One Night, So Pregnant!

Tess glared at the man standing in the centre of her empty living room—his imposing build filling up most of the available space and taking up all the oxygen too. She’d hardly pushed herself this morning, settling on a very leisurely four-mile run, so why the heck couldn’t she breathe?

‘That was then.’ She glared harder. ‘This is now, and I don’t want to have anything to do with you any more.’

‘Tough,’ he countered, actually having the gall to sound self-righteous. ‘Because I want to talk to you.’

‘Oh, really?’ She placed a finger on her chin. ‘I wonder why? Have you come to accuse me of lying again?’

The crease on his brow became a fissure. ‘I never accused you of anything.’ The statement was clear, precise and so smug it made her want to slap him. Men like him never even thought to apologise for their actions.

‘Terrific, well, I’m glad we got that settled.’ She waved her hand dismissively. ‘You can go now.’ She walked back into the kitchenette, and concentrated on keeping her glare in place.

She heard him step into the kitchenette behind her and turned, more than a little disconcerted to find him within a foot of her. She plopped the glass on the counter, the narrow space way too vivid a reminder of the close confines of a certain utility cupboard.

‘If you insist on staying, why don’t you tell me what you want to talk about?’ she asked, annoyed that he was doing that oxygen-sucking thing again and all she could smell was the piney scent of his soap, which had to be the reason for her breathing difficulties. ‘That way we can get it over with and never have to lay eyes on each other again.’

Which was what she wanted. Fervently.

‘If you were really pregnant with my child, what I want to talk about would be pretty damn obvious.’ His gaze raked over her—and her sweaty running gear became a cast-iron corset, pressing into her breasts.

If.

The word was loaded with as much doubt and accusation as she remembered from his office over a week ago. But instead of leaving her feeling shocked and vulnerable, this time all his low opinion did was make her temper ignite. She concentrated on the flare of anger, and tried to ignore the tightening around her ribcage.

‘All right, then.’ She crossed her arms, annoyed when her swollen breasts began to throb under his gaze for no apparent reasons. ‘If you’re so convinced I’m not pregnant with your child, what exactly are you doing here?’

Before she could react, she saw the sheen of lust dilate his pupils and his hand clasped the back of her neck. Her arms released instinctively as he pulled her flush against him, his lips millimetres from hers, her heavy breasts not just throbbing now, but aching. She arched into him instinctively, pressing the swollen tips against the solid wall of his chest like a hungry cat.

‘You know what I’m doing here,’ he growled, the words guttural with desperation. ‘It’s the same reason you let me into the apartment. I can’t get you out of my head.’

And then his lips were on hers. And all pretence of sense, or even sensibility, burned away in a fireball of need.

Her fingers sank into the glossy strands of hair at the base of his skull, massaged his scalp as he devoured her mouth, bit into her lower lip. She thrust her tongue into the hot recesses of his mouth, kissing him back with an instinctive need to taste, to take, to torture him the way he was torturing her.

He dragged his mouth away. His harsh breathing rasping against her ear as he fumbled for her running vest, yanked it over her head, then pressed his palms against her sports bra, lifting the weight of her heavy breasts. Her thin cry of need reverberated in her ears.

‘How can I still want you this much?’ he groaned, his words echoing her thoughts.

He released the hook on her bra and scooped up her tender flesh with his rough palms. Then his mouth—hot and wet—closed over the straining nipple. He suckled hard then transferred to the other nipple, tugged on the newly sensitive peak and made a pistol shot of need explode inside her.

She sucked in a shuddering breath, sobbed as he continued to torment first one breast then the other, and the firestorm rushed towards her. She screamed, the clench and rush of fulfilment sudden and shockingly intense.

‘Did you just come?’

All she could manage was a weak nod, as stunned by the staggering speed and intensity of her orgasm as he was.

His brows rose up his forehead then he swore, grasping her hips and lifting her easily onto the countertop. She clung to him, her body limp, sated, despite the pressure now burning like an inferno between her thighs. The Formica felt cold on her bottom as he yanked down her sweats, pulled them off and ripped the purple silk of her knickers. She listened in a trance to the sound of clothing being struggled out of, ripping foil, the ragged pants of their breathing.

And then he was there, huge and solid, the blunt head of his erection probing her entrance.

He stopped abruptly, his chest heaving as the deep blue gaze connected with hers. ‘I want to be inside you.’

She watched his jaw clench, rigid with the effort to hold back, and somewhere her dazed mind registered that he was asking her for permission before he took that final plunge. She lifted her arms around his neck, wrapped her legs around his hips and pressed her burning centre against the brutal pressure, letting instinct take over and damning the consequences.

‘Don’t stop,’ she demanded.

He groaned, gripped her bottom and impaled her in one glorious, all-consuming stroke. He pulled out briefly, then thrust back, harder, faster and further—filling every part of her. His fingers dug into her buttocks, anchoring her for the brutal possession, his movements not smooth or controlled, but basic, elemental, just like their first time. He adjusted her hips, his pelvis caressing her swollen clitoris with each powerful inward thrust, and the pleasure built in an unstoppable rush, rolling through her. Forcing her up, dragging her back, and hurling her over again.

She sobbed through that last brutal release and crashed past the final barrier as his feral shout of fulfilment followed her over the edge.

CHAPTER FIVE

PLEASE let it have been an erotic dream…

TESS squeezed her eyes shut and prayed as she walked down the hallway of her apartment, drying her damp hair after a desperate attempt to rinse off the scent of sex and insanity in the apartment’s power shower.

‘I made coffee. All I could find was decaff.’

Her gaze darted to the kitchenette at the husky comment, and the towel flopped onto her shoulders. The muscles in her spine tensed at the sight of the man standing by the counter with a mug of coffee at his lips.

Fabulous.

This was no dream. It was a nightmare. She really had made love to Nate Graystone like a sex-starved rabbit, twenty minutes ago.

Apart from the two undone buttons at the top of his pristine white shirt, and the furrows in his thick black hair, he didn’t look like a man who had recently been ravaged by a nymphomaniac.

Unfortunately, she knew better.

She resisted the urge to groan. And let go of the fervent prayer that he might have taken the hint when she shot off to the shower, and miraculously vanished.

‘Decaff is all I have.’ She avoided his eyes, deciding that the post-coital politeness was as unbearable as the antagonism that had preceded it.

‘I hope black works, because I couldn’t find cream either,’ he said, handing her a cup.

‘Black’s fine.’ She leant over the counter to take the mug he must have pulled out of her packing case, careful not to step back into the kitchenette with him.

Best not to get too close to him again. The man had some weird chemical effect on her self-control that appeared to be exacerbated by her pregnancy—how else could she have allowed this to happen? Again.

‘I’m moving out this afternoon. Hence the empty fridge,’ she said, ignoring his steady, concentrated gaze as she skirted round the countertop and retreated back into the living area.

She heard his footsteps on the wooden flooring as he took the hint this time and followed her into the larger space.

‘Listen, Tess.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Despite how it looks, I didn’t come here to…’ She turned when he hesitated, surprised to see the dull flush on his cheeks beneath his tan.

Some of the tension in her shoulder blades eased at the thought that he was as confused by their insane behaviour as she was.

‘To boff me senseless on my kitchen counter,’ she finished for him.

He looked taken aback for a moment, then huffed out a laugh. ‘That’s one way of putting it.’

He sipped his coffee, watching her intently over the rim as if he were trying to gauge her mood. ‘I seem to have serious control problems when it comes to you and confined spaces.’

Despite the flutter of panic still buzzing about in her belly, she smiled. ‘Ditto.’

‘You’re not angry?’ he asked, sounding genuinely surprised.

‘Why would I be angry? You gave me the choice and I distinctly remember giving you my whole-hearted permission.’

He chuckled, his eyes glittering with amusement.

‘Although I think next time you give a girl a choice,’ she added playfully, hoping humour would skim over the awkwardness, ‘don’t wait until the moment of penetration. It might make your offer seem a little disingenuous.’

He stepped forward. ‘Point taken.’

‘And knicker-ripping is sort of frowned on too. Those happened to be Indian silk.’

‘I ripped your panties?’

‘Yes, you did, I have the torn shreds to prove it. By the way that’s two pairs you owe me now.’

The lazy smile softened his features and reminded her painfully of the reckless, devil-may-care charmer who had seduced her so easily nearly two months before. ‘Don’t worry, I’m good for them.’ Then he reached out and touched her cheek.

Tess jerked her head away from the tender stroke, disturbed by the clutch in her heart and the awareness shimmering across her cheekbone.

‘No touching, Nate,’ she said, holding onto the shiver of longing when his hand dropped to his side. ‘Twice was enough, don’t you think?’

Even for a raving nymphomaniac.

The smile died on his lips—but she refused to regret it.

Their latest chemical explosion was only going to complicate an already untenable situation. She’d made a commitment to have her baby.

She’d signed up with Eva’s obstetrician and had her first appointment four days ago. She’d bought a stack of books on pregnancy and childbirth, and had been on the phone every morning to Eva to debate her ballooning bust size and the slight queasiness that contrary to everyone else she’d ever heard of only affected her in the afternoon. And she’d been to the pharmacy to stock up on enough pregnancy vitamins to fell a rhinoceros. She’d even lined up interviews with a series of hospitality firms and started putting together a killer portfolio of her recent events to wow their socks off if she got an interview.

And after a week of careful planning, and getting her life—her new life—into some semblance of order, she was convinced that she’d made the right decision. But it was her choice, and her baby, and she wanted to keep it that way. She wasn’t going to make the mistake of trying to drag Nate Graystone into that equation again, just because he had some spurious biological connection to her child.

Clearly, spending over a year dating a man who had the sex drive of a sloth had made her uniquely susceptible to a man with the libido of a rampant tiger, but she wasn’t going to give in to her hormones—or him—again.

She folded her arms over her waist and dampened the silly little blip in her heart rate as his gaze intensified. Let him think what he wanted. She needed to get over her reaction to this man. And fast. And flirting with him probably wasn’t the best way to go about it.

‘So what exactly did you come here for?’ she murmured when he didn’t say anything.

Suspicion shadowed his eyes.

‘I came to find out if you are really pregnant and if the child’s definitely mine.’

There was that if again, she thought resentfully. But she held onto her temper this time, determined not to say anything she would probably end up regretting.

She’d foolishly had monkey sex with Nate Graystone twice now, but a chemical reaction was not a relationship. He’d rejected her once and he’d rejected her child too—she wasn’t going to leave herself open to more of the same.

‘Why the sudden change of heart?’ she asked evasively. ‘You seemed fairly convinced I was a lying tart the last time we met.’

His brow creased, and the familiar cynicism flickered across his face. ‘I never said that.’

She put the coffee mug down. ‘I told you I was pregnant. You told me it wasn’t yours. What part of that didn’t I understand?’

‘I overreacted,’ he replied curtly.

‘That’s quite an understatement,’ she said. ‘But it still doesn’t answer my question. What made you change your mind and decide I might not be lying after all?’

‘I never said you were lying.’ The crease on his brow became a fissure. ‘Are you pregnant or not? And if you are, how sure are you the child is mine?’

Tess pushed her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. Did he really believe that the truth was all that mattered? That whether or not he was the father made up for the flippant response, the cold dismissal?

‘How would you react? If I told you that I am pregnant and the child’s definitely yours?’

‘I don’t know. Is that what you are telling me?’ he asked, his voice rising.

It was her turn to frown. ‘What do you mean, you don’t know?’

‘I mean, I don’t know. I haven’t thought that far ahead. Now give me a straight answer, damn it.’

Her heart sank at his curt, frustrated tone and what it meant. He didn’t feel anything for this child. He was simply here out of some warped sense of duty. She’d given him a straight answer ten days ago and he hadn’t wanted to hear it then. And she doubted he wanted to hear it now.

If her child asked one day about its biological father, she could contact Nate again. But right here, right now, he didn’t want to be involved. And she didn’t want him there, if he didn’t want to be there, it was as simple as that, because a child could always tell if its father didn’t want it. She ought to know.

‘There isn’t a baby any more—is that straight enough for you?’

She’d expected him to look relieved, but instead he looked momentarily stunned. ‘Any more? Did you have an abortion?’

‘No,’ she said instinctively, and a little too hastily. ‘No, I…’ She struggled to regroup and get the lie back on track. ‘The test was faulty.’

‘But you took three tests? How could they all be faulty?’

When had she told him that? She swallowed, keeping her face as blank as possible—lying had never been one of her strong suits. ‘They weren’t faulty exactly. It’s called a false positive.’

‘I see,’ he said, the words loaded with scepticism. ‘So you’re definitely not pregnant? And you never were?’

‘No, I’m…’ The lie got stuck somewhere around her larynx, she gave a little cough, to force it out. ‘No, I’m definitely not pregnant. So you can leave now, and forget about me.’

He held her gaze, studying her with an intensity that made her want to squirm, then his focus dipped deliberately and zeroed in on her cleavage. Her breasts chose that precise moment to strain against the fabric of her T-shirt. She pulled her hands out of her pockets and tightened her arms across her chest, wishing she’d put on something looser, and a lot less revealing.

But as the seconds ticked past the irony of the situation hit her. First he didn’t believe her when she told him she was pregnant. And now he didn’t believe her when she said she wasn’t.

She might not know much about this guy, but one thing was for sure: he had some serious trust issues with women. He sure as hell had a trust issue with her.

And all right, he’d be correct in assuming she was lying now. But she was only doing it for the benefit of her baby. And for goodness’ sake, she was doing him a favour, letting him off a hook he’d made it abundantly clear he didn’t relish being caught on.

At long last he lifted his head. ‘Whatever happens, I won’t forget you, Tess.’ A flush climbed up her neck at his gruff words. ‘You’re kind of unforgettable.’

She tried to ignore the inappropriate pulse of heat, but then he cradled her cheek and brushed his thumb over her bottom lip and she had to force herself to shift away from his tantalising touch.

He walked to the door, and sent her one last penetrating look over his shoulder. As the door closed behind him she covered her belly with her palms, surprised to feel her knees shaking slightly.

Don’t be idiotic—you’ve done the only smart thing.

She had tons to concentrate on in the next few months, like having a healthy pregnancy, finding secure employment with better healthcare benefits and locating a much cheaper apartment before she outstayed her welcome with Nick and Eva.

A man who had her turning into an insatiable sex maniac every time she so much as caught a whiff of his scent would only help concentrate her into an emotional and physical wreck.

Nate settled in the driver’s seat of the Jeep, tugged the smart phone out of the back pocket of his trousers and keyed the words ‘false positive pregnancy test’ into the Internet browser. After scouring the relevant web pages, he then typed the words ‘pregnancy early signs’ into the search engine. Five minutes later, he switched the app off and tilted his head back against the seat, frustration making the sinews in his neck hurt.

What the hell had he been thinking having sex with her again?

He’d known it was a mistake, the second he’d touched the soft skin of her nape and slanted his lips across hers, but her gasp of surrender had sent the arrow of need soaring straight into his groin.

Tess Tremaine did something to him, something that sliced through all his self-control, until he was acting on autopilot, feeling instead of thinking, wanting instead of weighing up. And running solely on the endorphin rush of spectacular sex.

He adjusted his pants, discomforted by the memory of how his control had snapped so suddenly. One minute they’d been sniping at each other and the next they’d been going for it on her kitchen counter.

He rubbed his hands down his face, the frustration now warring with embarrassment and disbelief.

Get over it, Graystone.

He eased his head off the seat and stared down the street. Getting worked up about what an ass he’d been was getting him nowhere. This wasn’t about him, it wasn’t even about the sex they’d had, this was about Tess and her complete inability to give him a straight answer about anything. She’d lied about not being pregnant, he was sure of it. Because however volatile and contradictory and confusing and downright intoxicating the woman was, one thing was for absolute sure: unlike Marlena, she couldn’t lie worth a damn.

And he had a bad feeling he already knew the reason why she’d lied.

He glanced up at her block, curious now at the thought of the empty apartment and all those packing boxes. Where exactly was she moving to? Didn’t he have a right to know that? If he was the father of her child?

The picture of a child—his child—rose unbidden in his mind. He rubbed his palm against the tightening in his chest, swallowed down the tightening in his throat. What if she was planning to head back to Britain?

Picking his phone up, he stabbed in Walter Jensen’s office number.

He didn’t want to think about the baby. And he wasn’t going to, not until he absolutely had to. But he was through playing nice with Tess Tremaine. She was going to give him the truth and if that meant getting his attorney involved—and staying the hell away from confined spaces—so be it.

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