Hormones behave. Now. ‘But to be honest, I really didn’t think it would make any difference because...’ She hesitated. ‘I’ve had some fertility issues. Believe me, the chances of me getting pregnant were extremely slim.’
He frowned. ‘How slim?’
‘Well, if my doctor’s reaction is anything to go by when she confirmed the pregnancy, I think we might be talking lottery-winning odds.’
‘Damn. Seriously?’
She nodded, smiling at his reaction. He sounded more stunned than pleased, but it still felt good to share such an important moment in their child’s life with him.
‘When did you find out?’ he asked, and her smile faded.
Blast.
‘Um...’ She glanced out of the window as the pristine new Eurostar terminal at St Pancras Station inched by.
‘You know, that you were knocked up?’ he prompted, obviously thinking she hadn’t understood the question.
She studied the station’s redbrick Victorian grandeur as they turned onto Euston road, desperate to avoid his unsettling gaze and the equally unsettling question. He’d been honest with her, and she knew she owed him the same courtesy, but would telling him the truth break this momentary truce? Obviously, she should have contacted him weeks ago, and she hadn’t. If only she hadn’t been such a coward.
‘What’s the deal, Ella?’ he probed, already sounding suspicious. ‘How long have you known about this?’
She sighed. ‘Four weeks.’
She tensed at the muffled curse as the cab stopped outside the station hotel.
‘Great.’ He didn’t say another word, just paid the cabbie and ushered her into the Renaissance’s grand lobby area.
Every time she’d passed the historic hotel since its renovation a few years ago, she’d wondered what it looked like inside. But she barely registered the lavish vaulted ceiling or the plush interior design as his palm settled on the small of her back, and he directed her to the elevators.
His suite on the third floor had a spiral wrought-iron staircase that curved onto a second level, and original Gothic arched windows that looked down onto the station concourse. But as he poured out the bottle of sparkling mineral water she’d requested into a glass filled with ice it wasn’t the hotel’s palatial elegance she found intimidating.
‘Okay, so now I want to know—why the delay?’ He helped himself to a cola from the room’s bar. ‘Because I’ve got to tell you, I’m not feeling real happy about the fact that you’ve known about this kid for a month and you didn’t get in touch.’
She’d been expecting the question ever since they’d arrived. And had prepared an answer. But she paused to take a hasty gulp of the icy, effervescent water.
She didn’t want to tell him how she’d initially panicked about his reaction. Because then she’d have to tell him about Randall, and the child she’d lost. And she didn’t see how that would serve any purpose now. Except to make her look bad. And she looked bad enough already.
‘Stop stalling, Ella,’ he murmured, watching her over the rim of his glass. And she had the disconcerting thought again that he seemed to be able to read her a lot easier than she was able to read him.
‘All right,’ she huffed, perching on a bar stool. ‘If you must know, I did an internet search to get your details, so I could contact you.’ This wasn’t lying, she justified, it was simply failing to tell the whole truth. ‘And, well...’ Okay, maybe this part of the truth made her seem a little pathetic. But pathetic she could live with.
‘And...?’ he prompted, as if he didn’t already know what she was going to say.
‘I thought you were a freelance boat captain who lived in a one-room beach shack. I wasn’t expecting to discover your name mentioned as one of the top young entrepreneurs in the Caribbean. It was disconcerting.’
He sent her an unapologetic smile.
What was so funny?
‘And totally unexpected,’ she added. ‘I needed time to adjust to that before contacting you. So I waited, probably a bit longer than I should have.’
‘A bit?’ The grin spread as he propped himself on the bar stool next to her and nudged her knee with his. Crowding her personal space. ‘Four weeks is an awful lot of adjustment time, don’t you think? And you never did contact me, honey. I came to you.’
‘There was an awful lot to adjust to.’ She raised her chin. He’d tricked her, and pretended to be someone he wasn’t. Surely she was entitled to be a little miffed about that? ‘It made me realise that I didn’t really know anything about you, and that scared me.’
‘You knew the important stuff.’ He ran his thumb across her bottom lip.
‘Don’t.’ She jerked back, the sudden touch almost as shocking as the tenderness in his eyes.
‘You scare pretty easy, don’t you, Ella?’ The probing gaze made her feel as if he could see through her T-shirt and jeans to the naked, needy girl she’d once been. ‘Why is that?’
She tried to regulate her staggered breathing, unable to take her eyes off his.
Sexual desire was something she could handle. Would handle. But she didn’t want to need him. To need any man. Not again.
‘Do you think we could talk about the baby now?’ she said. ‘I have to get back to work.’
* * *
‘Sure.’ Coop shrugged, the tension in his shoulder blades nothing compared to the kick of need in his crotch.
Damn, he wanted her again: that lush mouth on his, those hard nipples grinding against his chest, the hot, wet heat gripping him like a velvet glove.
And he was pretty damn sure she wanted him too.
He could smell her arousal, the spicy scent of her need, ever since she’d climbed into the cab and sat stiffly in the far corner, as if she was worried she’d spontaneously combust if she got too close.
She still fascinated him, and excited him. And even though he kept telling himself hooking up with her again had the potential to turn this mess into a total disaster—another part of him was thinking this mess couldn’t get much bigger if it tried. So why should they deny themselves? Only problem was, he wasn’t sure if that part of him was the part that was supposed to be doing the thinking, or a part that was positioned a lot further south.
He had to admit he was also very curious, as well as kind of touched, by her reaction when she’d discovered the truth about Dive Guys and his wealth. Wouldn’t most women feel entitled to hit him for some kind of compensation? Especially once they found out how much he was worth? Instead of that she’d ‘needed time to adjust’? What was with that? One thing, it sure didn’t make him feel any better about having accused her of setting him up.
He poured the last of his cola into his glass, took a long swig to buy himself some time and figure out what to do now.
She
