by Heidi Betts
Her eyes filled with tears, and her lower lip trembled. Cullen fought the urge to jump to his feet and gather her into his arms. He wanted nothing more than to comfort her, tell her everything would be all right, but he needed to hear her answer first. Needed to know why she’d kept such a huge secret from him for so long.
“I’m sorry,” she said. Her voice trembled and she sniffed once before continuing. “I didn’t know how to tell you, and the last thing I wanted was for you to feel obligated.”
“Obligated?” he repeated, struggling to keep any sign of irritation from slipping into his tone. “It is my child, isn’t it?”
Misty’s chest rose as she took a deep breath, her chin lifting a notch. “Yes.”
He’d thought her response would bring a sense of relief, but instead he felt nothing. Because he’d known. He hadn’t needed to ask.
With a sharp nod, he sat up a bit straighter in his chair. There was a lot more he needed to know, but she didn’t look in any shape for an inquisition right now.
“It’s all right,” he told her, squeezing her fingers and brushing his other hand over her brow and through her hair. “We’ll talk later. For now, you should rest.”
She looked unconvinced, but didn’t argue. And soon enough, her eyelids began to droop.
He stayed with her until she fell asleep, thanking God that she and the baby were okay, and trying to formulate a plan for what needed to happen next.
Consulting with the doctor was at the top of his list. He wanted to know exactly what had happened to send her to the hospital in the first place, along with any treatment or special instructions she might need to follow.
Next was to get her home. She would be more comfortable there, as would he.
And then, after those two things were taken care of, he could move on to the really difficult part of his plan.
Convincing Misty to marry him.
Three
M isty entered her apartment two days later, keenly aware of Cullen’s arm at her waist. He’d been with her practically every second since he’d first arrived at the hospital—solicitous and concerned.
His dark blue suit was wrinkled after two full days of wear. He kept extra clothes at her place, but he apparently hadn’t left her side long enough to drop by and change, though it wouldn’t have taken more than half an hour. He’d eaten meals in the room with her, and any time she’d opened her eyes during the night, it was to find him slouched down in an uncomfortable visitor’s chair, still keeping watch over her, even in sleep.
It hurt her to realize he was being so sweet and selfless after she’d spent the last three months avoiding and lying to him.
The guilt hit her like a punch to the gut, causing her to miss a step and stumble slightly. Cullen was there in an instant, catching her up and holding her steady with his strong hands cupping her elbows.
“Easy,” he warned, his voice soft and caring as he guided her the rest of the way to the living room sofa.
After easing her down onto the overstuffed cushions, he stepped back and laid the plastic shopping bag that held her personal items on the coffee table.
She’d found out from one of the nurses that he’d paid her to run out on her lunch hour and buy some new clothes for Misty to wear when she was released so she wouldn’t have to leave in the tights and leotard she’d been wearing when she was admitted.
“The doctor said you need to rest,” Cullen told her, shrugging out of his suit jacket and tossing it over the back of a nearby armchair. “That means you lie down here or in bed. Whatever you need, you let me know. Understood?”
She bit back a smile. This must be what he was like at the Snap offices—the confident, commanding executive others saw in the boardroom and at his family’s company, Elliott Publication Holdings.
“Yes, sir,” she responded with a two-fingered salute.
His brows drew together in a scowl, which only amused her more, but he’d been so good to her, she didn’t want him to think she didn’t appreciate everything he was doing for her.
Kicking off the sandals that were a touch too large for her, she drew her legs up and stretched out along the full length of the sofa.
Cullen was there, almost before she could blink, fluffing a throw pillow and situating it beneath her head. “Good?” he asked.
When she nodded, he stepped away again.
“What else do you need? Are you hungry? Would you like some toast and tea? Maybe a glass of milk?”
He rocked back on his heels, hands stuffed into the pockets of his rumpled slacks. His hair was mussed, separated in several different places as though he’d been running agitated fingers through the dark locks on a regular basis, and his jaw was shadowed with two days’ growth of beard.
She’d really had him worried, and knew she owed him more of an explanation than their brief conversation her first night in the hospital had allowed. Which he’d been polite enough not to bring up again.
Shaking her head, she said, “I’m fine. You look like you could stand to shower and change clothes, though. Why don’t you go get cleaned up? I’ll stay right here until you’re finished. I promise.”
His face remained impassive, unconvinced. She smiled, relieved when his shoulders seemed to relax and his eyes softened.
He pulled his hands out of his pockets and scratched absently at his chest. “You sure?”
“I’m sure,” she said, offering an encouraging nod.
“All right.” He stuck around for another few seconds, then turned resolutely on his heel and skirted around the living room furniture on his way to the bedroom and master bath.
For the next twenty minutes, Misty lay perfectly still, not tired, but confused knowing that she couldn’t break her promise to remain where she was until he got back. Her head ached, and she didn’t think it was from the exhaustion that had landed her in the hospital to begin with.
No, she was preoccupied and stressed because she had no idea how things between Cullen and her would play out.
She hadn’t wanted him to know about the baby because she suspected he would have had one of two reactions. Either he would be appalled and go running in the opposite direction as fast as modern technology could carry him, or his huge responsibility streak would kick in and he’d insist on taking care of her and their child, at least financially.
She had no doubt he could afford to give this baby the best of everything. The best clothes, the best education, the best toys. Misty could never compete on the modest amount she made with the dance studio…that is, if Cullen allowed her to keep it.
And even though it frightened her to think such a thing, the fact remained that he had the wealth and power to take this child from her, if he so desired.
What if he decided he didn’t want to be with her anymore, but did want the baby?
What if he decided he wanted the baby to be raised in New York, with all the respectability and privilege he and his family could provide?
What if he didn’t have a problem with the mother of his child being an ex-showgirl, but when he told his family about her and the child they’d conceived illegitimately, they threw a fit and insisted he bring the baby home—without her?
The possibilities rolled through her brain like a dust storm, each one worse than the last.
Cullen was a good man, one of the best she’d ever met. He didn’t treat her like an ex-showgirl, which some men equated with an ex-stripper or ex-prostitute.
But their relationship had never exactly been normal. She was a kept woman, plain and simple. And that was okay with her; she’d always been all right with it.
Because she was also self-assured and self-reliant, she’d made a conscious decision to begin an affair with Cullen. To become his mistress.
Getting pregnant changed everything. The unwritten rules they’d established along the way no longer applied.
And while her heart told her Cullen was a decent, caring guy, her brain continued to warn that he was an Elliott. A big, rich,
powerful Elliott…and as far as his family would be concerned, she was a big, fat nobody.
She was the daughter of a showgirl who’d grown up to be a showgirl herself. Which was exactly what she’d always wanted. From the time she was a little girl, growing up backstage at some of the most glamorous casinos on the Vegas Strip, all she’d ever wanted was to grow up and follow in her mother’s sequined, stiletto shoes.
What she hadn’t wanted was to end up married and divorced several times like her mother, who was currently on husband number four. Happily, having the time of her life, but Misty had still hoped to avoid that particular habit.
She also hadn’t intended to be a single mother, but it looked like that was the future she’d mapped out for herself by hooking up with a man to become his mistress and managing to get herself pregnant in the process.
She groaned aloud at the entire mess.
“What’s wrong?”
Cullen’s deep worried voice from behind her made her jump and twist around on the couch.
“You scared me,” she said, her hand over her heart, which was pounding against her rib cage.
“Are you okay?” he demanded, stalking forward.
“I’m fine.”
“You moaned.”
“Technically,” she told him, “I groaned.”
Shifting around until she was lying flat on her back, she cast her gaze downward and ran a hand over the swell of her belly, where their child rested. She’d felt it move already, fluttering around inside her womb, reminding her that it was a living being, soon to be kicking and crying and needing her to take the very best care of him or her.
“I was just thinking about what a mess I’ve made of things. That’s groan-worthy, wouldn’t you say?”
He came around, hair still dripping, and took a seat in the chair directly across from her. She didn’t have to move a muscle in order to meet him eye-to-eye.
He was barefoot, wearing a pair of worn, comfortable jeans and a maroon polo shirt. It was one of his favorite outfits, and he wore it often when he stayed with her for more than a few hours.
It was one of her favorites, too. He looked approachable and normal, and whenever she saw it, she knew she’d have a bit more time with him.
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. You weren’t exactly alone in the process.”
She lowered her gaze, not sure what to say to that.
“We should probably talk about it, don’t you think?”
Taking a deep breath, she nodded. “I know you must have a lot of questions.”
“I do.” Leaning forward, he braced his forearms on his thighs and clasped his hands together. “How far along are you?”
“Sixteen weeks.”
His eyes narrowed as his mind worked through the math. “That’s four months. Right around the last time we were together.”
She swallowed hard, inclining her head for fear anything she tried to say would come out as a strangled squeak.
“When did you find out?”
“About a month later.”
A beat passed while he considered that, a slight tick pulling taut the skin of his newly shaved jaw.
“I guess that explains why you stopped taking my calls and never answered any of the messages I left.”
“I’m sorry.” Drawing herself into a sitting position, she stuffed the pillow against the arm of the sofa and leaned back. “I know that was terrible of me, but I was just so…confused. At first I didn’t even believe it. We’ve always been so careful except for that one time we forgot to use a condom at first. But no matter how many of those home pregnancy tests I took, they all came out the same. Even after I saw the doctor, I think I was still in denial. And I knew that if we spoke, you’d notice something was going on just from the tone of my voice.”
She sighed, linking her own fingers in her lap to keep from fidgeting. “I didn’t want to lie and say nothing was wrong, so I took the coward’s way out and said nothing.”
“You were avoiding me?”
“Yes,” she admitted, the word coming out breathy with guilt.
“Don’t you think I had a right to know?”
The question vibrated with barely concealed anger, snaking around her spine and making her shiver.
“Of course you did. You had every right. My only excuse for not telling you as soon as I found out was that I was afraid. And, if you can believe it, I was trying to protect you.”
“Protect me?” he scoffed, jumping to his feet and beginning to pace. Those long tanned fingers drove through his hair before coming down to settle on his denim-clad hips.
“Yes,” she said, with more passion than she had realized she felt on the issue. “Cullen, you’re twenty-seven years old. You’re an Elliott, the director of sales for one of your family’s most successful magazines. You’re too young to be tied down by a washed-up dancer with a bum knee and a child you never signed on for. Your family wouldn’t thank you for the bad press such a relationship would bring if the media ever found out.”
He’d stopped pacing and was now glaring at her hard enough to bore holes through her forehead.
“Do you think I give a damn about a few newspaper headlines?”
“Maybe not now,” she cautioned, “but how will you feel later, when your family starts to blame you for the damage you’ve done to their sterling reputation by getting involved with someone like me?”
Cullen narrowed his eyes and consciously tried to unclench his teeth before they were gritted to nubs. He couldn’t decide which was closer to the boiling point—his annoyance or his blood pressure.
He hated to hear her talk about herself that way, making an issue of the fact that she was older than he was and assuming his family would disapprove of her simply because she used to be a showgirl on the Las Vegas Strip.
Although, on that last point, she was probably right. His grandfather, especially, would be livid if he came home with an ex-showgirl mistress and an illegitimate child.
But then again, when was Patrick Elliott ever content with his family’s behavior? Nothing any of them did seemed to garner the old man’s approval. Cullen, for one, was tired of trying.
And he knew the rest of the family probably felt the same. They didn’t so much respect the elder Elliott as they gave him a wide berth and avoided his condemnation as much as possible.
“Someone like you, huh?” His teeth were still clenched so tightly they ached, and if Misty was paying attention, she’d realize just how close he was to the end of his rope.
But she didn’t appear to notice. She simply looked up at him with those bright green, almond-shaped eyes that drew him like a moth to a flame.
“We both know I’ve always been just an amusing pastime for you,” she replied quietly. “Our relationship was never meant to become permanent, and I won’t change the rules on you now.”
One…two…
His nostrils flared as he inhaled sharply.
Three…four…
In. Out.
Five…six…
Inhale. Exhale.
Seven…eight…
If he kept breathing, kept counting, maybe the curtain of red that fluttered at the edges of his vision would dissipate and he would no longer feel such a strong urge to put his fist through the nearest wall.
Nine…ten…
“Number one,” he forced himself to say in a calm, even voice, “you were not just an amusing pastime. I admit things started out hot and heavy between us, and we got involved mostly because the sex was great. But I can get sex at home; I don’t need to fly nearly three thousand miles every couple of months for a good lay.”
She cringed at his crude language, but didn’t interrupt. Good thing, because even the pain of his nails digging into the palms of his fisted hands didn’t lessen the fury roiling in his gut.
“Number two, regardless of what our relationship may or may not have been up to now, the rules have changed. You’re pregnant with my baby, and whether you like it or not, that changes
everything.
“Number three, I love my family. I would never do anything to deliberately hurt or embarrass them, but they don’t dictate the direction of my life. I make my own decisions. Is that clear?”
Her tongue darted out to wet her dusky pink lips, and he had to remind himself to hold on to his anger instead of stalking over to the sofa and kissing her silly the way his wayward libido wanted him to.
“Is that clear?” he asked again, with just enough sting to hold her attention and draw his own focus back to the matter at hand.
She nodded. It wasn’t the most self-assured gesture he’d ever seen her make, but it was enough.
“Good.” He loosened the fists at his sides, flexing his fingers to return feeling to the tingling digits. “Because I’ve made a decision. Not for my family and not out of some misplaced sense of responsibility. For me.”
He waited a beat and then told her flat out, “We’re getting married.”
The color washed from her face until she was paler than she’d been when he’d first walked into her hospital room.
She gasped, her hand at her throat. “Cullen—”
“No,” he said, cutting her off. Moving to the chair he’d occupied earlier, he perched on its edge and leaned toward her. “Don’t argue, just listen. I want this baby, Misty. It’s my child, as much a part of me as it is a part of you. I’ve already missed the first four months of your pregnancy—I don’t want to miss any more. I want to be there every step of the way. I want to rub your feet when your ankles swell, bring you pickles and ice cream at three in the morning and hold your hand during the delivery. More importantly, I want to see the baby every day, not just on weekends or whenever I can manage to fly out here. And the best way to do that is for us to get married.”
“Cullen—”
“Marry me, Misty.”
Her eyes never left his, and he could have sworn he saw the glitter of tears along her lower lashes. His heart stuttered in his chest, and his mouth went dry as he awaited her answer.
Who could have known doing the right thing, laying claim to his child, would be so damned nerve-racking?