Читать книгу Little Secrets: Unexpectedly Pregnant - Joss Wood - Страница 9

Two

Three months later...

“Are you going to slap me again?”

“The night is still young, who knows?”

Tyce slid onto the barstool next to Sage, ordered a whiskey from the bartender and looked at his former lover. She’d pulled her long, normally curly hair into a sleek tail, allowing her eyes to dominate her face. Tonight her irises were periwinkle blue surrounded with a navy ring; they could be, depending on her mood, navy, denim or that unusual shade of Moroccan blue.

Her eyes always, every single time, had the ability to drop him to his knees. God had not been playing fair when he’d combined an amazing set of blues with a face that was near perfect—heart shaped, high cheekbones, sexy mouth, stubborn chin—and then, just for kicks, placed that head on top of a body that was naturally lean, intensely feminine, all sexy.

He loved her face, he loved her body and God knew that he loved making love to her, with her... He wanted to kiss that mouth, suck on her skin, allow his hands to stroke that endlessly creamy, warm, fragrant skin.

It had been so damn long and, after three years of sheer hell, one night with her had been like offering a dehydrated man a drop of water. He wanted her legs wrapped around his hips, to hear her soft moans in his ear, his tongue in that hot, sweet mouth.

Sage had no idea that his pants were tighter and that his lungs were battling to take in air. She just took a sip of her drink and wrinkled her nose in a way he’d always found adorable. “I suppose I should apologize for slapping you but the incident made all the social columns, creating more publicity for your already successful exhibition and sending your already overinflated prices sky-high.”

Overinflated? Tyce winced and then shrugged. It wasn’t like he hadn’t had the same thought a time or two. The prices his art commanded were ridiculous; it wasn’t like he was a modern-day Picasso or Rembrandt. He was just a guy who slapped steel and wood together, tossed paint onto a canvas in a way people seemed to like. Art critics, his agent and the gallery owners would be shocked if they ever found out how little effort went into the art they all revered.

No one knew or suspected that most of his time was spent painting intensely detailed portraits that were accurate to the last brushstroke. His portraits, intimate, honest, time and blood sucking, were where he found and lost himself. Many of those never-seen portraits were of Sage, and Tyce neither knew or cared to speculate what that meant.

Silence fell between them and Tyce looked around the room. He’d been surprised to receive a text from Sage inviting him to attend the Ballantyne cocktail party and jewelry exhibition and there had never been any doubt that he’d go. Firstly, if one was personally invited to look at one of the best collections of fantastically rare and ridiculously expensive jewelry one took the opportunity. He also wanted to look at the new line Sage designed and it was, as he expected, fabulous. Whimsical but modern, feminine but strong...so Sage. And because he was a guy he was hoping that Sage’s request to meet would lead to some head-bangin’, bed-breaking sex.

There was only one way to find out. “So, is this a booty call?”

Sage blinked. “What?”

“Did you ask to meet so that we can hook up again?”

“You arrogant jerk!” Her eyes sparked with irritation and color seeped into her face. “Are you insane?”

Probably. And, if he was, then her incredible eyes and rocking body and the memories of how good they were together were to blame.

“So, you didn’t call me to try and talk me into a night of hot sex?” Tyce didn’t have to pretend to sound disappointed; the memories of touching, tasting, loving Sage kept him up most nights. He wished he could ring-fence his thoughts so that he only remembered her scent, her soft, creamy skin and the taste on his tongue. But, unfortunately, his mind always wandered off into dangerous territory—how it would feel to wake up to her face in the morning, to hear her soft good night before he slept. He only allowed himself the briefest of fantasies about what a life spent with Sage would look like before he vaporized those thoughts.

Sage was part of a dynamic, successful family and he wasn’t referring to the immense Ballantyne wealth. Sage and her brothers knew what family meant, how to be part of one.

He didn’t have a cookin’ clue. The Ballantyne family, from what he understood, worked as a well-oiled machine, each part of that machine different but essential to the process.

Tyce had been the engine that powered his family along—an engine constantly on the point of breaking down. He’d done his best to provide what Lachlyn needed but had been so damn busy trying to survive that he emotionally neglected his sister. Sage’s life partner would be an emotionally intelligent dude, would be able to slide into the Ballantyne family and know how to be, act, respond... The man who she married would know how to deal with and contribute to the clan.

Tyce wasn’t that man. He’d never be that man and it was stupid to spend more than a minute thinking that he could be.

So, when he’d seen her text message asking him to meet tonight, he’d jumped to the only conclusion that made sense, that she wanted another hookup. During his shower he’d fantasized about how he would take her... Fast or slow? Her on top or him? Either way, the only thing that was nonnegotiable was that he’d be looking in her eyes when she shattered, wanting to see if she needed him as much as he needed her.

Instead of looking soft and dreamy, her eyes blazed with pure blue anger. Right, real life...

“No, Tyce, I didn’t call you because I wanted hot sex.” Sage answered him in a dry, sarcastic voice.

Tyce took a sip of his whiskey, the urge to tease fleeing. Did she suddenly look nervous? He lifted his eyebrows until Sage spoke. “But I did—do—have something to tell you.”

Tyce looked around the room while he rubbed his jaw, his gut screaming that whatever she had to say was going to rock his world. He didn’t want his world rocked, he just wanted to either have sex with Sage or to go home and paint. Since sex wasn’t happening, he itched to slap oil onto canvas, eager to work his frustration out with slashes of indigo and Indian red, manganese violet and magenta. “Just spit it out and get it done.” Tyce snapped out the words, his tone harsh.

Sage blew air out over her lips and briefly closed her eyes. When they opened again, he saw her resolve. And when she finally formed the words, they shifted his world.

“I don’t expect anything from you, not money or time or involvement. But you should know that I am pregnant and the baby is yours.”

Tyce was still trying to make sense of her words, trying to decipher them, when Sage placed a swift, final kiss to the left of his mouth. “Goodbye, Tyce. It was...fun. Except when it wasn’t.”

* * *

Sage, having said what she needed to, took advantage of his astonishment and stood up. She was about to pick up her clutch and leave when his hand shot out and gripped her wrist.

When she looked at him she noticed that his eyes were pure black fire. “Sit. Stay.”

Those eyes, God, they still had the power to dissolve her knees. Eyes of a warrior, Sage thought. Because he made her feel off-kilter, she handed him a cool look. “I am not a puppy you are trying to train.”

Tyce gripped his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “God, Sage, just give me a sec, okay? You’ve just told me that you’re pregnant. I need a goddamn minute! So, yeah, sit your ass down, okay?”

Hearing the note of panic in Tyce’s voice, Sage slid back onto the high barstool and crossed her legs. She listened as Tyce ordered another whiskey from the bartender and watched the color seep slowly back into his face.

“We need to...” she began.

Tyce shook his head and held up his hand to stop her talking. “Another drink and some more time.”

Sage nodded and leaned back in her chair, a little relieved that she’d told him, that it was finally done. It had taken every gram of courage she possessed to send that text message asking him to meet, and she’d known that he’d think she was looking for another one-night stand. Could she blame him? Their entire relationship had been based around their physical attraction and he was a guy... Of course he’d think she just wanted sex.

But their crazy chemistry had led to a very big consequence...

Sage rolled her head, trying to loosen the tension in her neck. She’d sit here, let him take the time he needed for the news to sink in and after what she hoped would be a drama-free conversation, she’d leave. Then she could put him and their brief roller coaster—What should she call it? Fling? Affair? Madness?—behind her.

God, though it had been brief, their time together had been intense. They’d met at the opening of a small gallery around the corner from her apartment and the attraction between them sizzled. Sage would like to blame that on his mixed heritage, Korean and French, on his dark Asian eyes, square chin and blinding smile, and his tall, muscled body. But she’d grown up surrounded by good-looking men and looks didn’t impress her much. No, it was Tyce’s stillness, his control and his aura of elusiveness, and unavailability, that attracted her.

Tyce had told her, straight up and straightaway, that he wanted to sleep with her but that he wasn’t the settle-down, buy-her-flowers type. They could hang, enjoy each other, but she shouldn’t expect anything more from him. She appreciated his up-front attitude and it soon dawned on her that she was drawn to a younger, darker, less chatty version of her beloved uncle Connor. Connor had been utterly devoted to his adopted kids, had looked after his employees and had been a hardworking, focused businessman, but a monogamous, committed relationship never featured on Connor’s list of priorities. Trying to pin men like Connor and Tyce down was like trying to capture smoke in a sieve.

And maybe she’d found Tyce a little more attractive because she knew he would never offer her the very thing that scared her the most: an emotionally intimate relationship. She’d been the apple of her parents’ eye, the baby girl who had her entire family wrapped around her finger, loved and adored until she woke up one morning and heard that the biggest part of her life was gone and wasn’t ever coming back.

She’d avoided relationships outside of the people who lived in Connor’s iconic brownstone fondly referred to as The Den—her brothers, Connor, and Jo, Linc’s mom and the woman Connor hired to help him raise three orphans. She had girlfriends she enjoyed but whom she kept at an arm’s length, and she wasn’t much of a dater.

Tyce had been hard to resist. Sage had been in love with his art for years. His work was detailed and exquisite, full of angst and emotion. From their first meeting, admiration and attraction swirled and whirled and she’d quickly said yes when he suggested dinner. They didn’t make it to a restaurant; instead they’d tumbled into bed and Sage finally understood the power of addiction. She craved Tyce with a ferocity that scared her.

After six weeks of fantastic sex, Sage realized she was on the brink of falling in love with Tyce and couldn’t, wouldn’t allow that to happen. Terrified, she did what she did best, she made plans to run and immediately booked a ticket to Hong Kong, telling her brothers that their Asian clients needed her attention. The day before her scheduled flight to Asia, Connor passed away and her entire world changed. Connor’s death allowed her to put the distance between her and Tyce she’d been seeking with her trip to Hong Kong.

And Connor’s death reminded her of why it was better to keep her distance from people and that she was wise to avoid emotional and intimate relationships. It hurt too damn much when the people she loved left her life.

She had enough people to love, enough people to worry about. And now—Sage placed her hand on her stomach—she had a baby on the way, a little person who would become the center of her world. Her baby, she ruefully admitted, was one person she had no choice but to love, someone she couldn’t push away.

Well played, Universe.

What did having a baby mean to Tyce? Sage wanted to ask him but, judging from his give-me-space expression, he wouldn’t answer her. Would he walk? Would he want to be involved? If he wanted contact with his child, how would that work? What if he wanted to co-parent? What then? When she’d texted him she’d been consumed by the idea of telling him, needing to get the dreaded deed done. She hadn’t thought beyond that. Well, she had thought about how sexy he was and how much she wanted to make love to him again...

Like those thoughts were productive. Besides, them going to bed was exactly what led to their current predicament. Then again, one couldn’t fall pregnant twice. Jeez, Sage, pull yourself together, woman!

Tyce abruptly stood up, nearly tipping his barstool with the force of his movement. “I need to get out of here.”

“Okay, well...” Sage bit her bottom lip and looked around. “Give me a call if you want to chat about this some more.”

Tyce looked like a hard-assed warrior about to go to battle. “Oh, hell, no, we’re leaving together.”

Sage frowned at his high-handed comment. She wasn’t ready to leave. This cocktail party and exhibition of the Ballantyne family jewelry collection was the culmination of their latest PR campaign to attract new customers. Her family was all in attendance and she was expected to stick around. Not that anyone would notice if she left... Her brothers Jaeger and Beck were both slow dancing with their women—Piper and Cady—and she was the last thing on their minds. Her oldest brother, Linc, who’d brought Tate, his son’s temporary nanny, to the party, was nowhere to be seen.

Sage was sure that she could leave and no one would be any wiser but that would mean leaving with Tyce and that wasn’t an option. “I don’t think so.”

“Walk out with me or I swear, I’ll toss you over my shoulder and walk you out that way.”

His alpha bossiness only turned her on when they were naked but since they weren’t—and would never be again—his terse tone ticked her off. She opened her mouth to blast him and closed it again at the determination in his eyes. She could either leave walking or over his shoulder and she didn’t want a scene to ruin this fabulous evening. Sage glared at him, picked up her designer clutch and walked with him into the foyer of the ballroom. She collected her coat and went to stand by the elevators.

The doors opened, Sage followed Tyce into the cube and pushed the button for the first floor. As the doors closed, the spacious interior shrunk with a big, broad, freaked-out man inside.

Tyce slapped his hand against the emergency stop button.

“What the hell, Sage? You’re pregnant?”

Obviously, he was taking some time to process the news. Sage winced at his shout, his words bouncing off the wood paneling. She lifted her hands as the elevator shuddered to a stop.

“Okay, calm down, Tyce.”

Pathetic as it was, it was all she could think of to say. Even furious, he was ludicrously good-looking. Blue-black hair cut stylishly with short back and sides, equally dark eyebrows over those black sultry eyes. When he smiled, which was, in her opinion, far too rarely, he could charm birds down from trees, criminals into converting and start polar caps melting. Sage wished that she could say Tyce Latimore was just a pretty face but he was so much more than that. He was tall, a few inches above six foot and his body, that body she’d licked and explored and teased and tasted, was all muscle honed from a lifetime dedicated to martial arts. Tae Kwon Do, judo, Krav Maga...they’d all contributed to creating a body that was spectacular and spectacularly sexy. The hair on her arms lifted and her fingers ached to touch him. Her off-the-shoulder silk dress felt abrasive against her sensitive skin and want and need danced through her.

Focus, Sage. Sheesh.

Tyce pushed his jacket back to place his hands on his hips, his expression summer-storm vicious. “Are you messing with me?”

Sage just barely restrained herself from rolling her eyes at his question.

“Yeah, Tyce,” she sarcastically muttered. “I crave your attention that much that I’d make up a story like this to play games with your head!” Seeing his still skeptical face, she shook her head and, needing support, she leaned her back against the wall of the elevator. “I am pregnant. Since you’re the only guy I’ve slept with in the three months—” Three years, she mentally corrected, but she wasn’t telling him that! “—I think it’s safe to assume that the kid is yours.”

“But we used condoms,” Tyce said, pushing his shaking hands into his hair.

Sage blushed. “That first time...you did slide in without a condom. You put one on later but maybe...” Lord, this was embarrassing! “...something slipped past.”

Tyce stared at her, his hands linked behind his head and his expression stricken with panic and fear. “I can’t be a father, Sage. I don’t want to be a father. I don’t want kids!”

Sage assumed as much.

Sage reached around him to release the emergency stop button. “As I told you, that’s not a problem. I don’t expect anything from you. You can carry on living your life as you always have.”

“You can’t do this on your own!” he said and for the first time ever Sage saw Tyce a little unhinged. He banged his fist against the stop button to prevent it from going any farther and the car’s shudder reverberated through her.

“I am young, healthy, have huge family support and ample resources to hire the help I need to raise this child,” Sage told him, pushing a finger into his chest. “I don’t need anything from you.”

A little support would be nice, a kind word, but wishing for either was futile. Tyce wasn’t the kind, supportive type. Hot and hard, amazing, fantastic sex? Yes. Warm and reassuring? No. She’d only told him because he had the right to know and not because she expected anything from him. She didn’t want anything from him...or from any other man.

She was fine, safe, on her own.

“Miss Ballantyne?” Sage jumped at the disembodied voice coming from a speaker above her head. “Is everything alright in there?”

She nodded at the camera in the top corner of the elevator. “Everything is fine, thank you. We’re just having a chat.”

Chat? They were having a life-changing conversation. There was nothing chatty about it.

“Okay then.” The voice sounded dubious. “Um? Do you think you could, um, chat somewhere else? There are people waiting for the elevator.”

Sage nodded, walked to stand between Tyce and the light panel and pushed the emergency stop again. She pulled in a large breath and turned to face Tyce, who was staring down at the mulberry-colored carpet. “Tyce.”

He didn’t lift his head, so Sage called his name again. He eventually looked at her with those intensely dark, pain-filled eyes.

“I’m letting you off the hook. Look, I’m presuming that your statement from three years ago—when you told me that you don’t do commitment—still holds?”

“Yeah.” It was a small word but a powerful response.

Sage nodded. “I’m very okay with that—I’m not looking for someone to nest with me. Take my offer to walk away. This child will be raised a Ballantyne. No one will ever have to know that he, or she, is yours. I’m giving you permission to forget about this conversation.”

Something flashed in Tyce’s eyes and Sage frowned, not sure what she’d seen. Before she could say any more, the doors to the elevator opened and they faced a bank of people waiting for the tardy lift. Sage pulled on her practiced, cool smile and stepped into the throng. She swiftly walked into the lobby and she nodded when the concierge asked her whether she wanted a taxi. Sage pulled on her coat and tried to ignore Tyce as he stepped up to walk beside her, a silent, brooding sexy mass of muscle.

She’d barely stepped onto the curb when a taxi pulled up and the doorman hurried to open the door. Sage climbed inside and sighed when Tyce crouched in the space between the open car door and her seat.

“We’re not done discussing this, Sage,” he said, his voice a low growl.

“We really are, Tyce.” Sage forced the words through her tight lips. “Don’t contact me again. We are over.”

“Yeah, you can think that,” Tyce said, standing up. “But you’d be wrong.”

The slam of the taxi door was an exclamation point at the end of his sentence.