no matter how kindly he offered help now, she couldn’t forget that he’d walked away from her last time. Underneath the civil politeness, he was still the same athlete who’d spent weeks fuming silently at her while she’d methodically proved his former teammate guilty of sexual harassment. Afterward, he had continued to defend the man. If not for the spike of attraction that had never been too far beneath the surface with them, she and Jean-Pierre didn’t have anything in common.
Except now they shared responsibility for this precious life they’d created.
“I have a night nurse. She can take him. She knows his routine.” She glanced into Jean-Pierre’s eyes quickly. “I’m sorry. You can do it soon, but please, can we keep things simple for tonight? We have so much to sort through.”
Sliding her hand out from under his, Tatiana reached to take the baby, more exhausted now than she had been after eighteen hours of labor. She hadn’t known how stressful speaking to Jean-Pierre would be.
But now that he finally knew the truth, some of that weight had been shifted off her shoulders.
“I’m sure the night nurse is great.” He didn’t hand over the sleeping infant. “But since I have lost weeks I’ll never recover with him, I would appreciate being able to put him in his bed for the night.”
The cool words didn’t hide his judgment of her—he blamed her for not coming to him sooner about the pregnancy.
“Follow me.” Too weary to argue, she rose to her feet, gladly leaving behind the gorgeous Louboutin heels. The shoes that once brought her so much joy were now instruments of torture.
She led the way up the curving staircase of her apartment, a prewar building with plenty of amenities for children that she would be taking advantage of now that she could share the news of her baby with the world.
“Should you be climbing so many stairs?” He was beside her suddenly, his hand on her lower back.
It was a warm touch despite his frustration with her.
“Stairs are fine. I didn’t have a C-section so I’m in good shape.” Figuratively speaking. Her actual shape still leaned toward the soft side.
“I hope you are taking care of yourself.” His touch fell away as they arrived on the second floor and she pointed the way to César’s room.
The night nurse greeted her as they entered the nursery, but discreetly retreated to her own bedroom across the hall.
“I am. I’m looking forward to bringing him out in the stroller for walks once we speak to my family. The fresh air will be good for both of us.” Leaning into the antique crib she’d bought online and had shipped to the house before she’d even returned from the Caribbean, Tatiana slid aside the blue baby blanket. It went with the aquatic theme of the room.
She’d need major amounts of fresh air after speaking to her father. He’d always set the bar so damn high for her. Even when she was soaring at the top of her class or making junior partner ahead of schedule at her firm, she felt the pressure of his expectations. Now? She couldn’t even imagine telling him that his first grandson was a Reynaud.
“We can see your parents first thing in the morning. But I would like to leave for New Orleans shortly afterward.” He bent into the crib and laid César beside a stuffed baby whale.
One broad shoulder brushed the starfish mobile as he straightened, setting off a few gentle musical notes.
“You’re going there to tell your family?” She knew his parents, Theo and Alessandra Reynaud, had been divorced for years and weren’t even full-time residents of Louisiana anymore. Alessandra worked in Hollywood. Theo globe-hopped, content to live off his family’s money. But Jean-Pierre’s grandfather, Leon, still acted as the Reynaud patriarch in the public eye.
Leon, who had fired Tatiana’s father from the Mustangs and created the Doucet-Reynaud rift. Her stomach clenched at the thought of facing him.
“My family can wait.” Jean-Pierre stared down at her in the soft blue glow of the nursery’s night-light, his strong male presence radiating warmth and making her realize how close they stood. “We need to go there together to fulfill the promise I made in a televised interview this evening. I told the world you were going to be a guest of the Reynauds before the Gladiators-Hurricanes game.”
The words didn’t make sense at first. He couldn’t be serious about them simply pretending to be dating.
“I don’t understand. Now you must see that’s impossible.” She gestured to the crib, where César clutched a handful of blanket. “I can’t leave New York.”
“We are a family now, Tatiana, whether you want to be or not.” His voice suggested a patience that his body language did not. He loomed over her, tense and unyielding. “It makes more sense than ever that you come to Louisiana with me while we work out some logistics of parenting.”
Her gaze slipped back down to César, peaceful and unaware of the tension between his parents. She knew that Jean-Pierre was right. They had to find some way to raise their child together even though there would be no wedding. No pretend romance to mask the animosity between them.
Maybe, given some time, she could negotiate a peaceful future for her son in the same way she argued court cases. She would find a way to get on top of her runaway pregnancy hormones and the mixed feelings she still had for Jean-Pierre—hurt, resentment, attraction. A potent mix.
“I’ll need a private room,” she said finally, tilting her chin up and laying the groundwork for this very dicey compromise. “I will go with you, but I can’t perform a charade for the media or our families.”
“Meaning you won’t pretend to like the father of your child?” One heavy eyebrow arched as he watched her.
Her heartbeat quickened for no discernible reason. They were drawing boundaries, weren’t they? That was a good thing.
“Meaning there will be no maneuvering each other by implying an engagement or imminent wedding that we both know will not happen.”
“Deal.” His agreement was quick and easy, catching her off guard. He took her hand in his. “You have my word.”
His touch sparked memories of another time they’d been face-to-face like this—arguing heatedly about her court case. He’d touched her to emphasize a point, perhaps. And somewhere in that moment, the chemistry of the contact had shifted, turning heated. Making it impossible to pull their hands off of each other. She felt the weight of that moment now, along with the possibility that it could happen again if she wasn’t careful. It was there, in her fluttering pulse. In her rapid breathing.
She hovered there, on that razor’s edge between tension and attraction, understanding too late how easy it would be to slide into that dangerous terrain.
“Sleep well then.” He lifted her hand to his lips. Brushed a brief kiss along the backs of her fingers as though it was the most natural thing in the world. “I’ll pick you up in the morning so we can speak to your father together. And make no mistake, I will be there by your side.”
She nodded, her mouth dry, her skin tingling where he’d kissed her. She watched Jean-Pierre turn to leave and show himself out, her emotions tangled, knotted and taut. She had thought telling him about their child would
