Her Pregnancy Secret Page 7

  * * *

  Bree didn’t do helpless well, so she felt guilty doing nothing as she sat in her tiny office amid piles of paper she very badly needed to organize, one eye on the nightly news and the other on Bijou and their undermanned kitchen staff. Several people had begged to be off tonight, so Bijou was dashing about shouting orders and screaming ineffectively at the waiters and prep cooks.

  The closer it got to the dinner hour, the more pressured Bree felt to help. But she had promised Michael she’d go to his place at 6:30 sharp. She knew that was the bistro’s busiest time, and didn’t want to be tempted to pitch in. Glancing at her watch, she realized she’d be late if she didn’t leave immediately.

  Just as she was about to grab her purse and turn off the television, Michael’s tall, dark image blazed on the screen. He strode out of one of the city’s flashiest hotels with a beautiful blonde dressed in a sheath of skintight silver who smiled as reporters swarmed them.

  While the newscaster babbled excitedly about Natalia’s seven-figure contract with a major cosmetics company and Michael’s multigazillion-dollar project in Shanghai, Bree couldn’t take her eyes off the sexy supermodel, whose hands were all over Michael.

  Bree turned the television off and flung the remote aside so roughly it smashed against her desk, causing its back to pop open and its batteries to spill out.

  She caught them before they hit the floor. With shaking fingers she grabbed the remote and stuffed the little suckers back inside.

  She didn’t care who Michael dated...or how damn beautiful the woman was. He was nothing to her, nothing other than her bossy brother-in-law who’d used her doctors to bully her into moving in with him so he could run her life for the rest of this week.

  He was nothing to her.

  He’s the father of my unborn child.

  That was an unfortunate fact she would have preferred to forget.

  No way was she going back to Michael’s stuffy building and endure the snooty stares of his doorman and then sit in her suite behind his kitchen all alone while he was with the incredibly beautiful, immensely successful Natalia. No way. She’d stay where she was, with people who loved her and approved of her.

  Just because he was her brother-in-law and a North, just because he was immensely wealthy and lived in a palatial building on Fifth Avenue, just because he was the father of her baby didn’t mean he had the right to dictate to her.

  He would have to earn that right.

  * * *

  It was well after 8:00 p.m. when Michael let himself into his dark penthouse. He’d worked with a vengeance at the office and had been five minutes late to pick up Natalia. Then she’d embarrassed him by sulking in front of Todd at the bar because he hadn’t called or texted or sent flowers during the past month. When he hadn’t invited her to dinner after they’d said goodbye to Todd and his wife, she’d thrown a fit.

  Unfortunately, Michael had been so exhausted from his sleepless night in that chair beside Bree’s bed and his long day at work, he’d exploded.

  Forgetting how sensitive she was to even the slightest criticism, he’d said something about beauty, even hers, being impermanent and had advised her to let him or someone like him invest her money for her.

  “My money! Is that all you care about? You don’t think my beauty will last. Are you saying you don’t love me, either?”

  When he hadn’t argued that point, she’d puffed up in hurt and indignation and slapped him. “You don’t love me!”

  “You don’t love me, either.”

  “Why, oh, why does everybody hate me?”

  Then Natalia had broken up with him.

  She was such a child. He’d hurt her, and he hadn’t meant to. Tomorrow he’d send her a note apologizing and proclaiming her beauty along with roses and a parting gift.

  Okay—so he was buying her off.

  But the only good thing that had come out of their unpleasant night together was that she’d taken his mind off Bree and Will for a little while.

  Still, no matter what had happened today or what he’d found out about Bree, she was injured and pregnant and he’d sworn he’d take care of her and the baby.

  So here he was, home early to check on a houseguest he would have preferred to strangle.

  He removed his jacket and threw it on a chair. Crossing his great room, he went to the bar where he poured himself a single shot of vodka. As he bolted it, the silence of the immense room ate at him.

  Earlier, before he’d left for the office, Bree had his stereo going as well as her television because she said his penthouse felt like a tomb.

  Where the hell was she?

  He needed a night’s sleep to calm down from the attorney’s news. The last thing he wanted to do was deal with Bree and risk more feminine drama, but he strode across the living room, down the hall and past his vast kitchen until he reached the guest suite.

  The space was on the lower floor and had originally been designed as a maid’s quarters. Since he didn’t have a live-in maid, and since Bree had a thing against elevators and he had a thing against her climbing stairs in her delicate condition, he’d suggested she use the suite.

  He was about to raise his hand to knock when he realized her door was ajar. Slightly alarmed, he pushed it open.

  Her suite was dark. Flipping on the lights, he tore through the rooms, calling her name, first in anger, then in mounting concern.

  Her duffel bag was open. Colorful, silky clothes and sparkly costume jewelry that she hadn’t bothered to put away spilled onto the floor. Lacy bras and panties littered the top of the dresser. It didn’t take long to determine she was out or to figure out where she probably was—Chez Z.

  Damn it. She had a baby to think about. What didn’t she get about her condition and the gravity of her injuries?

  Did she want to lose Will’s baby?

  Slamming his glass down, he spun on his heel and tore out of his penthouse.

  Five

  When Michael didn’t see Bree in the noisy, crowded dining room of Chez Z, he found Bijou, who was pouring ice water into stemmed glasses.

  “Is she still here?”

  Bijou’s brows shot upward. “I told her to go home an hour ago, but she’s in a mood.”

  “In a mood?”

  “Everybody says she’s super-dedicated to saving Z’s restaurant for the family and the investors, but I call it stubborn. Still, she did take it easy all day...until this evening...around 6:30. I don’t know what set her off. I told her to go home. When she was obstinate, I thought about calling you, but I misplaced your business card. And then things got busy.”

  He gave Bijou another business card for future reference. “Where is she now?”

  “We had several plates returned to the kitchen because the scallops were soggy, so she’s in the back teaching Mark how to dry scallops properly before he sautés them so they won’t taste as if they’ve been steamed. The poor thing’s nearly dead on her feet, but will she listen?”

  Dead on her feet.

  A pang of sympathy shot through him. Then he grew angrier. Whose fault was it, if she was tired?

  Irritated, he swept past Bijou, banging through the kitchen doors in his impatience to find her.

  When a startled Bree looked up, her eyes blank and shadowed with exhaustion, another wave of concern hit him.

  “You’re coming home with me now,” Michael said.

  “Your penthouse in that stuffy building is so not home.”

  “I’m not here to play word games,” Michael said firmly.

  She turned her back on him and faced the line of people in white behind her. “Ignore him. Don’t let him break your concentration.”

  “If you don’t get your purse and whatever else you think you need tonight in two seconds flat and come
with me, I swear I’m going to pick you up and carry you out of here.”

  She whirled. “Just because you think you rule the world, and you practically do, you aren’t the only one who has a job to do, you know. I have one, too.”

  “This isn’t about our work. You’re pregnant. You’re the only survivor from a wreck that killed three people yesterday. You were injured.”

  “Minimally. I’m young and strong.”

  “Young and strong? You’re exhausted and grieving. A corpse has more color and life than you do.”

  “Your heir is perfectly safe,” she said.

  “Step away from that stove,” he ordered.

  “He’s right. Go on home, darlin’,” Mark said behind her. “We’ve got your back. I swear. We won’t let you down.”

  With Mark’s betrayal, the last spark of resistance in her eyes dulled. “Okay,” she whispered wearily to Mark, and then to Michael she said, “You win. I’m coming. Just don’t touch me. Don’t you dare put a hand on me or try to pick me up.”

  Although she was trying to stand up to him, she looked like she was about to shatter.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he drawled softly.

  He felt close to some edge himself, dangerously out of control. Why was it that only she affected him like this?

  * * *

  It was a beautiful night. The moon was big, the air crisp. Not that either of them was enjoying the loveliness of the black velvet sky lit by starlight.

  No, the air in the dark interior of his silver Mercedes fairly crackled with white-hot tension as Michael whipped through the crowded streets. He hadn’t spoken to her since they’d left the restaurant, and he was driving so fast, Bree was almost afraid to say anything for fear of distracting him. His hands clenched the wheel. His eyes narrowed as he focused on the flying vehicles on all sides of them and the changing traffic signals ahead.

  Suddenly the silence felt so thick and smothering she couldn’t breathe. Reaching forward, she turned on his radio, moving the dial instinctively until she found hard rock, hoping the heavy beat would make it impossible for her to think about Michael’s pulsing fury.

  With a hard jerk of his wrist, he switched the radio off.

  “So—do you want to talk to me or not?” she said after a long interval of unendurable, hostile silence.

  “No. I just prefer silence to your insane music.”

  “Well, I find your bullying and your rage oppressive.”

  “Deal with it—since you’re the cause of it.”

  “You didn’t need to drive all this way to get me, you know. You could have called me or something.”

  “Right,” he growled. “And just like that, you would have come running.”

  Glad she’d goaded him, she fought not to smile.

  The big silver car shot through the dark like a missile, narrowly missing a biker, who shot the finger at them.

  When she heaved in a breath and clenched her door, she realized how shaken she must still be from the accident.

  “Hey, shouldn’t you slow down before you kill us or some innocent courier?”

  “You’re so self-destructive I’m surprised you care,” he said, but after glancing at her, he lifted his foot off the accelerator fractionally.

  “Oh, because if I don’t do exactly what you say, I’m self-destructive?” she persisted, trying to ignore her fear of the other cars.

  “How long were you at the bistro?”

  “All day.”

  “Exactly.” His single word punched the air with such force it took all her courage to dare a shocked glance at his broad-shouldered profile.

  “Quit sulking. Everybody works better if I’m there,” she said. “I owe a lot of people a lot of money. I don’t want to let them down.”

  “Right—you’re so dedicated.”

  His scowl told her he was still furious.

  “What’s the matter with you? I thought you were on a date, enjoying yourself with that model. Having the time of your life.”

  “What?” The single word ripped into her like an explosion.

  Before she knew what he was doing, he’d jerked the car across two lanes, to the curb, amid a barrage of blaring horns. Once they stopped, he engaged his warning lights.

  “What’s wrong with you?” she cried.

  “You! Do you think I want you in my life? Want you haunting my every thought? I drove myself all day at the office in the hope I could forget about you and the way you used your charm to blindside my brother. The poor fool took off his seat belt to save you. He’s dead because of you!”

  His cruel words hit their intended mark. She’d tormented herself with the same thought, but she swallowed tightly and held her head high.

  “Hey,” she said, “while I was in my office—resting obediently—who should I see but you? On TV. With one of the world’s most beautiful women. Natalia Somebody Or Other.”

  “I had a late business meeting. She was my date.”

  “Right. Well, you didn’t look the least bit haunted to me. You weren’t going to be at your penthouse, so why should I go over there and sit around all by myself dwelling on Will and Tony when you were out having fun?”

  “Fun? You think you know everything about me, do you?”

  “I know you want to be seen with women like her, that you date them or collect them...probably just to enhance your image because you don’t have a heart.”

  “Collect them? No heart? So—now I’m inhuman, too?”

  “I know that the only reason you slept with me was to make Will hate me because you were protecting his precious money...and your own.”

  When he thought about the trust fund she’d acquired the day of her marriage, her holier-than-thou attitude grew intolerable.

  “With sharks like you out there, someone had to protect it.”

  “See—you don’t care about me at all! Why are you so concerned about what I’m doing?”

  “I don’t care? You think I don’t care?” He felt out of control, on dangerous ground, but he couldn’t back down. He cared too much. That was the problem.

  “I felt lost and miserable. The restaurant took my mind off things. So what if I didn’t go to your penthouse? You had Natalia to distract you, didn’t you?”

  “Shut up. Forget Natalia. She means nothing to me.”

  “Well, she had her hands all over you, and you seemed to be eating it up.”

  “You don’t know anything about me. About what I feel.”

  “What do you feel then?”

  “Disappointment. Disillusionment...that you’re as bad as I believed you to be.”

  “Oh....” She so didn’t like him.

  Then why did his assessment crush her?

  Unsnapping his seat belt and then hers, he yanked her toward him roughly.

  “Quit it! I don’t want to be manhandled by someone who dislikes me.”

  “I wish I disliked you,” he muttered. “Even though I know what you are, on some level I fell for the sweet innocent you pretended to be that first night and can’t get her out my head.”

  “The last thing I want to think about is that night!” When she balled her hands and pushed against his massive chest, his mouth closed over hers.

  “I don’t want to kiss you when you’re angry like this, when you say such awful things,” she whispered as his hard, determined lips took hers again. “Don’t do this.”

  His breath came in harsh rasps. “I don’t want Natalia, you little fool,” he said. His tongue pushed inside her mouth. “I want you,” he said. “In spite of everything that’s hard and cold about you, I want you.” He kissed her again.

  Beneath his anger, Bree felt the fierce desire inside him. Natalia or no Natalia, he was as lonely as Bree was and driven by ne
eds he fought but couldn’t deny.

  It was as if they were both two lost creatures hemmed in by this crowded city where neither could find a haven anywhere but with each other. Which was ridiculous. She wasn’t lost; she had a family. And he hated her. He was a heartless money machine who dated gorgeous supermodels for show. She didn’t even like him.

  So why was his mouth fused to hers, and why had she stopped fighting?

  Why was he kissing her like a man who would die if he couldn’t have her?

  Her hurt over his poor opinion of her, her hurt over Natalia, was forgotten. Dazed, her arms closed around his neck, and she pulled him closer, communicating with her seeking lips and tongue that she wanted him as desperately as he wanted her.

  He kissed her until she couldn’t breathe. Until his anger dissolved, and his kisses grew sweeter. Then his lips moved lingeringly down her throat.

  After an infinite time of shared kisses and feverishly whispered love words passed between them, he dragged his mouth from hers and stared at her in the dark. Again, the intensity in his gaze communicated his need. The same wildness that pulsed in his blood, pulsed in hers. Confused, she didn’t think she’d ever seen so much misery, shock or passion in anyone’s eyes as she saw in his.

  How could he, of all people, blow away everything she knew to be sensible and logical and make her want him with every fiber of her being?

  What if he’s not as bad as I thought or as bad as he thinks he is? He came after me tonight, didn’t he? He came after me because he cares.

  If you think that, you’re a fool—you never want to see the truth about people when your heart’s involved.

  But my heart’s not involved. I won’t let it be.

  She didn’t know what to say or do. Apparently neither did he. Without offering an apology or explanation, he turned off the warning lights, snapped on his seat belt and ordered her to fasten hers. Too shaken by what had happened to protest, she obeyed him.

  They drove through a tangle of Manhattan traffic, most of it jostling taxicabs, in tense silence until they reached Fifth Avenue. Then, even as he was racing around the front of his Mercedes to open her door, she jumped out. Slamming it, she stalked silently past him and his uniformed doorman, although she did blush when the man’s eyebrows rose in what she imagined to be disapproval.