Читать книгу The Pregnant Princess - Anne Marie Winston - Страница 11

On the dot of seven, Rafe knocked on the door of the Royal Princess of Wynborough’s suite. Almost immediately, the double doors swung inward, as if Elizabeth had been waiting on the other side.

Elizabeth. She’d been nameless for five months now. Her real name was going to take some getting used to.

Her eyes widened, and he knew she must be contrasting the image he’d presented yesterday in his work clothes with the charcoal suit he donned now. She shouldn’t be that surprised—she’d seen him in a tux.

For that matter, he thought with a surge of grim humor, she’d seen him wearing a whole lot less.

“Good evening,” she said, stepping back and waving a hand in invitation for him to enter. “Please come in.”

“Thank you, Your Highness.” He gave the title the faintest emphasis and was gratified to see a blush climb her neck as he stepped into the room.

She was dressed simply, in a pretty, lightweight dress in a silky fabric that swirled loosely around her body and draped over the full swells of her breasts, drawing his eye as he passed her. His body sat up and took notice as he remembered the soft mounds that had filled his hands a few months ago…. He mentally shook himself, annoyed that he was letting his sex drive get the better of his good judgment again. Just like the first time he’d seen her.

The Children’s Fund Ball was an annual masquerade event, and he still didn’t know what had possessed him to attend. Once he’d seen this woman, though, he’d ceased to wonder. He and his mysterious lady had complied with the ball’s unspoken rule, not identifying themselves. Still, he was almost positive his paramour had been one of the princesses. Her demeanor had been refined, almost archaically elegant compared to the brash American women whom he’d seen throw themselves at a man. Even compared to other women at the ball, British royals as well as those of his native isle, she’d seemed exceptionally genteel.

If she were one of the princesses, that would make sense. He’d never even met one of them, despite his own royal status. Granted, they were all several years younger than he, and he’d been away at school most of his life before he’d escaped Thortonburg, but rumor had it that King Phillip employed the tightest security to keep his remaining family safe.

Rafe supposed that if his infant son had been kidnapped and presumably killed, he’d be overprotective with his other children, too. Yes, given all those factors, he’d been nearly positive that his lady fair had been one of King Phillip’s four beautiful daughters.

“Could I offer you a drink?” She had moved across the room behind him and now stood behind the small breakfast bar.

“Please.” He walked to the bar and hooked one foot around a stool, drawing it to him and propping himself on the edge of the seat with his feet splayed. “Nice place.”

“Yes. It’s very comfortable.”

“I guess you wouldn’t know what it’s like to live somewhere that wasn’t.”

Her eyes flickered to his for an instant. “I’ve never had the opportunity to find out,” she said in a neutral tone. Busying herself for a moment, she laid a napkin on the bar and set a highball glass in front of him.

He stared at the drink for a minute. “How do you know what I drink?”

The color that had begun to subside began to climb her neck again. “If you’d prefer another drink, that’s fine. This is what you were drinking…the last time.”

“This is fine.” Abruptly, he picked up the drink and took a quick gulp. When she’d first seen him yesterday in the restaurant, there had been warm, intimate welcome in the depths of her green eyes until he’d scared it away. Today, the same wide eyes held only wariness. Her hair was a beautiful copper, shiny as a new American penny. Tonight she wore it down, curling softly around her shoulders and framing her heart-shaped face.

He recognized that face. Now that he knew who she was, he felt like an idiot for doubting his instincts before. It could almost have been her mother’s face at a younger age, except for a slight dimple in her chin, courtesy of her father, the king.

The king.

Anger began to rise again and he ruthlessly pushed it back and shut the door on it. He intended to have his questions answered this evening.

Elizabeth continued to hover behind the bar. She had made herself a drink as well, though he’d seen her put nothing in it but cranberry juice. She gestured to the center of the room, where a coffee table surrounded by several chairs and love seats held a silver tray full of canapés. “Shall we sit down?”

He rose from the stool and gestured for her to precede him. “Certainly.”

Her gaze flew to his, then whisked away again, and he saw her swallow. Then she stepped from behind the bar and quickly walked to one of the chairs, sinking down and demurely crossing her legs at the ankle while she fussed with the loose folds of her oversize dress.

Rafe followed her, taking a seat at an angle to hers and accepting the plate she offered him. He’d worked all day and had only gotten home in time to shower and change before heading over to the hotel, and he was starving. As he filled his plate with a selection of the hors d’ouevres, he glanced at her. “Aren’t you going to eat?”

She gave a single nervous shake of her head. “I’m not particularly hungry. You go ahead.”

“If you’re sure.” This rigid courtesy was getting to him already. One more of the reasons he didn’t intend to return to Thortonburg.

She only nodded.

There was an uncomfortable silence for a few moments. Judging from the way she fidgeted, it bothered her a lot more than it did him. He applied himself to his food until his plate was empty, but he held up a hand in refusal when she offered him a second helping.

“No thanks, this will hold me for the moment.”

A faint smile crossed her face. “As you wish.” She studied him curiously. “You’re very American, aren’t you?”

He supposed she meant the slang expression, because he knew his voice still carried the clipped accents of his homeland. “This is my home now,” was all he said.

“This country appeals to you so much more than Thortonburg?” she asked softly.

“When I was younger, anyplace that didn’t have my father in it was appealing,” he said with grim self-mockery. “Now…yes, I like it here. It’s warm, it’s sunny almost all the time—you certainly can’t say that for the North Atlantic.” Only a short distance off the coast of the United Kingdom, the country of his birth was frequently rainy, cloudy and chilly. On its good days.

“No.” Again, a small smile played around her lips. “You certainly can’t.”

He watched her lips curve, aware of the flare of sexual attraction deep in his gut. She was every bit as beautiful as he remembered, and every bit as seductive. His good humor faded.

“Why did you seduce me?” he asked bluntly.

Her green eyes widened and her head snapped up as if he’d struck her. Her face went white, then vivid color filled every centimeter of her fair complexion. “I didn’t seduce you!”

He considered that. “Okay. I’ll give you that. It was definitely a two-sided deal, as I recall.”

For a moment, she simply stared at him silently and he watched, fascinated, as a deep rosy hue flushed her cheeks. Finally, in the same neutral voice she’d used a minute ago, she said, “Why ever would I want to seduce you?”

“Does the word betrothal ring any bells?”

She had a bewildered look on her face as she shook her head. “But I’m not betrothed to anyone.”

He snorted. “Do we have to continue this little game of make-believe? Okay, so it didn’t have to be you. My father isn’t particular as long as the union occurs. You know full well one of you will marry the future Grand Duke one day. You were trying to get a jump on your sisters, weren’t you? After all, if you can’t have a king, a grand duke is the next best thing.”

“You think I’d marry for a title?” She gaped at him for a moment, ignoring the rest of his heavy-handed sarcasm. “My father never arranged a marriage in his life. I don’t know why you believe he would do something like that.”

“Maybe because my father’s been telling me since I was four years old that I would marry one of the princesses one day?”

“We’ll marry whomever we want, your father’s wishes aside.”

“Umm-hmm.” It was a skeptical sound.

“There was no arrangement of any kind!” she insisted. “Anyway, my eldest sister is already married. She married a rancher from right here in Arizona. They’re expecting their first child—”

“I don’t give a bloody damn if they’re expecting ten children,” he said through his teeth.

Her eyes widened again and though she didn’t actually move, he had the impression she’d reared back out of his reach.

“You’re…what? Second eldest?” he asked.

She nodded. “Third, actually. My brother was—is—the eldest. Katherine and Serena are younger than I am.”

Why had Elizabeth been steered his way instead of one of her sisters? It was a puzzle that he couldn’t find the right pieces for, and he didn’t like unfinished puzzles. But for now, he set it aside. “My father and your father must have gotten their heads together since I left the country,” he said. “And you were the sacrificial lamb. I wonder how the King decided which daughter to send. A roll of dice? A flipped coin?”

“I told you my father would never arrange a marriage for me,” she insisted, and her voice was agitated. “There is no scheme.”

“Not anymore there isn’t,” he said, not caring how cold and implacable he sounded. “You might have been a virgin, and you might even have been the hottest sex I’ve ever had, but I’m still not falling for it. Go home and tell your daddy I’m not marrying you.”

The color that had infused her cheeks drained away. For a minute, he thought she was going to cry. Then she drew a deep breath. “I’ll tell my father nothing of the sort.” She leaped to her feet and stomped across the room, yanking open the door of the suite. “He didn’t plot for us to meet or marry, and if you think I’m trying to trap you into matrimony you couldn’t be more wrong. You may leave, sir, and don’t come back. I plan to forget we ever met.” Grandly, she flung her arm wide to encourage him to leave.

About to take her up on the invitation, Rafe rose from the chair—and stopped in his tracks, all thoughts of leaving forgotten. His eyes narrowed in disbelief.

She was pregnant.

Shock ripped through him as the silhouette of the princess was outlined through her thin dress against the light flowing in from the hall…the light that clearly showed the bulge of pregnancy beneath the flowing style he’d assumed was merely fashionable. Her outflung arm pulled the garment tight across her midsection, making it impossible to miss her condition.

Temporarily struck dumb, Rafe stalked across the room toward her.

Elizabeth must have recognized the bone-deep rage tearing through him, because she backed up until the wall beside the door stopped her retreat.

He didn’t hesitate until he was practically standing on her toes, the protrusion of her belly only inches from his body and her wide, fear-filled eyes gazing up at him defensively.

“You…little…bitch,” he ground out. “So that’s what this surprise reunion is all about. You’ve got a bun in the oven and let me guess…” He paused and allowed a mocking grin to slide across his face. “I’m supposed to believe it’s mine.”

She gasped. When her hands came up and shoved hard at his stomach, he was surprised enough that he let her push him back a step or two. Again, she was flushing that bright red that only a redhead could manage, her whole body shaking. Her face looked shattered, and he thought she was going to cry, but when she spoke, her voice trembled with rage. “It is your child,” she said. “My sister Serena thought it was only fair that you know.”

Her words rocked him to the core, but he managed to cover his reaction with a sneer. “And you expect me to believe that? Do I really look like that big a sucker?” He crossed his arms and his own rising anger made his voice rough. “That could be anybody’s baby.”

Her eyes darkened, dulled, and she swayed. Alarmed, he reached out to steady her, but she backed away from him so quickly that she nearly fell over a chair. She slapped his hand away.

“As you so kindly reminded me, I was a virgin.” Her voice was low and unsteady, and her body shook from head to toe. He had a moment’s instinctive concern for her condition, but before he could think of anything to say that might calm her a little, she whipped around and ran across the suite to a far door, entering it and slamming the door so hard the frame shook.

Considering she’d caught him by surprise, he reacted quickly, sprinting after her. But she’d had just enough of a start that by the time he reached for the doorknob, he heard the distinct metallic click of a lock and then the final hammering sound of a deadbolt being thrown into place.

“Elizabeth!” he roared, rattling the knob. “Come out here!”

There was no answer, but through the door he could hear the sound of water running in the bathroom. And then another sound. Weeping. He rested his fists against the door, fighting the urge to batter it down. Frustration and fury mounted as the feeling of being trapped rose within him. Any sympathy that her crying had aroused died as echoes of his childhood swamped him. He’d sworn he would never have a child, would never do to a child what had been done to him. Never.

He gave the door a hefty kick with the flat of his foot. “Nobody makes my life plans for me!” he shouted through the door before he spun on his heel. “Not my father, and not you!”

His mood was only marginally better at nine the next morning. He had tossed and turned half the bloody night. This morning, his eyes felt gritty and he was drinking industrial-strength coffee in an effort to revive the brain cells that were comatose from lack of sleep.

But there were a few brain cells that were alive and well. With no effort at all, he could recall the look on Elizabeth’s face when he’d told her that the baby she carried could belong to anyone.

She’d been shattered.

He felt like pond scum. He might not have any intention of marrying the girl, but he wasn’t a total jerk. He knew, as sure as he knew his own name, that she’d never had another lover. Before him, impossible. After him… If she’d been a bedhopper, she wouldn’t still have been a virgin when he had met her. He wasn’t sure how old she was, but he knew she had to be in her mid-twenties. Definitely not promiscuous.

And her baby was his.

My sister Serena thought it was only fair that you know.

What in bloody hell did that mean? That Elizabeth wouldn’t have told him otherwise?

He might not want it, might be furious about this whole bloody mess, but he wasn’t a man who walked away from his responsibilities. He’d fathered a child, and he’d support it. She’d waited, damn her, far too long for abortion to be an option. He’d counted in his head during the endless nighttime hours, and he figured she was about five months along now.

Abortion. In his heart, he knew he couldn’t let her do that, anyway. It certainly would have been the easy way out, but the solution gave him a sick feeling. Together, he and Elizabeth Wyndham had created a life, and he didn’t believe either of them had the right to end it.

No. Biologically, he was going to be a father, though he had no intention of getting involved in this child’s life. He wondered if Elizabeth had considered adoption. As far as he was concerned, that would be the best thing all around, but somehow, he doubted his redheaded lover would see it that way. Nor would the royal family, come to think of it.

Oh, well. If she wanted to raise the kid, he couldn’t stop her. And he certainly wouldn’t have any trouble supporting it financially. Even though he’d refused to use any of his family’s money, except that from his grandmother’s trust, he’d managed to build quite a respectable business for himself here in the States. Regardless of the hidebound, ambitious schemer he had the misfortune to call his father.

Hell. He wasn’t going to get any more sleep, and he knew he couldn’t work until he’d straightened things out with Elizabeth. Dumping the coffee in the sink, he grabbed his car keys and headed for the garage.

Twenty-five minutes later, he stood in the suite where he’d been only last night, clinging to his temper by a thin thread while the personal assistant provided to Elizabeth during her hotel stay spread her hands helplessly. “I’m sorry, Mr. Thorton, but the princess insisted. I didn’t think it was wise for her to rent a car for herself, but there was simply no stopping her.”

“How many were in her party?”

“Her party? Oh, no one else, sir. She was alone.”

She hadn’t even taken a driver or a bodyguard? The vague tingle of apprehension that had hovered since he’d learned the princess had left the hotel that morning became a full-fledged itch. “What about her bodyguard?”

“She didn’t bring one, sir.”

Rafe swore, a string of curses that clearly shocked the young woman before him. “Where did she go?”

“I don’t know, sir. She was meeting a man, I believe. All she told me was that she planned to be back by the dinner hour.”

Dinner hour. In Wynborough, that could easily mean eight or nine in the evening. No way was he waiting that long to be sure she was all right. With the hotel employee to vouch for him, it was an easy task to get the concierge to supply him with Elizabeth’s intended destination and to get a description of the vehicle she was driving.

Driving! As sheltered as her life had been, he would bet she’d rarely, if ever, driven herself anywhere in her whole life.

Not to mention the little fact that Americans drove on the other side of the road from what she was accustomed at home.

As he waited impatiently for the facts he’d requested, the assistant’s other words sank in. Meeting a man. A man! Who the hell would Elizabeth know in Phoenix other than him? She was pregnant with his baby, damn it!

Five minutes later, he was climbing back into his truck and heading for the highway.

He drove south out of Phoenix on Interstate 10, heading toward Casa Grande. The concierge had told him that Elizabeth had asked for directions to Catalina, a little town nestled between the Tortolita mountain range and the Coronado National Forest just north of Tucson. She had maybe an hour’s start on him—how the hell was he going to find her?

Especially if she was meeting some other man.

It was only with the greatest restraint that he could keep himself from snarling at the woman’s naïveté. She didn’t know the first thing about men. Elizabeth had no business haring off to meet another man, and when he found her he was going to let her know in no uncertain terms that as the father of her baby, he wouldn’t tolerate another man hanging around his…

His what?

Nothing, he told himself. Nothing. She doesn’t belong to you. You need this princess in your life like you need heat rash.

It was hot.

She didn’t think she’d ever experienced this kind of heat before. She’d vacationed on islands in warm climates, but nothing she could recall resembled this dry, draining heat that leached every ounce of energy from her. Of course, she’d never been on a tropical island when she was pregnant, either, and she’d nearly always had a pool or a beautiful ocean in which to cool off.

Elizabeth bent over the motor of the rental car again. This was dreadful. She had no idea what she might be looking for among all the black, greasy parts and metal pipes. All she knew was that a white, billowing cloud of smoke had begun to leak from beneath the bonnet of the automobile about thirty minutes ago, and that when she’d pulled off the road to investigate the sedan wouldn’t start again.

Fear coiled and her fingers shook as she tentatively reached forward and lightly tapped a piece of metal. It was easy to call herself a dunce. An hour ago, a jaunt down an American highway to find the man who might be her brother had sounded like a grand lark. Now it sounded like the height of folly.

No chauffeur. No bodyguard. No car phone. Off the main road on a little side highway with not a building in sight. Her parents would be terribly distressed if they knew. It hadn’t seemed so foolish to her when she’d had the idea. She was so awfully weary of being followed, escorted, fussed over everywhere she went. This had seemed like the perfect time to see how it felt to be normal.

Now all she could think was that if someone would rescue her, she’d offer him a title in his own right. Peering into the engine one more time, she picked up the black umbrella she’d brought along and held it open above her head, providing a bit of shade from the sun if not from the heat.

The thought of what Rafe would say if he were here only served to lower her spirits even more. He thought she was a silly, helpless girl who’d been sheltered from the real world her entire life. She could see his disdain in his eyes when he looked at her.

Was he right? She thought of the organ donor campaign with which she’d consented to work, of the hospital visits she’d made in the name of her other charity, a hospice in Wynborough’s capital city. She’d seen suffering. She’d seen death. She wasn’t a hothouse flower who had fluff for brains.

Oh? Then why are you standing here in the heat beside a crippled auto?

She was going to pray to God Rafe never found out about this. Then again, why should he? When he’d slammed out of her suite last night, she’d known she would never see him again.

Far down the road, something distracted her from her morose thoughts. A car! A car on the highway coming toward her. It was moving quite fast over the straight, flat terrain, and as it drew closer she could see it was a truck. Not that it mattered as long as the driver would be willing to take her to Catalina. In Catalina she could accomplish her goal, which was to locate Samuel Flynn, the man who once was an orphan in The Sunshine Home for Children, the home she and her sisters were sure their kidnapped brother had been brought thirty years ago.

Her stomach quivered, and she hoped it was at the thought of locating her brother, presumed dead for so long. What a coronation anniversary gift that would make for her father!

Her stomach quivered again, and she wiped a drop of sweat from her temple before it could trickle down her cheek. The truck was drawing to a halt behind her car now, and she squinted as the driver stepped out, forcing her dry lips into a welcoming smile. Until she recognized the big broad-shouldered figure of the Prince of Thortonburg walking toward her.

Curses. The day was rapidly assuming the proportions of a major disaster. She closed her eyes, hoping he was a mirage, but she was forced to open them quickly by a wave of vertigo. He was still there.

His expression was forbidding as he strode toward her. “What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.

“It’s lovely to see you again, too, Mr. Thorton. How coincidental that you should be traveling the same road as I.” She tilted her chin, determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing her squirm.

“You know perfectly well it’s not coincidence. I was coming after you. You have no business traipsing around an American desert without an escort.”

“Thank you for your opinion. Where I traipse and with whom is not your concern, sir.” She would have stuck her nose even higher in the air, but she was forced to close her eyes as another round of dizziness seized her.

“Elizabeth!” She felt his big hands catch her elbows.

“You may address me as ‘Your Royal Highness’—oh!” She squeaked in alarm as Rafe scooped her up in his arms and swung her around, and she clutched at his shoulders as the world spun crazily around her. “Put me down!”

“Gladly.” His booted feet crunched on gravel as he set her on her feet, and she opened a cautious eye to see that he had brought her around to the passenger side of his truck. Keeping one arm about her, he leaned around her and opened the door, then set his hands at her waist and easily lifted her into the enclosed cab.

He’d left the engine and the air conditioner running. Beneath her legs in her thin dress the leather seat was cool, and she was blessedly shaded from the vicious sun. She almost whimpered with delight, but she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. Instead, she lay her head against the back of her seat and blotted her forehead with a tissue from her purse.

“What’s wrong with the car?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I was trying to figure that out when you came along.”

“Right.” He gave a snort of amusement. “Why did you stop along the road in the middle of nowhere?”

“There was smoke coming from beneath the bonnet.”

“Smoke?” He looked alarmed. “Are you sure it wasn’t steam?”

She shrugged. “I haven’t a clue. Smoke, steam, something like that.”

“There’s a pretty big difference,” he informed her. Then he straightened. “Put your seat belt on.” He slammed the passenger door with more force than necessary, making her wince.

She watched through the windshield as he walked back to the blue Lincoln and retrieved the keys before locking its door and coming back to the big truck. Today he was wearing jeans again, jeans that caressed the solidly muscled contours of his legs like a lover’s hands. She remembered the feel of those strong limbs against hers, the heat of his skin and the rough texture of the hair liberally sprinkled over it. The feminine core of her tightened with pleasure, but she sternly reminded herself that theirs had been a single encounter, that the Prince of Thortonburg had made it abundantly clear that she was going to be no part of his life.

A lump in her throat warned her to change the direction of her thoughts, and as Rafe approached the truck, she catalogued the rest of his clothing. With the jeans, he had donned a white shirt, the sleeves of which he’d turned back several times. On his head was a broad-brimmed white straw hat like American cowboys wore. And, as he had since she’d first seen him again, he was wearing a pair of boots. She’d noticed last night that even with his suit he’d worn a polished pair of black leather boots with intricate stitching.

He slid easily into the driver’s seat and fastened his own seat belt before backing the truck up and turning a wide circle in the highway.

“Wait! I want to go to Catalina,” she said.

“Tough.” He didn’t even look at her. “You’re coming back to Phoenix and going to the doctor, then you’re going to lie down and rest.”

“To the doctor?” She gaped at him. “I don’t need a doctor.”

“I want you to be looked over anyway,” he said. “You were mighty close to heatstroke back there.” He reached behind the seat and pulled a thermos forward. “Drink. You didn’t even have extra water with you,” he said in a scathing tone.

“I’m not used to the climate here,” she said with quiet dignity. “I’m aware that you think I’m a brainless fool, so you can stop rubbing my nose in it.”

“Princess,” he said, “I haven’t even started. What in hell are you thinking, running around here without a bodyguard?”

“I don’t need a bodyguard,” she said through clenched teeth. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. And anyway the hotel assistant and the concierge knew my destination.”

“They wouldn’t have been much help if you’d spent hours out here in the sun.”

The only answer to that was silence, and she turned her head to gaze out the window, closing her eyes to shut him out.

She must have napped, because she woke, groggy and disoriented, as they were entering the outskirts of Phoenix. Hastily, she straightened in her seat, hoping he hadn’t noticed.

“Have a good nap?”

So much for wishes. She didn’t answer him.

“Why were you going to Catalina?”

She was growing mightily sick of his constant interrogations. “I wanted to visit the next of my many lovers to see if he could be the father of my child,” she snapped.

There was a moment of silence in the truck, a silence that nearly vibrated with electricity.

“I apologize,” he said in a low growl. “I know it’s my child.”

He did? Momentarily stunned, she turned her head to stare at him. He glanced over at her and his blue eyes were dark and sober. He looked nearly as shocked as she felt.

There didn’t seem to be much to say after that. She went back to staring out the window, though she was no longer seeing the landscape that was so foreign to her, no longer enjoying the contrast between what she’d grown up with and the stark, dry, blindingly bright Arizona desert.

He believed her. That one thought kept running through her mind, and she wondered what had convinced him. Yesterday he’d appeared to doubt her claim. The memory of her naïveté made her wince inwardly, and she took a deep breath to stave off the tears that wanted to rise again.

She’d promised herself last night that Rafe Thorton, under whatever name he chose to use, was never going to make her cry again. She’d been stupid and she’d learned a lesson from her stupidity. Several, in fact.

“How do you feel?” Rafe’s voice broke into her thoughts, gruff and deep and distinctly noncommittal.

As if you care, she thought.

“Fine, thank you.” She made her voice as chilly as possible while still being scrupulously polite.

“You’re not used to this climate,” he stated. “You’ll have to be doubly careful of the heat, especially in your condition.”

“Thank you for the advice. I’m sure it will prove invaluable.”

His mouth tightened and she was pleased to see that she was annoying him. He didn’t speak to her again, but picked up the phone that was installed in the truck and punched in a number, then tapped his fingers impatiently against the wheel while he waited.

She wondered who he was calling, then decided she didn’t really care. But she couldn’t prevent herself from glancing over at him.

“Hey, gorgeous!” Rafe suddenly became animated. Apparently someone had answered on the other end. Someone female, she suspected, from the way his face relaxed and his teeth flashed in a grin that sent an arrow through her heart. He’d smiled at her like that once, she remembered.

And you fell for it, dummy.

“In the desert,” he said and she reasoned that the woman had asked him where he was. “Listen,” he said, “I have a weird question. I need to know the name and number of a reputable obstetrician in Phoenix.”

There was silence on his end and one black eyebrow quirked up, then he laughed, a low and intimate chuckle that set Elizabeth’s teeth on edge. “A friend,” he said. “That’s all you need to know.”

He scrabbled in the side pocket on his door and came up with a piece of paper and a pencil, tossing them at Elizabeth. “Write this down,” he mouthed.

She glared at him, but as he repeated the name and number she did take them down, then slid the paper back across the seat to him.

“Okay, babe. You’re one in a million. I’ll call you later today.” Removing the phone from his ear, he punched the button to cut off the connection and let it dangle from his fingers for a moment while he drove. Then he studied the information on the paper and dialed again.

While he was talking, Elizabeth sat in miserable silence. Could things get any worse? Obviously, Rafe had a girlfriend, or someone special in his life. The silly fantasies she’d woven about him—about them together—seemed pathetic and ridiculous now. How could she have been so stupid? She might have led a somewhat sheltered life, but she knew what the world was like. Men got women pregnant every day of the week because they acted on sexual attraction without thinking. The resulting condition had nothing to do with affection or love or respect or long-term plans.

Now she was another one of those sad statistics, and her child would be fatherless because of her carelessness.

The words appointment this morning, penetrated her absorption, and she was startled into looking over at Rafe again.

“No! I don’t need a doctor.”

He ignored her.

“I won’t go.” She tugged at his forearm to get his attention. A mistake. Beneath her fingers, his bare flesh was hot, and the thick hair that grew along his arm was silky in texture.

“Cancel it,” she said fiercely.

“Thorton,” he said to the person on the phone. “Elizabeth Thorton.”

Her fingers clenched on his arm. Then she realized she was still holding on to him and she snatched back her hand. Again his eyebrow slid up into a bold dark arch as he threw her a questioning look. But before she could find her voice, he’d concluded the call and hung up again.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

“Making you a doctor’s appointment,” he said easily. “I want to make sure you and the baby are none the worse for wear after spending the morning standing in the sun.”

“I don’t need a doctor. Go on back to your girlfriend and leave me alone.” She tried to infuse the words with command, but even to her she sounded weak and cranky.

“My girlfriend…” He shot her a smug grin. “That was my secretary on the phone. She has twin grandsons, so she’s not exactly competition.”

“I’m not competing.” So there. “Why didn’t you use my real name?”

“Would you rather I’d given your real name?” he asked.

She drew in a sharp breath as his words penetrated, then slumped back against the seat. “No,” she admitted in a muted tone. “My parents don’t know yet.”

“Mind if I ask how long you were going to wait?” He sounded more than slightly shocked.

“I wanted to tell you first,” she said quietly. “When I get home, there won’t be any reason to delay.”

“You’re going home soon?”

Did she imagine the slight sharpness in his tone? She shrugged. “As soon as my business here is concluded.”

“Your business in Catalina? You never did tell me why you were going there.”

“No,” she said with more calm than she felt. “I didn’t.”