Amara let silence hang between them, though her ultimate answer was obvious to them both. She had no options.
She’d accept his offer. She’d have the billionaire’s baby.
Amara recalled those pale blue eyes of his gazing down on her with an intensity that made her shiver. “I agree. Call your lawyer.”
Quint’s words had an edge that proved he wanted this more than he would admit. “You won’t regret this, Amara,” he said in deeply timbered tones. “I swear you’ll never regret it.”
But he was wrong.
A part of her already did.
Chapter Seven
Ten Months Later
DAMNED IF SHE DIDN'T REGRET IT. Where the hell was Quint?
Amara lay limply in the hospital bed focused on the large window in the postpartum room. She had a splitting headache, so all but a dim light above the door had been turned off. As if in tune with her spirits, the rain had been pouring for nearly an hour, starting right after she was transferred from the delivery room.
It was an extremely comfortable, homey room, entirely unlike the other, sterile environments she’d passed through during her stay at the hospital. It seemed more like a hotel room, complete with pictures, plants and a small seating area with a sofa and wing-backed chair. As always, Quint had spared no expense.
The tapestry curtains were drawn back, revealing a hazy view of the breathtaking cityscape. Amara’s gaze, however, was skyward, focused on the sheet lightning that jumped from cloud to cloud. The sturdy hospital window rattled slightly with the din of thunder as the rain and wind beat against the sash. Amara was glad for the distraction.
For the hundredth time, she checked her cell. No messages or texts from Quint. She couldn’t see how it was possible. For months they’d communicated nearly daily, at least once, usually more. Texts, calls, emails … she’d grown accustomed to his presence in her life.
And now, on the day she’d finally given birth to his son, he had disappeared. She scrolled down to the last text he sent:
In the air and headed to you.
Called the doctor and she
said all is going well.
I’m thinking of you every moment.
She scanned up to an earlier text when she told him she’d gone into labor:
Woohoo!
Fueling up the jet
as I write this.
How are you doing?
It was so like him, these messages filled with concern and excitement. He’d been a rock and a lifeline during her pregnancy, always upbeat, always supportive. He put up with her crazy pregnancy brain and never complained when she was irrational (and she knew she was being irrational but couldn’t seem to help it).
He never once lost his temper. She couldn’t have asked for a better … what? Partner? Friend? Employer?
What, exactly, was Quint Forbes to Amara these days? She struggled to find a label for it and came up empty handed.
Whatever he was, she couldn’t have asked for more. Well, except for him being at the birth of his son, which had been the plan. The baby was born and waiting for him. As was Amara.
Where the hell was Quint?
A brilliant flash of lightning broke through her reverie. Tall, skinny trees that rimmed the parking lots bent under the lash of powerful winds.
Inside, the tang of disinfectant surrounded her like a pall. She’d forgotten how hospitals smell, even in rooms that were decorated to look like an expensive hotel room, like this one. She caught an occasional sweet whiff of the lovely bouquet Jaslene had brought, but it couldn’t overcome the hospital smell on its own.