climbed in and brought the engine to life. When they were on the freeway headed to his Beverly Hills mansion, he took hold of her hand. “Everything okay? You seem awfully quiet.”
“Everything’s fine,” she told him, nerves growing stronger with each passing second. “Just ready to relax.”
Yeah, as if that were possible.
“You’re not still feeling sick are you? Did that pass?”
Mia suppressed the groan. “It passed.” But it’ll be back in the morning.
“Great, because my cook made the most amazing Alfredo lasagna with a freshly tossed salad and vinaigrette dressing. I also have Italian bread and tiramisu for dessert.”
Impressed, Mia smiled. “Wow. You know I’m Italian, right? I’m a harsh critic.”
He gave her hand a gentle squeeze and laughed. “I always aim to please, Mia, and I know you’ll enjoy everything I have in store for this evening.”
The Mia who’d initially agreed to come have dinner with him would no doubt enjoy everything he had to offer. The pregnant, shocked, petrified Mia … not as eager. She had a feeling a lot of harsh words might be spoken and feelings would be hurt before the end of the night.
But when did she announce the news? Before dinner when they’d barely had a chance to talk? Or after when he’d no doubt put those seductive moves on her?
Definitely between the dinner and before the moves, because Mia knew once he started roaming those talented hands over her body, she’d be done. And it would be very, very wrong to take advantage of the situation when she had information that would almost certainly change the mood.
But would he be excited about the baby, about another Dane entering the dynasty? Mia hadn’t paid that much attention to the press when he’d been engaged and lost a baby before, since she’d worked for Anthony at that time. But she knew a little bit about Bronson. He was a family man, and that loss of a child had to have nearly destroyed him. How would he accept another baby? And Mia couldn’t help but selfishly wonder where she factored into this equation.
As they pulled into his gated drive, Bronson punched in a code and the lacey gates, complete with wrought-iron initials, parted and slid to either side of the drive.
She didn’t know what to expect of Bronson’s house, maybe a version of his mother’s in that sleek white, Mediterranean style. But Bronson’s three-story home exuded masculinity with the dark brick and large windows on each floor. Tall palms surrounded the curved home with a circle drive. No frilly flowers for him. Everything was green, lush and thriving.
“Your home is beautiful, Bronson.”
He pulled into the attached four-car garage, closing the door behind them, sending them into darkness. “I’m not here often enough to enjoy it, but I do love it.”
Would she be too forward if she asked about someday filling a home this large with a wife and children? Probably not the way to approach the topic of her pregnancy. God, she just had to say it. Once the words were out, they could deal with it, but her courage had failed to accompany her tonight.
She toyed with the locket around her neck, as if to draw strength from the two loving people pictured inside.
They exited the car and Bronson led her into the house through the kitchen any chef would die to just spend one day in—four built-in stoves, a brick pizza oven, three sinks mounted beneath gray concrete countertops. Dark mahogany cabinets made the large space look and feel masculine.
“Do you know what I’d do to have a kitchen like this?” she asked, running her fingertips along the grooved edges of the counter. “I love to cook in my spare time. I think I subscribe to every cooking magazine there is. With all this counter space, the stoves … My mind is working overtime.”
Bronson tossed his keys onto the counter. “Feel free to come over anytime and let that imagination run wild. I’m a disaster in the kitchen.”
She doubted that invite would last once she told him about the baby. Amazing how quick she’d gotten used to saying the words in her head without feeling the need to scream or cry. But they were going to have a baby, so why worry about something she couldn’t change?
“Everything smells delicious,” she told him. “Is it going to taste just as good?”
Bronson extended his hand toward the open eating area at the end of the kitchen. “Let’s go find out.”
She smiled at the round black table with high-back chairs, a simple white orchid in a slender glass vase and bright white plates waiting for the meal.
“Table for two?” she asked, throwing a smile over her shoulder. “You did go all out, didn’t you? Or should I say your chef did.”
Bronson pulled a chair out for her, brushed her hair from her shoulder and placed a gentle, tingling kiss right below her ear. “I may not have made the meal, but the rest is all me. I never need help impressing a woman.”
Excitement mixed with guilt curled low in her belly. “Is that what you’re trying to do? Impress me?”
“How am I doing?”
Exceptional. Wonderful. Perfect.
And why couldn’t this night end the way she wanted, ached for it to? Why couldn’t she have discovered the pregnancy tomorrow? Just one more night with him would’ve fulfilled her fantasies for years to come. Because she knew, once she dropped this bombshell, that would kill anything that had sparked weeks ago.
“Doing well so far,” she told him, easing down into the chair.
Bronson brought over two full bowls of salad with dressing and fresh bread. Mia couldn’t taste much, not for the secret on the tip of her tongue. She was a fraud, a liar. The kind of woman she despised.
Finally, she dropped her freshly buttered bread back onto the plate. “I can’t do this.”
With his fork halfway to his mouth, Bronson froze, eyes coming up to meet hers. “I’m sorry?”
Unable to stay seated any longer, Mia came to her feet and stood behind her chair, gripping the back. “I can’t sit here and pretend this is going to go somewhere when I know it can’t.”
Bronson’s fork clattered to his salad bowl. “What are you talking about, Mia? Are you having second thoughts about spending the evening with me?”
“Not at all, but you may have second thoughts about me when I tell you that …”
God, it was so much harder to say the words out loud, instead of just in her head. She’d never spoken them before and now that she was ready … well, she wasn’t ready.
Bronson came to his feet, too, crossed to her and took her hands. “Come into the living room. You look like you’re ready to pass out.”
Funny, that’s exactly how she felt and it had nothing to do with the morning sickness she’d been having.
Bronson led her to one of the two oversized leather sofas. She eased down, praying to find the right words, praying he
