Читать книгу Claimed: The Pregnant Heiress - Day Leclaire - Страница 8

For several minutes after Chase exited the bathroom, Emma didn’t move. Then, reluctantly, she lined up the boxes along the spotless counter before sinking back down onto the equally spotless tile floor. She stared at them. They stared back, whispering to each other, no doubt talking about her and her situation.

Pregnant.

Emma splayed her fingers over her abdomen. Was she? She suspected it was all too likely. For weeks now she’d made excuse after excuse to explain away the telltale symptoms, first because she had no idea how to find Chase. And second because she dreaded the coming confrontation with her father when she informed him of her condition.

The boxes continued whispering, and with an exclamation of annoyance, she snatched the first of the pregnancy tests off the counter—the noisiest of the twelve—and ripped it open. She scanned the literature, determined to get the test over with as soon as possible. Maybe then the boxes would shut up and leave her alone.

The directions informed her that it only took One Minute! to obtain the results. Just Sixty Seconds!!—for those who needed further clarification as to the meaning of a minute. The directions didn’t lie. As promised, precisely One Minute! later she had her answer. Stripping off Chase’s dress shirt, she stumbled into the shower and stood beneath the pounding spray struggling to keep from hyperventilating.

How odd that in Just Sixty Seconds!! her life could change so dramatically. From One Minute! to the next she went from being an average healthy woman to someone carrying the spark of new life. She snatched a deep breath. Okay, it wasn’t the end of the world, not even close. It simply confirmed what she already suspected in her heart. She could deal with this, she told herself. Sure she could.

Sometimes life brought her to her knees with a blow so hard she didn’t think she could endure it. But she always fought her way back. She always came out swinging. She always triumphed. She’d handled far worse events during the past twenty-five years—the death of her mother, for one—and managed to survive the ordeal. She blinked against the painful burning in her eyes. She would on this occasion, too. Plus, a baby wasn’t a death to grieve or some horrible disaster, but a life to celebrate, even if unplanned.

Another possibility struck. Tests like these weren’t always accurate. Lots of times they gave off false readings. What if this was one of those times? What if she’d read the directions wrong or hadn’t followed them correctly? She’d been in a hurry. It could have happened. She turned off the water, grabbed one of Chase’s large, fluffy towels from the built-in linen closet beside the tiled shower stall and wrapped it around herself. This time she’d read everything twice. Be meticulous. Make sure she followed the instructions exactly.

Thirty minutes later she stood in front of the bathroom sink, one lined with a full dozen little sticks and wands and trays with circular windows. She clutched the stack of instructions for each of the tests while she went down the row, comparing picture to actuality.

Two pink lines. Pregnant.

A plus mark. Pregnant.

Little window that actually spelled out pregnant.

Another little window that had forgotten the not in front of that all-important word.

Two blue lines. Very pregnant.

On down the row she went until she reached the very last tray. They all said the same thing. The little windows glared up at her with their little lines and crosses and plus marks and those P words. She backed away from them until she hit the wall next to the shower stall and sank back onto the bathroom floor. She should be horrified. She should be terrified. In a panic. Her brows drew together. Why wasn’t she in a panic?

Her hand stole across her abdomen. She was pregnant. Her baby grew here, nestled deep within her womb. Hers and Chase’s. She wasn’t panicked, she realized, any more than she was horrified or terrified. A child. Dear heaven, she’d been given a child. She’d been given the chance to have a family again, one not torn apart by death and disaster, dishonesty and despair. The tears came then, but to her amazement, she discovered they weren’t tears of misery or fear.

They were tears of wonder.

Chase frowned at the bathroom door, a firmly closed bathroom door. How long did a simple pregnancy test take, anyway? He thought he’d seen one of the packages exclaiming: Response in just one minute! Maybe she hadn’t used that one. Maybe she’d used the one that read: Response whenever we damn well want to give it to you!

Unable to wait another second, he tapped on the door. “Emma? Do you need help?” He shut his eyes. Help? That was wrong on every possible level. “I have your tea and crackers.” Of course, the tea was now iced tea and the crackers were probably stale. The hell with it. “Emma, I’m coming in.”

He found her more or less where he left her, curled up on the floor. Only now she wore a towel instead of his shirt. He couldn’t decide if that was a good sign or a bad one. She looked up when he entered and waved a slim hand in the direction of the counter.

“Take a look,” she said.

To his surprise, she’d used all twelve tests. “No wonder it’s taken you so long. How much water did you have to drink to pull this off?”

“Think camel and add a gallon or two.”

“So, what’s the verdict.” He examined the lineup and stiffened. “Some of these say pregnant.”

“All of them say pregnant.”

“All?”

He whipped around, feeling sucker punched. Until that moment he’d refused to consider the possibility that she might actually be pregnant, had maintained an emotional distance from the unfolding events. He’d managed to convince himself that Emma had made an understandable mistake, one rectified by a simple test. After all, why stress until there was something to stress about? Well, there sure as hell was something to stress about now.

“All?” he repeated.

“Every last one. Look, I’d rather not discuss this dressed in a towel, if you don’t mind,” Emma said in an excruciatingly polite tone of voice. She pushed herself upward. “I need to get dressed.”

His brain switched to automatic, processing and stringing words together in a seemingly calm and coherent manner. “You can wear your dress from last night, although it’s pretty wrinkled. Or I have a T-shirt and running shorts you can borrow.”

“Thank you. I think the tee and shorts would be more comfortable.”

He realized he blocked her exit and stepped back into the bedroom. Emma trailed after him. Still moving on automatic pilot—dear God, a baby—he opened a dresser drawer, retrieved the promised clothes and set them on the bed.

He gave her a searching glance. She remained ghost-pale, though not as shell-shocked as he undoubtedly looked. In fact, her poise impressed the hell out of him. “We need to talk,” he announced.

“In all honesty, I’d rather go home. Perhaps we can meet in a few days and discuss the situation then. That will give us time to assimilate the information.”

Assimilate the information? What was he, a Borg? He’d already assimilated all he needed to know. Emma was pregnant and she’d pasted a big, fat red arrow over his head, labeled Daddy. Still, it wasn’t worth arguing with her, not when she didn’t feel well. Since she couldn’t go home without his driving her there, she couldn’t very well control what he chose to say or discuss between now and then. Nor would he allow her to leave without feeding her first. Feeding their child. He shot a hand through his hair. Aw, hell.

“Get dressed, sweetheart. I’ll freshen up your tea and crackers.”

“Thanks. I’m actually starting to feel a little hungry.”

She joined him a short time later and he smiled at the droop of his running shorts on her daintier frame, while something visceral swept through him at the sight of her breasts outlined by the thin cotton of his T-shirt. Were they larger due to the pregnancy, or was it his imagination?

“Since you said you were hungry, I opened up a very mild bean dip to go with the crackers, if you want. Or, if you’re in the mood for eggs, I can scramble up some more.”

“More?”

He shrugged. “I made some earlier. The trashcan says thank you.”

She smiled at that. “Believe it or not, the bean dip sounds great. Do you have any fruit?”

Good thing he’d decided to pick up a few of the basic necessities from each food group. Even better, he actually considered fruit a food group. “In the fridge.”

She pulled out an orange and proceeded to strip away the rind and section it, then went back for a kiwi and some black grapes. Satisfied with her selection, she arranged the dip, crackers and fruit onto plates, her artistry impressing the hell out of him. Then, with uncanny accuracy she crossed to the cupboard that contained place mats and linen napkins and proceeded to set the table with the same style and eye appeal.

“Okay, how do you do that?” he demanded.

Her smile grew. “Years of practice entertaining my father’s clients. My mother—” She faltered for a split second before continuing. “My mother was an artist. I guess I inherited her eye for color and space.”

“Do you paint?”

Emma took a seat at one of the chairs surrounding the glass breakfast table and waved him to the one opposite her. “Not so much as a brush stroke.” She unfolded the napkin and placed it in her lap. Even when enjoying a casual breakfast dressed in his running clothes, she exuded a natural elegance in the way she sat and moved. “I’m lucky if I can draw a straight line.”

“But you wish you could draw,” he guessed shrewdly.

She nibbled on a cracker smeared with bean dip. “You’re right. I do.”

“Maybe our baby will inherit her abilities,” he said, deliberately introducing the subject of Emma’s pregnancy.

“Let’s hope that’s all he or she inherits,” Emma murmured.

His gaze sharpened and he made a mental note to research Ronald’s late wife. Chase vaguely remembered some sort of scandal from his youth, but couldn’t quite recall the details. It must have been after he’d moved to New York to live with his father. He didn’t think his mother had ever mentioned it, though she hadn’t moved in the same circles as the Worths then—or now.

“Fair enough. You don’t want certain characteristics of your mother to show up, and I have to admit there are a few anomalies I’d just as soon any son or daughter of mine didn’t chip off the old genetic block.” He paused, then asked, “Should I assume you plan to keep the baby?”

“That’s the only part of this you can assume. I will have the baby and I’m not considering adoption. I …” She caught her lower lip between her teeth. “I couldn’t. I couldn’t give my baby away.”

“Our baby. At least, I assume it’s ours.” He wished there were a less awkward way of asking his next question. “You implied I’m the father.”

“There’s no other possibility.” She made the statement with calm certainty.

“You’re sure?”

She jabbed an orange slice in his direction. “All right, Money Man. Let’s put this in terms even you can understand. One woman who’s had a rather lengthy sexual dry spell plus one man who ended aforementioned dry spell, minus one condom equals oops. In case you missed it, I double-checked my math twelve different times. It came up baby on every test.”

He would have laughed if the situation weren’t so serious. “I’m not questioning your math.”

Her expression froze over. “You’re just questioning which of my many lovers is the father, is that it?”

He cautiously moved the question aside and out of reach. “I assume you won’t object to a paternity test?” he asked instead.

“Of course not.”

“In utero?”

Her brows drew together. “They do that now?”

How the hell should he know? He’d never been in this situation before. Had done everything within his power to prevent it from ever happening. “We can ask your doctor.”

Emma shoved her plate aside. “There is no we.”

“If there’s a baby, there sure as hell is a we.” He leaned forward to give emphasis to his words. “Perhaps this is a good time to explain that I won’t walk away from my child. If it’s mine, I’ll be intimately involved every step of the way.”

“First things first. I—and I do mean I—go to see my ob/gyn and confirm the pregnancy. Then we’ll discuss the best way to handle the situation after that.” She rose, the dame at her most grand. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to go home.”

He did mind. He minded more than he could express. But he hadn’t gotten where he was in the world by losing his temper or indulging in a knee-jerk reaction when someone gave him a verbal shove. Chase relaxed back against his chair and studied Emma, while making a swift analysis. She was beautiful and clever and fascinating. But, she was also a Worth, which meant she came from money. Unfortunately, that small detail made her the last person he’d have chosen as mother to his child because he’d had so many bad experiences with others who came from that rarified world of inherited wealth.

The irony didn’t escape him. No doubt his father had felt the same dismay when Penny Larson had informed him of her unplanned pregnancy though Tiberius Barron’s reasons would have been far different. Unlike his father, Chase wouldn’t allow Emma to give birth to a bastard, to force his son or daughter to deal with the sort of snobbery he’d dealt with his entire life. Nor was she the same as the other trust fund babies he’d known. There was something irresistible about her. Something that appealed on every possible level. Even more important, she carried his child, which meant that whether she realized it or not, he was going to take control of both her and her pregnancy, starting now.

“I’ll be happy to take you home.” He waited until the relief gleamed in her violet-blue eyes. “On one condition.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “This is not a business negotiation,” she snapped.

Oh, but it was. She just didn’t realize it, yet. “This is my child, too. As I said, I want to be involved from day one.” He offered a crooked smile. “Actually, I was involved on day one. Now, I want to be involved in the next step. I want to go with you to the doctor.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Emma, it would be a mistake to shut me out. I’ll simply find a way to go around you. It would be far easier to cooperate.”

“Once I confirm the pregnancy, we’ll get together and discuss how we plan to handle the matter from that point on. But I need time to come to terms with what’s happening.”

He wasn’t about to give her that time. He didn’t know her well enough to risk what she might do while he sat around twiddling his thumbs. He didn’t answer, though she took his silence for acceptance, assumed she’d gained the upper hand in their little skirmish. Turning on her bare heel, she stalked to the bedroom, returning with her clothes, shoes and BlackBerry.

“Don’t bother to show me out.” So calm. So cool. So proud. So determined to make An Exit. “I’ll call a cab.”

He eyed the BlackBerry, then glanced toward the couch where she’d sat the night before and sipped herbal tea. He shrugged. “Okay.”

She opened the front door and gently closed it behind her, demonstrating her ability to make An Exit that was also calm, cool and proud. He waited, counted to ten, then crossed to the table beside the couch and picked up Emma’s BlackBerry. Next, he headed for the bedroom to collect his car keys. The soft knock sounded at the door seconds before he reached it.

He opened the door and lifted an eyebrow. “Forget something?” Like who was actually in charge around here?

He had to hand it to her, she maintained her poise with impressive fortitude. “I think we mixed up our cell phones.”

“We, huh?”

Her chin came up. “Yes. We.”

“Come on. I’ll drive you home.”

“I said—”

“I know what you said, Emma. You want your BlackBerry back?” He didn’t wait for her response. He exited the condo, striding past her toward his Ferrari. “Then stop giving me grief and let’s go.”

Emma Worth had a lot to learn about him, Chase decided. Like the small fact that he didn’t like being thwarted. But she’d get the message.

Soon. Very soon.

“Hello, sweetheart. Thanks for letting me know our appointment was this Monday morning.” He glanced down at his BlackBerry and frowned. “For some reason I didn’t have it scheduled.”

Emma froze in the doorway between the examination area of the doctor’s office and the waiting room and stared in disbelief at Chase. It had been less than forty-eight hours since they parted and yet he sat in one of the chairs, the ankle of one leg resting on the knee of the other in a typically masculine pose. A parenting magazine sat open on his lap. He flipped the magazine closed and tossed it onto the stack of similar periodicals spread across the glass-and-chrome table in front of him.

Her gaze darted to the other occupants in the waiting room and she worked hard—very hard—to keep her voice low and even. “What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you, of course. The nurse offered to let me join you.”

Emma drew in a deep breath. “Did she?” She turned to close the door behind her, using the few precious seconds it offered to regain her equilibrium.

“She did,” Chase confirmed. “Next time I’ll take her up on her offer.”

It was a warning, as clear as though he’d shouted it. Clutching the various pieces of literature the doctor had given her to study, along with an ultrasound photo of their baby, she forced herself to walk briskly across the waiting room toward the exit. Chase stood, pocketed his BlackBerry and followed her. She managed to keep her temper until they reached the parking lot and were standing where they couldn’t be overheard.

Then she turned on Chase. “How dare you? How dare you!”

Apparently, he dared plenty because he didn’t appear to appreciate the extent of her outrage. If anything, his features settled into a stone-hard cast. “You knew I wanted to be at that first appointment.”

“Why?” She jabbed a finger into his chest, allowing her anger free rein. “In order to be with me? Or in order to ask whether you could get an immediate paternity test?”

He planted his fists on his hips and bowed his head for a moment before shooting her a straight look. “I have the right to know whether the baby is mine.”

“Oh, for …” She took a deep breath. Getting upset wasn’t good for her and it certainly wasn’t good for the baby. “I’m done with this conversation.”

“Not a chance.” He glanced around the downtown district adjacent to the medical building and gestured toward Bistro by the Sea—or the Bistro as the locals referred to the small deli and coffee shop. “Come on. We can grab a couple coffees and talk there.”

She didn’t bother to resist. They had to have this out at some point. Better someplace where they could conduct their conversation with enough privacy to speak frankly, but in a public setting so she could get up and walk away whenever she’d had enough of Chase’s frankness.

He chose an outdoor table in the sun, one well out of the reach of the crisp northern breeze. Excusing himself, he went inside and returned a few minutes later with a large coffee for himself. Instead of another for her, he’d been considerate enough to purchase an herbal tea. Then he took a seat and regarded her thoughtfully.