The Baby Deal

Reb grinned. ‘Rubbish. The money for this place was advanced to you from your trust after your divorce, but with the condition that you can’t sell it and gain the use of the funds until such time as your inheritance is released to you. According to my sources that’s three years down the track.’

Amanda-Jayne clenched her fists and concentrated on not punching him. Never in her entire life had she wanted to hit someone as much as she did Reb Browne. The problem was he was absolutely right. She’d weighed up all her money-raising options and every one was terminally anorexic. Any way she looked, this odious, arrogant hellraiser was her and her baby’s only immediate source of income.

‘Well?’ he prompted, making no attempt to conceal a smart-alec grin. ‘What’s your answer?’

‘I hate you.’

‘I’m not looking for a love match.’

‘What exactly are you looking for?’

‘Stability for my child.’

It was a noble sentiment, but Reb Browne didn’t strike her as the noble type. Then again, she’d recently discovered neither was she… When she’d first realised the extent of her money problems she’d intended filing a lawsuit against Patricia as a means of forcing her to release the money she was owed; all that had stopped her was learning the family solicitors would side with Patricia and that such an action by her would be deemed as bringing the Vaughan name into disrepute, thus contravening her father’s wishes anyway. She was in a position where she was going to be damned if she did, damned if she didn’t and, Lord help her, damned well going to have to marry Reb Browne!

Surely a person was supposed to be dead before having to endure hell? Then again, hadn’t she’d already experienced it once in this lifetime? She’d managed to survive seven years in one bad marriage; what was a further measly three in another one? she reasoned.

Besides, in a few months the baby would provide her with all the happiness she’d ever need. It was the baby she had to think of; even though the very idea of being Mrs Browne filled her with an almost electric dread there was simply no other solution. Unless, of course, I hyphenate my name to Vaughan-Browne! Finding a glimmer of light in her black humour, she turned to the man whose presence seemed to shrink her spacious apartment to phone-booth proportions. She breathed deeply before saying, ‘I’ll accept your condition, but I have one of my own… If we marry I want to keep my maiden name.’

Reb told himself the sigh he expelled came from impatience, not relief, but he knew he was lying. His biggest concern had been that she’d refuse to marry him, leaving him next to no legal rights over the baby, and with his family history and her wealthy background he needed as much legal leverage as he could get. Traditionally the women who bore children to the Browne men invariably lacked maternal instincts; his own mother had shot through when he was only ten and Savvy’s hadn’t stuck around even that long. Neither woman had cared enough to take her kids with her, but if they had, in the absence of a marriage certificate in both cases, there would have been little chance of either his father or uncle getting custody.

Reb might well be the first male Browne to produce a child in wedlock for three generations, but his proposal wasn’t motivated from a moral or social angle, purely a legal one. He knew that when Amanda-Jayne decided to call it quits, unlike his mother and aunt, she’d be the type to take her child with her, if only because she had the money to do it. He also knew that he couldn’t match it with the Vaughans in an expensive, drawn-out custody battle. But he sure as hell wasn’t going to be shoved entirely from his child’s life and marriage would prevent that happening.

‘You can call yourself anything you like,’ he said, snatching up his helmet and jacket. ‘I’ll be here at nine tomorrow morning so we can go get a marriage licence. Once we’ve done that we’ll be heading for Vaughan’s Landing; I’ve only got the bike so pack light. You can arrange to have the rest of your stuff sent—’

‘What do you mean we’ll be heading to Vaughan’s Landing? I’m not going back there! Why would I?’

‘We’re getting married, remember?’

‘As if I could forget! But there’s no reason we can’t live here.’

‘In case it’s slipped your mind, I have a business there and I’m not about to commute three plus hours twice a day.’

As insane as it seemed, it wasn’t until that moment that Amanda-Jayne’s brain actually grasped what being married to Reb Browne would mean. Unlike Anthony he wouldn’t be gone for months at a time on business trips; this man would be in her life every day and, God forbid, possibly her bed every night! The realisation threw her breathing pattern into complete disarray, but desperation kept her mind ticking over for a solution. She almost cheered with glee as inspiration struck. ‘I know!’ she said. ‘You could stay in Vaughan’s Landing during the week and just come here on weekends.’

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