“Back to my place. We can get this—” he managed not to say “mess” “—we can get things sorted out there. You’ll be much more comfortable—it’s nicer, more private.”
“No cameras?”
It was the first time he heard a note of undisguised worry in her voice. It only made him want to protect her. “No,” he quickly agreed. “No cameras.”
Cameras would only make his worst fear come true sooner rather than later. The reason he hadn’t tracked down Stella, despite being unable to think of any other woman for two whole months? Because he was in no mood to find out exactly how quickly David Caine could ruin his life.
Hell, if Caine even knew his daughter was here, much less that she was pregnant—it would be all over. The show, the money to build the resort. He couldn’t risk losing everything he’d worked for.
He moved to the door but made sure to open it slowly. “Mickey? Can you come in here?”
Although the little man had been standing out in the cold for close to twenty minutes, he didn’t show it. True, he had his hands in his pockets, but Bobby got the feeling that was more to keep a grip on the guns than to warm his extremities.
Mickey nodded and stepped into the trailer. “Everything all right?” he asked Stella, who was now standing, her hands clasped in front of her.
“Yes.”
“I wanted to confirm with you that it’d be best to move this conversation to a more private location—my condo. That way, Stella will be in an environment she’ll find more comfortable.”
Mickey looked confused. “He always talk like that?” he asked Stella.
“Not always,” she murmured, dropping her gaze again.
Bobby hadn’t meant to talk as if he was closing a deal with Mickey. It had just happened. Second nature.
Mickey looked to Stella, who nodded.
“You can follow me,” Bobby said, getting Stella’s coat.
“No worries, laddie.” Mickey’s impish grin was back. “I know where ye live.” He turned back to Stella.
“I’ll ride with Bobby.”
If this announcement surprised Mickey, he didn’t show it. Instead, he nodded. “See you there.” Still whistling, he headed out toward his vehicle. With Bobby’s gun still in his pocket.
Bobby knew what that meant.
He still had to keep his cool.
* * *
Bobby had a very nice car, a fire-engine-red Corvette. It fit with Stella’s mental image of him as a consummate player. He’d certainly been one the night they’d met, his blond hair slicked back, the custom-fit gray suit over a white shirt—no tie, though. He’d looked as if he’d belonged at that party—as if he would have belonged at any party—whereas she’d been deeply uncomfortable even just sitting off to the side.
She couldn’t reconcile his reaction to her announcement, though.
She wasn’t sure what she’d expected him to do when she told him he’d fathered the baby growing in her belly.
No, that wasn’t true. If she was being honest with herself, she’d expected him to tick down the reasons why he couldn’t possibly be the father, why it had to be someone else. Or maybe she’d thought he’d flat out say that, even if it was his—which it wasn’t—he would have nothing to do with it. With her.
But he hadn’t. He’d just asked a few clarifying questions. Then suggested he drive her home.
Which he was doing now. They sat in the car in silence. Stella wanted him to say something. The only problem was, she didn’t know what she wanted to hear.
“Have you been here all week?”
His sudden question made her jump. Of course, at this point, she was already jumpy. Something about being unwed and pregnant had her on edge.
“Ah, no. I arrived on Wednesday.” She wanted to look at him again, but sitting in the car made that awkward. Besides, looking at him did some...odd things to her. She pushed aside the fluttery emotions that had her glad to see him. She wasn’t here for him. She was here for the baby. “Mickey drove out last week. He decided that Friday night would be the best time to catch you. I didn’t think so, but he insisted.”
“Thought I’d be out on the town?”
That’s exactly what she’d thought, but she didn’t want to admit it. Instead, she redirected. “I learned a long time ago to trust Mickey’s instincts.”
“Does your father know where you are?”
Even though they were in a dark car and Bobby wasn’t looking at her, she kept her face blank. Years of training were impossible to override. It always came back to David Caine, sooner or later.
What would her father do when he found out about her condition? Would he insist she get married and hope no one counted the months? Would he publicly disown her and cut her off? Her fashion design business had a few loyal clients, but she couldn’t cover the rent on her flat in SoHo by herself. Even though her father hadn’t been there for her, he did pay the bills for both her and Mickey. Most of the time, it was the only connection between them. She didn’t want to know how far her father would go to protect his “good” name.
“No. I’d prefer to keep it that way.”
“Understood.”
She heard him exhale, saw his hand clench the steering wheel far too tightly as the car turned through a grand apartment complex. No doubt he had a laundry list of reasons to keep this from her father, too. Bobby pressed a button and a subterranean garage door opened. Then they pulled underneath the building.
After he put the car in Park, he got out and came around the side to open her door. He even held out his hand for her. She didn’t know if he did it because he’d seen Mickey do it or if this was how he treated all the women he brought back to his place. That thought sent a spike of pain through her, though, so she pushed it aside as she stood.
He didn’t let go of her hand. They stood there, her hand in his, less than a foot of space between them. Heat flared—the same heat that had gotten her into this fine mess. Why had she let something as ridiculous as desire ruin everything? She should pull away, break this connection between them. She should have pulled away two months ago, too.
Despite her heeled boots, he was still tall enough she had to look up at him. His sandy-blond hair was tousled, week-old scruff on his jaw, his eyes a tad bloodshot. Not quite the player from her memory, but his mussed state didn’t detract from his handsomeness. Instead, it made him more real.
And he hadn’t yet told her this was her problem to deal with.
Stella’s throat caught with unexpected emotion. For some ridiculous reason, she wanted to thank him for not rejecting her outright. Ludicrous hormones, she thought, shaking off the feeling. Just because
