Her Pregnancy Secret Read online

  Stupid idea. She couldn’t let him know.

  He helped her into his sleek Mercedes and then slid behind the wheel. When she dared a glance at him, their eyes met and she felt the familiar sizzle. Then her gaze fell to his tight mouth and lingered as she remembered the erotic pleasures those lips were capable of giving her.

  Realizing how desperately she longed for him to kiss her, she tore her gaze away and forced herself to focus on the pedestrians that streamed past them on the sidewalks in an endless, colorful flood.

  Closing her eyes, she tried to settle down as the big silver car—its tires hissing, its windshield wipers slashing—raced through the rain.

  Why had she told him the doctor had released her early? If she hadn’t told him, she could have stayed another night. Then maybe she wouldn’t feel this perverse urgency, this sense that it might be her last chance to be with him....

  When she nervously began to chew on a fingernail, he seized her hand, brought it to his lips and blew a warm breath over her skin.

  “Don’t!” he admonished. “Your hands are too pretty to ruin.”

  She yanked the offending hand free and sat on it as stubbornly as a guilty child. All the while, savage, inexplicable desire for him pulsed inside her like a jungle drum. He didn’t look at her or speak again, but she was afraid he read her mind because suddenly the air between them grew so tense it sparked.

  She wanted him—this impossible, difficult man, who was the secret father of her precious, unborn child. Despite his critical opinion of her and all the other reasons she shouldn’t want him, what she wanted, more than anything, was another taste of the forbidden in his bed.

  She did not have to surrender to temptation.

  She would not surrender to it. After spending the past few days with him, her feelings now ran deeper. She was pregnant with his child. If he insulted her this time, the hurt would be even more unbearable than before.

  What she would do was throw her belongings in her duffel bag and march out of his penthouse with her head held high.

  Geography, if not willpower, would save her from herself and this much-too-sexy man.

  But she’d forgotten about his elevator.

  Eight

  Even before the doors of the elevator trapped her inside a tiny box with Michael, her heart was drumming madly in her throat. Then the cage jerked, throwing her against him. She let out a shriek before they shot upward. Her heart spiked to rocket speed, and her wide eyes lifted beseechingly to his.

  He put his lips softly against her ear. “Don’t be so afraid. You’re perfectly safe. This stuffy building, as you call it, is state of the art. I’m on a committee that oversees maintenance issues.” His deep voice was a comforting rumble.

  “You’re right,” she said. “I’m fine.”

  “Let’s make sure, why don’t we?”

  When he caught her closer, her breath hitched.

  “Oh, my God. You’re as cold as ice and shaking. Don’t tell me I’m going to have to give up my penthouse view and move to a lower floor.”

  She was too foolishly pleased that he’d said he’d move just for her, too pleased he was holding her close. She pressed herself against his powerful body and gasped when she found him rock hard and fully aroused.

  “See, you make me even crazier than this elevator makes you,” he whispered. “I can’t help myself where you’re concerned. I don’t care who you are or what you’ve done.”

  His words cut. “But I care what you think. If you don’t see me as I really am, how can we ever have a real connection? I’m not the bad person you think I am. I’m not your ex-wife, you know,” she murmured.

  “Why did you bring her up?”

  “Luke told me she married you for your money.”

  “Leave her out of this.”

  “Did you love her?”

  “I don’t want to talk about her.”

  “Well, FYI—I’m not her.”

  His jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue.

  “I’m just a dull working girl.”

  “A very attractive one.”

  “You prefer glamorous.”

  “Maybe we should concentrate on the present,” he muttered bitterly. “You have plenty of charm.”

  His hard arms tightened around her, and he drew her closer—so close she forgot to be afraid, so close she forgot to be logical or sensible. All that mattered was his fierce power and the raw desire she saw in his eyes.

  Her hands wound into his silky black hair. In the restaurant, she’d barely been able to think because of his intense gaze and dominating presence. He’d been so nice for the past three days, and then tonight he’d swept her away with the meal and his sexiness.

  He bestowed a soft kiss on her forehead. His gentleness and unexpected kindness lessened her doubts.

  Maybe he’d loved his wife and had been hurt. Maybe if he moved past that he would be able to see Bree more clearly.

  “Hold me,” she whispered. “Hold me forever.”

  Standing on her tiptoes, she pressed her lips gently to his chin, tempting him to kiss her for real.

  “Now who’s seducing who?” he teased in a triumphant tone.

  “Don’t be so impossibly conceited. As soon as we’re off this elevator, I’ll remember how terrible you’ve been to me because you’re determined to think me a horrible person, and I’ll want to avoid you all over again.”

  “In that case, I’d better seize the advantage while I still have it.”

  Pushing her back against the wall, his lips found hers. He kissed her hard and long, plunging his tongue into her mouth again and again. Glorious heat rushed through her veins as she kissed him back. Her heart still knocked, but no longer with fear. Reading her response, he lowered his mouth and kissed her nipple through her shirt.

  He lifted his head. Dazed, her heart racing, her mouth open, her eyes met the wildness in his gaze. He was the father of her unborn baby. In spite of all the walls she’d tried to erect against him, she still felt connected to him.

  What she really wanted was for him to love their child and maybe someday love her, too. And when he kissed her like this, some idiotic part of her believed that could happen, that he might change some day, that he might see her as she was and be capable of respecting her...of loving her.

  When the doors opened, he took her hand and tugged her into his dimly lit hall. He pulled her to his door, which he unlocked. In the entry, he slammed his door and locked it. Then he scooped her into his arms and carried her to her bedroom behind his kitchen, all the while kissing her as if he’d been driven mad by forced abstinence.

  “I’ve been a fool,” he whispered, “to deny myself when you make me feel like this. When no other woman, not ever, has come close to affecting me the way you do. The last few days with you have been hell because I’ve wanted you so much. I don’t care how you manipulated my brother.”

  She wished he’d quit saying that. Will had demanded she marry him—for the baby’s sake.

  “I...didn’t manipulate Will.”

  “Shh. I don’t care.”

  “But you don’t believe me—”

  “I don’t care.”

  But she did. Why couldn’t Michael wrap his mind around that?

  He was the one who had manipulated her and gotten her pregnant. Will had felt so horrible that his brother had abandoned her that he’d insisted she marry him.

  Gently Michael laid her on the bed and then followed her down. She opened her eyes and met the heat of his gaze as he smoothed her hair from her fevered brow and kissed her lips, nose and throat.

  “I don’t believe in happily ever after,” he whispered as his mouth moved lower.

  “I know.” He didn’t listen to her or believe her or even see her. “Believe me—I ge
t all the bad stuff about you.”

  “But I’ll give you everything else...if only you’ll live here and become my mistress.”

  “No.”

  “I want you. Never again will you have to worry about money or losing your bistro. I’ll take care of you...and Will’s baby. No matter what you say, I know those things matter to you.”

  Money, she thought but with only the faintest irritation. He wanted her, and he still thought she was so low that he could buy her. Their relationship was just another negotiation, a deal to him, terms to be established, services to be rendered for money that would be owed.

  She got him, but he didn’t get her. Did anything other than money and closing deals really matter to him?

  Money wasn’t the most important thing to her. Far from it. She was going to have his child. To her, that was all-important. Would that even matter to him if he knew? And if it did, what kind of deal would he propose?

  She could not be with a man like him on a permanent basis.

  But being with him tonight was a different matter. Tonight his passionate ardor had stirred her past caring that he was incapable of giving her what she really wanted for herself and their child—a lifetime of commitment and happiness, tenderness, trust and love.

  Deliciously pinned beneath his massive body, knowing he would soon strip her and fill her, felt so pleasurable she didn’t want to think about all the negatives. Dimly she remembered her plan to pack and run, to get herself as far away from him as possible. But she was much too weak to follow such a wise course that might protect her heart from a man who didn’t seem to have one.

  So she smiled up at him and kissed him on the lips.

  Tonight she would enjoy him. Tomorrow, and all the dreary tomorrows after that one, would be soon enough to deny herself.

  Tonight, she wanted him far too much to walk away.

  * * *

  She seemed so utterly sweet as she lay radiant beneath him.

  His wallet lay facedown on her bedside table, the packet of condoms he always carried inside ripped open. They were naked, and he was buried to the hilt in her slick, satin heat. He inhaled her sweet strawberry scent. She was warm, silky, tight—perfect, just as he’d remembered. Better than he’d remembered. Knowing her better had somehow increased his craving for her.

  His heart thudded violently. Primal urgency drove him to withdraw and plunge into her again and again, to rush, to finish, to make this an animal conquest instead of a spiritual connection. Instead, as if she was infinitely precious to him in ways he couldn’t begin to understand, he held her close, savoring this first moment of being joined to her.

  Relief that had nothing to do with sex flooded him.

  He felt whole.

  As a child he’d known the insecurity and the degradation of poverty, known too much about the things his mother had done for money.

  His mother had loved him, he supposed, but he’d never felt loved. He’d seen other mothers fuss over their kids. They’d come to games, cheered at competitions, met with teachers or worked in the classrooms. Not his mother, and he’d felt the lack of her concern. She hadn’t pushed him to succeed either or even believed that he could.

  He, however, had believed that if he became wealthy, he’d have power, respect and happiness—he’d have everything he’d craved as a child, including love.

  But it hadn’t worked out like that. He’d made it big in the financial sector. Somehow his loneliness and sense of alienation had only increased, until finally he’d let down his guard and trusted Anya. She’d gutted him, making him feel as powerless as he’d felt as a neglected child. He’d vowed never to allow himself to feel that vulnerable again.

  Irony of ironies: here he was again, wanting Bree so much he risked everything for her even though he knew she’d used his brother. The increasingly powerful need he felt for her terrified him.

  Being with her felt so good, so immensely pleasurable. Nothing had ever come close to the intensity of his feelings for her. He liked sharing the penthouse with her. All day as he worked, he liked knowing she’d be waiting for him when he came home. He’d enjoyed grocery shopping because he’d known she’d revel in the cheeses and crackers and sweets he’d bought her.

  He mustn’t let himself feel so much, couldn’t let himself want so much. Not with Bree, a woman who’d used his beloved brother.

  Money and power were the sources of his strength, not this woman. Maybe money couldn’t bring the happiness he’d once believed it could, but it bought some awfully nice substitutes. He had to be content with that.

  Bree moved in his arms and whispered his name, bringing him back to the present as she begged him in husky tones to kiss her, to take her, to please, please take her.

  His mouth found hers, and her instant response made him want her even more. Where would this end?

  Something stronger than he was made a mockery of his best intentions not to yield to his feelings for her. In her thrall, his lips ground against hers; his tongue mated with hers. When she clutched him frantically, he lost all control. Her nails bit into his back as she gasped.

  In that timeless moment when she melted and clung, he cried out her name. Shattered, he held her close, and all their differences fell away.

  His arms tightened around her as she bathed his face with kisses. She was his, and he was hers, so completely that nothing could ever come between them. Never before had he known such pleasure. Despite his doubts, the experience felt so true and honest happiness filled him.

  Slowly the moment of shared bliss ebbed. A few minutes later, when she idly stroked his nape, he tensed. As a small child he’d longed for such a simple caress.

  He blinked, terrified that she might sense how much such thoughtless affection meant to him.

  She couldn’t matter this much. Whatever this was, it had to be controlled, managed, put away.

  He could not lose himself completely to her. He would not.

  Without a word, he slid away from her burning fingertips and arose, knowing grimly that if he didn’t, he would make love to her again and again. And every time they came together, she would increase her hold over him until she was everything to him while only his money would matter to her. He didn’t want to feel craven, rejected and alone as he had as a child.

  Feeling doomed and miserable at the thought of leaving her, and yet knowing it was a matter of survival to do so, he forced himself to climb the stairs to his own bedroom. He would boot up his computer and work tonight. Work would be his salvation. Surely with work he could drive her out of his heart and mind.

  It wasn’t her fault that he had not felt enough love as a child or that no woman could ever make him feel loved now that he was a man. But he didn’t have to put himself under her power. He would lock this thing away, contain it, forget about it, admit nothing to her.

  Though earlier this same evening he’d been looking for ways to keep her here, now he wanted her gone—out of his penthouse.

  As for the rest of tonight, he couldn’t allow himself to see her again before he had himself firmly mastered. It would take every ounce of discipline and willpower he had, but he was determined not to wreck his life a second time.

  * * *

  Bree felt acute heartache when Michael deliberately rolled away from her and got up, cutting their connection.

  She wanted another night like their first. She wanted him to take her in his arms again. She wanted him to say he liked her, respected her. If he did, maybe she could trust him enough to confide the truth about her unborn child.

  A compulsion to bare her soul, to reach for him, to seize his hand and pull him back, took possession of her. But instead of begging him to stay as she’d done that first night, she lay still and quiet and watched him walk away. Even when she saw him stop in the doorway and turn, his profile was so stern she re
fused to call out to him.

  Then he walked out and closed the door, and she was left to toss restlessly in the dark, telling herself sorrowfully that his departure was really for the best. She should will herself to sleep. But she was too edgy, and she wanted so much more from him. Counting hundreds of imaginary sheep while she knotted and unknotted the corner of the sheet, she lay frozen in misery for at least an hour.

  When he didn’t come back to bed, she finally arose and pulled on his overlarge robe. Stealthily, she made her way out of her suite, down the hall and across his vast, opulent living area that was bathed in shadow and moonlight. Avoiding his elevator, she tiptoed up two flights of stairs. His bedroom door stood ajar, a stream of light spilling across the dark hall.

  He didn’t want her; he’d left her. She should go. But what if something was troubling him? Maybe no one had ever been there for him before. Maybe she could help him in some way.

  When she pushed the door open, she saw him hunched over his computer. In the bright glare of the screen his face was haggard and fierce. He was working; he often worked so hard he forgot to eat.

  “Michael,” she whispered softly as she slid inside the room. “You shouldn’t be working at this hour. Is anything wrong?”

  He was shirtless, so she saw every muscle in his powerful back swell and harden when he whirled on her. His strong body was as tough and hard as his brilliant business mind. He clenched his fists, as if he felt the need to defend himself from her attack.

  But she had no intention of attacking him.

  “What are you doing here?” he demanded so harshly he froze her heart.

  “I couldn’t sleep,” she murmured, seeking to soothe him rather than frighten or anger him. “I was too worried...about you.”

  “Worried? Right.” He sounded edgy, dubious, angry.