“I’m not. Yet.” She swallowed back more of that panic. Her last serious relationship had turned out to be with a possessive stalker. The thought of commitment made her throat start to close up. She wished she had her dog but she’d been overly confident, distracted.
Breathe—slow, deep breaths, no hyperventilating.
If she was pregnant, that limited her anxiety medication options. Oh crap. Just the thought made her heart pound harder. “When I have my head together, I’ll let you know.”
“Fair enough.” His hand glided down between her shoulder blades. “How about we—”
“Not a chance. I may not know a lot of things right now, but I am absolutely certain we are not sleeping together again.”
He pulled his hand back, raising both. “I was actually going to suggest we plan a time to talk away from here. But what is your reason for being so certain?”
Forcing herself to stand on wobbly legs, she smoothed her dress back down. Step one. Control her image. Small routines for this chaotic moment. Checking that her earrings were still in place, she turned to face him, drawing in a breath, trying to look more confident than she actually felt.
This had been such a mistake and she needed to get out of here fast to sort through her thoughts with a clear head.
She chewed her bottom lip, then said carefully, “I’m sorry for presuming. You’re right that we need to talk. This was impulsive and we both got caught up in the whole wedding aura cliché. It was a mistake, professionally and personally. And if—” she drew in a shaky breath “—there’s a baby, then that’s all the more reason for us to have already established an uncomplicated relationship.”
“You think it’s that simple? Decide to ignore the attraction and it will evaporate? I’m a man of the land and nature, and I have to disagree with your take on biology.”
“You can disagree all day long but that won’t change my stance.” She pulled her spine straight, her hand trailing up to her hair. Practiced hands smoothed the strands that fell loose, which helped her sift through to one immutable fact. “From this point on, we have a business relationship only. The question of pregnancy will be answered by the time we attend the fund-raiser, and if the odds play out that there’s no baby, we can part ways once and for all.”
* * *
Night air whipped around Trystan, chilling him in a way it shouldn’t for this time of year.
To say his mind was reeling would be the ultimate understatement. He leaned on a dock post, watching Isabeau disappear up the hill, her red hair perfectly rearranged as if nothing had happened between them.
The problem was that everything had happened between them.
Her curvy silhouette brought his memory back to the softness of her lips, the way she felt pressed against him. Beautiful. Stunning. Hot. Sex that made him lose his mind, forget his sensibilities. The kind that had him thinking of making this a long-term affair.
And all that had changed with a broken condom and Isabeau’s retreat.
He also couldn’t escape the unsettling possibility that she might be pregnant. He would live up to his responsibility. He would even offer to marry her if he thought there was a chance in hell she would say yes.
Her current level of horror at furthering their connection and her emphatic insistence on a business-only relationship indicated a marriage proposal would not be at all welcome.
He put a mental pin in the marriage proposal idea, tucking it aside for later consideration. He would never bail on his child like his biological parents had bailed on him. Any child of his would know he or she was wanted by both parents.
Royce Miller, Naomi’s scientist fiancé, ambled toward him, the shirt beneath his suit jacket slightly disheveled. Royce, a quiet guy, always seemed lost in thought. Probably figuring out a math equation in his head that would revolutionize oil production, Trystan thought. No denying it—the man was a genius.
Royce drew up alongside Trystan. “Have you seen Naomi?”
“No, I haven’t seen my future stepsister. But if I do, I’ll let her know you’re looking for her.” Trystan adjusted his Stetson, turning back toward the water. Lights from the Steele compound reflected along the glassy surface.
Royce leaned against the dock railing, his cowboy hat dipping forward as he shook his head, his expression taut. “Better not put it that way. I’m trying to get her to take a breather and put her feet up. She’s having none of that.”
“She’s an independent one.”
Pacing, Royce appeared frazzled, like a tree rustling in a gust of wind. He moved toward the grass and knelt to examine a small rock. “An independent pregnant woman who doesn’t seem to realize her ankles were really swollen last time I saw her.”
Naomi’s fiancé moved back to the rail, leaned against it, rock in hand.
Trystan shot him a look. “Probably not wise to lead with that when you find her. I’m no Romeo, but I’m guessing insulting a woman’s water retention won’t go over well.”
Thumbing the rock over and over in his palm, Royce nodded. “I’m aware. She’s prickly as hell about being pampered. She’s a confusing woman.”
“Aren’t they all?” Trystan’s thoughts drifted away.
His question was more about Isabeau’s potential pregnancy than about Naomi Steele’s fiery independence.
As the company’s temporary figurehead, an unplanned pregnancy with Isabeau could be a media nightmare. The irony was not lost on him that it was Isabeau who’d been specifically hired to curate his image. A much harder job if she became the epicenter of the crisis.
Damn. What would the next month look like? More important, what would the next eighteen years be like bringing up a child together?
“Do you have any advice for the next few weeks as I march around as the figurehead of this new company?”
With a flick of his hand, Royce skipped the rock. It skidded across the water for five beats before it plummeted into the depths with a defiant splash. “Why are you asking me?”
“You’ll be a part of the family when you marry Naomi. Your role at the wilderness preservation wine and dine fund-raiser has been valued so far.”
“You could ask Delaney.”
Narrowing his eyes, Trystan shook his head dismissively. “You still have an outsider feel.”
Something he identified with more than he was comfortable saying.
Royce shrugged, his attention already shifting back to the house. Likely thinking about his pregnant fiancée. “I’m not really family.”
And at that, he turned to leave with an absent wave.
A deep pit formed in Trystan’s stomach, sinking faster than the last rays of sunlight. “Neither am I.”
* * *
Naomi eased out of her shoes, feet swollen and aching. She felt like an idiot for thinking she could pull off wearing a pair of heels to her brother’s wedding.
For the few hours of the ceremony and reception, it had felt a bit like she’d stepped back in time. Back before she’d gotten pregnant, before she’d started a relationship with a sexy scientist who thrived in seclusion.
She and Royce had recently moved to a cabin on the outskirts of town. Remote. Romantic. Cozy.
Cozy was a fancy spin on the suffocation she’d been feeling lately.
It made sense to stay here tonight rather than driving an hour back to their little hideaway—longer if the weather acted up. She’d known the wedding would tax her stamina. She’d underestimated just how much it would though.
As she stepped out of the mansion’s elevator, the motion sensor lights popped on, illuminating her room, recalling her old life. She breathed in deeply, reveling in the calm. Four months ago, Royce had blasted into her world. Or rather, she’d half conned her way into his. Pregnant with twins and trying to land the world’s top oil industry engineer for fledging Alaska Oil Barons, Inc.
> Safe to say, she’d accomplished more than that. Royce was a wonderful man.
His attention to her every whim and movement though was more than a little suffocating sometimes.
She couldn’t help but wonder if he stayed with her and took such good care of her because he couldn’t live without her—or because he needed to care for her and her babies the way he couldn’t for the child he lost years ago? Were they a replacement?
Naomi tossed her shoes aside and pressed her hands to her aching back. Pregnancy exhaustion felt different from other types of tired. She wanted to voice her fears, but couldn’t. If she did, Royce would tell her not to worry and have her wrapped in cotton in under sixty seconds flat.
With a sigh, she stood back up, making her way into the kitchenette area, rummaging through the still-well-stocked fridge for a water bottle. Thirst gnawed at her throat, her lips dry. Staying hydrated took extra effort lately.
She pulled out a cool water bottle, first pressing it into the nape of her neck. She cupped her belly, her smile spreading way past her face to fill her heart.
She really should start picking up nursery items for her suite here as well as their cabin. At least a couple of portable cribs set up to capture the sunshine.
During the day, her loft didn’t need any artificial light. Huge windows allowed the Alaskan sun to poke through, permeating the living area.
Her swollen feet sunk into the softness of the Inuit rugs—gifts from her grandmother when she’d gotten her first college apartment, another cherished touch in this space.
From the rough-hewn beams on a slanted, arched ceiling hung a crystal chandelier that sent prisms dancing on the cream-colored sofa, brightening the quarters.
Water bottle in hand, Naomi made her way to the sunroom—her former sanctuary, relaxing onto the reclining sofa at the center of the temperature-controlled room. A dance of vibrant oranges and reds soaked the mountains, casting the landscape in a fiery blaze.
The distinctive whoosh of the elevator door interrupted her wandering thoughts.
Royce.
She glanced over her shoulder just as he cleared the French doors to the balcony. His brown eyes warmed as he met her gaze, like melted chocolate seeping over her.
Yeah, food was pretty much her go-to imagery for every thought these days.
His charisma reached her before he even skimmed a kiss on her neck, the sensitive patch warming, launching a tingle throughout her. He was so much more than his broodingly handsome good looks. His appeal was more than a leanly muscled body, broad shoulders. And yeah, he got bonus points for the thick dark hair a hint too long, like he’d forgotten to get a haircut, tousled like he’d just gotten out of bed.
All enticing. Sure.
But it was his eyes that held her.
Those windows to the soul. To the man. A man with razor-sharp intelligence in his deep brown gaze that pierced straight to the core of her and seemed to say, Bring it woman. I can keep up.
Every time she was near him, raw sexual attraction crackled so hot in the air she half expected icicles to start melting off the trees. If only the rest of their relationship was as simple.
Naomi extended a hand to him. “What took you so long? I’ve missed you.”
“I was speaking with Trystan, looking for you.” Royce angled down to kiss her.
“The Mikkelsons,” she said wryly. “I never thought we would be tangled up with that family two times over through siblings and parents.”
“It’s been a surreal few months, that’s for sure. Although there are so many people in both of your families, surely the odds dictate a crossing of paths.” Settling into the end of the recliner, he followed her gaze out to the scenery, the sinking rays. “I trust this guy. I really think you can relax and take it easy.”
“Yeah, right. Another excuse to get me to rest. I’m going stir-crazy.” She rolled her eyes.
“You’re doing important work.” He placed his hand on her stomach tenderly.
God, he made her feel cherished. Even so, there was a part of her insecure with what their relationship had become.
She didn’t regret her decision to go the in vitro route a couple of months before she’d met Royce. Her babies were already a reality nestled firmly in her heart. But she also wondered what it might have been like if he and she had made these children together.
And then those doubts blindsided her again. She wondered if he needed these babies to fill the place in his heart left bare by the loss of his own child. Did he need them more than he needed her?
As she searched his dark eyes, she reminded herself he was an innately honorable man.
And a very protective man.
“I can still think and be an active part of the family business. They need my legal advice.”
“No one’s saying you shouldn’t consult.”
She snorted.
He lifted her feet and placed them in his lap. Practiced, patient hands worked in concentric massaging circles, pushing into the arches. “You’re carrying twins. That already makes this a high-risk pregnancy. Think of our children.”
“I resent the implication that I’m not.”
No amount of rubbing could undo the insinuation that she would ever put her babies at risk. Her simmering temper flared, that courtroom no-nonsense edge pushing against her tongue.
“I wasn’t implying anything.”
“Don’t back down just because you’re worried my tender feelings will somehow compromise my health.”
He stroked up through her calves, releasing layers of tension.
Damn. He made it so hard to be mad. Or stay mad. The pain in her aching legs melted.
“Naomi, I was reading some articles about high blood pressure—”
“My blood pressure is fine. Excellent in fact. Thanks for worrying though.” Her words came out breathy as her body warmed under his caress.
“And we’re going to keep it that way.”
He knew exactly how to touch her, knew what her body needed. What it craved.
“Does that mean you won’t make love to me even though the doctor says it’s okay?” She grinned, looking at him through her eyelashes.
“It just means we’ll do so very, very slowly...” His roguish smile was unmistakable.
Strong arms reached around her, and Royce scooped her against his chest, into a feeling of weightlessness she welcomed in these days of feeling more than her normal self.
Doubts that had circled her earlier seemed to slip from the forefront, becoming less intrusive as he carried her into the suite, those dark eyes still dancing as his gaze skimmed over her.
This.
This moment made her fears about his overprotective nature and reclusive ways feel inconsequential.
Yes. She was all too willing to lose herself in this moment.
Their relationship was still new, only a few months old, a passionate explosion. They would sort through the rest with time.
Because what they had was too precious to lose.
* * *
Since starting her consulting business four years ago, Isabeau had met clients in their homes for a variety of reasons. Despite her anxiety, those meetings didn’t faze her. There’d always been a sense of comfort, partly because her clients felt at ease in their own spaces and it made the work of image curation easier.
But not all clients were Trystan.
Drop-dead sexy Trystan with his newly clipped dark brown hair and sexy, steamy eyes. Isabeau had started to get used to her trips to Trystan’s temporary office space for further consultation and makeover advice. The trips to his remote home had been scheduled in advance—standard really, but when making the schedule, she hadn’t taken into account an impulsive hookup and a broken condom.
Her stomach plummeted a bit as she stared out the window of the seaplane. Smaller
planes made flying feel more real, more adventurous, as she studied the landscape below, from the rocky shoreline to mountaintops that still carried a hint of snow even in summer.
That sense of adventure blended with an awareness of being in a small cabin space with a man she’d slept with, in a boathouse no less. A man who was her client.
A man she could not push from her thoughts no matter how hard she tried.
The events of yesterday’s wedding brimmed in her mind, overflowing until her body hummed with the desire to repeat their boathouse encounter, but slower. And without a broken condom.
Nerves pattered in her stomach. She drew in one deep breath after another. If she was pregnant, she would handle it. She would love her child and provide a stable home. Thanks to the sacrifices her own mother had made, she had an education and a career on the rise. A surprise pregnancy would slow her down, but she wouldn’t let it stop her.
She pushed aside whispers of fear. If the delicate balance of her diabetes flared out of control... No. She would be okay. She’d asked her doctor in the past and it could be managed.
She was in control.
Well, of everything except her feelings for the man beside her.
Trystan guided the Mikkelsons’ tiny seaplane housing just the two of them, plus Paige who curled in a tight ball between Isabeau’s seat and his. The dog’s head rested against Isabeau’s foot. She reached down to scratch the pup’s ears, flopping them back and forth, taking comfort in the sensation.
She reminded herself of her plan to get through the next few weeks of this job with Trystan—until she knew where she stood.
Stay calm and keep your hands to yourself.
And above all, do not risk another broken condom.
Trystan shot a glance her way. “What made you choose the name Paige for your dog rather than something like Fluffy or Old Yeller?”
Talking about the tasks her dog performed still made her feel uncomfortable. She was learning to draw boundaries around what she shared, but it had been quite a process over the past year since she’d been partnered with a working dog. She’d always struggled with anxiety, which spiked her blood sugar. But she’d managed with medication and some counseling. But after the stalking incident, her life had spun out of control—as had her health. She’d needed more help, help that had come in a surprising four-legged package.
The Love Child Page 5