on the night. I’ve worked with Malcolm. He’s attractive, sure, but he never made my knees go weak.”
“And I do?” Nick said, a cocky grin forming on his lips.
“I think we’ve proven that. Twice now. But that’s not what you’re here to talk about.”
The grin widened, then faded again. “I just wanted you to know that I wasn’t deliberately deceiving you.”
She arched an eyebrow. “You were there on Malcolm’s ticket. That’s pretty deliberate.”
“That’s a fair point,” he said, wincing. “There was something I needed to do for Malcolm.”
“Deal with his stalker?”
Nick’s head jerked up and he met her gaze, surprise clear in his eyes. “You saw that?”
The whole staff at Tate Armor knew about the guy—an ex-customer—who’d been so angry at Malcolm personally that he’d begun to make threats. Malcolm, nice as ever, had been trying to use diplomacy to defuse the situation. No one else had believed that had a chance of working. And the fact that the entire town was on edge thanks to the blackmailer Maverick only made things worse. There were whispers in the office that the guy might be working for Maverick, but Harper had always thought it was unrelated—Maverick’s modus operandi was completely different. Which had left them with a run-of-the-mill jerk who wasn’t responding to Malcolm’s way of dealing with the situation.
Then, at the masked ball, Harper had been fascinated when the man she thought was Malcolm had calmly but firmly laid down the law for the man. He hadn’t even had to say much. It had been in his slightly menacing stance. In his lethal tone of voice. The troublemaker hadn’t been happy, but he’d clearly known he was up against a brick wall and had let it go.
“Yes, I saw you. You were...formidable.” He hadn’t had to do anything sinister, but it had been obvious to both Malcolm’s stalker and to her that Nick was almost entirely composed of tightly coiled energy only just held under control. It had scared one of them off. Harper, however, had pulled him out onto the dance floor and made love with him soon after. “But you still could have told me.”
“I wasn’t sure if you knew Malcolm. You never called me by his name, so I thought you were meeting me just as me. Besides,” he said, his cocky grin back in place, “neither of us seemed to be in the mood for chitchat.”
She sipped her peppermint tea and hoped he’d attribute the heat in her cheeks to the steam curling up from the drink and not from blushing at the memory.
“And I would have told you afterward, but you left in a hurry.” He let the statement hang in the air—not quite an accusation, but clearly waiting for an explanation.
For a moment, she was back in the suite Nick had rented in the hotel where the ball was being held, straightening her clothes, mumbling an inadequate “I have to go” and trying not to break into a sprint, hoping Malcolm—Nick—didn’t get his trousers on and catch up to her before she made it out to her car.
She didn’t even meet his eyes as she said, “I suddenly realized I’d slept with my boss. There may have been some freaking out happening.”
He considered that for a moment and waited until she looked at him before replying. “I get that. Although, at the time, not knowing the background, you could say I was somewhat surprised.”
“It might have been different if I’d known you weren’t my—” She didn’t complete the sentence as the logic tripped her up. “Actually, you’re still my boss. Just the silent partner at the company.”
“True, but let’s leave that aside for the moment.” He took a mouthful of coffee, then put his mug on the counter and dug his hands in his pockets before meeting her gaze. “No excuses. I should have told you, and I apologize.”
“Accepted,” she said and blew out a breath, glad to leave the topic behind.
Nick picked up his coffee mug again and downed another mouthful. The silence was heavy with all that still sat unresolved between them, but she wasn’t sure how to start now.
Finally, he said, “We’d better talk about what we’re going to do.”
She pushed off the counter she’d been leaning on and headed for the living room. “Come in and sit down.” This conversation could go well or could be a disaster, and the only thing she had to help smooth the process was comfortable seating, which wasn’t particularly reassuring.
“So, we’re having a baby,” he said without preamble once they were settled on the sofa.
She nodded, glad he’d brought the subject up. He’d obviously known she was pregnant—the timing of his appearance was too coincidental to mean anything else—but she was relieved not to have to announce the news for the second time in one night. “We are.”
“I assume since you sought me—well, Malcolm—out, when you didn’t have to, that you’re planning on keeping it?”
“Yes.” She’d turned in her seat so her back was against the armrest. She wanted to be able to see his reactions more easily and also create a little distance. Clearly she needed all the help with that she could get. “Are you on board with that?”
“Absolutely,” he said without hesitation. “Don’t doubt for a second that I want our baby.”
Unease prickled across her skin. His gaze was deadly serious, and she didn’t know him well enough to read him. Did he just mean that he didn’t want her to end the pregnancy, or was there a more ominous message? Was Nick Tate the sort of man who might try to claim sole custody? This man was a stranger, and to a certain extent she was at sea in knowing how to handle him.
Her lawyer’s sense of justice kicked in, pointing out that, by the same token, he had to be equally at sea with her. He was likely trying to read between the lines to discover all that she wasn’t saying, so for now she should give him the benefit of the doubt.
She drew in a breath and said, “Two babies, actually.”
His eyes widened. “Twins?”
“Yes.”
He sat back with a thud. “Okay, we’re having two babies.” A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth and he seemed lost in thought for a moment before returning his focus to her. “How are you? Any morning sickness?”
Instinctively, she laid a hand over her stomach. “Only a little. I’m a bit queasy in the face of milk and greasy things, but not too bad.”
“Does the doctor say everything is okay?” His gaze flicked from where her hand rested on her belly and back again.
“She said everything is perfectly normal.” She tapped her fingers against her thigh, unsure of what else to say, then remembered that she had something she could show him. “I have a picture from the sonogram. Would you like to see it?”
He grinned. “You bet.”
She pulled the printout from inside the pages of a large hardcover book on the coffee table and handed it to him. Since her appointment, she’d spent so much time staring at this picture in wonder. It was almost surreal—they were her
