The Rules Of His Baby Bargain (Mills & Boon Modern) Read online

  ‘I suppose that’s why they left his name out when they named the company. I mean, it might confuse people.’

  Susannah stared at her, then frowned. ‘Mr Law—’

  ‘Is here. Thank you, Susannah.’

  Peter Muir strode into the room, smiling broadly. But Dora was still too busy trying to understand the expression on the other woman’s face to look properly at the man following him. She’d seemed confused, or astonished, but there was no time to ponder why.

  ‘And this is Ms Thorn.’

  Standing up, Dora smiled automatically and held out her hand, but her smile wavered as the second man took a step towards her.

  She felt her jaw slacken. Breathe, she told herself as she stared up at him.

  Given the reverence surrounding him, she’d been expecting an older man, but he was young, in his mid-thirties at most, and that on its own dazzled her momentarily.

  But her surprise was forgotten almost immediately as two thoughts collided in her head. The first was that, quite frankly, he was the most beautiful man she had ever seen in her life. The second, disconcertingly, was that he seemed strangely familiar.

  But clearly, judging by his lack of reaction, Charlie Law was not experiencing a similar sense of déjà vu.

  Or maybe she was dreaming, she thought. Since Della’s death her nights had been full of vivid, confusing dreams that jolted her awake in the darkness.

  But this man was real, fiercely controlled and superbly male.

  Sleek dark hair, high cheekbones and a subtle curve of a mouth fought for her attention, and heat spilled out slowly over her skin, almost as if she was standing under a warm shower.

  Inclining his head slightly to the left, he let his cool dark eyes lock onto hers, and she felt something unravel inside her as his hand curved around hers, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through the tips of her fingers.

  His grip was firm, yet not aggressively so. But, aside from mesmerising good looks, he had an air of authority that meant he clearly felt no need to resort to traditional male posturing.

  Her insides tightened. She couldn’t seem to breathe properly, and her heart was thumping so hard she could feel it hitting her ribs.

  It wasn’t the first time she had locked eyes with a man. But he was the first man to look at her so intently that it was impossible to look away. It felt as if he was reaching inside her.

  Only that wasn’t what made a shiver run down her spine. As his dark eyes slowly inspected her from head to toe, she realised with a beat of shock that Charlie Law both desired and disapproved of her.

  Her shoulders tensed.

  She was familiar with both reactions—just never from the same person at the same time. And she found herself taken aback by his censure. Why would he feel that way about her, a stranger?

  She held her breath as his gaze hovered on her face momentarily, and then he turned towards the lawyer. ‘Thank you, Peter, I think I can take it from here. That is if Ms Thorn has no objections?’

  Dora felt the tension in her shoulders inch down her spine.

  It was the first time she had heard him speak and his voice had caught her off balance. It was measured, quiet...the voice of a man who didn’t need to shout. The kind of voice that came from knowing everyone was on tenterhooks, waiting to do your bidding.

  Aware that her reaction to him was probably written all over her face, she felt a sudden flicker of irritation at his unspoken assumption that she was included in that group.

  ‘Oh, I can probably survive,’ she said lightly, wanting him to know that she wasn’t intimidated by him.

  He didn’t reply, just stood watching her, waiting until the door had closed behind Mr Muir before sitting down in one of the armchairs. She was still standing, and he gestured towards the sofa.

  ‘Please, take a seat.’

  She sat down again, her heart thudding as his dark eyes rested on her face, wanting to cross her arms protectively in front of her body but not wanting him to know that she cared what he thought.

  ‘I’m going to have some coffee,’ she said abruptly. ‘Would you like a cup?’

  His expression didn’t change.

  ‘I don’t drink coffee. In any case, I’d prefer to get down to business. I have another meeting to get to.’

  Her eyes narrowed a fraction at his dismissive tone, and it was on the tip of her tongue to ask him why, then, had he arranged to meet with her this morning? But, really, what did it matter to her? What did he matter to her? Anyway, her father was the one paying for his time.

  ‘But surely it’s not as important as this one. With me,’ she added crisply.

  His mouth tightened imperceptibly, and she felt it again. That flashbulb moment of recognition. She knew it must be her mind playing tricks on her. And yet...

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said slowly. ‘But have we ever met before? It’s just you seem really familiar.’

  For a moment he continued to stare at her impassively, studying her face, considering her question, considering his answer, and she felt another bite of irritation. Seconds ago he’d told her he had another meeting, but now he apparently had all the time in the world.

  ‘That’s probably because I look like my brother,’ he said finally.

  She felt it first in her stomach—a creeping, icy unease that spread outwards through her limbs and down her spine.

  Her chest squeezed tight and she shook her head, wanting to look away. Except she couldn’t. She was trapped—caught in his steady, unblinking gaze. ‘I don’t think I know your brother.’

  ‘Oh, but you do,’ he said softly, and now he smiled—except it was the kind of calm, controlled smile that didn’t reach his eyes. ‘You know him very well.’ He paused. ‘Your nephew, Archie, is my brother. Half-brother, to be precise.’

  The room swam. Her heart stopped beating. Her blood felt as though it had turned to ice. She stared at him, words of denial stuck in her throat, her mouth open in shock.

  But of course. Now she knew she could see it. In the shape of his mouth and that flash of anger. It was Archie. He looked like Archie—Della’s Archie.

  Her Archie.

  A knot formed in her stomach. Head spinning, she took a breath, tried to focus her brain, replaying fragments of conversation, things Della had said.

  Archie’s father, Lao Dan, had other children—older children—daughters from previous marriages and a son. Charlie.

  She swallowed around the lump swelling in her throat.

  So that meant Charlie’s mother had been Lao Dan’s wife when Della had been his mistress. Now, at least, she understood Charlie’s disapproval. She still didn’t understand why he was here in this room, though. With her.

  ‘You’re not a lawyer,’ she said flatly.

  He shook his head.

  She glared at him. ‘And you lied about your surname too.’

  ‘I didn’t lie. You assumed I was a lawyer. And adopting an English surname is fairly common practice. It stops any awkward mispronunciation.’

  An icy heat shivered down her back. ‘So what do you want?’

  But she knew what he wanted even before he could open his beautiful curving mouth to reply.

  ‘No,’ she said, shaking her head as if that would somehow make her voice stop shaking. ‘No,’ she repeated. ‘Archie is my nephew—’

  ‘And my brother.’

  Suddenly it felt as if everything was moving very slowly, so that his words seemed to take ages to reach her. Panic clawed at her, anger flaring up from nowhere, as it had started to do ever since Della’s death.

  Her eyes locked with his. ‘I am my nephew’s guardian.’

  His eyes stayed steady on hers. ‘Temporary guardian.’

  Charlie Law stared at the woman sitting opposite him.

  His words were inflammatory. Intentionally so. br />
  He knew he had no legal rights over Archie. Not yet anyway.

  This was just a shot across the bows. He’d wanted to see how she reacted, and now he knew.

  She looked not just stunned, but devastated.

  Had he been a different man he might actually have felt sorry for her. But pity was not an emotion he indulged. With pity came weakness, and he didn’t allow weakness in himself or tolerate it in others.

  He stared at her steadily, ignoring the beat of desire pulsing through his blood.

  His father was an enormously wealthy man who owned many fabulous works of art. A large number of them were paintings and sculptures of beautiful women.

  But none of those women came close to Dora Thorn.

  With pale skin the colour of ivory, tousled blonde hair and smudged grey eyes, she looked like a Botticelli Venus.

  His jaw tightened. That was where the resemblance ended though.

  He glanced down at the folder that Peter Muir had handed him. Beneath it, in a separate file, was a report compiled by his security team here in London. The contents of that report had been neither revelatory nor significant. They had simply served to confirm his suspicions.

  Dora Thorn might be beautiful and desirable, but she was also flaky, undisciplined and without the means to raise his half-brother appropriately.

  Great social life, though, he thought coldly. She flitted between several sets of friends, and London seemed to be populated with young men whose hearts she had broken.

  Clearly, though, she thought she was worthy of more than some calf-faced student. No doubt she thought she would find richer pickings among the gamblers at Blakely’s.

  Gritting his teeth, he let his eyes flicker over her beautiful face, then drop to the curve of her hips.

  He could forgive her some things—that pencil skirt and blouse made her look as if she was dressing up in someone else’s clothes—but blood was an indelible marker of character.

  He had worked with her sister, talked to her, trusted her, and she had been a liar. Though no actual lies had been told, she had been living a lie...sneaking around with his father—his married father.

  Dora might not look like her, but it was what lay beneath the skin that mattered more than shared features.

  On paper, she spelt trouble.

  In the flesh—

  His brain froze on the word, and his eyes were drawn inexorably to the glimpse of pale skin where her grey silk blouse had parted. He gritted his teeth. She was trouble with a capital T, and then some.

  Three nights ago he’d gone to the casino where she worked. He’d told himself that he was simply scoping out the opposition. London was a ‘possible’ on his list of locations for expanding the Lao empire, and Blakely’s was a small, but profitable casino.

  The truth, though, had been that he’d wanted to see her—to check out Dora Thorn in person.

  Something hot and primal snaked over his skin.

  He knew enough about casinos to know in advance that her uniform would have been carefully designed to convey modesty, while hinting at what lay beneath, and yet watching her walk across the room had been a shock.

  As she’d leaned forward to decant drinks from her tray onto the table, he’d noticed a man at the bar glance over, his eyes narrowing appreciatively, and Charlie had felt a rush of anger. At him, a nameless stranger, at her, for being there, and most of all with himself, for feeling anything.

  Emotions were a distraction—particularly in this instance. He was here in London for one day and with one purpose. To fulfil his father’s dying wish. To bring his father’s baby son back to Macau.

  And it was going to happen. No matter that he had this questionable hunger for a woman he didn’t like or trust.

  His father didn’t countenance failure, and neither did he. He had made a promise, and not keeping that promise would mean bringing dishonour to himself, to his name, to his family.

  ‘Let’s keep this simple, Ms Thorn. And civil.’ His eyes swept over her face. ‘We are almost family, after all.’

  ‘Civil?’ She almost spat the word at him. ‘You lured me here under false pretences. How is that civil?’

  He shrugged. ‘I assume you had your reasons for coming here.’ Leaning forward, he pushed the folder Peter Muir had given him across the table. ‘I think you will find everything in here that you want.’

  Her grey eyes widened. ‘I don’t want anything from you.’

  He watched two spots of colour spread over her cheeks, her face betraying the lie. His body hardened to stone. So she felt it too.

  ‘My apologies,’ he said calmly. ‘I should have said “need” rather than want.’

  He could almost see the war raging inside her. Her curiosity battling with her indignation. Slowly he counted to ten and then flipped open the folder.

  ‘You have a negative cashflow problem.’ He flicked over a page. ‘Put simply, your outgoings exceed your earnings and are likely to continue doing so.’

  Her face jerked upwards. ‘How do you know that?’

  He watched her jaw tighten.

  ‘Oh, I get it.’ She shook her head, her eyes narrowing. ‘Very classy. You know, you should probably change your name to Lawless. It would be more appropriate.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he said blandly, enjoying the flush of anger in her eyes. ‘But I do know that if you carry on as you are it won’t be long before your financial situation becomes an issue.’

  He paused and let his eyes drift over her slowly. ‘Archie’s guardian needs to be capable of caring for him and providing for him. Hard to do that without money. And you are what would be classed as “low income with no prospects”.’

  The muscles in her face tensed.

  ‘I’m sure the powers that be know that some things are more important than money,’ she retorted. ‘Not that I expect you to understand that.’

  ‘Meaning?’ he said softly.

  She leaned forward, smiling coldly. ‘Meaning that when your father was alive he had no interest in Archie, or even the concept of Archie. He wanted sex from Della—not a son.’

  Charlie blinked, caught off guard by the bluntness of her words as much as the emotion in her voice.

  ‘Your sister knew exactly what she was getting into. She knew he was married—’

  ‘Yes, she did. But you don’t know what Della was like.’

  Wrong, he knew exactly what she had been like. She had been one in a long line of his father’s mistresses, all of them hoping, believing, that Lao Dan would make her his wife.

  His chest tightened and, changing the direction of his thoughts before they could cross into dangerous territory, he shook his head. ‘None of that is relevant to this conversation. What matters here is Archie, and his well-being, and we both know that I can offer him the very best of everything. If you sign this document, I can make your financial problems go away.’

  Her breath hitched in her throat. ‘So you’re offering me a bribe?’

  ‘I prefer to think of it as compensation.’

  Her eyes dropped to the folder and he felt his heart skip a beat. Was she really going to sign it? His stomach clenched. For some reason he didn’t understand he felt more disappointed than triumphant.

  ‘That’s a lot of zeros for one little boy and my compliance.’

  She lifted her chin, her gaze turned hard, and the air between them seemed to thicken.

  ‘But you know what? I happen to think you can’t put a price on the privilege of raising a child. And, frankly, I’d rather keep my pride than have your “compensation” polluting my life.’

  She was staring at him as if he was something she wanted to scrape off her shoe.

  He felt his muscles twitch. Seriously? She was trying to take the moral high ground, here?

  ‘Very noble. Ver
y profound,’ he said softly. ‘And yet how easily you forgot the “privilege” of raising Archie when you called that adoption agency.’

  The colour left her face and the fire faded in her eyes. ‘Th-that’s confidential,’ she stammered.

  ‘That doesn’t mean it’s not relevant.’

  Reaching across the table, he picked up the document and held it out, and after a few seconds she took it. His muscles tightened, and he was surprised at the second stab of disappointment. He hadn’t expected her to capitulate so easily.

  There was a beat of silence and then she raised her head slowly, her chin jutting forward.

  ‘Actually, I’ll tell you what’s relevant.’ She paused. ‘No, make that critical. And that is that no child—particularly my nephew—should be raised by someone like you. Someone who not only has an armoury of dirty tricks at his disposal but is more than willing to use them.’

  Standing up, she crumpled the document and dropped it on the table.

  ‘Keep your money, Mr Law. You’re going to need it for when we go to court.’

  Stepping neatly past him, she walked across the room and out of the door before he had time to stand.

  CHAPTER TWO

  LEANING FORWARD, CHARLIE picked up the small ox bone tile from the table, his fingers tightening around the curved edges.

  Back in Macau, he played mah-jong most days, but whenever he was away from home it was hard to find a good enough opponent. Sometimes he grabbed a quick game with one of his off-duty security detail, and sometimes he resorted to playing it on his phone.

  Mostly, though, it was enough simply to lay out the tiles. But this morning it wasn’t having the same calming effect as usual.

  Gritting his teeth, he stood up and walked slowly towards the floor-to-ceiling windows that ran three sides of his penthouse duplex. His dark eyes tracked the progress of a barge along the Thames as inside his head he tried to make sense of his current unsettled mood.

  As a rule, his life ran like clockwork. A very expensive and accurate clock.

  He was an early riser. A session with his personal trainer started his day, followed by a shower and then breakfast. Occasionally he drove himself to work in his discreet black Bentley Mulsanne. But mostly a chauffeur-driven car was waiting to take him to the Golden Rod.