Читать книгу More Than a Millionaire / The Untamed Sheikh - Emilie Rose - Страница 11

“Ryan Patrick is here for your lunch appointment.”

Lea’s announcement made Nicole’s already stretched nerves snarl. Her fingers spasmed on the keyboard, filling the document on her monitor with a spew of gibberish.

She punched the intercom button. “We don’t have a lunch appointment.”

“Yes, you do. He called and I scheduled it.”

She wanted to strangle her assistant. “What does he want?”

“There’s only one way to find out.” The smirk in Lea’s voice came through the speaker loud and clear.

Nicole saved her work, closed the file and rose. She’d fix the gibberish later. She wasn’t capable now. “Send him in. But Lea, don’t make any more surprise appointments for me. And stop matchmaking. Your record proves you suck at it.”

Over the past few years Lea had made a determined effort to find the man who could make Nicole forget Patrick. Her friend couldn’t accept that such a man didn’t exist.

Unlike Nicole’s fickle mother who changed her lovers as often as she touched up her manicure, Nicole would only love once in her lifetime. She’d rather be alone than with the wrong man—or a series of them. And she was very careful not to let herself board that crazy lust-love-crash roller coaster. Whenever she realized she was in line for that ride she stepped aside. No more heartache for her.

Moments later her door swung inward and Ryan filled the opening. He wore a black suit with a white shirt and a cobalt tie that matched his eyes. Her stomach fluttered.

Who would her child take after? Him or her?

The man would make beautiful babies.

Never mind. Looks don’t matter. A healthy baby is all you’re after.

“Nicole.” He nodded his dark head in a greeting and his eyes raked over her, making her very conscious of how her raspberry-pink V-neck, wraparound dress clung to her pregnancy swollen breasts. “Ready?”

His low-pitched voice scraped over her nerve endings like an emery board, leaving her feeling raw and exposed and strangely out of sorts.

“Why are you here, Ryan?”

He pushed the door closed between him and Lea. “Because I’d like to know something about the woman carrying my child besides the sparse raw data in the clinic’s file. I imagine you have questions concerning my health and history, too.”

Now that he mentioned it, she did. With Patrick she hadn’t needed to ask because she’d already known everything about him.

Do this for Beth and for the baby you’re carrying for her.

What was it the old cliché said? Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Ryan Patrick qualified as the latter. He definitely threatened all she held dear. And the only way she could learn more about him was by spending time with him.

“I can give you a couple of hours.”

“That’s all we’ll need.”

She grabbed her purse and crossed the room. He opened the door as she approached and pressed his hand to her waist to guide her through as she passed by him. Every cell in her body snapped to attention startling her so much she bumped the door frame.

He caught her upper arm and steadied her, his fingers branding a circle around her biceps. “Careful.”

Their gazes met. Her heart stuttered. Why did he have to have this effect on her? The man was an arrogant ass.

You’re carrying his baby. Of course you’re going to have a reaction to him.

Nicole shook off his hold.

Lea grinned unrepentantly. “Have a great lunch. Don’t rush back. I have everything under control.”

Nicole frowned at her assistant. “I’ll be back in time for my next appointment.”

“Your two o’clock postponed until four. I can reschedule him until tomorrow, if you’d like.”

Nicole glared a warning. “Don’t you dare.”

“Well, take it easy. You have plenty of time.”

Not what she needed Ryan to hear when she wanted an excuse to cut lunch short. But she bit back her reservations and accompanied him outside to his Corvette. He opened the door for her. She avoided his touch and slid into the leather seat.

He climbed into the driver’s side, making the luxurious sports car feel crowded. His scent filled her nostrils and his nearness addled her nerves.

“Why did your sister failing to announce your pregnancy upset you?” he asked as he started the car.

Give the man points for being perceptive. But her feelings were none of his business. “It didn’t.”

He cut her a hard look before pulling onto the road. “I don’t like or respect liars.”

She gasped, gritted her teeth and focused on her three P’s. Patience, politeness, perseverance. “I like things to go according to schedule. Beth changed the schedule at the last minute. That’s all. No big deal.”

But it was. A week ago Beth had been ecstatic about the upcoming announcement and ready to blurt out the news at any second. Waiting until the party had driven her up the wall, but she’d claimed she wanted the announcement to be memorable. So why had her sister suddenly developed cold feet? Was she having doubts about adopting this baby now that she knew it wasn’t her husband’s? Or maybe Patrick was the one with doubts.

Nicole caught herself examining Ryan’s cleanly chiseled profile and the soft line of his lips. She felt the stirrings of something deep inside her abdomen and clamped down on the unwelcome feelings. She was not attracted to him. She was merely curious to know if her—Beth’s baby would inherit those great genes.

She turned away from his face to look out the window. He drove through downtown, past the university and toward Volunteer Landing, a riverfront section of the Tennessee River flanked by a park, restaurants, pricey condos and the sprawling hospital complex. On summer weekends tourists and locals filled the concrete stands along the water to watch the water ski and wakeboard competitions. It had been ages since she’d taken the time to attend one of the events.

But instead of parking at the Landing, he crossed the Henley Street Bridge and turned into an exclusive gated condominium complex. A guard waved him through the entrance. The tall, modern waterfront structure had expansive windows and long cantilevered porches. This wasn’t a commercial property.

A parade of prickles marched up her spine. “Where are we going?”

“My place.”

Too private. Too personal. Too…everything. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

He parked in the ground level area beneath the condos beside a wicked-looking black motorcycle and turned off the engine. Both his and the motorcycle’s parking spaces were labeled 10A.

“Would you prefer to discuss our unusual situation across the river at Calhoun’s or Ruth’s Chris where we might be overheard?”

As much as she liked both restaurants, he’d made a good point. “Um…no. The motorcycle is yours?”

“Yes.”

That made him a risk-taker. Not good parent material.

A vision of him straddling the machine and dressed in black leather flashed in her head. The confines of the car suddenly felt stuffy. She shoved open the door, climbed out and let the breeze blowing off the water cool her hot skin.

He led her toward a bank of elevators. Her heels rapped out a beat on the concrete almost as rapidly as her heart knocked in her chest. Inside the elevator he punched the button for the top floor, and the brushed steel cubicle shot upward quickly and noiselessly.

The doors opened onto a spacious atrium-style foyer with a modern peaked glass ceiling similar to the pyramid shapes at the Louvre. Natural light flooded the plant-filled space, and a fountain gurgled in the center. Four doors opened off opposite sides of the octagonal area.

“This is nice.” Too modern for her traditional tastes, but still attractive with its curved teak benches and pebbled pathways.

“Thanks. I designed the building.”

Extremely pricey waterfront real estate. Penthouse level. Her worry multiplied as she filed the information away. Neither she nor Beth and Patrick could afford the kind of lengthy legal brawl Ryan apparently could. Not that any of them were hurting for cash, but they weren’t in league with someone who could afford multimilliondollar accommodations.

Ryan unlocked a door on the river side of the building and gestured for her to precede him. Dreading the hour to come, she gathered her courage and entered Ryan Patrick’s domain.

His entry opened directly into a huge living area with a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows. Dark slate floors gleamed beneath her feet. The stone might be beautiful, but it would be hard and cold and hazardous for a child learning to crawl or walk. The urban industrial upscale furnishings would also be problematic with their sharp brushed steel edges and glass table tops.

She crossed to the window and looked down. A wave of vertigo hit her, and she staggered back to assess Ryan’s space from a safer distance away from the glass. Outside to her left a stark, Plexiglas-railed patio jutted from the dining area beside her to the far end of the building. The modern stone sculptures, plant holders and glass-and-steel dining set couldn’t keep the slab from looking like a giant diving platform from which you could tumble right over the edge.

The condo suited him perfectly. Dark. Edgy. Cold. Dangerous.

Taking tiny, careful steps she forced herself to return to the window and a clear view of World’s Fair Park with its Sunsphere. The Tennessee River drifted lazily past ten stories below. Volunteer Landing stretched along the opposite bank with its broad walkway and manmade water features. The tourist paddle boat, a favorite for weddings, clung to the shore upstream.

In front of Ryan’s complex on this side of the river a long boat dock floated parallel to the tiny green space. Watercraft of assorted sizes filled the slips.

“Is one of those yours, too?” She pointed to the boats.

“Third from the right.”

She knew enough about water sports from her brothers’ exploits to recognize the long, low boat had been built for speed.

Ryan’s place was a mother’s nightmare. Add in his expensive and risky toys and the possibility of her child growing up here scared her witless. “Your home isn’t suitable for children.”

“Why?”

She startled at his nearness and spun to find him standing only inches away—far too close. She hadn’t heard him cross the room. She sidestepped to put a few feet between them.

“Besides the fact that you apparently have a death wish with your need-for-speed toys?”

His muscles tensed. “I’m careful.”

She rolled her eyes at the ridiculous statement. “There’s no fencing to keep a child from falling off the dock and into the murky water, and there isn’t nearly enough grass for a child to run and play. Children need playgrounds and yards.”

“City kids around the world manage without acre lots.”

“Are there any other children in this building?”

His jaw shifted. He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“A child needs playmates. Beth and Patrick’s place is better suited.”

His intense blue gaze held hers. “Forget your sister and her husband for a moment. This lunch is about you and me.”

Her pulse stuttered. “How so?”

He advanced a step. She retreated one. “I’ve been tested for HIV and every other sexually transmitted disease and I’m clean. Have you been tested?”

Startled by his blunt question, she flinched. “No. There was no need.”

“You’re a virgin?”

Her cheeks burned. “Of course not. I’m twenty-eight.”

But she was careful. More careful than anyone knew. Because she didn’t want to end up like her mother.

“I required testing from my other surrogate candidates. I’ll set up an appointment for you.”

Appalled, she sputtered. “You’ll do no such thing. I’m not one of your candidates.”

“No. You’re the woman carrying my child. That makes a clean bill of health even more critical. Get tested voluntarily or I’ll get a court order.”

She snapped her gaping mouth closed. “You can’t do that.”

“I’ve already spoken to my attorney. I can. This is my kid. I have a vested interest in his welfare.”

Nicole wanted to slap her hands over her ears, but she refrained. “Stop saying that. Your contribution was an accident. You weren’t there. You had nothing to do with it. And if the clinic hadn’t broken the law and given you my confidential information then you wouldn’t even know my name.”

“Irrelevant. I know who you are, and I’m not going away. Do us both a favor and don’t make our lawyers rich.” He turned, releasing her from the tension of his total concentration, removed his suit coat and tossed it over the back of a minimalist leather chair.

She took the opportunity to move away from him. He made her uncomfortable. Why? She had no idea. She dealt with powerful men on a daily basis—men who were in-her-face obnoxious and demanding. She easily kept her cool with them. It wasn’t as easy with Ryan.

Because he’s threatening your—Beth’s—baby. That makes it personal.

He faced her again, unbuttoned his cuffs then started rolling up his sleeves. “Do you smoke?”

The slow revelation of a tanned, muscled forearm riveted her attention. “No.”

“Drink alcohol?”

“Occasionally. But not at all now that I’m expecting.”

“Have you had more than five sexual partners?”

Offended, she stiffened. “That is none of your business. Take me back to my office. Now.”

He finished rolling up his second sleeve and parked his hands on those lean hips. “These are standard questions from the fertility clinic questionnaire which they neglected to have you complete. You have the right to ask the same questions of me. And you should.”

As rude and insulting as he’d been, he was also correct and fair-minded. She hated that a virtual stranger had the right to pry into her personal business. But what if he ended up sharing custody of this child with Beth and Patrick? She—correction—Beth and Patrick needed to know everything about him.

“The clinic doesn’t accept donations from or inseminate HIV-positive clients. If you’d done your research, you would know that.”

“They also claim they don’t make mistakes.”

Point to Ryan. She sighed. “I’ve had less than five partners. You?”

“More than five. But I’ve been careful. Are you seeing anyone now?”

“No.” This was worse than a blind date. “Are you? Is there a woman who’ll have problems with my pregnancy?”

“No.”

“A man?”

His venomous look should have dropped her on the spot, but she had to ask since his solo quest for a child was an unusual one.

His blue eyes scanned her body, leaving a ripple of sensation in their wake. “Do you have any habits that might aversely affect my child’s well-being?”

“I never would have agreed to carry this child for Beth if I did, and I don’t take any drugs except for the prenatal vitamins.”

“Good. Let’s eat.” He walked away.

“I’d rather go back to work.” Or even as far away as Alaska to get away from him.

“You need to eat for yourself and the baby,” he called over his shoulder.

Unfortunately, he was right again. Rather than wait for him in his austere living room, she followed him into a spacious kitchen with stone countertops, glass-front upper cabinets and top-of-the-line stainless steel appliances. As much as he’d already unsettled her stomach with his intrusive questions, she doubted she’d be able to swallow a bite.

He pulled a casserole dish from the top of the double oven. A delicious tomato-and-garlic scent filled the air. Her stomach growled in anticipation. “You assumed a lot by preparing a meal before I agreed to go out with you.”

“We both have the kid’s best interest at heart, and from what I’ve read about you, you’re intelligent enough to know we need to have this discussion. Take a seat and help yourself. It’s vegetable lasagna.”

He had no idea how close she’d come to refusing his “invitation.” She crossed to the glass-topped iron table. He set the rectangular dish on a trivet in the center then returned to pull a loaf of bread from the bottom oven. He sliced the bread, tossed the slices into a basket and brought the basket to the table.

She could get used to a man who was good in the kitchen.

Oh no you won’t.

Next he retrieved a bowl of marinated green beans with grape tomatoes and a pitcher of iced tea from the refrigerator and placed them in the middle of the table, then he sat across from her and filled their glasses.

Nicole’s stomach did one of those weird things it had been doing a lot lately. In a split second it went from not remotely interested in food to ravenous. She loaded her plate and as soon as Ryan had done the same, she dug into the lasagna. The tangy, sauce made her eyes roll back in pleasure, and the thick chunks of eggplant and mushroom tasted better than anything she’d eaten in ages.

She ate for several minutes before looking up and finding his gaze on her. Embarrassed by her unladylike appetite, she paused with her fork halfway to her mouth—the mouth his eyes had focused on. “You know how to cook?”

“My grandmother made sure I learned.”

She’d always envied her friends whose men enjoyed sharing the kitchen with them. But that kind of domestic bliss wasn’t on her agenda. “This is very good.”

“Thank you.” He watched her tuck a tomato between her lips and something changed in his eyes. Something that caused her stomach muscles to tense and her pulse to flutter.

She fought off the sensation and concentrated on the things she didn’t like about him. His bossiness. His risky hobbies. His determination to deprive her of her child.

“Despite your domestic skills, between your motorcycle and your boat and from what I’ve read about you, you’re nowhere near responsible enough to raise a child.”

“You shouldn’t believe what you read in the gossip columns.”

How could she ignore what her Google search had revealed? Look at him. What woman wouldn’t want him? Except her, that is. He was smart, successful and wealthy. Hadn’t her brothers proven that men constantly bombarded with women tended to be selfish and far from good father material?

“Do you or do you not trade in your women more often than most people charge their cell-phone batteries? A child needs security and stability.”

“I haven’t been involved in a long-term relationship lately, if that’s what you’re asking. Have you?”

“My love life is none of your business.”

“It is if your habits could endanger my kid’s health.”

Her mouth opened and closed like a goldfish, but she couldn’t manage to dredge up a blistering comeback. Once again, as ugly as his comment might have been, his concern was valid. “That isn’t an issue.”

“I want a copy of your medical records and to attend every doctor’s appointment with you.”

She bit her tongue. Pain stabbed her mouth. “What?”

“You’ll need to transfer your records to the obstetrical practice I’ve chosen.”

“Are you out of your mind? You can’t make those decisions for me.”

“I want to track his development. And this obstetrical group is the best in the region.”

She shoved her plate aside. “First of all, he might be a she. Second, I have my own doctor. I’ve been seeing her for years, and I’m not changing. You can’t make me.”

He weighed her words as if debating arguing. “Is he or she board certified?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t go to a hack—especially now. I’ll have my doctor fax you a report after each visit.”

“Not good enough. I want to be able to address questions as they arise and see the ultrasound scans.”

Any child would be lucky to have a parent so interested. If only hers had been, but her father had been too busy with his gambling buddies.

“I’ll check with my doctor, but I think she’ll agree to meet with you. I also want to make sure Beth and Patrick are comfortable with your intrusion.”

Not that either of them had attended her appointments thus far. Their absence had surprised Nicole. But maybe the obstetrical appointments were painful reminders of Beth’s inability to conceive.

“They’ll have to deal with it. Get used to it, Nicole. I will be a part of this child’s life with or without your voluntary consent. And I won’t be parked in the waiting room at the doctor’s office. I’ll be right by your side during every examination.”