A Baby on the Greek's Doorstep

‘Why here? Why this house?’ Tor pressed.

‘Jordan knows you’re Alfie’s father,’ Pixie murmured flatly, focusing on a gold pen lying on the desktop.

‘And how could he possibly know that when I don’t know it?’ Tor enquired very drily. ‘Am I the victim of some silly story you have told your brother about how you got pregnant?’

Pixie compressed her lips and paled. ‘No. I tried to tell you last year at your office, but I bottled out when you didn’t even remember me,’ she admitted plainly, feeling the shame and sting of that moment warming her cheeks afresh. ‘That was a bit too much of a challenge for me.’

His sleek ebony brows had drawn together as he studied her, dark eyes flaming like melted caramel below his outrageous lashes, those beautiful eyes that she had been seduced by that unforgettable night. ‘Let’s get this straight.’ In shock at her simple explanation, Tor regressed a step. ‘You are saying that that baby is mine?’

‘Yes,’ Pixie said simply.

‘I am finding that hard to credit when I don’t remember you. Yes, there is a certain familiarity about your eyes, possibly your face, but that’s all.’

‘So sorry I wasn’t a more memorable event,’ Pixie countered thinly. ‘But facts are facts. You were with me and you got me pregnant.’

‘I never have sex without contraception.’

Pixie flung her head back, anger in her gaze. ‘Well, you did with me and Alfie is the result. Maybe it was wrong of me not to see a solicitor while I was still pregnant and make some sort of formal approach to you but it’s bad enough having to tell you about it, never mind some total stranger! But there it is, that night happened even though we both regret it.’

Tor sprang upright, outraged by the words spilling from her lips. He didn’t sleep around indiscriminately, and he was always careful and responsible when sex was involved. ‘I still find this story almost impossible to credit and think it may be wiser for us to proceed through legal channels...’

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ Pixie groaned, tipping her head forward and then pushing her hands through her tumbled curls to push the strands off her face again. ‘I’m not being fair to you, am I? If you honestly don’t remember, it’s because you were drunk and grieving...although, in my defence, I have to say that I didn’t realise how drunk you were until afterwards.’

Tor had frozen in place, a darkening expression of consternation tightening his lean, dark features. ‘Drunk? Grieving? I rarely drink to excess.’

‘It was the anniversary of your wife and child’s accident,’ Pixie filled in heavily. ‘You told me that you went out every year on that date and drank while you remembered them.’

With difficulty, Tor forced himself back down stiffly into his chair. Inside he was reeling with shock, but that she knew that much about him literally confirmed his worst fears and struck him like a hammer blow. How much had he told her? All of it or only some of it? He was affronted by his own failure to keep his secrets where they belonged.

‘And it’s probably very rude to say it...but when you’re drunk, you’re a much nicer, more approachable guy,’ Pixie whispered apologetically. ‘If you’d been like you are now, I probably wouldn’t have made love with you, which of course would have been wiser for all of us...although I couldn’t ever give up Alfie, even to make you feel better.’

‘Make me feel better?’ Tor echoed in disbelief. ‘Nothing you have so far told me could make me feel better!’

‘Yes, you’re one of those glass half-empty rather than half-full types, aren’t you?’ Pixie sighed. ‘Look, now we’ve got the embarrassing stuff out of the way, can I please see my son?’

‘I’m afraid it isn’t that straightforward.’

‘Why not?’ Pixie demanded. ‘What’s the problem?’

‘Where were you when your brother took your son and left him in the street?’

‘I was in bed.’ Pixie flushed beneath his censorious gaze. ‘I’m a nurse and I’d just come off night shift. I come home, feed and dress Alfie and then I leave him in Jordan’s care while I sleep. I’m usually up by lunchtime. I can get by on very little sleep. And Jordan didn’t leave Alfie in the street.’

‘He did,’ Tor interposed flatly.

‘Yes, but he hung around somewhere nearby to ensure that Alfie was taken into the house before he left. Look, I know that what Jordan did was totally wrong and dangerous and that he shouldn’t have done it. I’m still very angry about it too,’ Pixie declared tautly. ‘But the point is, Jordan has been helping me to look after Alfie and letting us live with him ever since Alfie was born. I owe my brother a lot.’

‘I can understand that.’

‘No, not really, how could you? You can’t understand when you live like this...’ Pixie shifted an expressive, almost scornful hand that encompassed all the opulent designer touches that distinguished the decor even in a home office setting. ‘You and me? We live in very different worlds. In my world it’s a struggle to keep a roof over our heads and pay the bills.’

‘We will deal with all those problems at a more appropriate time,’ Tor cut in. ‘Right now I am more concerned about the child’s present welfare and security.’

‘Alfie’s none of your business,’ Pixie told him curtly, compressing her lips so hard they went white. ‘Do you think I don’t appreciate how you feel about this situation? Do you really think I want anything from a man who would prefer that neither I nor my child even exists? ‘

‘This is all getting very emotional and again it is not the right time for this discussion,’ Tor countered grimly. ‘If your child is also my child, I obviously don’t want to involve the social services in this issue. But neither am I prepared to hand over custody of a baby to someone who may not keep him safe from harm.’

‘How dare you?’ Pixie gasped, leaping up out of her seat in angry disbelief at that condemnation.

‘Whether you like it or not, you have given me the right to interfere. Either I’m acting as a concerned citizen or as a possible father to ensure that the baby is protected. You can see your son but I will not allow you to remove him from this household or take him anywhere near your brother until I am convinced that that is in his best interests,’ Tor completed with harsh conviction.

‘You can’t do that...’ Pixie whispered shakily.

‘Either you accept my conditions, or I contact the authorities, explain what has happened and allow them to make the decisions. If you choose the second option, be aware that neither of us can control events in that scenario,’ Tor warned her.

‘You don’t even believe that Alfie is yours yet,’ she protested tightly. ‘Why are you trying to screw up our lives? Alfie’s a happy child.’

‘I want your permission to carry out DNA testing,’ Tor admitted. ‘I want irrefutable proof of whether or not he is my child.’

‘Of course, you’re not going to take my word for it,’ Pixie remarked stiffly.

Tor was tempted to say that once, without even asking the question, he had blithely assumed that a child was his and had then learnt, very much to his shock, that it was not an assumption any man could afford to make. Now he took nothing for granted and he checked and double-checked everything and trusting anyone had become a serious challenge.

‘Will you agree to the testing?’ he prompted.

Pixie nodded jerkily for she could think of no good reason to avoid the process. He had the right to know to his own satisfaction that Alfie was his son and it would be wrong of her to deny him that validation, wouldn’t it be? Unhappily, however, events were moving far too fast in a direction she had not foreseen.

She had been foolishly naïve when she’d raced to Tor’s home to collect her son, too distraught to appreciate that there would be long-term consequences to such exposure. Tor would not let either of them walk away again until his questions were answered. And evidently, she had misjudged him that day at his office. He had forgotten her as entirely as though she had never existed and that was an unwelcome truth that could only hurt.

As she watched, he pulled out a phone, selected a number and began speaking to someone in a foreign language. She wondered if it was Greek while she scanned the eloquent movement of a lean brown hand, fingers spreading and then curling as he talked. For such a tall, well-built guy he was very graceful, but all his movements were tense and controlled, hinting at the darkness of his mood.