of the Tennessee River flanked by a park, restaurants, pricey condos and the sprawling hospital complex. On summer weekends tourists and locals filled the concrete stands along the water to watch the water ski and wakeboard competitions. It had been ages since she’d taken the time to attend one of the events.
But instead of parking at the Landing, he crossed the Henley Street Bridge and turned into an exclusive gated condominium complex. A guard waved him through the entrance. The tall, modern waterfront structure had expansive windows and long cantilevered porches. This wasn’t a commercial property.
A parade of prickles marched up her spine. “Where are we going?”
“My place.”
Too private. Too personal. Too…everything. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
He parked in the ground level area beneath the condos beside a wicked-looking black motorcycle and turned off the engine. Both his and the motorcycle’s parking spaces were labeled 10A.
“Would you prefer to discuss our unusual situation across the river at Calhoun’s or Ruth’s Chris where we might be overheard?”
As much as she liked both restaurants, he’d made a good point. “Um…no. The motorcycle is yours?”
“Yes.”
That made him a risk-taker. Not good parent material.
A vision of him straddling the machine and dressed in black leather flashed in her head. The confines of the car suddenly felt stuffy. She shoved open the door, climbed out and let the breeze blowing off the water cool her hot skin.
He led her toward a bank of elevators. Her heels rapped out a beat on the concrete almost as rapidly as her heart knocked in her chest. Inside the elevator he punched the button for the top floor, and the brushed steel cubicle shot upward quickly and noiselessly.
The doors opened onto a spacious atrium-style foyer with a modern peaked glass ceiling similar to the pyramid shapes at the Louvre. Natural light flooded the plant-filled space, and a fountain gurgled in the center. Four doors opened off opposite sides of the octagonal area.
“This is nice.” Too modern for her traditional tastes, but still attractive with its curved teak benches and pebbled pathways.
“Thanks. I designed the building.”
Extremely pricey waterfront real estate. Penthouse level. Her worry multiplied as she filed the information away. Neither she nor Beth and Patrick could afford the kind of lengthy legal brawl Ryan apparently could. Not that any of them were hurting for cash, but they weren’t in league with someone who could afford multimilliondollar accommodations.
Ryan unlocked a door on the river side of the building and gestured for her to precede him. Dreading the hour to come, she gathered her courage and entered Ryan Patrick’s domain.
His entry opened directly into a huge living area with a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows. Dark slate floors gleamed beneath her feet. The stone might be beautiful, but it would be hard and cold and hazardous for a child learning to crawl or walk. The urban industrial upscale furnishings would also be problematic with their sharp brushed steel edges and glass table tops.
She crossed to the window and looked down. A wave of vertigo hit her, and she staggered back to assess Ryan’s space from a safer distance away from the glass. Outside to her left a stark, Plexiglas-railed patio jutted from the dining area beside her to the far end of the building. The modern stone sculptures, plant holders and glass-and-steel dining set couldn’t keep the slab from looking like a giant diving platform from which you could tumble right over the edge.
The condo suited him perfectly. Dark. Edgy. Cold. Dangerous.
Taking tiny, careful steps she forced herself to return to the window and a clear view of World’s Fair Park with its Sunsphere. The Tennessee River drifted lazily past ten stories below. Volunteer Landing stretched along the opposite bank with its broad walkway and manmade water features. The tourist paddle boat, a favorite for weddings, clung to the shore upstream.
In front of Ryan’s complex on this side of the river a long boat dock floated parallel to the tiny green space. Watercraft of assorted sizes filled the slips.
“Is one of those yours, too?” She pointed to the boats.
“Third from the right.”
She knew enough about water sports from her brothers’ exploits to recognize the long, low boat had been built for speed.
Ryan’s place was a mother’s nightmare. Add in his expensive and risky toys and the possibility of her child growing up here scared her witless. “Your home isn’t suitable for children.”
“Why?”
She startled at his nearness and spun to find him standing only inches away—far too close. She hadn’t heard him cross the room. She sidestepped to put a few feet between them.
“Besides the fact that you apparently have a death wish with your need-for-speed toys?”
His muscles tensed. “I’m careful.”
She rolled her eyes at the ridiculous statement. “There’s no fencing to keep a child from falling off the dock and into the murky water, and there isn’t nearly enough grass for a child to run and play. Children need playgrounds and yards.”
“City kids around the world manage without acre lots.”
“Are there any other children in this building?”
His jaw shifted. He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“A child needs playmates. Beth and Patrick’s place is better suited.”
His intense blue gaze held hers. “Forget your sister and her husband for a moment. This lunch is about you and me.”
Her pulse stuttered. “How so?”
He advanced a step. She retreated one. “I’ve been tested for HIV and every other sexually transmitted disease and I’m clean. Have you been tested?”
Startled by his blunt question, she flinched. “No. There was no need.”
“You’re a virgin?”
Her cheeks burned. “Of course not. I’m twenty-eight.”
But she was careful. More careful than anyone knew. Because she didn’t want to end up like her mother.
“I required testing from my other surrogate candidates. I’ll set up an appointment for you.”
Appalled, she sputtered. “You’ll do no such thing. I’m not one of your candidates.”
“No. You’re the woman carrying my child. That makes a clean bill of health even more critical. Get tested voluntarily or I’ll get a court order.”
She snapped her gaping mouth closed. “You can’t do that.”
“I’ve already spoken to my attorney. I can. This is my kid. I have a vested interest in his welfare.”
Nicole
