Little Secrets--His Pregnant Secretary

by Joanne Rock

  “How can it be dark already?” she whispered against his bare shoulder, grateful for a neutral topic to speak about when her heart was beginning to hunger for a different kind of fulfillment. “I only woke up shortly before noon.”

  “I’m wearing you out.” Jager frowned his concern, his blue eyes bright in the slanted rays of the setting sun.

  “No. I’m just surprised how much shorter the daylight hours are here versus back home.” She hadn’t given much thought to it, but it made sense because they were so much farther north. “It’s only a little after four o’clock.”

  He glanced away, and she could see his jaw flex.

  “We’re invited to the McNeill mansion for dinner tonight, but I will call them and reschedule.”

  She felt very awake then. A bolt of panic did that to a woman.

  “Dinner? As in a meal with your brothers and grandfather?”

  “I think they’ll all be there, yes. Everyone but my father. They know my feelings where he’s concerned.” He gripped her shoulder when she would have leapt from the bed. “Delia, we can go another time. You’re tired—”

  “No. I want to go.” She also wanted to look her best. To not embarrass Jager. “I was afraid you wouldn’t invite me to go with you when you met them.”

  He stilled. “You’re certainly under no obligation to attend.”

  Would he have preferred to meet them alone? She was torn between wanting to let him find his own way with his half brothers and wanting to understand the world her son or daughter would one day move in. Maternal concern won out.

  “I want to be there. I just need a little time to get ready.” She would assess for herself what kind of family her child would have.

  She had so little to offer a baby in that regard.

  “I’ll leave your gift on the bed,” he called after her while she hurried to her closet to find something to wear. “You might want to wear it tonight.”

  She heard the bedroom door open while she took stock of her half-dried hair. She couldn’t deny a stab of envy for this baby she carried. A McNeill heir would be surrounded by more than just wealth and luxury, both of which she’d lived happily without.

  Her child would have a large, caring family to love him or her, something Delia would never know. Even her father, never a demonstrative parent, seemed to have forsaken her. She’d been hurt by his reaction to her baby news.

  She was having a child and, at the same time, her family seemed to be dwindling. Unless, by some chance, Jager McNeill started to feel the same new emotions that she’d experienced.

  Christmas was a time of miracles after all, and tomorrow was Christmas Eve. Delia couldn’t help a quick, fanciful thought.

  What if Jager fell in love with her?

  The question halted her, stilling her hand as she reached for a brush. What on earth was she thinking?

  She had no business thinking those kinds of thoughts. The fact that the question had floated to the surface of her brain reminded her why it was so dangerous to indulge in a physical relationship. She was already falling in love with him.

  Closing her eyes, she acknowledged the simple truth that complicated her life so very much. She’d hoped to use this trip to make a smart, reasonable decision. She was going to be a mother, a duty she took seriously. She couldn’t afford to fall victim to foolish, romanticized notions. Again.

  She wasn’t here because she was Jager’s girlfriend, or significant other, so she couldn’t allow her new feelings to show. In Jager’s eyes, she was simply the mother of his child. She would be wise to remember it.

  * * *

  “The jewelry is stunning, Jager.” Delia fingered the diamond drop earrings shaped like snowflakes as she stood beside him in the foyer of Malcolm McNeill’s expansive mansion in one of the most jaw-droppingly pricey parts of New York.

  The maid who answered the door had taken their coats and then disappeared to announce them. Or so Jager guessed.

  He thought he had been prepared for the family’s wealth. But he wasn’t anywhere near ready for a Cézanne in the foyer or the sheer size of the place in a city where tiny patches of real estate went for millions.

  If the house caught him off guard, he could only imagine what Delia was feeling in her first trip outside Martinique. She was definitely in an unusual mood, something he’d noticed as soon as they’d settled side by side in the back of the chauffeured Range Rover his grandfather sent for them. Jager had watched her open the gift on the ride over, and while he was sure she’d been genuinely pleased, there was something reserved about her this evening. Restrained.

  He hoped it was just nerves at meeting the more famous branch of the McNeill family.

  “I hope the earrings make you think about how much fun we had watching snowflakes fall on the ice at Rockefeller Center.” He kissed her temple just as the maid returned to the foyer, pulling his attention back to the impending encounter with his grandfather and half brothers.

  “The family is waiting for you in the library.” The older woman gestured to her right as she stepped out of their way. “The elevator is down this hall, and it might be easier than the stairs with your beautiful dress, ma’am.”

  “The skylight is so lovely over the stairs though, I wouldn’t have minded a closer look.” Delia peered up the formal staircase to the stained-glass window six stories above. She turned to smile at the woman. “I’ll bet you see amazing displays of light depending on the weather.”

  “Some days are truly breathtaking.” The woman nodded before disappearing down a corridor toward the back of the house.

  “Speaking of breathtaking.” Jager slid an arm around Delia’s slender waist, careful not to wrinkle the silk taffeta skirt she wore while he guided her down the hall toward the elevator. “Have I mentioned how incredible you look tonight?”

  She was vibrant in the ankle-length crimson skirt, a designer confection he’d bought for her with the help of a shopping service. They’d sent an assortment of outfits particularly fitting for the holidays and the long skirt with beadwork and appliqué was a festive choice. She wore a simple creamy-colored angora sweater with it, letting the skirt shine. The earrings went well with her outfit, dangling against her pale neck since she’d swept her fair hair into a smooth twist.

  “You clean up well yourself.” Her hazel eyes darted over his crisp white dress shirt and tie, as if scanning for anything amiss. She smoothed her fingers down the lapel of his black jacket and he wondered if she did so to soothe herself or him.

  Either way, the caring gesture touched him as they stepped into the elevator cabin and he hit the button for the third floor. When the door closed silently, Jager picked up her hands and kissed the back of one and then the other.

  It wasn’t until that moment—halfway to the third floor—that he remembered he hadn’t informed her about his grandfather’s will. Swearing softly, he hit the elevator emergency button, halting their upward progress and making the cabin lurch awkwardly as it stopped.

  Delia stumbled a bit, but he caught her against him easily.

  “What are you doing?” Frowning, she righted herself by gripping the lapels of his jacket.

  An alarm blared inside the car, a red light flashing inside the emergency knob.

  “I forgot to tell you something important and I don’t want you to be surprised, or think I was trying to hide it.” He hated sharing it with her this way. “I meant to talk to you when I got back from shopping, but then we got so distracted—”

  “Tell me what?” There was a flatness to her voice. An edge.

  He didn’t blame her for being upset. The flocked red paper on the walls around them seemed to close in as the alarm kept up its insistent wail.

  “My grandfather is determined to bring all his grandsons into the business. To carry on his legacy.”

 
She nodded, her hold on his suit jacket loosening. “I remember your half brother talking about that when he came to the gate the first time you and I were together.”

  “Right. What Cam didn’t mention was Malcolm’s insistence on his heirs being married for at least a year to inherit.”

  “Married.” She pursed her lips.

  He couldn’t read her expression, but it seemed like the damn elevator alarm was getting louder.

  “Yes.” He tensed, willing her to understand it meant nothing to him. “I didn’t want you to think that my proposal to you had anything to do with that. I don’t care about the hotel business—”

  “Don’t you think I know that?” Delia shook her head, resting her hands on his upper arms as she faced him. Her words were reassuring but her expression remained tense. “I know you don’t want anything from this family, Jager, but I’m glad you’re at least in their home, hearing what they have to say.”

  He stared into her hazel eyes, trying to find out if he was missing something. “You’re not upset with me?”

  He would swear there was a stiffness about her shoulders. Then again, maybe he was seeing trouble where there wasn’t any. This damn meeting had him uptight.

  “I’m a little embarrassed about what your family might say about our elevator mishap, but other than that, of course I’m not upset with you.” She offered a tight smile.

  He hurried to explain himself, knowing time was running out and not just because of the elevator. “You know I asked you to marry me because—”

  “Because of the baby,” she finished for him, straightening as her hands fell away from his arms. “Yes. I’m very clear about that, I assure you.”

  She pressed the elevator alarm button to set things back into motion again and Jager breathed a mental sigh of relief. She understood him.

  And she said she wasn’t upset with him.

  So he wondered why she seemed to bristle when he touched her as the doors swooshed open on the third floor. He hoped it was simple embarrassment for the awkward situation, as she’d mentioned. He would do whatever it took to ensure this visit went smoothly for her. Because in spite of his grandfather’s maneuvering, Jager had his own reasons for wanting to make certain he was married before the New Year.

  Twelve

  If Delia hadn’t been upset about his insistence that he only proposed for the sake of their child, she might have been more appreciative of his anxious attempt to tell her about his grandfather’s will. That had been kind and considerate, proving to her that he was a far different man than Brandon and—more important—showing her that he understood how hurt she’d been by her former fiancé’s deception.

  But instead of putting her more at ease for this first meeting with his grandfather, the conversation only brought home for her that Jager was thinking solely about social convention and his legal claim to their child. That hurt all the more tonight since she’d just come face-to-face with the realization that she loved him. And since she’d made it clear she wouldn’t marry for anything less than love, his reminder that they should wed for the baby’s sake only deepened the raw ache inside her.

  Jager had asked her to marry him because she carried his child. It had nothing to do with any feelings for her.

  The blunt truth hurt, but it certainly helped her to be less nervous about meeting the rest of the McNeills. She didn’t need to worry about impressing people who would never be her family. She could focus on taking their measure because they would be her child’s relatives.

  “Seriously?” Cameron McNeill, the tall half brother who bore a striking resemblance to Damon, was waiting for them on the third floor when the mansion’s elevator doors swished open. “Don’t they have home elevators where you come from?”

  “Funny.” Jager extended his hand and the two men shook. “I figured the old man got wind there was an imposter McNeill in the house and hit the reject button.”

  “There are no imposters here.” Cameron clapped him on the shoulder. “Although I’m more interested in your lovely guest.” Expectant and charming, he turned to Delia.

  “Delia, this is Cameron. Cam, meet Delia Rickard.” Jager wrapped a possessive arm around her waist. “And she is special to me.”

  She swallowed back the automatic thrill that danced through her at his words, his touch. She tried to focus on his half brother instead. Now that Delia could see Cameron more clearly, she realized she’d never again mistake him for Damon. Though both men were unusually tall, Cameron was probably on the high end of six foot four. And whereas Damon had been a serious man even before his wife’s disappearance, Cameron seemed a lighter spirit.

  “A pleasure to welcome you, Delia.” He grinned as he squeezed her hand briefly. “And no need to worry. Now that I’m happily wed, I won’t be issuing any more impulsive marriage proposals to the beautiful women I meet.”

  “I’m sure your new wife is glad to know it,” Delia replied, remembering well the tabloid frenzy about Cameron’s public proposal to the New York City Ballet dancer who later married Quinn—the eldest McNeill. Months afterward, Cameron had wed a concierge who worked for one of the McNeills’ Caribbean hotels. The rush to wed made all the more sense in light of what Jager had confided. “And thank you for having me.”

  “If you’re special to Jager, you’re special to us. Are you ready to meet the rest of the clan?” Cameron held an arm out, gesturing toward the double doors flanked by carved wood panels at the end of the corridor.

  The panels were the kind she’d seen in historic plantation homes, the sort of things that Gabe enjoyed restoring or even reproducing from scratch.

  Grateful to have that first encounter behind them—and to have easily brushed aside the matter of the stuck elevator—Delia accompanied the men toward the library. She needed to tamp down the hurt and unease from her conversation with Jager mere seconds earlier.

  When Cameron opened the double doors, she only had a moment to take in the richness of the room, with its walls fitted with historic Chinese lacquer panels between the windows overlooking the street. Quickly, she shifted her attention to the six other people she hadn’t yet met.

  Delia was glad she’d taken time to read up on the family—again—before the trip to New York, since the tidbits she recalled about the various members helped her to keep them straight. Ian was the first to step forward and introduce himself to her. Jager had already met Ian, the brother who was most involved in the hotel business, developing his own specialty properties in addition to his work with McNeill Resorts. Ian’s wife, Lydia, a dark-haired beauty with deep furrows in her pale forehead, eyed Delia with an assessing gaze. She was dressed elegantly in a green tartan skirt and black silk blouse, and a velvet choker with an emerald pendant at her throat.

  Cameron’s wife, Maresa, perched on the arm of a wingback chair, composed and elegant in an ice-blue sweater dress that drew attention to honey-colored eyes, a shade paler than her deeply tanned skin. She was the only one in the group to hug Delia, a gesture that put her a bit more at ease for meeting the rest. Maresa no longer worked as a concierge for one of the McNeill Resorts hotels, but her warm manner made it obvious why she’d been so good at the job in her native Saint Thomas.

  The last of the brothers was Quinn, the hedge fund manager who had married the exotic ballerina.

  “Good to have you in New York,” Quinn greeted them, his navy suit and light blue shirt conservative without being stodgy.

  It was interesting to view Jager side by side with this man since each was the oldest of his respective group of McNeill brothers, and she recognized a similar way they had of sizing each other up. While Cam had been open and friendly, Ian was tough to read but warm, and Quinn, the oldest, clearly reserved judgment. That was Jager too. She’d seen it in business meetings.

  She saw it in how he related to her.

 
He held back. He sure didn’t rush to embrace people. He’d been as scarred by people in his life—the loss of his mother, especially—as Delia had been. Seeing him that way helped her to understand him better, even if it wouldn’t change him.

  “Good to be here,” Jager replied, offering the barest nod of acknowledgment. “I hope to work more closely with your investigator while I’m here. Bentley.”

  From the back of the room, the gray-haired gentleman seated in a leather club chair—the patriarch himself, no doubt—finally spoke up. “Bentley will be here before dinner is served.”

  The crowd of relatives shuffled to give Jager and Delia a better view of Malcolm McNeill. His bearing commanded the room.

  With all the attention turned toward Malcolm, the petite blonde beside Delia whispered to her. “I’m Sofia, by the way.”

  Delia glanced down at the speaker. So this was the ballerina Quinn had married. She was even more beautiful than her photos online, and she didn’t even seem to have any makeup on. She certainly had a natural look, and her outfit was a simple black dress, long sleeved with a floor-length skirt that might have been severe on someone else.

  Jager strode forward to shake his grandfather’s hand, and Sofia continued to speak quietly. “Meeting Quinn’s family was more terrifying than any audition I’ve ever had,” she confided, forcing Delia to hide a smile by biting her cheek. “But they’re not so bad.”

  Nearby, Lydia must have overheard because she softly chimed in, “When they’re not brawling.”

  “She’s teasing,” Sofia rushed to explain, fixing her loose topknot that was slipping from its clasp. “Mostly.”

  At the other end of the room, Jager conversed quietly with his grandfather. Delia couldn’t help but be curious about the exchange; the older man was smiling as Jager held out a hand to help him from his chair. Malcolm shook off the gesture, however, pointing to a silver-topped walking stick nearby.

  When he stood, even with his slightly stooped back and bent knees, he was every bit as tall as Cameron. It was clear the brothers had inherited their grandfather’s genes. He wore a smoking jacket, of all things, made of dark silk and belted over a pair of black trousers and wing tips. With his thinning hair still damp but combed perfectly into place, he had a debonair quality about him.