Falling for the Pregnant Heiress

by Susan Meier

  “He’s not going to hit me.”

  “You’re damned right, he’s not. I’m not going to let him.”

  The electricity she’d felt the night before came back with a vengeance as his dark eyes held hers. It took all the strength she could muster to keep her breath from stuttering when she said, “No. Really. You can’t come with me. This is private.”

  “Oh.”

  The disappointed expression on his face knocked the electricity off her nerve endings but it tugged at her heart. This was a man who took his responsibilities seriously.

  “Look. It’s okay. He’s going to say he doesn’t want to be a dad. And I’m going to say fine, then fly back to New York and raise my child alone.”

  He gaped at her. “You don’t want your baby to know his dad?”

  “I do want my child to know her dad. But Pierre’s not going to want to be a big part of her life. I won’t be cruel. Pierre can visit anytime he’s in New York. But I doubt that he will.”

  His forehead puckered. “He’s not going to want his child?”

  “Pierre’s a narcissist. His parents had a marriage as bad as my mom and dad’s and he vowed to make up for that by giving himself everything he’d wanted but didn’t get as a child. I have to be practical. And honest. He told me he didn’t want to have children and my being pregnant probably won’t change that.”

  Trent shook his head. “You can’t know that. You saw what happened to Jake. He about went crazy when Avery didn’t want anything to do with him after she learned she was pregnant. Now he’s so smitten with Abby it’s almost funny. Then there’s Seth. A confirmed bachelor until Harper walked into his life with Crystal.”

  “There was hope for Jake and Seth.”

  “No, there wasn’t. Your dad had soured them both on relationships and made both wonder if they could be good dads...yet they pulled through.”

  “Neither one of them is a flighty artist like Pierre.”

  “But you loved him?”

  “We had a relationship, based mostly on our common love of art. We also had the same kind of childhood. Pierre’s not the kind of guy a smart woman falls in love with.”

  His eyes widened. “Wow.”

  “I’m just saying that Pierre and I had a lot in common and we had a great couple of years together. But we never wanted anything serious.”

  “Okay. I get that. But don’t write him off.”

  She sighed. “Trent, I’m a planner. I teach other people how to look down the board and see the future. I’ve already played this all out in my head.”

  “I’ll bet not all of it. You’re going to want to get married someday. And when you do your baby’s going to have a stepfather. I had a stepfather. He was a wonderful dad to my half brother and sister, the kids he had with my mom, but he never seemed to warm up to me. I was the boy my mom had with another guy. The one who came into the marriage. I wasn’t blood.”

  Gobsmacked by the admission of something so personal and saddened for the lost little boy she pictured him to be, she said, “That’s terrible.”

  He pulled in a breath. “Not really. The truth is he tried. I tried. We just never seemed to bond.”

  She stared at him. She’d always had the impression he’d come from one of those perfect, close-knit blue-collar families. “But now you get along?”

  “Depends on what you mean by get along. When I left home, my mom, stepdad and half sister and brother became a tight little unit. I’d see it every time I came home for a holiday and feel more left out. When I became wealthy, I bought them a house and insulted my stepdad, who refused it and accused me of thinking I was better than they were now that I was rich.” He shrugged. “So I kind of stay away.”

  She absolutely did not know what to say. Particularly since he’d just confirmed her decision to never marry. Even if her parents’ marriage hadn’t warned here off, she’d heard enough horror stories from her friends at private school, whose parents had gone through divorces. From middle school through high school she’d heard tales of wicked stepmothers and grouchy stepfathers. Having a child just guaranteed she’d never marry. She would not put her son or daughter through that.

  He caught her gaze. “What I’m telling you is, if I had a choice between being raised by my real father or my stepfather, I know which one I’d choose.”

  Sabrina stared at him. He wasn’t upset, more like resigned, but to Sabrina that made his situation all the sadder.

  When she didn’t respond, Trent turned her toward the small dressing room again. “Go. Change. Fluff out your hair. Do whatever it is women do to get ready. I’ll be right here waiting for you.”

  She almost pivoted to face him again. He’d shifted gears from his own troubles to hers so easily it was as if his didn’t matter.

  With her problems being the ones in the forefront, she supposed they didn’t. At least not now. At some point she’d circle back, ask him if he really was as okay as he sounded. But right now, she had to get dressed to tell Pierre he was about to be a dad.

  She walked into the bathroom, splashed her face and slipped into her clean clothes. Though she knew what she intended to say, there were three or four ways she could approach Pierre. Strong and confident. Soft and loving. Matter-of-fact. And even strictly professional, like a lawyer stating the facts.

  All the options had merit. Even after a few minutes to think them through before she left the bathroom, none of them stood out.

  Trent’s staff had a limo waiting. The driver opened the back door for them, and she told him the address of Pierre’s apartment. As they drove along the streets, she only got glimpses of the Eiffel Tower. But it didn’t matter that she couldn’t see the usual sights. She loved the everyday hustle and bustle of Paris. Brick and stone streets. Tourists studying maps or ogling buildings. And the scents. Croissants. Madeleines. Éclair. Wonderful crusty bread. And that rich, dark coffee she loved so much.

  But she couldn’t have coffee. She wouldn’t drink coffee for nine months.

  When they reached Pierre’s apartment building in a residential section of the city, Trent followed her out of the limo.

  She stopped him with a hand to his chest. His very solid chest. She almost groaned at the whoosh of attraction that rolled through her. Instead, she shook off the woozy, fuzzy feeling and said, “This part is private.”

  “I’ll tell you what. You let me walk you up to the door and see what kind of mood he’s in. If he seems okay, I’ll let you talk alone.”

  She wanted to argue. She wanted sexy, handsome, electricity-inspiring, nice guy Trent to disappear so she could tell Pierre he was about to be a dad.

  Except, what if Trent was right? What if Pierre reacted badly? It wouldn’t hurt to have tall, buff Trent in the loose gray T-shirt and nice-fitting jeans at her side.

  “All right. You stay for a minute or two. Then the rest of the discussion is private.”

  He grinned. Her heart tumbled. How had she not noticed before how gorgeous he was with his unruly hair and seductive smile?

  “Absolutely.”

  They entered the building and climbed the two flights of stairs to Pierre’s apartment. It wasn’t the best building in the world. But Pierre didn’t make as much money as she did from her art. And that wasn’t a lot. She lived on her salary from the nonprofit and an extremely generous trust fund.

  Still, her leg muscles became rubbery when she remembered how angry he’d been when her art had outsold his at their last showing. Her steps faltered.

  “You okay, there, Skippy?”

  She pasted on a bright smile as she turned to face Trent, who was on the step below her. “Yes. Fine.”

  “If you want to turn and run, just let me know. I’m up for that, too.”

  Surprisingly, she laughed. For such a smart guy, with such a sad past and a serious way of making money, he had a great sense of hum
or.

  They finally reached Pierre’s floor and walked to the third door on the right. Forcing her fingers to stop shaking, she pressed the doorbell.

  No answer.

  After a few seconds she pressed again.

  Trent sent her a confident smile and thumbs-up.

  She hit the bell a third time. Pierre’s door didn’t open, but the one next to it did.

  Pierre’s short, dark-haired neighbor, Danielle, whom Sabrina had met a few times, came out of her apartment, smoking a cigarette. “He’s not here.”

  Speaking French, Sabrina said, “Oh. Where is he?”

  Danielle brought her cigarette to her lips, inhaled and blew a long stream of smoke. “He’s at his house in Spain.”

  “Spain?” Confusion rippled through her. “He has a house in Spain?”

  “He goes there at the end of every August. Pretty much spends the winter there.”

  Trent put his hands on her shoulders, reminding her of his presence to reassure her. “You wouldn’t happen to have the address?”

  Because he’d spoken English, Sabrina repeated the question in French. Danielle held up one finger. The universal symbol for “wait one minute.”

  She returned with the address written on a scrap of paper.

  Trent said, “Thanks,” took the paper, then turned Sabrina toward the steps again.

  They walked down the thin stairway, her optimistic hope of telling Pierre and getting it over with, vanishing. Still, it wasn’t like she had to wait forever. She just had to get to Spain.

  When they reached the street, she took the slip of paper with the address from Trent’s hand. “I can get a commercial flight. I don’t want to bother you.”

  “It’s no bother. Besides, I have a condo in Barcelona. We’ll fly there, buy a change of clothes, eat a nice dinner and head to Pierre’s tomorrow morning.”

  A weird kind of relief poured through Sabrina. Calm, cool and collected Trent had a plan.

  Still, she didn’t want to get accustomed to depending on anyone. Not ever. Her mom had been so dependent on her dad that she’d lost the biggest part of her life. Now that Sabrina was in Europe, away from her family’s curiosity, she would have the privacy to do what she needed to do. She could go on without Trent.

  “Thanks, but I’m fine.”

  “No, you’re not. You’re mad. The guy has a house in Spain that you clearly didn’t know about. You dated him, probably told him everything about yourself but he had a house in Spain and apparently spent lots of time there, yet he never thought to mention that. How much did you guys date anyway?”

  She drew in a breath. She was mad. “We didn’t date date. We spent weekends together, took trips, did exhibits together.” She paused long enough to think through how to phrase her explanation. “Our homes were on two different continents. Our relationship was long distance. So there were stretches of time in the winter when we didn’t see each other.”

  “Okay. I get it. That’s how long-distance relationships are. You see each other when you can.”

  Once again, his answer relieved her. Most of her anger with Pierre melted away. But that didn’t mean she needed Trent to fly her to Spain. “Thanks. When I tell Seth and Jake about being pregnant, I’ll also tell them how much you helped me these past two days.”

  Trent’s brows drew together as he frowned. “You do realize that what you’re saying is that when Seth hears I brought you to France, I’ll have to explain to my best friend why I dumped his little sister in Europe.”

  “It’s not like that.”

  “That’s exactly how a man would hear it. Especially when your brothers find out you didn’t see Pierre in Paris. You saw him in Spain.”

  When she said nothing, he sighed. “Look, I’m offering a plane and some companionship. You could catch a cab to the airport and then wait two days before a seat opens up on a commercial flight. My jet’s just a few miles away.” He caught her hand. “And once we get to Barcelona I have friends, a condo, a club I like to go to. I might just ditch you.”

  She laughed. Again. He seemed to always say the right thing to make her feel better. He did have a plane. Here. Waiting. He also had somewhere for them to crash overnight. If he’d owned his condo in Barcelona for any length of time, he probably did have friends he’d want to go clubbing with.

  And she’d have a few hours alone tonight for a bubble bath. She could chill and get her perspective back.

  Because it had hit her all the wrong ways that Pierre had a home in Spain and in their years together he’d never mentioned it.

  She needed some time to unwind and Trent was offering it.

  How could that possibly go wrong?

  “All right. Let’s go.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  TRENT CALLED HIS PILOT. Having an international cell phone, as Trent obviously did, she was tempted to call her mom but decided against it. When he finished his chat with his pilot, they climbed into the limo and headed to the airport. They landed on a private airstrip in Spain a few hours later, but it took another hour to get from the rural airstrip to Trent’s condo.

  When he opened the door for her and she stepped inside, she gasped. The place was amazing. Built in an old factory, the condo retained the original brick walls, but they’d been scrubbed to clean perfection. A row of four tall, thin windows brought in light that accented peach-colored club chairs across from a modern gray burlap sofa. The coffee table was a shiny wooden rectangle. Its open middle would have been the perfect place to stack magazines or books. But there were no magazines or books. Not in the open space of the table or strewn around. There wasn’t a personal item anywhere.

  “Let me guess. You don’t come here often.”

  He tossed his keys on the long island of the spotless kitchen. Sturdy wood cabinets had been painted sage green. Shiny green, white and gray geometric-print tiles created the backsplash. Stainless-steel appliances completed the kitchen.

  “No. I’m here all the time.”

  She glanced around. Even as particular as she was, she had magazines, books, pictures, scattered about.

  “It’s just all so...clean.” Sanitary. As if he didn’t have a personality. Or a family—

  He had told her that he was distanced from his family.

  The thought of not having pictures of Jake, Avery and Abby on her mantel or Seth, Harper and Crystal on the end table by her sofa squeezed her heart. The thought of not having her brothers and their families in her life or being in theirs almost brought tears to her eyes.

  “I’m not one for having things lying around.”

  Okay. She’d give him that. But it had to be sad, difficult, having a mom but not being able to call her with questions or brothers and sisters-in-law to laugh with.

  Before she could ask him about his family, he said, “Here’s the plan. I’ll contact my personal shopper. We’ll have her send over some jeans, a few T-shirts and something nice to wear tonight so we can go out.”

  Not hardly. Her plan was for a soothing bubble bath. “We can go out?”

  “For dinner. You do have to eat.”

  “Oh. Okay.” She fought the urge to squeeze her eyes shut, dismayed with herself for jumping to conclusions. She was so uptight about Pierre that she kept assuming Trent was as bossy as her ex. She had to relax.

  He picked up his phone, hit the screen three times and after a few seconds he said, “Claudine. I’m back in Barcelona. Unfortunately, it was an unexpected trip and I’ll need clothes for at least another two days. Make it three.”

  He paused as Sabrina assumed the person on the other end of the call spoke. He laughed. “Yes, everything, including something nice to wear out to dinner tonight.”

  He paused again, chuckling. He clearly liked his personal shopper.

  A sliver of jealousy wound through her, surprising her. First, she had no claim on
Trent—didn’t want one. Second, the woman he spoke with was in his employ. She laughed with her employees all the time.

  “I’m traveling with a friend. She’ll need three days’ worth of clothes and something pretty for dinner.” He caught Sabrina’s gaze and grinned devilishly. “Yes. You know my taste. Get her what one of my dates would usually wear.”

  Sabrina’s eyes widened. She’d seen his dates in sparkly little red dresses that clung to their bodies but looked okay because they were wafer-thin. She, on the other hand, had boobs and hips.

  “I can’t wear what your girlfriends wear!”

  Trent ignored her. “About a size eight.”

  Shocked that he’d hit her size on the head, she nonetheless stormed over to him. “I’m not wearing something you’d get for one of your girlfriends!”

  He clicked off the call. “Oh, sorry. You said that two seconds too late.”

  “No, I didn’t! You deliberately hung up, so I couldn’t change what you’d told her!”

  He ambled over to the sofa. “Is that so bad?”

  “Yes! Your dates are thin as paper! I have curves.”

  “Exactly. Curves that you never show off. You’ll look great.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I do. Besides, wouldn’t it be fun to be someone different for a night?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t do things like pretend to be someone different.” It had taken her too long to become the perfect McCallan daughter to step out of character.

  “You just made my point. You don’t do things like this, things that are fun just for the sake of having fun. You need to loosen up a bit. If you don’t like the outfit, it won’t matter. We’re in a city where no one knows you. You can toss the dress when we get home.”

  Seeing she wasn’t changing his mind, she marched to the Carrara marble island and grabbed his phone.

  “What are you doing?”

  “You think it’s so fun to dress like someone else.” She hit the redial button on his phone. “I’m calling your shopper and... Claudine? This is Sabrina McCallan. I’m Trent Sigmund’s friend...the woman you’re buying the dress for.”