Beach Bar Baby

by Heidi Rice

  She gulped down the new lump in her throat.

  ‘Yeah? That doesn’t sound good.’ He sent her a crooked smile. ‘I really hope you’re not going to tell me you’re married.’

  She laughed, the tension dissolving a little. ‘God, no, it’s nothing like that. It’s...’ She examined her fingers, suddenly shy rather than scared. Wouldn’t it be amazing if he was actually as excited about this as she was? ‘Actually, I’m pregnant. That’s why, well, I’ve gained some weight.’

  The crooked smile remained, but the curiosity in his eyes turned to astonishment as his gaze dipped to her breasts and then her belly. He straightened on the sofa, his mouth opening. Then closing. Then opening again. ‘You...? You’re expecting a kid? You don’t look pregnant.’

  She waited for the obvious next question, but he just continued to stare at her belly.

  ‘Well, I’m only twelve weeks, so it doesn’t show much yet.’ She placed her hands on the slight swelling, suddenly keen to emphasise it for his benefit.

  His head lifted. She’d expected surprise, even shock when he made the connection; she’d even prepared herself for annoyance, and anger. What she hadn’t prepared herself for, though, was the way the relaxed, sexy charm had been ripped away to be replaced by complete horror. ‘Tell me you’re not saying what I think you’re saying?’

  Her pulse throbbed painfully in her neck, and she cradled her abdomen, the urge to shield her child, instinctive. She couldn’t speak, so she simply nodded.

  He leapt up from the sofa like a puppet who had been rudely jerked on stage. The vicious swear word echoed around the tiny room. ‘You have got to be kidding me? It can’t be mine—you said you were on the pill.’

  She’d expected this accusation, on the numerous occasions when she’d had this conversation in her head. But all the careful explanations, the reasoned arguments, the excuses absolving her all seemed to pale into insignificance in the face of his frantic denial. And all she could manage was, ‘I know, I realised when I found out you may have got that impression, but I—’

  ‘You lied to me?’ He stepped forward, the stance threatening.

  Somehow she knew he wouldn’t hurt her, not physically, but she could see the turmoil of emotion and it made her insides tangle into tight, torturous knots, the guilt that she’d kept so carefully at bay for weeks creating a yawning chasm in the pit of her stomach.

  ‘Why the hell did you lie?’ He dug his fingers into his hair, sending the damp strands into deep furrows. ‘Unless... Hell... You wanted to get knocked up? Is this a set-up? You figure I’ll pay you off?’

  The accusation came so far out of left-field, she hadn’t seen it coming before it had smacked into her chest and hurled her heart into her throat. ‘What? No. I never...’ Her denial choked off at the contempt in his eyes. ‘You used a condom—how could I have planned it?’

  ‘I knew the cute and clueless act was too good to be true. But I fell for it anyway.’

  ‘What act? What are you talking about?’

  ‘Drop it, okay. You’ve got what you wanted.’ His eyes slid back to her belly, the light in them harsh and resentful. ‘My bun in your oven.’

  ‘No, you don’t understand. It was never planned.’ The justification, the explanation at last came tumbling out. ‘The pregnancy was...is an accident. It was all so rushed and...I didn’t think it would matter that I wasn’t on the pill.’

  ‘You didn’t think it would matter?’ His voice rose to a shout. ‘Are you nuts? I told you I didn’t want to risk it. What the hell about that did you not understand?’

  ‘No, that’s not what I meant. I didn’t think I could....’ She faltered, unable to reveal the truth about her medical history, her fertility issues, the test results she’d gone to Bermuda to escape. She couldn’t tell this stranger about any of that; it would make her too vulnerable, too raw, especially now, with her throat already aching with unshed tears.

  ‘You don’t have to be involved.’ She scrambled to justify, to explain, to avert the terrible feeling of loss. ‘I’ve made the decision to have this child. I want it. Very much.’ Her hands shook, the trembling having moved up from her toes, to her knees and across her torso.

  Don’t you dare cry.

  Why hadn’t she said all of this to start with, before she’d told him about the pregnancy? He obviously thought she was some kind of gold-digger. If she could just make him understand he didn’t have to feel responsible for this child, everything would be okay. But even as she told herself it, a part of her was dying inside at the knowledge that Cooper Delaney hated her now.

  ‘I just thought you should know.’

  ‘Right, so now I know,’ he snarled. ‘Thanks for that. And what the hell am I supposed to do with the information? You’ve told me a part of me is going to be walking around on this planet and I don’t get to have any say in that?’

  She shook her head, the tears drying up inside her. Stay firm. Stay strong. Don’t break, not this time. ‘No. No, you don’t.’ She firmed her lips to stop them trembling. ‘I won’t have an abortion. And nothing you can do or say will make me.’

  He flinched. ‘Who said anything about an abortion?’

  ‘I won’t do it. I want this baby very much. If you don’t, that’s okay. You never have to have anything to do with it.’

  ‘Yeah, right.’ Marching past her, he grabbed his bag off the floor. ‘Like that’s going to work.’ He slung the leather holdall over his shoulder and opened the door. Rain slashed down in angry currents against the hall window. But the summer storm that had seemed so cleansing, so perfect, so passionate only hours before, now appeared grey and dark and oppressive.

  He sent her one last scathing look over his shoulder, the look of betrayal in his eyes palpable. And then slammed the door behind him.

  She sank down against the wall, her legs too shaky to hold her, and pressed her forehead into her knees. And listened to his footfalls, heavy on the stairs, fade away into nothingness.

  * * *

  Coop stumbled out onto the street, his heart hitting his ribcage hard enough to shatter bone. Rain slashed at his face as he dumped his bag on the sidewalk and smashed his fist into the brick wall that marked the perimeter of her apartment building.

  Pain hurtled up his arm, lanced across his knuckles, but went some way to dulling the terrifying emotions consuming him.

  You dumbass. What the hell were you thinking? Coming here? Trusting her?

  He sucked the battered knuckles, and picked up his bag in the other hand.

  He hailed a cab, jumped in out of the rain and shouted through the grill, ‘Take me to a hotel.’

  ‘How about the Renaissance, sir? It’s pricey but very plush.’

  ‘Sure, great, whatever,’ he croaked, his voice hoarse, his whole body starting to shake. He didn’t give a damn where he went—he just had to get away from the memory of those big eyes glossy with unshed tears.

  But then he caught the glittering pink logo on the window of Ella’s cupcake store as the cab sped past it. The panic boiled in his gut as the taste of her lingered on his tongue and the residual heat throbbed in his crotch. Mocking him.

  He sank his head into his hands and wanted to howl with pain and frustration.

  God help him, it didn’t matter what he did now, or how much money he made or how fast he ran—he could never ever be an island again. And it was all his own damn fault.

  EIGHT

  Coop stared at the glittery pink lettering on the front of the diner, and then past it through the glass. He spotted Ella in front of the counter, busy chatting to a customer, her hand resting casually on her belly—and swallowed to ease the thickening in his throat.

  Play it cool. No more freak-outs allowed.

  He’d spent a night in the gothic splendor of the five-star hotel overlooking St
Pancras Station, not sleeping a wink, as he went over every single thing she’d said, and every single thing he’d said. And he’d come to a few important—if shattering—conclusions.

  He didn’t have the first clue what he was supposed to do about the bomb she’d just exploded in his nice, easy, island life. Correction: his formerly nice, easy, island life. Fatherhood was something he hadn’t planned for and didn’t know a damn thing about.

  And he hated not knowing, because it reminded him too much of his childhood. The dead weight of responsibility, the relentless pressure of being constantly trapped without a way out and that terrifying feeling of insecurity, of never knowing if he would be strong enough, smart enough, man enough to make things right for his mom.

  He didn’t want to live through all that again. And he hated that he would have to now.

  And because of that he’d panicked yesterday, when Ella had told him her news—and had dropped a pretty big bomb on her in return.

  Because however much he might want to blame all this on Ella, he knew now—once he’d taken the time to examine all the facts—that he couldn’t. He also knew he couldn’t just walk away from his own kid and forget about it—the way she’d suggested—because that would make him no better than his old man. And he was pretty sure he couldn’t do that and live with himself afterwards.

  All of which left him with only one option. Suck it up, stop whining about what he couldn’t change and try to deal with it.

  And the only way he could do that was to deal with Ella first.

  Forcing the trademark ‘never-let-them-see-you’re-scared’ smile he’d perfected as a kid onto his lips, he pushed open the door. But as Ella’s gaze locked on his and her eyes went wide with distress his step faltered, his heartbeat stumbled and the thickening in his throat got a hell of a lot worse.

  * * *

  ‘Coop?’ Ella bit into her lip, the tremor of shock and anxiety almost as overwhelming as the wave of relief.

  She’d never expected to see him again, had convinced herself that his angry departure was for the best. She’d told herself over and over again during a long night spent on the phone to Ruby, and then lying in bed staring at the crack in her ceiling, that she couldn’t make Coop want to be a father—any more than she could make him forgive her for something she hadn’t done. So it would be pointless and futile to contact him again.

  ‘We need to talk,’ he said, his deep voice slightly strained but with none of the explosive anger from their last encounter. ‘Can you take a break?’

  She nodded, too stunned to speak, then glanced round the shop to locate her business partner. Ruby stood chatting to a young couple to whom she’d just delivered a couple of chai lattes. But then her head came up and she spotted Coop. All traces of the genial hostess disappeared as she marched back across the café.

  ‘What do you want?’ Ruby stepped behind the counter to stand shoulder to shoulder with Ella. ‘Haven’t you done enough?’

  ‘I’m here to talk to Ella, honey, not you,’ Coop said, the casual tone in direct contrast to the challenge in his eyes.

  ‘Well, “honey”...’ Ruby sneered the endearment, squaring up for a fight ‘...you’re going to have to go through me to get to her after the immature way you behaved yesterday.’

  ‘It’s okay, Ruby.’ Ella touched her friend’s arm, emboldened by her support—even if it was counterproductive right now.

  The last thing she wanted was for Coop to find out how much his accusations had hurt her, or how she’d dissolved into a quivering wreck after his departure. Showing that kind of weakness would only put her on the defensive. ‘Coop’s right—we need to talk. Is it okay if I take a few minutes?’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Ruby asked.

  ‘We’ll need more than a few minutes to sort this mess out,’ Coop interrupted before she could reassure her friend. ‘I’ve got a car waiting outside to take us back to my hotel, so we can have some privacy.’

  This mess.

  Ella’s heart shrank. Her baby wasn’t a mess. But if that was the way Coop saw it, then sorting out his involvement—or rather the lack of it—would be fairly clear cut. And she supposed she should be glad that he seemed prepared to do that much.

  ‘Why do you need privacy?’ Ruby interrupted again. ‘So you can shag her and then have another temper tantrum like a two-year—’

  ‘Ruby, please, don’t.’ Ella raised her voice, grateful for the spark of indignation. ‘I’ll be fine. All we’re going to do is talk.’ She wasn’t about to make the mistake again of believing the strong physical attraction between them meant an emotional connection too.

  She really didn’t know this man. His volatile reaction last night had proved that. This ‘talk’ would be a chance to find out more about him—while also reassuring him that her expectations of him were zero as far as the baby was concerned.

  Ruby continued to eyeball Coop for several pregnant seconds, but, instead of rising to the provocation, he grinned.

  ‘You heard the lady.’ He slung his hands in his pockets, the picture of nonchalance as he raised an eyebrow, the challenge unmistakable. ‘All we’re going to do is talk.’ His gaze landed on Ella and the unwanted hum of awareness seared through her body. ‘This time.’

  * * *

  ‘How are you? Is everything okay with the kid?’

  Ella turned, to find Coop watching her from the opposite side of the cab as it crawled down Camden High Road. After persuading Ruby that she was woman enough to handle a private chat with her baby’s father, she’d been careful to seat herself as far away as possible from him. But the tentative enquiry and the flicker of concern knocked her off balance again.

  ‘Yes, everything’s good.’

  ‘I just wondered because...’ he paused to clear his throat, looking more uncomfortable than she’d ever seen him ‘...I was kind of rough with you. In your apartment. You know, before you told me.’

  She blinked, puzzled. He hadn’t been rough, not until after he’d heard the news and then only verbally. But then it dawned on her what he was referring to. Their frantic lovemaking against the wall. The blush climbed into her cheeks and heat pulsed in her sex at the visceral memory. While a matching, much more dangerous warmth tugged under her breastbone.

  ‘Oh, no, everything’s fine, really. Sex isn’t a problem in pregnancy—as long as we don’t start breaking furniture it should be okay.’ The blush launched up to her hairline as it occurred to her what she had implied. ‘Not that we’re likely to be...well, you know.’

  The sensual smile was even more unsettling. ‘Yeah, I get it.’ He tapped his fingers against his knee. ‘Listen, I owe you another apology.’

  She struggled not to be seduced by the smouldering look he appeared to be sending her, which she decided had to be an optical illusion. After their argument yesterday, he wasn’t likely to jump her again. And she definitely did not plan to jump him.

  ‘What for?’ she said, unable to deny the tiny trickle of hope at his conciliatory tone. The less acrimony between them, the more chance they had of making this talk as painless as possible.

  ‘For losing my temper. For freaking out when you told me...’ his gaze dipped pointedly to her belly ‘...about your condition. For making out like this was all your fault.’

  Relief was sharp and sweet at the heartfelt words. ‘So you don’t believe I got pregnant to set you up any more?’

  He had the grace to look embarrassed. ‘Not once I’d examined the facts. I figure opening that first condom packet with my teeth probably wasn’t the smartest thing I’ve ever done.’ His gaze fixed on her. ‘And after what happened yesterday, I’m guessing even if you had told me the truth about being on the pill, I would have risked it. Things had got pretty hot by then already.’

  The muscles of her thighs melted as the pesky hum of reaction shimmered down
to her core.

  ‘I appreciate your honesty.’ She nodded, accepting his apology with deliberate formality, while crossing her legs in an attempt to ease the ache in her sex.

  Not going there. Remember?

  ‘I owe you an apology, too.’ She heaved a sigh, knowing she was hardly blameless in the misunderstandings that had arisen between them.

  ‘Yeah?’ He arched a questioning brow.

  ‘I should have corrected you...’ The blush fired up her neck as his lips quirked, the sensual knowledge in his smile not doing a thing to cool the hot spot between her thighs. ‘But I wasn’t really paying a lot of attention to the conversation at that point.’

  ‘You and me both.’ The low comment was husky with intimacy.

  She cleared her throat. Hormones behave. Now. ‘But to be honest, I really didn’t think it would make any difference because...’ She hesitated. ‘I’ve had some fertility issues. Believe me, the chances of me getting pregnant were extremely slim.’

  He frowned. ‘How slim?’

  ‘Well, if my doctor’s reaction is anything to go by when she confirmed the pregnancy, I think we might be talking lottery-winning odds.’

  ‘Damn. Seriously?’

  She nodded, smiling at his reaction. He sounded more stunned than pleased, but it still felt good to share such an important moment in their child’s life with him.

  ‘When did you find out?’ he asked, and her smile faded.

  Blast.

  ‘Um...’ She glanced out of the window as the pristine new Eurostar terminal at St Pancras Station inched by.

  ‘You know, that you were knocked up?’ he prompted, obviously thinking she hadn’t understood the question.

  She studied the station’s redbrick Victorian grandeur as they turned onto Euston road, desperate to avoid his unsettling gaze and the equally unsettling question. He’d been honest with her, and she knew she owed him the same courtesy, but would telling him the truth break this momentary truce? Obviously, she should have contacted him weeks ago, and she hadn’t. If only she hadn’t been such a coward.