Читать книгу The Baby Bonus - Metsy Hingle - Страница 9

Absolutely everything seemed to be going wrong, Regan admitted as she retraced her path from the ladies’ room to her office at the rear of the jewelry salon. Pressing a hand to her still-queasy stomach, she eased behind the worktable where her jeweler’s tools, an assortment of gems and several pieces awaited her attention.

“Come on, Slugger,” Regan pleaded, smoothing her palm over her still-flat belly. “How about giving Mommy a break here? Morning sickness is called that for a reason. These tummy hijinks are not supposed to happen in the afternoon, too.” She certainly hadn’t expected the morning sickness to plague her long and late into every day, as had been the case during the two weeks since she’d confirmed her pregnancy. Nor had she expected her energy level to dip so drastically that it rivaled New Orleans’ below-sea-level position along the Mississippi River. Sighing, Regan shook her head. This pregnancy was so different from the last one, she thought, and immediately regretted the comparison as memories of the miscarriage came flooding back.

Squeezing her eyes shut a moment, Regan pressed a fist against the ache in her heart—an ache that time had dulled but never quite healed. She sucked in a breath and tried to banish the pain that always accompanied thoughts of that sad time in her life. Things were different now, she reminded herself. She was different. She wasn’t a starry-eyed girl unexpectedly pregnant with her lover’s child this time. She was a woman, without any foolish illusions about love. This pregnancy was the result of planning, not passion. And in just over seven months when she held her baby in her arms, she would have everything she wanted, everything she needed.

What about a husband? Someone to share your life with? Someone to be a father to this baby?

Her aunt’s words replayed in Regan’s head, taunting her. Ruthlessly, she shut them off. Aunt Liz was wrong, she assured herself. She didn’t need or want a husband. All she needed was her baby, a child of her own to hold in her arms, to give all the love she had stored in her heart. Patting her tummy, she whispered, “Don’t worry, sweetie. We’ll be just fine. You’ll see. You won’t even miss not having a daddy because I’m going to be the best mommy possible. I promise.”

The wink of diamonds caught her eye, and Regan glanced at the jewelry spread out before her in various stages of completion. Becoming mommy of the year would have to wait a bit longer, she decided. Right now, she had work to do—work that the store desperately needed if she hoped to make the mortgage payment on time this month. Thoughts of the hefty mortgage made her frown, and, not for the first time, Regan wished she had taken a few business courses along with her classes on gem-cutting and grading. Heaven knows she certainly could have used even just a little of what she had once considered the dull business know-how during this past year. But then, she’d had no idea she would ever need to worry about things like fiscal management and market share and interest rates. She certainly had never dreamed that she would find herself in a financial mess and in danger of losing the store that had been in her family for five generations. And while she’d managed to hang on so far, she wasn’t out of the woods by any means. Flicking on the work light, she repositioned the sketch she’d made of a ring, but her thoughts drifted once more to her finances.

You should have told me we were in trouble, Daddy. Why didn’t you at least let me try to help?

But she knew why her father hadn’t told her, Regan admitted. He had been protecting her—as he always did. Anger sparked anew as she recalled the dual shocks of her father’s sudden death and the discovery that Exclusives was on the verge of bankruptcy. But on the heels of her resentment came guilt. She had no right to be angry with her father—not when he’d given her so much. After all, it had been her father who had introduced her to the magical world of gems and nurtured her dreams of designing. Maybe he had been overprotective at times, but only because he had loved her. And he had been there when she needed him, had helped her pick up the pieces of her life when she’d lost both her baby and Cole. She owed it to her father to make the store solvent again, to pass on the legacy to her own child someday. And she would, Regan vowed. “I won’t let you down, Daddy,” she promised.

Swiping at the tears that seemed to surface so easily these days, Regan picked up the ring she’d been working on before her dash to the bathroom. “What do you say, Slugger? No more shenanigans until I finish this piece. All right?”

When her stomach had remained calm for a full five minutes, Regan grinned. Evidently, she and Slugger had worked out a deal. She glanced at the sketch and then at the ring and frowned. Running a fingertip along the gold band, an anniversary gift for one of the store’s best clients, she studied the piece with a critical eye. The four-carat Burmese ruby at the center of the ring was exquisite, she conceded, admiring the brilliant luster of the stone, the way it caught and reflected the light. Despite its size and origin, the silk effect, or straw inclusions, so common in rubies were so faint they were invisible to the naked eye. The diamond baguettes flanking either side of the blood-red gem set off the ruby perfectly. The ring was beautiful, and the customer would be very happy with it. Yet, Regan itched to replace the ruby with the fiery green emerald locked in the safe.

“Your mommy’s crazy, Slugger,” she muttered. Selling the ruby would be the smart thing to do, not to mention far more lucrative since it was a more expensive stone. But the part of her that had always been drawn to the magic of the stones rather than to their monetary value kept seeing the emerald nestled between the diamonds. The fact that the heart stone, as the emerald was known, would be all the more fitting for the occasion only compounded her desire to use it. Regan sighed again. Not only was she crazy, she decided, pushing back from her worktable, but she was a lousy businesswoman to boot. Walking across the room, she unlocked the vault and retrieved a black velvet tray of gems. She’d just placed the tray on her worktable when the intercom on the desk behind her buzzed.

“Ms. St. Claire?”

Turning, Regan hit the speaker button on the phone. “Yes, Amy,” she replied, wishing the new receptionist would call her Regan as she had asked her to do.

“There’s a Mr. Cole Thornton here to see you.”

Regan froze. Suddenly the air backed up in her lungs. Her stomach did a nosedive, and the room began to spin. Her knees wobbly, she sank down onto the chair beside the desk and tried to suck in a breath.

Cole Thornton. Here in New Orleans. To see her? After all this time?

Twelve years had passed since that horrible day when he’d looked at her with ice in his gray eyes as he’d lashed out at her before leaving town. He’d never spoken to her again. Not once. But she had never forgotten him. How could she when the city that had once shunned the dirt-poor young Cole was so eager to claim the successful real-estate mogul as one of its native sons? She’d lost count of the photos she’d seen of him at various business and charity functions over the years—the snippets of gossip about his latest acquisitions, the lavish parties he attended, the glamorous women he dated. As far as she knew, until now, he’d only returned to New Orleans once. Recalling her brief encounter with him on that one occasion still stung. Just remembering his cool indifference, the way he’d looked right through her sent a stab of pain through her. No way did she intend to put herself through that kind of anguish again. Especially not now.

“Ms. St. Claire? Should I send Mr. Thornton in?”

“No,” Regan shot back. Swallowing past the tightness in her throat, she assured herself that this rush of emotion she was experiencing was due to her pregnancy and had nothing to do with any lingering feelings she had for Cole. “Please give Mr. Thornton my apologies, Amy, and tell him I’m unavailable. Oh and, Amy, I’d appreciate it if you’d hold my calls,” she said before severing the connection.

Feeling a bit unsteady, Regan returned to her worktable and sank down to her stool. Think of work, she commanded herself. Work had been her refuge twelve years ago. It would be her refuge now. Besides, she reminded herself, she had a baby on the way and a staff who needed her to make sure Exclusives stayed afloat. Intent on removing the ruby from its setting, Regan didn’t even bother looking up when she heard the door open a few minutes later. “Whatever it is, Amy, I’ll deal with it later. I don’t have time right now.”

“Then I suggest you make time.”

The tool fell from Regan’s fingers and clattered noisily on the marble tabletop, at the sound of the voice that had once sent shivers of longing up her spine.

“Ms. St. Claire, I’m sorry,” a nervous Amy said as she rushed in behind Cole. Her eyes shifted anxiously from Regan to Cole and back again. “I tried to explain to Mr. Thornton that you couldn’t see him—”

“And I assured Amy that you would see me,” Cole replied.

“It’s all right, Amy,” Regan told the young woman in a voice that belied the fact that her heart was slamming against her ribs. “I’ll handle it.”

Amy didn’t need to be told twice. She scurried out of the room, pulling the door closed behind her. And as she watched the other woman escape, Regan fervently wished she could do the same. Bracing herself, she met Cole’s gaze.

“And just how do you plan to handle me, princess?”

Regan gritted her teeth at his use of the pet name he’d saddled her with years ago. Trying to instill ice in her voice she asked, “What do you want, Cole?”

His eyes darkened, gleamed a liquid silver, sparking memories of the nights she’d lain naked in his arms. He arched a brow. “Should I consider that an invitation?”

Color flashed up Regan’s cheeks, and she cursed her fair skin when she saw his lips twist into a smile. “Hardly,” she replied. Oh God, it simply wasn’t fair. At thirty-three, Cole was even more handsome now than he’d been at twenty-one. His hair was shorter, but just as thick and still as dark as midnight. There were faint lines etched at the corners of his eyes that hadn’t been there twelve years ago, lines that made him look harder, colder, she thought. But his eyes were still that same incredible shade of gray capable of going from frost to molten silver in an instant. His long lean body didn’t sport any extra pounds that she could detect, and she’d lay odds that the muscles beneath his designer shirt and suit were still as hard as steel. Unable to stop herself, she stared at his mouth—the mouth that had kissed her with such hunger, had tasted every inch of her body, had whispered promises of love.

“You still blush like a schoolgirl, princess,” he told her. “How is that possible?”

Flustered, Regan stood. “I don’t have time for games, Cole. I have a business to run. So why don’t you tell me why you’re here?”

His mouth hardened a moment, but instead of answering, he perched himself on the edge of her table and picked up the ring she’d been working on. “Far be it from me to waste your valuable time. After all,” he said, looking from the ring to her, “I know firsthand what a high priority you place on business. That’s why I’m here. To discuss business.”

The word business hit Regan like a slap. Immediately she recalled the gorgeous redhead who had accompanied him to the fundraiser at the city’s aquarium last year. Regan’s business, her primary business, was designing one-of-a-kind rings for Exclusives. Her throat grew tight. He couldn’t possibly expect her to design a ring for his lover, she told herself. Not even Cole would be that cruel.

Unless he felt he had a reason to be cruel. And, in Cole’s eyes, he believed he had a reason. He thought she had betrayed him. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t. He’d never believed her when she’d come to him later and tried to explain the reasons she’d had their marriage annulled, that she’d done it to save him. The result had been the same. She’d hurt him, had ripped his pride to shreds at a time when pride was all he’d had. What better payback than to commission her to design his future wife’s wedding ring? Regan stared at the ring in Cole’s hand and recalled the day he’d placed a thin gold band on her finger and promised to love her always. Always had only lasted ten days. Pain sliced through Regan, razor-sharp, at the memory. Deserving or not and no matter how badly she could use the sale and publicity, she refused to subject herself to that kind of misery. “As I said, I’m very busy. I’ll get my assistant to help you.”

“Like hell you will!” Quick as a snap he was off the table and in her face. “I’m not dealing with any assistant on something this important. I’m dealing with you, princess. And only you.”

Staggered by his sudden shift from cool control to white-hot fury, Regan took a step back. Emotions tumbled through her at breakneck speed, and she recalled the other two times she’d seen Cole in the grips of a temper like this—the day she’d told him she wanted an annulment and the day she’d told him she’d lost their baby. She drew in a calming breath. “I’d like you to leave.”

A muscle twitched in his jaw. “What’s the matter, princess? Changed your mind again? It’s a little late for that now, don’t you think?”

Regan frowned, confused as much by Cole’s remarks as by his hostility. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, and, to tell you the truth, I don’t really care. I just want you to go.”

“Not a chance.”

Regan’s pulse danced uneasily at the steely determination in his voice. “Then you leave me no choice but to call the police and have you removed,” she said with more conviction than she felt. She started toward the phone, when suddenly Slugger decided he hadn’t finished playing games for the day. Her stomach dipped. A wave of nausea rolled through her. “Excuse me,” she mumbled, and tried to move past Cole before she lost what was left of her lunch in front of him.

Cole blocked her path. “I don’t think so. Not until we talk.”

“Get out of my way,” she commanded, fighting back the nausea climbing up her throat. “I mean it, Cole. Get out of my way, or you’re going to be sorry.”

“Sorrier than you were twelve years ago when you realized what a mistake you made by marrying a poor bastard? Oh, I forgot, my being a bastard isn’t quite so bad now that I have money, is it?”

For a moment the dots in front of her eyes cleared, as the full measure of his bitterness hit her. Regan blinked back the tears of anger and hurt stinging her eyes. “Go to hell.”

“No thanks, sweetheart, I’ve already been there once because of you. And I have no intention of going back. In fact, now that you’re pregnant, I—”

The shock of his words hit Regan like a punch, and on its heels came another wave of nausea. She clamped one hand over her mouth and used the other to shove past him. Cole caught her shoulder, pulled her around to face him. Then it was too late. She upchucked all over his expensive black shoes.

Stunned, Cole stood frozen for several seconds. As he battled through the anger that had gripped him at Regan’s dismissal, he registered her paper-white pallor, the beads of sweat dotting her brow.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, a horrified expression on her face, before she broke free and fled.

“Regan, wait,” Cole shouted, charging after her. He skidded to a halt when the bathroom door swung shut, barely missing his nose. He pounded on the door with his fist. “Regan!”

“Go away!”

Concerned, he twisted the doorknob, found the thing locked. “Open the door, Regan.”

“Go away!”

Not a chance. Liz hadn’t told him that she was sick. Regan never got sick—at least not that he could remember. Even during her short pregnancy years ago, she hadn’t suffered so much as an hour of morning sickness. She hadn’t been sick a single day—until the miscarriage.

Suddenly the idea that Regan and his baby could be in any danger had the blood chilling in his veins. Damn! He should never have baited her the way he had, recalling the way the color had drained from her cheeks when he’d lashed out at her. He washed a hand down his face, shamed by his actions. Worse, he was scared. If something happened to her or the baby, it would be his fault. His insides suddenly churning, Cole raised his fist but forced himself to tap on the door, gently this time. “Princess? Are you all right?”

When she didn’t answer, Cole knocked again. Guilt and worry played havoc in his mind as he envisioned Regan lying on the bathroom floor helpless, maybe in pain. “Princess, can you hear me?” he asked, growing more anxious by the second. “Unlock the door. Let me in so I can help you.”

When she still failed to respond, the knot of fear in his stomach balled into a fist. Cole tried the doorknob again, gave it a menacing twist. Then he heard it—that terrible wretching sound of someone being sick. On the heels of that came a soft moan and then the sound of running water. He shoved at the door, contemplated kicking the thing in. “Are you all right?” he demanded, nerves making his voice sharp, his temper short. “Dammit, Regan, answer me.”

“I’m all right.”

But she didn’t sound all right. She sounded as weak as a newborn kitten. Sucking in a calming breath, Cole attempted to rein in the jumble of emotions racing through him. “Open the door, princess,” he coaxed, deliberately gentling his voice even though inside he felt raw, violent. “I know you’re sick. Please…open the door. Let me help you.”

“I don’t want your help,” she tossed back with more spirit than he’d expected. “I just want you to leave.”

Too bad, Cole thought, gritting his teeth. No way did he plan to leave—not until he was sure that she was okay. And the baby, he amended. After all, the baby was the reason he was here in the first place. Raking a hand through his hair, Cole sighed. According to Money magazine he was a smart man, a virtual business genius. So how the devil had he gotten himself into this mess? How the devil had he let himself get tangled up with Regan St. Claire again?

The answer was simple—Liz, his oldest and dearest friend, the woman who had taken a street-smart, angry punk under her wing and given him a chance to be something more. He owed her more than he could ever repay in one lifetime. But hell, this time Regan’s aunt Liz had gone too far.

And whose fault is that?

His, Cole admitted. Because he had only himself to blame for getting into this fix in the first place. After all, he knew how clever Liz was, and he also knew how much the woman loved her niece. Liz had known exactly which buttons to push to convince him to be Regan’s sperm donor. And idiot that he was, he’d fallen right into the trap….

“Forget it, Liz. If Regan needs a sperm donor, you’ll have to find someone else. Maybe one of those uptowners with the mile-long pedigrees.”

“Fine,” Liz agreed easily.

Too easily, he thought. The woman was as sharp as a tack and never gave up that easily. Narrowing his gaze, he looked at her, knowing instinctively she was up to something. “I mean it, Liz.”

“I said okay, didn’t I?”

“But?”

“But what?” she asked innocently.

Cole sighed. “Whatever it is you’ve got up your sleeve isn’t going to work.”

“You make me sound like a scheming manipulative woman.”

“That’s because sometimes you are, but I love you anyway.”

She sniffed, tipped up her nose.

“Why don’t you just spit out whatever it is you’re up to?”

“I’m disappointed in you, Cole Thornton. I never thought you’d let pigheaded pride stand in the way and stop you from having the one thing you’ve always wanted.”

Cole laughed. “If you think I’m still pining after Regan, you’ve been standing too close to the ether, doc. Getting tangled up with your niece once was enough for me. Believe me, I have no desire to repeat that mistake.” Certainly not when he still bore the scars from their short-lived union.

Her brown eyes twinkled in a way that said “gotcha.” “Isn’t it interesting that you thought I was referring to Regan?”

Cole scowled, annoyed as much with himself as with Liz.

“I was referring to a baby. More specifically, your baby.” Her expression sobered. “I remember how devastated you were when…when Regan miscarried. I know how much you wanted that baby, how much you were looking forward to becoming a father.”

Pain ripped through Cole at the reminder of that dreadful day when Regan had told him she’d lost their baby. Even after all this time, it hurt to think of his child, his little girl, that had never had a chance to live, that he had never had a chance to hold. “Leave it alone, Liz.”

She reached out, touched his hand. “For whatever reason, fate stole your and Regan’s daughter, Cole. Nothing can ever change that. But don’t you see? If you helped Regan now, it could be a second chance for both of you.”

Memories crowding him, Cole pulled away. “There are no second chances, Liz.”

She frowned. “Careful, Cole. You’re beginning to sound a lot like my brother. I’d hate to see you end up like Philip. Despite all his blessings, he was an unhappy and lonely man until the day he died.”

“I’m nothing like him,” Cole snapped, insulted to be compared to the man he’d once admired and whose approval he’d struggled so hard to win; the man who had been his employer and, briefly, his father-in-law. The man he’d grown to hate so fiercely that he’d spent the past dozen years of his life working like a madman just to prove how wrong Philip St. Claire had been about him.

“Are you sure? You’re rich and successful just as you swore you’d be, but I don’t see that it’s made you happy.”

“I’m happy.”

“Then why are you still alone? And why in all the news clippings I see of you with one beautiful woman after another on your arm, why doesn’t the smile on your lips reach your eyes? For all my brother’s sins, he at least had Regan. She was the best part of him, and worth a hundred times more than all of his priceless jewels. She brought love and laughter into Philip’s life, and now that he’s gone, she’s carrying on his legacy. What about you, Cole? You have the power and fortune you always wanted, but what else do you have? Who do you have to bring love and laughter into your life? Who do you have to carry on your legacy when you’re gone?”

The reminder of how empty his life was staggered Cole, yet he refused to admit that fact to Liz. Instead, he hardened his jaw and met her eyes. “I don’t need love in my life. I stopped believing in it a long time ago. As for the rest, if and when I decide I want someone, I’ll buy them.”

Liz shook her head, her expression sad. “And you say you’re not like Philip?”

Suddenly the image of Philip St. Claire trying to buy him out of Regan’s life came rushing back. Angry, Cole snapped, “I’m not like him. I don’t judge people by their pedigrees and bank accounts. I may have made mistakes, but I own up to them and I learn from them. Marrying Regan was the biggest mistake I ever made, and I have enough sense not to repeat it.”

Liz arched her brow. “Funny. I don’t recall mentioning the word marriage. All I was suggesting was that you be Regan’s sperm donor. Obviously, I was wrong in thinking that the idea of becoming a father would appeal to you. So, please, don’t give it another thought. I’ll just find someone else.”

Only she hadn’t had to find someone else. Because he had taken the bait—fallen into the trap. The momentary madness that saw him agree to Liz’s outrageous plan had lasted a full month. But by the time the folly of his actions had set in, he’d been in Europe and knee-deep in sensitive negotiations. He’d put off making the call to Liz, reasoning that he’d have time to take care of everything and tell Liz he had changed his mind when he got back. After all, he’d read all the data. He knew that the chance of the insemination procedure working on the first try was at best thirty percent. He’d thought he had time, and he’d put off making that call to Liz.

Big mistake, Thornton. You should have followed through, called Liz the minute you’d changed your mind and had her destroy the sperm sample.

But he hadn’t followed through—a mistake he seldom made in business. Not for the first time, Cole cursed his own carelessness. He had no one to blame for this mess but himself. He’d known Liz had an agenda. He just hadn’t anticipated how quickly she would set it into motion or that she would be successful on the first try. Nor had he anticipated, returning after a grueling trip, the news that Regan was already pregnant—with his child.

“What a mess,” Cole muttered. Still suffering from jet lag, he rolled his shoulders, tried to work out some of the kinks. After getting Liz’s message earlier, he hadn’t even bothered unpacking. He’d simply boarded a plane for New Orleans, determined to talk with Regan and figure out a way to straighten out the mess they’d gotten themselves into.

Only his partner in this particular mess was now locked in the bathroom puking her guts out. Cole listened at the door and was relieved not to hear any more wretching or moaning, just the sound of Regan moving about the room. Satisfied she was in no danger, he looked down at his soiled shoes and winced, then retreated to the kitchen to see what could be done to salvage them.

After cleaning off his shoes as best he could, Cole tackled the spot where Regan had missed him and caught the carpet instead. The entire job took no more than a few minutes. Since she still hadn’t emerged from the bathroom, he headed back to her office area to wait.

He didn’t have to wait long. Ten minutes later Regan left the bathroom. She did a quick scan of the spacious area that made up the offices and design quarters of Exclusives. Apparently satisfied, she headed for the kitchen at the rear of the big room. She hadn’t seen him, Cole realized, as he straightened from beside the worktable where he’d stooped down to retrieve an emerald that must have fallen on the floor when she’d rushed past him. Closing his fingers around the glittering green stone, he watched Regan put the kettle on top of the stove and begin to prepare herself a cup of tea. He should announce his presence, Cole told himself, feeling like a voyeur. Yet, he remained silent.

In the dozen years since she had ripped out his heart and made a fool of him, he’d been with other women. Women far more beautiful than Regan St. Claire, women with bloodlines and fortunes far more impressive than hers. Yet, not one of those women had ever been able to make his blood heat or his body grow hard the way Regan did now—just as she had the very first time he’d seen her. She’d been seated on the veranda of her family home watching him plant azaleas. And then she’d smiled at him. The impact of that shy smile had hit him like a sucker punch, stealing his breath, making him ache, making him want. Even after all this time and all that she’d done, that one thing hadn’t changed. All he had to do was look at Regan to want her. He’d wanted her a year ago when he’d seen her at some charity gala he’d been roped into attending in the city. Only sheer force of will had enabled him to walk away and ignore her.

He didn’t ignore her now. Instead he feasted on her with his eyes. Unguarded, without the polite mask she so often wore, Regan didn’t look much different now than she had at seventeen. Oh, her figure was slightly fuller, more curvy than it had been, but not by much. Just enough to make her more tempting. From what he could determine, her taste in clothing hadn’t changed. She still preferred silky, feminine things if that floral slip-like dress she had on was any indication. The way she carried herself hadn’t changed either—like a princess—spine straight, shoulders back, head tilted at a proud angle. Staring at her face, he noted her skin was still porcelain-smooth, nearly translucent. Desire coiled inside him as he recalled the feel of that skin—whisper soft and sunshine warm.

Biting back a groan, Cole continued his appraisal, taking in her elegantly carved features—the high cheekbones, the patrician nose, the stubborn chin. Her wide-set eyes were the same fiery green he remembered—but there was a lingering sadness in those eyes now, shadows that dimmed the glow of her pregnancy. And he suspected those shadows didn’t have a thing to do with her being sick.

Why so sad, Regan?

The answer came quickly—her father’s death. It had been eight months since Philip St. Claire had died of a heart attack. And despite the fact that the man had been a ruthless SOB, Regan had idolized him. So much so that when forced to choose between them, she had chosen her father instead of him. Oh, he had told himself at the time that the money had been the deciding factor. He’d had none, and her father had had plenty. But deep down inside, Cole had known the truth. The novelty of tangling in the sheets with a bastard from the wrong side of the tracks had simply worn off, and Regan had realized she didn’t love him after all.

Swallowing past the bitter memory, Cole stared at the woman who had been his wife, the woman who once again was pregnant with his child.

His child.

The impact of those words sent a surge of protectiveness through him. Suddenly the logical plan he’d hammered out on the flight from the west coast—the plan for sharing custody, for visitation schedules and arranging financial support—no longer seemed viable. He couldn’t let this child be born illegitimate. How had he even thought for one moment that he could? Honor demanded that he do the responsible thing and marry Regan—if only temporarily. Liz had been right. He did want this child.

And the child’s mother?

Cole skimmed his gaze over Regan again, noting how her thick blond braid fell over one shoulder to graze the curve of her breast. Heat stirred inside him again as he noted how her dress caressed the lines of her body, swirled around her calves. Dragging his attention back to her face, he stared at that sulky pink mouth. Unbidden, memories ambushed him—memories of those soft lips moving over his body, hot and eager. Desire already simmering, flared hot, curled tight and low in his groin, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

At the squeal of the kettle, Cole snapped his eyes open and cursed his own weakness. Despite Regan’s betrayal, despite everything she had done, he still wanted her every bit as much now as he had twelve years ago. Maybe more. The admission angered him, frustrated him—especially since he realized now he’d only been kidding himself. He had allowed himself to fall into Liz’s trap, for the simple reason that he’d never stopped wanting Regan.

And he would have her—her and their baby, he vowed silently. But first…first he had to convince Regan that marriage was their only option. With that thought in mind, Cole strode across the room to where she stood at the kitchen counter, stirring her tea. “Feeling better?”

Regan shrieked. The spoon flew from her fingers, clattered noisily as it hit the china. She spun around. “Cole,” she gasped.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“I—I thought you’d left.”

“We need to talk.”

“There isn’t anything for us to talk about,” she informed him and resumed preparation of her tea.

“What about the baby you’re expecting?”

She hesitated a moment. “I assume Aunt Liz told you?”

“Of course, she told me. Did you think she wouldn’t?”

“Well, she shouldn’t have. After all, it certainly doesn’t concern you.”

“Is that so?” he asked, his voice deadly soft. Did she think he would walk away from his child? From his responsibilities?

Regan gave him a puzzled look. “Yes, that’s so. Besides, why should you care if I’m pregnant? This time you had nothing to do with it.”

The sneaking suspicion that had been prickling at the base of Cole’s spine since Regan had refused to see him, suddenly curled around his throat like a hangman’s noose. He scrubbed a hand down his face, feeling like a fool as the door to the trap Liz had set slammed firmly shut on them both. “I’m afraid that’s where you’re wrong, princess.”

“W-what do you mean?” she asked, her eyes as wary as her voice.

“I mean that I had quite a lot to do with your being pregnant this time, too, because I’m the baby’s father.”