question gave her pause. “Family,” she replied. “And sculpting. I could never give up my art.”
“Ah, you yearn to make the world a more beautiful place.” There was a slight edge to his tone.
“Why not?” She shrugged carelessly. “There’s so much ugliness in the world these days. What’s wrong with wanting to replace some of it with beauty?”
“An idealist. I should have known.”
She studied his face. “You don’t believe in the power of beauty?”
Deacon went quiet. His hazel eyes locked with hers once more, and there it was again, that intense ripple of energy beneath his surface. Only this time it was accompanied by heat. Heavy, sizzling heat that seemed to hang in the air, hovering over them, crackling between them.
“Yes,” he finally said, his voice thick. “I believe in the power of beauty.”
His gaze swept across her body, resting on her breasts, her hips, and then moving back to her face. Her heart jumped again. And her breasts were suddenly achy, her nipples tingling against her bra. What was this? Lust at first sight? No, she didn’t lust over strange men. She was far too levelheaded for primitive urges.
And yet, when she opened her mouth, the words that slid out proved that maybe she was far lustier than she’d ever imagined. “Would you… like to have a drink with me?”
Surprised flickered on his handsome face. He took a step back, as if he wanted to flee. But he didn’t. Instead, his massive chest rose as he drew in a breath, and then one husky word echoed in the empty gallery.
“Yes.”
Chapter 1
Two weeks later
Were there right and wrong ways to pee on a stick? Lana stared down at the plastic cylinder between her trembling fingers, the two pink lines as clear as a billboard in Times Square. She must be doing something wrong. This was the fourth test she’d taken in two days. Eight pink lines. It had to be a mistake.
“Attention tous les passagers,” a loud voice blared in French through the PA. The voice informed her that the train to Florence was now boarding, prompting Lana to leave the bathroom stall.
Her shaky legs carried her to the trash can near the door, where she tossed the pregnancy test before turning to examine her reflection in the mirror. Her blond hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, her face was makeup-free and there were dark smudges under her eyes. She looked tired.
Didn’t look pregnant, though.
Her gaze slid down to her abdomen, which was flat beneath her red V-neck tee. And her snug black capris fitted the same as always, comfortably circling her waist
She lifted her head, suddenly feeling silly. Of course she wouldn’t be showing yet. It had only been two weeks. Two weeks since that crazy, wonderful night with Deacon.
Quickly washing her hands, she dried them with a paper towel then dropped it in the trash, effectively covering the pregnancy test that seemed to glare accusingly up at her.
She drew in a calming breath. Okay. Okay, this wasn’t the end of the world. She was pregnant, not deathly ill. She would get on the train, go back to her apartment in Florence and figure things out.
How will you find him? a desperate little voice demanded.
Lana left the bathroom, tugging on the handle of her sleek black suitcase and rolling it behind her. The distressed plea in her mind was hard to ignore. How would she find him? She’d gone back to his hotel last night, after the first two tests had shown positive, but the clerk in the lobby informed her that Mr. Holt had checked out. Holt. At least she got a last name out of that visit.
She dodged a woman dragging an enormous suitcase, and continued down the terminal. The station was busy, filled with evening travelers rushing up and down the tiled floor. People chattered on in French, Italian and a smattering of other languages, completely oblivious to Lana’s inner turmoil.
How on earth would she track down Deacon? The hotel didn’t have a forwarding address for him, and a quick Google search on her laptop had come up with nothing. She didn’t even know what he did for a living, for Pete’s sake. A businessman, he’d said. Great. So much to go on there.
“May I help you with your suitcase?” a purser asked in French as Lana approached the track.
“Merci, oui,” she murmured.
The thin man picked up her suitcase then helped her onto the train. A loud whistle pierced the air. Travelers were bounding down the platform, boarding at the last minute, while the PA crackled again to announce the train’s departure.
A pretty woman with shiny brown hair escorted Lana to her compartment. It was a private sleeper car, and she’d already arranged for a wake-up call for tomorrow morning, when she’d need to take the connecting train in Milan. The cabin was cozy and comfortable, but Lana doubted she’d get any sleep. Probably just sit in silence for the next nine hours and try not to cry.
God, what kind of mess had she found herself in?
She sank down on the plush bench and promptly buried her face in her hands.
“Is everything all right, mademoiselle?” the stewardess asked hesitantly.
Lana lifted her head. “Everything is fine,” she managed. “I’m just tired.”
The woman stored Lana’s suitcase on the overhead rack and edged to the door. “I will let you rest then. Enjoy the trip.”
Lana muttered a thank-you, then let out a breath as the door of the compartment closed and she was alone.
Alone.
Oh, God, she’d have to raise this baby by herself.
The moment the thought slid into her mind, a surprising sense of calm settled over her. Ever since she’d taken those tests, she hadn’t allowed herself to think about what she planned to do with the baby. She was twenty-four years old, unmarried, still being supported by her parents to supplement the small income she made selling her sculptures. Having a child hadn’t been in her foreseeable future.
But circumstances had changed. She was pregnant. And no matter how unexpected this development, she knew she would keep the baby.
Her hand covered her stomach, a rush of startling joy sweeping through her as she imagined the tiny life growing inside her. A baby. Her baby.
And Deacon’s…
The joy faded into frustration. Yes, this was Deacon’s child, too. And he had no clue.
She had to find a way to contact him. Sure, he probably wouldn’t be thrilled about the news. For all she knew, he’d turn on his heel and march away without a backward glance, not wanting anything to do with this child. The notion brought a spark of pain and anger to her gut, but she wasn’t naive enough to dwell on the anger. She and Deacon were strangers. Two strangers who’d met one night and found comfort and magic in each other’s
