His gaze was drawn to his daughter and he felt his own stab of resentment. Sóley was so small, and yet he’d already missed so many of the imperceptible changes that had marked her growth from birth to now. So Lottie’s indignation would have to wait—just as he’d had to wait to find out he was her father.
‘I thought it would be simpler and more comfortable for you both to travel this way.’
He glanced around the cabin. There was space to move around and no other passengers, but Lottie’s stony expression suggested she was unconvinced.
‘I just want to spend time with her,’ he said mildly.
She frowned. ‘I’m not saying you don’t, but you have a house in Surrey. I don’t understand why we couldn’t just visit you there.’
‘As I told you—I like to take a couple of weeks off to recharge.’
‘So we’re working around your business schedule?’ Her gaze narrowed. ‘I thought this was supposed to be about our daughter and her wellbeing.’
He stared at her steadily, noting the paleness of her face and the dark shadows beneath her eyes. Clearly she’d been having trouble sleeping, and without meaning to he found himself diverting his thoughts away from the evidence to the cause.
Was her insomnia solely a result of this disruption to her life? Or was something else keeping her awake?
His pulse stalled. Since she’d door-stepped him in front of his office his own nights had been uncharacteristically unsettled. Either he struggled to fall asleep, his head filling with images of Lottie’s pale naked body as soon as he tried to close his eyes, or he dozed off only to wake exhausted after a night spent twitching restlessly through feverish, erotically charged dreams.
Blanking his mind of everything but the here and now, he met her gaze. ‘It was and it is. Iceland is my homeland. I want my daughter to understand her connection to the country where I was born.’
‘But she’s not even a year old,’ she protested. ‘She won’t know where she is.’
She was angry—and suspicious. He could hear it in her voice, see it in the set of her shoulders. But did she have to escalate her irritation into a full-blown confrontation? Was this how it was going to be every time they talked?
He felt a twinge of frustration. ‘But I will know.’ He shook his head. ‘Tell me, is this you being deliberately bloody-minded? Or is it just impossible for you to accept that I might have a genuine motive for bringing my daughter here?’
‘I’m not being bloody-minded,’ she snapped. ‘Cynical, maybe. In my experience your motives seem to have a habit of being a little shaky at best.’
‘Meaning...?’
This conversation was pointless. He should be shutting it down. But he could feel his control slipping. It was something that had never happened before with any woman, but Lottie got under his skin. She made him lose the thread of his thoughts so that he felt off-balance and irresolute when normally he would be all cool, level-headed logic.
‘You lied to me that night,’ she said flatly. ‘You had a whole agenda—all to do with test-driving your app—only you forgot to mention that to me. Just like you forgot to tell me that it was your app—the one you created. So forgive me if I don’t find you or your claims very genuine.’
His jaw tightened. ‘You think what happened between us that night was some kind of Research and Development exercise?’ He shook his head. ‘Then you’re right—you are cynical.’
Her eyes were suddenly blazing, frustration and fury lighting up their pupils. ‘And you’re manipulative and cold-blooded.’
He wanted to stay angry, and her absurd unjustifiable accusations should have made him see red, but as her gaze locked on his all he could think about was turning the fire in her eyes into a different kind of heat...a heat that would obliterate the tension and mistrust between them...the same white heat that had fused them together that night.
His heartbeat stalled and slowly he shook his head.
‘Not with you. Not that night,’ he said softly. ‘You had all the power, Lottie, believe me.’
Her eyes widened and a flush of colour spilled over her cheekbones. They stared at one another, caught in the unbidden simmering spell of those remembered moments.
‘Mr Stone, Ms Dawson, we’ll be landing soon.’
His heart jump-started. It was his stewardess, Sam.
‘If you could buckle up...?’ She smiled apologetically. ‘And I’m afraid that includes this little one too.’
‘Of course.’ He smiled coolly—more coolly than he felt.
His blood was still humming in his ears, and with an effort he forced his mind away from those taut, shimmering seconds of madness. The strength and speed of his unravelling was not admirable, but it was understandable. He was tired, and he had let his imagination run away with him, but in some ways that was a good thing.
The overwhelming, uncontrollable desire that had led him to act so carelessly twenty months ago was still there, and he loved his daughter. Only this was a reminder that those feelings were two opposing forces that could never and would never be reconciled.