His smile faded as his whole expression tightened. ‘What’s the real reason you won’t come with me now, Emerald?’ he asked quietly.
‘What do you mean?’ Trepidation slithered over her skin. ‘I have work. I’m the only one here, as you can see.’
She felt physically ill at telling half-truths—but what he could do, what he could take...
And then she heard the gurgling chuckle of her beloved little boy. At the next strike of her next hammering heartbeat, Connie appeared in the doorway with Luke in her arms. Emerald’s world teetered, about to smash to smithereens and it was entirely her own fault. There was no way to get Connie to turn around, to run and hide Luke. Her only option was to try to fake it through the next few minutes and tell Javier the truth, alone, later, once she’d had a chance to draw breath. She should have come up with a plan months ago. But she’d been too busy caring for Luke. Too busy surviving.
Swallowing the nausea with a fake smile, she tried to act as if nothing horrific was currently happening. ‘Thanks, Connie,’ she whispered. ‘Can you just go upstairs for a moment? I’ll be there as soon as I can.’
Connie had stilled. Luke too was abnormally quiet, as if he’d sensed something strange in the atmosphere. The elderly woman glanced curiously at Javier. It was obvious her brain was doing the maths and in this case getting it right. But fortunately she said nothing as she walked past the counter, taking Luke with her.
‘Who was that?’ Javier asked, the second the elderly woman disappeared up the stairs.
‘My boss, Connie.’ Emmy could hardly bear to face him, but she forced herself to meet his gaze and her breathing stalled.
Javier was still scrutinising her, his expression sombre. ‘I meant the baby,’ he explained softly.
Emmy’s mind blanked and she stared at him.
‘What’s his name?’ His question was too quiet.
She couldn’t think what to answer.
‘What is his name, Emmy?’ The edge in that repeated question sliced through to her bones.
She gazed up into those achingly familiar brown eyes. She absolutely adored the owner of the smaller set, but these ones held a glint that she couldn’t define. A premonition shook her resolve. He’d be steely and unforgiving, but she couldn’t lie now. Not to his face. Not the way he had to her.
‘His name is Luke.’
‘What’s his full name?’ Javier pressed with unerring precision.
Sweat slicked her skin.
‘Didn’t you give him a middle name?’
That was when she realised Javier already knew. He already knew Luke was his. Terror transfixed her. How long had he known and what had he planned? Because he clearly had something in mind. Him walking into her shop was no moment of chance. She had no idea what to do or say in response—all she knew was that she couldn’t trust his handsome visage.
‘Lucero Ramon Jones. Isn’t that right?’ Javier confirmed her fears with dangerously gentle accuracy.
‘You’ve seen his birth certificate?’ Her voice barely sounded.
‘You left the father’s name blank.’
How had he seen that certificate? How long had he been here?
‘Emerald?’ he prompted.
‘For good reason,’ she tossed back on a rush of adrenalin and anger. ‘I’m not sure who the father is.’
‘Are you not?’ He cocked his head. ‘Emmy, we both know the dates fit. I was your first lover and you’ve even named him after me.’
Heat surged. ‘I named him after the man who lied to me. Who didn’t even tell me his real name. “Ramon” was nothing but a lie—a fake persona from some entitled sociopath. You’re not him.’
He was nothing like the man he’d passed himself off as—funny and charming, carefree yet caring. Javier Torres was none of those things.
For a long moment he was utterly silent, but emotion enlarged his pupils so much that the black-coffee core almost obliterated the cocoa-coloured iris completely.
‘What’s my name, Emmy?’ he finally asked in a bloodless, shocked-sounding whisper.
Too late she realised she’d given herself away. Now he knew that she knew he’d lied to her. She straightened, determined to hide her fear because surely, in the shades of grey in this mess, he was the worst liar between them? And even if he wasn’t, she had to be completely honest now. ‘Javier Torres.’
He nodded slowly. ‘Javier Ramon Torres.’
She closed her eyes. That name had been the only tribute she’d been able to offer her son at the time of his birth. She’d felt so betrayed when she’d learned ‘Ramon’ was really Javier and humiliated that she’d given it to Luke. But now it was relevant again? It was their common middle name and, while that should be a soothing symmetry, stupidly it hurt her more.
‘How long have you known?’ His question now had an edge and she couldn’t blame him.
‘Not long.’ She lifted her chin bravely. ‘Since the media release about the Flores property.’
The property she’d shown him—her most favourite place in the world. Her sanctuary. She’d been naive to share something so special with a stranger. Those moments of lust and excitement had made her brainless. Because he’d bought it and was now transforming it from budget retreat to swanky hotel. He was a brutal, ruthlessly acquisitive businessman. Nothing like the carefree sea god who’d held her spellbound that evening on her precious beach.
‘That was months ago.’ His mouth compressed. ‘Yet you’ve not got in touch since.’
‘You lied to me,’ she muttered.
‘It seems we’re both liars.’
She pushed down her rising panic.
‘How could you just try to tell me you didn’t know who his father is?’ he asked.
‘I didn’t—not for months anyway and even then I found out little more than your real name.’
‘You should have contacted me the second you found that out.’
He was right and yet wrong, because she’d learned more than his real name, she’d discovered his lack of integrity too.
‘I don’t know you at all, nothing other than that you lied to me that night,’ she defended herself desperately. ‘I couldn’t even be completely sure that the jerk written about in the paper was actually the guy from that night.’
Except that was weak of her. She’d glanced at that picture in the paper and known instantly.
‘The second I walked in the door just now, you were sure,’ he said. ‘But you hustled that child upstairs.’
‘Maybe that’s because I’m terrified.’ She glared at him, taking a step to widen her stance, wishing she could make a better barrier between him and that stairway.
‘Because I present danger to you? To him?’ He recoiled. ‘Based on what evidence? Was I violent?’
Her throat tightened but she forced the truth to whisper out. ‘No.’
‘Then what have I done to hurt you? If I remember correctly, you were the one who walked out without so much as a goodbye.’
The flash of reproach in his eyes deepened her guilt.
‘Why did you leave so early?’ he added. ‘Why not wake me to say goodbye? Were you that full of regret?’
‘No,’ she muttered, hoarse with burning embarrassment.
‘You could have left a note.’