upbringing had been as different from Dylan’s as a bridal bouquet was from a sizzling steak platter. And from her perspective, while there was plenty about Dylan Lassiter to recommend him to anyone who liked to run fast and loose, there was very little to recommend him as father material.
That said, this baby was their creation. Dylan had rights—and she had no plans to stand in the way of those. But she also wanted her child to grow up secure, in one place, with a stable and loving parent. Not used in a tug-of-war between parents, as she had been. Not dragged from pillar to post as her father moved from country to country, then state to state in pursuit of some unattainable happily-ever-after. And certainly not implicated by her father’s fraudulent schemes or left abandoned at the age of fifteen because her sole surviving parent was doing time in jail.
No, Jenna’s baby was going to have everything she hadn’t.
She gently applied the brake and her car came to a stop outside the impressive portico. She rested a hand on the slight mound of her belly, determined not to be totally overwhelmed by the obvious wealth on display before her. This baby had rights, too, and yes, he or she was entitled to be a part of what stood before Jenna. But right now she was the baby’s only advocate, and she knew what was best for him or her. And she’d fight to her very last breath to ensure her child got exactly that.
She grabbed her bag and got out of the car. The front door opened as she walked toward it, and Dylan stood on the threshold. Jenna’s heart did that little double skip, just as it had the very first time she saw him. It was hard to remain objective when the man stood before her. He’d tamed his hair slightly, giving him a more refined look, and he’d changed his suit for a pale blue cotton shirt that made his eyes seem even bluer than before.
“You found the place okay?” he asked unnecessarily as she ascended the wide steps.
“Hard to miss it, don’t you think?” she replied, not even bothering to keep the note of acerbity from her tone.
She didn’t want him to think even for a minute that he had the upper hand in this meeting. He inclined his head slightly, as if acknowledging she’d scored a valid point.
“Come on in,” he invited, opening the door wide. “You must be ready to put your feet up after working all day. Can I get you something to drink?”
“Just mineral water, if you have it, thanks.”
She hadn’t drunk alcohol since she’d known she might be pregnant. In fact, there were a lot of things she didn’t eat or drink as a result of the changes happening deep inside her body.
“Sure, take a seat,” he said, gesturing to the large and comfortable-looking furniture that dominated the living room off the main entrance. “I’ll be right back.”
He was as good as his word. She’d barely settled herself against the butter-soft leather of a sofa big enough to sleep on before he was back with two drinks. An ice-cold beer for himself and a tall glass of sparkling water for her.
“Thank you,” she said stiffly, taking the glass from his hand and studiously avoiding making eye contact.
But she couldn’t avoid the slight brush of fingers, nor could she ignore the zing of awareness that speared through her at that faint touch. She rapidly lifted the glass to her lips to mask her reaction. The bubbles leaping from the water’s surface tickled her nose, further irritating her. She swallowed carefully and put the glass on the coaster on the table in front of her.
Dylan sprawled in the seat opposite, his large, rangy frame filling the chair. His gaze never left her face and an increasingly uncomfortable silence stretched out between them. Jenna cleared her throat nervously. Obviously, she was going to have to start this conversation.
“I—I wanted to say how sorry I was about your father’s passing.”
“Thank you.”
“He was much respected and I’m sure you must miss him very much,” she persisted.
“I do,” Dylan acknowledged, then took a long draw of his beer.
Damn him, he wasn’t making this easy for her. But then again, what had she expected?
“He’d have been proud of the new restaurant opening here in town,” she continued valiantly.
“That he would.”
“And you? You must be pleased with everything being on time.”
“I am.”
A muscle tugged at the edge of his mouth, pulling his lips into a half smile that was as cynical as it was appealing. Jenna suddenly had the overwhelming sense that she shouldn’t have come here. That perhaps she should have waited a day or two before calling him. Hard on its heels came the contradictory but certain knowledge that she definitely should have been in touch with him long before now.
Was this how a mouse felt, she wondered, just before a cat pounced? Did it feel helpless, confused and frightened, with nowhere to look but straight into a maw of dread?
She watched, mesmerized, as Dylan leaned forward and carefully put his beer on the table. He rested his elbows on his knees, those sinfully dexterous hands of his loosely clasped between them. Warmth unfurled from her core like a slowly opening bud, and she forced her eyes to lift upward, to meet the challenge in his.
She fought to suppress a shudder when she saw the determination that reflected back at her. She reached for her water and took another sip, shocked to discover that her hand shook ever so slightly. She dug deep for the last ounce of courage she possessed. Since he was determined to make this so awkward, she’d find some inane way to carry the conversation even if it killed her.
“Thank you for asking me to dinner tonight. It’s not every day I’m catered to by a European-trained celebrity chef.”
She was surprised to hear Dylan sigh, as if he was disappointed in something. In her?
“Jenna, stop dancing around the issue and cut to the chase. Are you pregnant with my baby?”
Three
Dylan cursed inwardly. He’d been determined to be charming. He could do charming with his eyes closed and both hands behind his back. So why, then, had he so ham-fistedly screwed up what he’d planned to be a relaxing evening of fact-finding with a woman he’d been fiercely attracted to from the second he’d first laid eyes on her?
It was too late now. The words were out and he couldn’t drag them back no matter how much he wanted to. He huffed out a breath of frustration. Jenna looked about as stunned by his question as he was at actually blurting it out that way. Damage control. He desperately needed to go into damage control mode, but try as he might, he couldn’t think of the words to say. What he wanted was the answer. An answer that only Jenna Montgomery could provide.
Beneath his gaze she appeared to shrink a little into the voluminous furniture. She was already a dainty thing—her small body perfectly formed—but right now she was dwarfed by her surroundings and, no doubt, daunted by the conversation they were about to have.
Dylan knew he should try and put her at ease, but the second she’d alighted from her car he had felt the shields she’d erected between them. It had aroused a side of him he hadn’t displayed in years, made
