“What do you want?” she demanded.
“Good evening to you, too,” Sam said looking steadily into her eyes.
She felt that familiar pull deep in her body, that traitorous draw of attraction that had been so instant, so instinctive, so very, very real. She clamped down on it, immediately. Attraction aside, they shared nothing anymore. Not even the child she’d borne and cherished with every beat of her battered heart.
Her eyes roamed his face, noting the depth of the lines that showed when he was tired or in pain. He was still dressed in a business suit that looked slightly the worse for wear and the length of his journey was evident in his eyes. She tried not to care.
“I’m not taking guests,” she said coldly. “You’ll have to find somewhere else to stay.”
She started to close the door but Sam put his hand up, arresting its progress.
“I’m not here to stay. Please,” he said. “We need to talk.”
“We’ve ‘talked’ all we need to, through our lawyers.”
“No, we haven’t. Let me in, Erin. If you don’t, I’ll just stay out here and keep knocking until you do.”
The implacable look in his eyes confirmed his intentions. Without saying anything, Erin stepped aside and watched as Sam limped into the kitchen. The place where he’d ripped her world apart only three weeks ago. His limp was more pronounced than usual. She told herself she wasn’t concerned for his comfort, even as the words offering him a chair spilled from her mouth.
He lowered himself into a seat, stretching out his injured leg and rubbing it absently. “Is Riley in bed already?”
“Of course.” She crossed her arms across her stomach, waiting for the words she dreaded hearing.
“That’s a shame. I was hoping I could see him.”
“Then perhaps you should have made an appointment through your lawyer.”
She couldn’t help it, the anger just boiled and boiled inside of her. She held on to it, knowing it was the only thing that was going to get her through this meeting, let alone the next few days, weeks and months. Silence stretched out between them. It seemed they were at a stalemate. Sam looked at her and sighed ever so quietly. She turned away, unable to bear his scrutiny. More anxious now than she’d been before for the calming herbal brew, she busied herself at the kitchen counter.
“I was just making myself a cup of herbal tea. Can I get you anything?” she offered reluctantly.
A look of surprise passed his face. “Sure, a coffee would be great, thanks.”
“Decaf or full strength?”
“Better make it full strength.”
She moved to the coffeemaker and went through the motions, even as the one big question she really wanted to ask him buzzed around in her head like a particularly angry bee. What the hell was he doing here?
Once she’d made his coffee, exactly the way he liked it, she took it and her tea to the table. She should invite him to sit more comfortably in her sitting room or the library, she thought, but then her anger reasserted itself. It wasn’t as if he was an invited guest, after all. Let him sit on a hard wooden kitchen chair.
She sat opposite him, not willing to speak until he spoke first. He took a long draw of his coffee then sighed.
“That’s good, thanks.”
The silence between them deepened. Erin went to pick up her mug but noticed her hand was shaking. Determined not to show any sign of weakness in front of Sam, she let her hand drop to her lap once more, her fingers now curled into a fist of frustration.
“Why won’t you accept the money?” Sam asked bluntly after taking another sip of his coffee. “I know you need it.”
“It’s not about money.”
“What is it then, pride? You can’t afford to be proud about this, Erin. I know you’re going to lose the roof over your head. Rejecting the settlement is the last thing you need right now.”
“What do you care? You’ll have what you want.”
A look of compassion shone briefly in his eyes before going again so swiftly she began to even wonder if she’d seen it at all.
“You deserve to be compensated. Please, let me do this for you, Erin.”
She shook her head. “Compensated? Did I really hear you say that? How dare you. Do you really think you can put a price on your baby’s head, Sam? Is that what this is all about?”
“No, of course not!” he protested.
“Then what is it?”
“It’s about taking care of you, looking after your best interests.”
“That’s a pile of crap and you know it. If you had wanted to take care of me you would have been honest with me from the outset. When you arrived here you would have identified yourself instead of making me—”