you tell if it’s a girl or boy yet?” Hannah asked the doctor, making Megan glad she’d brought her cousin along for moral support since her brain refused to produce the appropriate questions.
“Not yet. But since we’re unclear on the date of your last period we’ll repeat the ultrasound in eight weeks just to confirm our dates. We might get a better picture then. Any more questions?”
When Megan shook her head, the doctor handed her the printed picture, wished her well and left the small room. Megan stared at the image, a tangle of emotions weaving through her. Excitement. Happiness. Sadness. Fear. She would be responsible for this little person, for his or her health and happiness and well-being. Her and her alone. What if she messed up?
“You okay?” Hannah asked.
Megan slid off the table and straightened her clothes. “Xavier should have been here for this.”
“It’s his loss, Megs.”
What if one parent wasn’t enough? What if something happened to her? Who would care for her baby? “Maybe I should tell him.”
“Do you think telling him would make him dump her and marry you?”
“That’s the million-dollar question—one I’ve asked myself a zillion times. I don’t know. On one hand, once Xavier sets a course he never deviates. On the other, what’s his is his. He doesn’t give up easily.”
“If you told him and he dumped her and married you would you always wonder if he’d done so just because of the baby?”
Leave it to Hannah to get to the heart of the matter. “Yes. I want him to wake up and realize that what we have—what I thought we had—is too special to throw away.”
“Then postpone telling him a little longer. If he hangs around you’ll have no choice. But for now wait and see if he comes to his senses.”
“Right. For now I’ll carry on.” Alone. The way she always had since her parents’ and brother’s deaths.
After his confrontation with Megan three days ago, Xavier had been ready to say to hell with her, fly himself and his horses back to France and let her suffer for her foolishness. Replacing her would be easy enough.
But he didn’t want any other woman.
He craved Megan. She was in his blood like a narcotic. He had to make her understand that what they had—combustible sex, mutual respect and similar interests—had nothing to do with his marriage. That alliance was business, whereas they shared pure pleasure. And he wanted to drink in as much of that pleasure as he could. After his marriage he would have to suffice with duty, honor and obligation. Not that Cecille was unattractive. But she was not Megan.
If he could not get what he wanted from Megan directly, he would have to use alternative means. Targeting Wyatt Jacobs, the CEO of Triple Crown Distillery and co-owner of Sutherland Farm where Megan resided, was the only strategy Xavier could think of for getting closer to Megan. He needed to know whether her abrupt departure was simply jealousy or something more. He was beginning to suspect the latter.
She had always been strong, determined and logical. He admired that about her. But she had an inflexibility to her attitude now, and her decision to abandon the career she loved was most definitely illogical and therefore out of character.
He shook Wyatt Jacobs’s hand. “Thank you for helping me find the farm and agreeing to see me.”
“Your offer to give me the inside track on corporate sponsorship of Grand Prix events is hard to refuse. It’s something I’ve been considering for a while but other priorities have prevented me from doing the required research.”
“My sources told me that your company was preparing to launch a high-end whiskey. I have never seen your brand connected with equestrian events. It is a missed opportunity—especially given your new ties to Sutherland Farm.”
“True. The advertising information you sent me is timely.” Jacobs led Xavier through the foyer and into his study and gestured toward a leather visitor chair. He settled behind his desk. “Now that I’ve begun watching Grand Prix events on TV with my fiancée, I appreciate Parfums Alexandre’s visible presence.”
“As you can see from the numbers, we have had a good return on our investments. Our ads reach a target market that can afford our product. You could do the same.”
“I see your point. Grand Prix attendees are the right demographic. I also want to surprise Hannah by helping her horse rescue operation. The best way to do that is through public awareness—an area in which you have expertise. I won’t mention this to her until it’s a done deal, so please keep that information to yourself.”
“Certainly.” Xavier was glad he had educated himself on Hannah Sutherland’s horse rescue operation and therapeutic riding program. “Find Your Center is a worthy cause. The equestrian audience should be both sympathetic and generous.”
Jacobs sat back in his chair, his eyes shrewd and assessing. “What do you want in return for sharing your knowledge?”
Xavier appreciated a man who was smart enough to know nothing came freely and one who got to the point. “I have relocated three of my horses to the Haithcock farm. I need expert riders to exercise and show them, but I have few connections in the States.”
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