As black as his.

Dark skin and red hair and black eyebrows. Her colouring was really rare.

As was his.

She’d have his green eyes, Nate guessed, and as he stared down at her he felt something twist deep inside. It was a gut-wrenching twist that had him clutching the edge of his desk for support.

‘You still want to tell me she’s not yours?’ Gemma’s eyes rested on his, not without sympathy. But her voice was implacable.

‘Yes… No.’ The world seemed to spin. A daughter. He had a daughter. ‘But-

‘I told you, what Fiona wants…wanted, Fiona got. And it seems that she took one look at you and decided that she wanted your child.’

He stared at her blindly and then sat heavily back down behind his desk.

‘Hell!’

‘Yes,’ Gemma said softly. She sat as well, waiting for him to come to terms with what she’d just said.

‘Gemma, I’m thirsty.’ It was the little boy, speaking for the first time. He was still clutching her T-shirt but he was staring at Nate as if he was afraid of him.

At least this was something concrete. Thirst. He could cope with thirst.

He couldn’t cope with a baby.

He rose, filled a paper cup from the water cooler and handed it to the child. The little boy stared at it as if it might just contain poison, but then his thirst got the better of him and he drank.

It was a respite-albeit a minor one-but it gave Nate breathing space. Space to know one thing for certain.

‘Whether I’m her father or not is immaterial,’ he said flatly. ‘I can’t have her.’

‘Whether you’re her father or not isn’t the least bit immaterial. She’s yours.’

‘I don’t want her.’

‘You’d rather she was adopted by strangers?’

That was another kick to the guts. His eyes flew to hers. ‘What do you mean?’