was.
‘Tess,’ he shouted. ‘Wait up.’
She swung round as he took the steps two at a time to join her on the stoop.
The sheen of sweat glowing on her cleavage above the scooped neck of her tank top drew his eyes and brought with it another hot jolt of memory.
‘What do you want?’ she snapped.
His gaze lifted to her face, and he had the uncomfortable thought that even without a lick of make-up on, and the wisps of hair framing her face matted with sweat from her morning run, she had to be the most extraordinarily beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on. Her impossibly high cheekbones and those sultry green eyes and full kissable lips were only accentuated by the rosy flush of exertion on her cheeks.
He cleared his throat. ‘I want to talk to you,’ he managed at last.
The sultry green flashed molten fire and her bee-stung lips pursed into a thin line. ‘Well, I don’t want to talk to you,’ she shot back, slapping a hand on her hip. The antagonistic stance made her full breasts flatten against the thin cotton of the tank top and his eyes nearly bugged right out of his head. Had her breasts got a size larger in the last ten days?
‘Now go away.’
The hurled words startled him and she was almost in the door before he managed to claw his mind back out of his pants. He wedged his palm against the door just in the nick of time.
She shoved her shoulder against it, so he leaned in harder. She was tall, the top of her head almost level with his chin as she struggled to close the door, but she couldn’t weigh more than a hundred pounds. He waited patiently, easily holding the door ajar.
‘Either we talk out here, and let the whole neighbourhood know our business, or we talk in your apartment, and keep this private,’ he said, his voice hoarse as he kept his gaze riveted to her flushed angry face, and off that mind-boggling cleavage. ‘Your choice.’
‘Oh, for Pete’s sake!’ she muttered, but finally surrendered the door. ‘Fine. Come in.’ She stomped off up the stairs, pointedly turning her back on him. ‘You’ve already ruined my morning.’
He followed her up the stairs, and judiciously kept his gaze off her moist cleavage as she yanked on a thin gold chain round her neck, and lifted out a key. She opened the apartment door on the second floor, leaving him to grab it before it shut in his face as she waltzed inside. He took in the light, airy and compact apartment, glad that her attitude had changed since their last meeting. Hostility was a lot easier to handle than fake fragility.
Hardwood flooring complemented the plain white walls of the living room, but apart from a stack of boxes on the floor there wasn’t a single piece of furniture in the whole room. He heard the sound of running water, then looked across to see her walk out of the galley kitchen, which was also bare except for another large box resting on the countertop.
She took a deep swallow of the water, then lifted her tank top to wipe her face. He ignored the throb of heat at the quick glimpse of a white cotton sports bra, and the smooth translucent skin stretched taut across her narrow waist.
Strike one to him: there was no visible sign of a baby there. Her belly was as flat as he remembered it. Plus what sort of woman went jogging when they were pregnant? His spirits lifted a little.
‘What could we possibly have to talk about?’ she said as her tank dropped back into place covering up that incriminatingly flat belly. ‘I think we covered just about everything the last time we met, don’t you?’
Despite being hacked off by her snippy tone, and the instant effect she had on his libido, he held off launching into his newest suspicion about her condition. One of them was going to have to be a grown-up about this. And it looked as if that person would have to be him.
‘Where’s your furniture?’ he asked, keeping his tone admirably civil.
‘I’m just about to move out, not that it’s any of your business,’ she said in a sing-song voice that was obviously meant to be a dig. She straightened away from the door frame and rested a palm on her hip, the stance doing that weird optical illusion thing to her breasts again. ‘And by the way, how did you get my address?’
‘You can lose the hostility,’ he said, losing his own civility as the heat resolutely refused to die. ‘If you didn’t want to have anything to do with me, you wouldn’t have contacted me last week.’
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
