of his neck as if trying to soothe a knot of tension there. He didn’t speak. He just stood in front of the bank of windows and looked at the last of the storm’s activity outside. His back was like a fortress, a thick impenetrable wall she had no hope of scaling. In spite of his hostility, she wanted to go to him, to put her arms around his waist, to hold him, to breathe in the aching familiarity of his scent.
    â€˜Luca?’
    He turned to face her, his expression rigid with determination. ‘I want to see her,’ he said. ‘I want to see my child.’
    Bronte took a little step backwards. ‘You mean…now?’
    â€˜Of course I mean now,’ he said, scooping up his car keys from the coffee table.
    â€˜But she’s asleep,’ Bronte said. ‘And…and my mother’s there and—’
    â€˜Then it’s time your mother met the father of her grandchild,’ he said. ‘She’s going to have to get used to me being a part of the child’s life.’
    â€˜â€œThe child”,’ Bronte said, throwing her hands out wide. ‘Can you please use her name? It’s Ella.’
    â€˜Does she have a middle name?’ he asked, his eyes hard and black with contempt as they pinned hers.
    Bronte compressed her lips. ‘Her full name is Ella Lucia Bennett.’
    He blinked and the strong column of his throat moved up and down over a swallow. ‘You named her…for me?’
    She let out a small sigh. ‘I wanted her to have something of you, even if it turned out she never met you. I felt I owed you that. I felt I owed her that.’
    A little muscle in his jaw worked for a long moment. ‘I want my name on her birth certificate,’ he said. ‘I don’t suppose it’s there?’
    She shook her head. ‘No, I didn’t see the point at the time.’
    â€˜Did you tell anyone I was the father?’
    â€˜Not until recently,’ she answered. ‘My mother eventually pried it out of me. Rachel figured it out when you came to the studio yesterday.’
    There was a small tense silence.
    â€˜I’m starting to think a paternity test is going to be a waste of time,’ he said. ‘You didn’t cheat on me, did you, Bronte?’
    She shook her head. ‘No.