by Amy Fetzer
Dia and Tigh glanced at each other, then their clients. The lawyers leaned their heads together, speaking softly, and Chase gazed at Tessa. She was fuming mad and he liked it. Even though she was going to fight him in every way she could, he liked it. She was protecting her baby, their baby. But he was just as determined to get what he wanted. His gaze lowered to her fingers drawing slow circles over her tummy, and Chase suddenly wondered what those fingers would feel like on his skin.
Damn.
Where did that come from?
Yet he watched her, the slight tremble in her breath, the way the force of the air conditioning fluttered the delicate fabric of her dress against her breast. She was truly a radiant woman, and he wondered, as any normal man would, what she looked like without his child growing so beautifully inside her.
"Have lunch with me, Miss Lightfoot?"
She blinked, stunned, then her green eyes narrowed. "Why?"
"Don't you think it would be better for all three of us—" he nodded to her stomach, "—if we came to at least a cease of friendly fire?"
Caught in indecision, Tessa let her gaze linger over him, his rugged features, his dark brown hair, short and cleanly cut, his eyes, blue as a kid's crayon and penetrating. But mostly, aside from the body in the dark suit, she noticed the lines around those incredible eyes, tanned and crimped and showing Tessa that this man, gruff and angry, smiled. A lot.
"All right." She nodded almost regally. "Cease-fire agreement. I promise not to throw food at you, at least."
Chase's lips tugged at the corners and he folded his arms over his chest, briefly glancing at the floor to hide a smile, but all Tessa noticed was the straining fabric, the muscles hiding beneath the tailored coat. Too sexy for his own good, and she imagined he knew it.
"I'll meet you at noon at—" she paused, looking thoughtful. "Golden—"
"Arches?" he teased.
"No, Dragon. I want dim sum."
Chase eyed her, her wonderful belly, then her face. "Cravings, Miss Lightfoot?"
"No. Hunger. Humor me, I'm pregnant," she said, then stood, kissed her sister's cheek, and nodded to Tigh before she left. Chase looked from Dia, who was smiling royally, to Tigh, who smiled consistently, then to the empty chair. He bolted for the door and the lawyers dropped back into their chairs.
"I feel as if I've cheated my client," Tigh said.
"Me, too."
"We didn't do anything."
Dia sent him a sly glance. "Oh, I think we did."
At the elevator Chase caught her, pressed the down button and grinned. "I said noon."
"Where are you going?"
"If it's any of your business, back to work."
"Work?"
"What? Did you think I was independently wealthy? That I could have a baby when I felt like it?"
He shook his head, jamming his hands in his trouser pockets and ruining the fine lines of the suit. "I don't know what to think."
"Good."
His lips thinned. "Try not to fire on a white flag," he said through gritted teeth.
Tessa sighed heavily. "Look, Mr. Madison—"
"Chase."
"Mr. Madison," she stressed. "You may have contributed to the gene pool, but that's it."
"Are you going to hold the fact that I can't give birth against me?"
She reared back. "Of course not. But we don't have anything to say to each other, and I'd like to keep it that way. Lunch is a compromise."
"You mean a concession to the lowly father, huh?"
God, it sounded so insensitive and spiteful when he put it like that.
"I'm meaningless to you, aren't I?" he continued. "You couldn't care less if I spend the next ten years trying to gain my rights."
The elevator chimed and the door sprang open. She stepped inside and Chase stood still as she faced him and punched the lobby button. The moments between gave her a chance to forget his hurt look and retrieve her determination. He didn't want to simply help financially as Dia suspected. Chase Madison wanted her baby and he was planning to make her life miserable.
"Forget about me, Mr. Madison. The last thing I want is you in my baby's life."
The door closed and Chase jerked his tie loose, then shoved his fingers through his hair. Not the baby's life, he thought angrily, or yours?
Tessa watched him from a distance, gathering her nerve. He'd changed into more casual clothes, and she remembered how he'd kept tugging at his tie earlier that morning. He either didn't wear suits often or just didn't like them, she decided. She watched him as he stared off into the street. The sidewalk café was a good spot, open, crowded. They couldn't argue here. Yet it struck her that he looked lonely, forgotten, relaxed in the chair, one arm slung over the back. Women paraded past him, hoping, she didn't doubt, to catch his attention. But he didn't spare them a glance, his gaze so distant she felt a pang of sympathy. He was divorced, his wife dead, and he lived alone. That's all Dia had been able to find out in such a short time, other than that he owned a construction company.
And you want to take his child away from him, a voice pestered. She moved her shoulder as if to nudge it away. He wants to take my baby. Mine. This child had been all hers, until last week, until his lawyer called, until computer glitches and the damn clinic made it his, too.
Liar, the voice cried. Liar. He is the biological father.
Tessa rubbed the space between her eyes, willing back the threat of a headache, and straightened her shoulders. Nodding to the maitre d', she followed him to the table. As if sensing her presence, Chase turned his head, then leapt to his feet, pulling out a chair. She sank into it gratefully, working off her shoes. Pregnancy and happy feet did not coexist.
She smelled like cinnamon, Chase decided as he tucked her chair and took his seat. They ordered, and when the waiter left, Chase turned his attention to the woman across from him. He'd positioned her chair at a safe distance, sensing she didn't want to be too close, and he didn't want to scare her off. The stakes were too high. She could vanish, taking his unborn child with her, and Chase would be left alone. Again.
"Are you just going to stare at me or what?"
His gaze lingered over her dress. It was the same one she'd worn earlier that morning, and he was glad she hadn't changed. He liked the antique look. It suited her.
"Where do you work, Tessa?" he asked
She thought about saying nothing, but with Tigh McBain for a lawyer, Chase likely knew the shade of her bathroom by now.
"I have a shop about four blocks from here, Mr. Madison," she enunciated, hoping he caught her meaning.
He did, but ignored it. "Let me guess, a dress shop."
"No, an everything shop. Tessa's Attic."
He frowned.
"I design and manufacture period clothing—Victorian, Gatsby." She gestured to her own clothes. "Along with the proper accoutrements," she added.
She works with her hands, too, he thought, his gaze shifting to her long, carefully manicured fingers, then to the dress again, skimming the delicate grape lace worked with pearls and tiny ribbons. It looked as if air held it together, and it made him think of all those wonderful sexy bits of lingerie women wore to drive men insane. No wonder it suited her so well. He found himself wanting to see her before she was pregnant or after, without the huge tummy. He wanted to see Tessa without anything at all.
Tessa felt his gaze, saw it darken and deepen, sending an unfamiliar heat through her already warm blood. Hot flashes, that's all, she thought. The waiter came and placed food before them. Tessa, caught in Chase's gaze, still didn't realize their lunch had arrived until she nearly dropped the dim sum in her lap.
"Who hurt you?" His words came softly, like a warm caress.
She didn't like it. "I beg your pardon?"
"Who hurt you so badly that you don't want a man in your life?"
A lie would have done nicely right now, but Tessa couldn't get it past her lips. "It's not that I don't want one. Rather I've found it … unnecessary. I do fine alone, with an
occasional date."
"Why didn't you just sleep with some poor schmuck and walk away? You'd have exactly what you wanted then."
"No. I wouldn't," she replied tightly. "I wasn't going to risk a disease or anything else. What should I have done? Ah, excuse me—" she poked the air with her chopsticks "—could you be tested for diseases so I can get pregnant? Hurry though, I'm ovulating." He smiled at that. "I couldn't do that anyway, at least not and keep it from him."
"But you would from me?"
She put down her chopsticks and rubbed her temple. "It's different. I went into this with the assurance that the donor would never know. Donors sign away their rights."
"Unless the kid wants to find them."
She shrugged.
"What were you going to tell my son when he asked about his father?"
Again, her shoulders moved restlessly as she poked at her food. "I'd decide when it was appropriate. And if she was old enough to understand, I'd tell the truth."
Abruptly he leaned close, hemming in the air, the moment. The man was so close she could see the black flecks in his eyes.
"The truth? That he was made in a doctor's office and not a bedroom? That his father was some man he'll never know?"
His tone was intimate, husky, and Tessa swallowed nervously. "That can't be helped."
"Yes, it can."
"How—?" Her eyes widened instantly at the look of intent on his face. "Oh, no!" She shook her head, looking scared. "Don't—" she wiped her lips "—don't say it!"
"Marry me."
She stood abruptly, throwing down her napkin. "That never fixes anything, especially this."
Chase rose slowly. "Tessa, calm down."
"I am calm," she insisted. "I said lunch. Talk. Not a damn proposal that isn't warranted." She left the table, angry, stomping, then froze, looking down at her stockinged feet. Chase watched her shoulders sag as she turned back. Dropping into the chair, he fought a smile as she stepped into her shoes and grabbed her purse.
He caught her and a tingling sang up his arm. "Tessa, wait. Talk to me."
"No." She wiggled free. "Talk is doing—" She gasped suddenly, gripping his shoulder and clutching her belly.
Chase tensed, his gaze shooting between her face and the baby. In a heartbeat he realized she wasn't in pain, but that his child, his baby, was moving wildly inside her. Without thought, he pulled her onto his lap, his hand covering the rolling pokes and ripples.
The audacity of the man, Tessa thought, struggling to get up, but he held her down. Then Tessa went still as glass, watching his expression—awed and happy. Deliriously happy. And she felt it like a sweet fragrance on the breeze, almost tangible.
"Chase," she whispered, and he lifted his gaze. Her heart nearly broke. His eyes, dark, haunting eyes that could almost pierce through her, were damp and soft and so unbelievably vulnerable she thought she'd drown in them. He looked helpless and his fingers flexed on her belly, following the motion lower. A burning, familiar and sensual and heady, spilled through her body. She shifted on his lap and he dropped his gaze to her tummy.
"That's incredible," he whispered, a catch in his voice, and it hit her that he hadn't understood exactly what he was fighting over. A human being. Genes and syringes aside, there was life inside her and he was just recognizing how very real it all was. That this wasn't a battle for rights and territory, but a battle over a baby. A tiny, helpless baby. Tessa was fast losing perspective. The heat of his touch and the savage look in his eyes chiseled at the courage she needed. In the space of a few moments, the man fought with her, proposed to her, then showed her a side of himself she never imagined he possessed. And she felt as if she'd just stepped off a roller coaster—dizzy, unstable. It scared her, this jumble of feelings, and as Chase applied pressure to her back, urging her close, she recognized want and hunger and need in herself. She was pregnant; she wasn't supposed to feel this way, was she? Yet still she leaned into him, still she let him touch her belly, still she ignored the customers whispering around them.
When Tessa covered his hand with hers, Chase felt emotion stir in him, a thick heaviness in his chest he hadn't experienced in all his thirty-five years. Unborn life poked at his palm. It was his child, letting him know he was there, involved, yet a separate entity from the mother. This child is a living, breathing part of me too, he thought. Me. And the baby needed him. His gaze moved over Tessa's belly, then up her body to her face, and she smiled tenderly. God, she was beautiful. And she was doing things to him, intoxicating things, with her buttocks tucked into his lap, the scent of her perfume and her skin, the look in her eyes. For an instant, Chase saw her in his bed, naked and damp and wanting. His hand at her back spread, moving upward, drawing her closer. His breath brushed her warm lips. So sweet.
Her eyes blinked open and she jerked back. "No. No, no, no." She pushed off his lap, scrambling for her purse, ignoring his help and repeating "no" over and over as she left him and the restaurant as quickly as she could. Chase watched her go, sinking into the chair. She couldn't have moved any faster if her life depended on it, and he smiled, silly and sappy. Several customers joined him.
"My baby," he said, gesturing, then leaned forward and braced his arms on the table, catching his breath. She felt it. God, he prayed she had experienced that electricity, because he felt fried down to his socks. And the only reason he didn't follow her was that the entire restaurant would know exactly what her squirming had done to him.
* * *
Three
« ^ »
Tessa slipped the purchase into a bag and handed it over to her customer, forcing her smile to remain in place as Miss Dewberry called out in her singsong voice from the dressing room.
"Coming," Tessa sang back, her shoulders drooping.
"I'll take care of her, Miss Lightfoot," one of her salesgirls, a college student, said.
"Thank you, but Miss Dewberry will only make you miserable, Dana," Tessa whispered. She'd find fault with everything the girl did, and Tessa didn't want her best clerk upset enough to leave. She needed her. Dana looked great in Tessa's designs and had a marvelous eye for window displays.
Dana conceded with a sour glance at the dressing rooms and turned away to assist another customer. Tessa snatched three more outfits off the rack and headed to the back of the store. She soothed the older woman's complaints and suggested another style. Tessa wouldn't put up with her moods if she didn't spend nearly a thousand dollars every time she walked through the door. Besides, being unmarried and childless at fifty must be hard. Though Tessa could understand why the woman was alone. Her aura was brown, as Tessa's mother would say.
"I think we should try a larger size," she suggested. "This pattern may run a touch small," she added, for the woman's expression was viperous. Tessa handed over the garments and leaned back against the papered wall. She wanted a nap. She wanted to put her feet up. And she almost cried when the door chime sounded again.
Sleep had eluded her last night, her mind constantly slipping to Chase, remembering the look in his eyes when he felt the baby move and the wonderful scent of him just before he kissed her. No, nearly kissed her, she reminded herself.
She couldn't let him seduce her. Not that she believed for a moment he was attracted to a pregnant woman with swollen ankles. He just wanted his baby. My baby, she corrected, refusing to be lured by his smiles and charm.
When Miss Dewberry popped out of the dressing room, displeasure evident in her pinched expression, Tessa prepared herself for the criticism. Pushing away from the wall, she inspected the fit, adjusting the delicate fabric over the woman's ample figure.
"It scratches, and this isn't the French lace I like," Miss Lila Dewberry sniped.
And the style is for a younger slimmer woman, Tessa thought. Or hadn't the woman noticed the deep braless-cut back?
"But what do you think of the color?"
Pink dress, red hair? Get a clue, Tessa thought.
"It doesn't do you justice," a masculine voi
ce said, and both women turned.
Tessa's heart did a strange flip at the sight of Chase propped against the wide doorway, arms folded over his flat stomach. His slight smile, so very masculine and seductive, practically simmered in the air. God, he looked good, she thought, even in a simple blue T-shirt and very worn jeans.
"I beg your pardon?" Miss Dewberry said waspishly, and Tessa's gaze shifted between her source of sleeplessness and her immediate source of a headache.
"The color, I mean." He leaned back slightly and pulled a darker, more somber shade of the same dress from the rack and handed it to the woman. Tessa noticed it was a larger size. "This was made for you."
Miss Dewberry smiled, for the first time in centuries Tessa imagined, then swept into the dressing room.
Chase's gaze shifted to Tessa.
"Thank you," she said, then lowered her voice. "She was really beginning to wear on me."
"You look exhausted."
"I am." She collected the discarded garments, righting them on the hangers.
"Is that because of me?" he said with a grin.
Her eyes narrowed. "Yes. You and your imagined rights. What do you want, Mr. Madison?"
"For you to take it easy, for one thing."
"Me and my baby were doing just fine."
Until you, she was saying. His gaze slipped over her, the dark beige top and cleanly pressed slacks, but it was her face that showed her fatigue. Wisps of hair lay damp at her nape where she'd pulled the dark mass back in a wide bow. Shadows clung beneath her eyes, and a grayish pallor tinted her skin.
"Please leave my shop," she said, suddenly uncomfortable. She bent to retrieve a box of shoes, yet when she straightened, she staggered. Chase lurched, catching her, taking her weight.
She sagged against him, drawing her breath slowly, blinking, and Chase lifted her in his arms and carried her out of the dressing room area.
"I'm quite capable of walking," she said, squirming.
"You can hardly stand," came in a warning tone, and she scowled at him. Her assistant looked up and raced to them, opening the door to her office and letting him inside. "Can I get a doctor?"