Claimed: The Pregnant Heiress

Emma froze in the doorway between the examination area of the doctor’s office and the waiting room and stared in disbelief at Chase. It had been less than forty-eight hours since they parted and yet he sat in one of the chairs, the ankle of one leg resting on the knee of the other in a typically masculine pose. A parenting magazine sat open on his lap. He flipped the magazine closed and tossed it onto the stack of similar periodicals spread across the glass-and-chrome table in front of him.

Her gaze darted to the other occupants in the waiting room and she worked hard—very hard—to keep her voice low and even. “What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you, of course. The nurse offered to let me join you.”

Emma drew in a deep breath. “Did she?” She turned to close the door behind her, using the few precious seconds it offered to regain her equilibrium.

“She did,” Chase confirmed. “Next time I’ll take her up on her offer.”

It was a warning, as clear as though he’d shouted it. Clutching the various pieces of literature the doctor had given her to study, along with an ultrasound photo of their baby, she forced herself to walk briskly across the waiting room toward the exit. Chase stood, pocketed his BlackBerry and followed her. She managed to keep her temper until they reached the parking lot and were standing where they couldn’t be overheard.

Then she turned on Chase. “How dare you? How dare you!”

Apparently, he dared plenty because he didn’t appear to appreciate the extent of her outrage. If anything, his features settled into a stone-hard cast. “You knew I wanted to be at that first appointment.”

“Why?” She jabbed a finger into his chest, allowing her anger free rein. “In order to be with me? Or in order to ask whether you could get an immediate paternity test?”

He planted his fists on his hips and bowed his head for a moment before shooting her a straight look. “I have the right to know whether the baby is mine.”

“Oh, for …” She took a deep breath. Getting upset wasn’t good for her and it certainly wasn’t good for the baby. “I’m done with this conversation.”

“Not a chance.” He glanced around the downtown district adjacent to the medical building and gestured toward Bistro by the Sea—or the Bistro as the locals referred to the small deli and coffee shop. “Come on. We can grab a couple coffees and talk there.”

She didn’t bother to resist. They had to have this out at some point. Better someplace where they could conduct their conversation with enough privacy to speak frankly, but in a public setting so she could get up and walk away whenever she’d had enough of Chase’s frankness.

He chose an outdoor table in the sun, one well out of the reach of the crisp northern breeze. Excusing himself, he went inside and returned a few minutes later with a large coffee for himself. Instead of another for her, he’d been considerate enough to purchase an herbal tea. Then he took a seat and regarded her thoughtfully.

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