Her computer chimed and she yanked herself from her faulty thinking. Maybe she was right. Maybe not. Whatever they’d had, that time of sharing and then the insane night of passion before she’d gone off to Manhattan, wasn’t enough to counter his horrid … offer.
She could accept his assertion he hadn’t fathered her child, suspecting his supposed sterility had been part of what wrecked him, but to think she’d come to him for money… Pretty reasonable response, girlie, all things considered. You showed up, sudden-like, and dropped a bombshell on a guy who didn’t know he could make babies. Well, okay, maybe some women might do that, she told that little voice of reason, wondering at her sanity, conversing in this manner, never mind rehashing the situation—but not her. And he suggested… The little voice had nothing to say to that.
Throwing her hands up, she shoved to her feet. Enough. Moving on.
Chapter Five
He filled his time with plotting. He wasn’t waiting for the results to confirm his alive and kicking sperm—Celeste hadn’t lied to him. Having the test was simply a reasonable thing to do, hence seeing the specialist. What healed could reverse again, he figured.
Nope, he had bigger fish to fry. He wanted a foolproof document to assert his case—he’d go for a paternity test if pushed to the wall, but he didn’t think it would come to that. A child. His child. It was all he could do to keep a lid on a cacophony of emotions that boiled behind his self-control. A child with Celeste.
He danced around the recollection of that financial offer, understanding now why his response to her reaction had been so strong. And conflicted. It’d been a knife through his numb heart. Though he cursed himself for doing it. Juvenile. Immature. Hurtful. He’d known she wouldn’t… She got to him—witness how he’d reacted.
Fuck. He’d messed up. She hated him. Whatever they’d had was lost—he shoved his misgivings aside. He had a lot to offer her, a house, a healthy bank balance, longevity if his grandparents were anything to go by. And he liked Celeste. Their chemistry was off the charts, they’d started a deeper, emotional connection over dinner and maybe she’d forgive him. If he played his cards right. And groveled. Surely she’d want a father for their baby.
In the next breath he hardened his heart, having discovered he indeed possessed one, and reverted back to the cold reality of asserting his parental rights, should she deny him. Fucking convoluted.
He’d already put feelers out, looking for her, assuming she was still in the city, not that it mattered where she was—he’d follow. Hadn’t he already begun that process before?
Feeling absurdly like a stalker, he drove past her sister’s house several times, taking note of the kids’ stuff in the yard. He lucked out on the third pass when a minivan pulled up and a mob of children spilled out. He lost count when a blonde woman who could only be Celeste’s sister carried a baby to the house.
He didn’t know how old it was—it looked small, but not teeny. Watching greedily until she disappeared inside with the bundle, he powered away, knowing his entire life had changed, but hardly knowing where it was taking him with the exception that Celeste and their child would be in it.
As luck would have it, it was Greg who gave him a location, before he kept the appointment with the private investigator. His colleague wandered up to his table while he was methodically eating his way through a meal that could have tasted like sawdust for all he knew. At the same restaurant where he’d had dinner with Celeste—he’d hoped to be soothed by the familiar surroundings.
“Elliot. Long time no see.” The other man dropped, uninvited, into a chair.
“Have a seat. And maybe a drink.” His sarcasm was wasted.
“Sure. That works for me.” Greg ordered a beer, winking at the wait staff. “What’s new?”
“Same old. Investing.” Like he’d tell the gossip monger about how he found investing was losing its appeal.
“I hear you. Though it’s a risky business. Bunch of us took a hit on a bad tip a while ago. Matter of fact, I’m increasing my insurance sales load to offset it. Added a new client this morning.” He leaned forward, and Elliot immediately decided never to purchase insurance from the man, in that confidentiality was about to be breached.
“Good for you,” he said, interrupting the confidence—or trying to.
“Yeah, well, thanks. I was happy to help her out. Seems she’s back for a while at least. Can’t say as I blame her. New York’s dog eat dog.”
Well, shit. Chucking his principles, he casually said, “You must mean Celeste. Saw her a few days ago.”
“Oh. She didn’t say. But yup, she signed up. Healthcare, the works.” Greg slugged back a mouthful of beer. “I think she might have taken that bad tip. Not that I know for sure.”
Elliot had no clue what Celeste’s financial situation entailed. It hardly mattered. He had enough for both of them—and the baby. Something else to think about—he was suddenly envisioning them all together, in the same place. But he was damned if she’d do without in the interim. “High premiums?”
“Yeah, well, not cheap. Best plans aren’t, buddy.”
“I have a deal for you. But it means keeping your mouth shut.”
“A deal? I’m listening.”
“You have to keep what I have to say to you private.”
“No problem.”
“You just talked to me about Celeste.”
The other man’s face tightened. “Jesus. I ran off at the mouth for sure. Reality check. No excuse.”
Elliot sat back and gave Greg a minute, intuiting the guy had probably taken an insurmountable hit with that bad investment tip. “Okay, here’s the deal. I’ll give you my insurance coverage—on everything. You can work up a quote. And I’ll refer my friends and clients. But you don’t send Celeste a bill.”
His eyes lighting up, Greg said, “All your needs? Health, house, vehicle? You’ll refer folks? Okay. And I take it you’ll pay for Celeste. You have something going with her?”
“Is that something my insurance agent needs to know?”
“No, it’s not. Got it.” He mimed zipping his lips and throwing away the key, and not for the first time Elliot reflected it was no wonder Greg came across as an idiot. “I can send you the invoice.”
“And if she asks where it is?” He hoped it wouldn’t matter by then, but needed to ensure a backup.
“I’ll tell her it got lost in the mail. Or maybe in spam. I can stall.”
Elliot bet he could. “Give me your contact info and I’ll send you the details.” As Greg fished out a business card, he added, “And write down Celeste’s address.”
The guy didn’t blink and Elliot made a mental note to include an NDA in the policy, accompanied by a pointed threat.
****
Turned out he might be a little lacking in the testosterone area after all. The little house crouched a ways back from the curb, its shuttered windows and blank front door hardly welcoming, and he debated if he should wait until later. A cab had pulled away just as he found a place to park and he stared after it, wondering if Celeste was in it. Putting more distance between them.
Dismissing the thought, he threw open the door and stepped out, passing a hand through his hair. He wasn’t nervous. He was … prepared. This could turn into a shit show. His choice of casual clothes this morning seemed especially important at the time, but now he longed for the armor of his business attire. Man up.
Counting off the paces to the front door, he finally arrived and rapped. Tentative? Too firm? Shit.
On an audible creak, it swung open. “Did you forget—oh…” Celeste gazed up at him, every vestige of color draining from her face.
Instinctively, he reached for her, damning his inability to access those instincts that day at his house. “Easy.”
She stiffened and flinched away. “What are you doing here?”
“We need to talk.”
“About what?”
“My … our baby.”
She huffed a strangled la
ugh. “Impossible.”
He supposed he deserved that but couldn’t hide a flinch. “I was an asshole. I’m sorry.”
On a trill of sincere laughter, she blinked. Staring at him—into him—he could see her considering and held his breath. Finally, she said, “Yes, you were. And you are. Whether you wear that label in the future…”
“I’m sure I will, despite my determined efforts to the contrary.” He hoped there was a modicum of humor in there somewhere. He clung to the idea like a lifeline.
Her tiny frame somehow blocked the doorway, and he stole a surreptitious glance at her breasts, unbound behind a T-shirt emblazoned with sheep. Lambs. She caught him looking and glared. “What are you doing here again?”
“I’m come to apologize. Profusely. Over and over. On my knees if necessary.”
“You…” She swallowed and moisture sheened those sherry-brown eyes. “You inferred I was going to … not to have my baby.”
Black spots popped behind his eyes and his knees sagged. He had avoided thinking about the precise inference of his cruel offer, but now it hit him like a speeding train. His brain tried to spin the images from his head.
“Holy shit. Crap. Here.” Celeste grabbed his arm as he leaned toward her and he concentrated on not taking her to the floor with him.
Somehow, she shoved his reeling form forward, his shoulder bouncing off the door frame, buying him some time before he caught his weight on a stuffed chair close by. With one hand on it for support, he gained control. “Sorry.”
“Sit down.”
He sat, glad of the instruction, grateful for the concern in her voice. He stared as she folded onto the couch, tucking her legs beneath her. When he could speak past the lump in his throat, he said, “I would never criticize a woman’s right to choose, but…”
A tear slipped from the corner of her eye and glistened down her cheek. His chest hurt and he couldn’t fill his lungs. “Celeste…”
Wrapping her arms around her waist, she shook her head. “I’m not quite so angry with you. Not like I was. I thought it through. It’s not like you know me.”
Never pretending to understand how women thought, he fought panic. He’d anticipated angry, though he could deal with it. This was something different. “I was… You took me by surprise. I thought I couldn’t father children. I’ve been under that assumption for some time. And we were only together that one time—three times. But I do know you. That’s why I’m here.”
Her lips twitched and he took that as a good sign. He spoke again, hoping his explanation would soften her. “I wasn’t feeling particularly well-disposed toward you.” Okay, that hadn’t come out right, his ability to clinch a deal with smooth talk having clearly departed along with his sanity. “I mean—”
“Elliot. Were you upset that I went to Manhattan?”
“Definitely.”
She jumped at his loud response, and maybe at the ire contained in that one word. “But you didn’t say anything.”
Forking his fingers through his hair, he resisted the urge to pull it, needing a hit of pain to center him. But not anymore. He was done with that. Done with keeping people at a distance, at least Celeste, if she’d hear him out. “I’m not exactly the poster boy for open communication when it comes to relationships.”
“And I’m not the poster girl.”
“Okay, neither of us, but I felt something and hoped you did too.”
“We were … building something. Maybe?” Her wistful tone was reflected by the beseeching look in her eyes.
He longed to go sit with her, put a hand on her, but refrained. They were talking. Communicating. And he doubted he’d be able to say a word if he got her in his arms. “We were. The timing was off. I know you didn’t plan it that way but it didn’t … ease anything. How I felt.”
“Oh, Elliot. You’re just like me.”
“I’m fine with that.”
The room shimmered with those assertions, an invisible tether lengthening between them. Celeste blinked first.
“What changed your mind? Made you think—” Her brow furrowed. “You got tested.”
And that was the shit show he’d forecast. “I did, but no results yet. I don’t need them but it seemed the medically responsible thing to do.”
“Oh. So, you just … believed me?”
“Yes.”
“I see.”
Did she? He hoped so. It felt momentous to him, believing, trusting another person when it came to something like this. He held his breath and watched her. She looked impossibly young in those pajamas, her attire perfect for the mother of his child. His heart pounded.
“Are you saying… Do you want to be part of the baby’s life?”
More than anything. “Absolutely. And part of his mother’s.”
She rubbed her arms, fingers clenching over the fabric of her shirt. Her lips parted and then shut. In a whisper, her gaze anywhere but on him, she said, “I wanted that too when I came to see you. I mean, I pretended it was only to let you know, but I had this stupid hope…”
Hope. It ripped his restraint away and he couldn’t keep his distance any longer. The couch was comfortable and her slight weight, tucked up on his lap, against his chest even more so. He’d hold her for fucking ever.
Her slender shoulders heaved and his shirt dampened. “What’s wrong? Why are you crying?” What had he done now?
“I never cry,” she sobbed, fracturing the words. “But I cry all the time. Now.”
Rubbing her back, he tried to soothe her, chastising his cock for taking an interest when she was clearly distraught. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For not being the guy I should have been right away. Who I wanted to be.”
“We hardly know one another!”
“I’ve heard of love at first sight,” he offered. He had no actual idea of anything related to that grand emotion but anything was possible.
“F … fairy tales,” she mocked, spoiling it with a sniffle.
“Most of the children in the world grew up on them.” He stealthily eased his hand over her belly.
She froze. “What are you doing?”
“Feeling.”
“Um, there’s nothing to feel yet.”
Looking into her eyes, he pressed a little harder. “He might feel me.”
She dissolved again, crystal tears spilling over, but they didn’t mask a brilliant smile. “She might.”
His gut dropped to his shoes before rebounding. A girl child? Why weren’t his lungs working? He swallowed and said, “Your … top half looks a bit different.”
Her hands lifted from his chest and he mourned the loss of touch instantly. She leaned away and cupped her breasts. His tongue tied itself in a tight knot.
“These?” She threw him a coy look that pushed him from hardening to rock fucking solid. “They’re a little bigger. And so sensitive. Another side effect. But better than weeping all the time.”
He hoped she didn’t cry all the time, focusing on being a gentleman and not finding out just how sensitive those lovely round globes were. “You’re doing okay? With your health?”
“I have morning sickness. Most-of-the-day sickness.”
He’d have to live under a rock not to have heard about that. It wasn’t fun and could be serious. He glared at her. “What does the doctor say?”
“I don’t have one here yet. Hey!”
He pulled her close so she didn’t spill to the floor as he dug his phone out of his pocket. “Sorry. I’ll find you one.”
“Whoa. Slow down, Mister Take Charge.” She peered at him. “Oh, no. You’re going to be one of those guys. The kind I give a wide berth.”
Stilling, he stared back, his phone wavering in his hand. “I…”
Softening, she patted his pec, her fingertips drifting to where his shirt opened at the neck. “I’ll take that back. Past tense. I gave those guys a wide berth. I’ll—we’ll—have to work on those parameters.”
His breath
heaved out. “I’m still figuring out who I am. Lately.”
“Me, too.” She traced a finger over his Adam’s apple and insinuated it beneath the fabric below.
“I want to take care of you.”
“I think I want that too. Sometimes. And vice versa.”
He hadn’t thought about the position being reversed and damned if it didn’t set a little warming sensation off in his belly. Although that might be attributed to the press of her hand against his bare skin, the buttons on his shirt somehow slipping from their matching holes.
“I’m paying for your healthcare premiums,” he blurted and held his breath.
Motionless, she then eased her head back and looked him in the eye. “Ah, big mouth Greg. That’s how you found me.”
“I hired a private investigator too.”
Even tear-streaked, a faint line of drying mascara under one eye, her hair a tousled mess, she was lovely. And amused. “Okay. The man is serious.”
“Deadly.”
“Good thing I didn’t kick your ass to the curb, then.”
“Good thing.” The relief he didn’t have to get into some insane court battle to see his child made him lightheaded again.
Those fingers were walking again and his own took up the gait. Her skin was as silky as he remembered, and her heating skin released her own unique scent. He sniffed her hair and the floral shampoo mingled with it.
“Did you just sniff me?”
“Inhaled, more like it.” Did she need to talk some more? Should he be communicating? Apologizing more? It was strange how they seemed to say things without words.
“Mmmm.” Her warm breath huffed over his skin and he slipped into survival mode, his need for her surmounting everything else.
Winding his fingers through her hair he tipped her head back and took her mouth, pouring out his heart. She tasted of sweet tea and peppermint.
Impossible (Romance on the Go Book 0) Page 4