The Pregnancy Proposal

by Helen Bianchin

  ‘The man is no fool. He might be cutting you some slack now, but soon he’s going to reel you in.’

  She looked at him as he fired the ignition. ‘What if I don’t want to be reeled in?’

  He shot her a piercing glance. ‘Don’t you?’

  Oh, hell. She wasn’t sure she was ready for such in-depth perception.

  They completed the distance to Kangaroo Point in silence, and as they emerged from the lift Tasha touched a light hand to his arm.

  ‘Thanks. It was a great evening. I’d like to do it again some time if it’s OK with you.’

  His smile lit up his pleasant features. ‘All you need to do is say the word.’ He paused, then added, ‘Call if you need me.’

  She entered her apartment, secured the lock, then stepped into her room, shed her clothes and slid in between the bedcovers.

  Sharing dinner with Jared’s mother had always been a pleasant experience, and Tasha liked to think that two years’ acquaintance had promoted a warm friendship between them.

  Did Monica assume Tasha’s live-in relationship with Jared would eventually lead to something permanent? Such as marriage? Children? Was that something she hoped for?

  Infinitely tactful, Monica had been careful not to allude to anything, and, as no engagement had been announced, the woman could be forgiven for wondering how her son regarded the relationship.

  Consequently, Tasha viewed the evening with a degree of mild trepidation.

  In the need to dredge up her reserves of confidence, she selected an elegant trouser suit in a brilliant red, stepped into stilettos, kept her make-up to a minimum except for matching lipstick, gloss, and paid attention to her eyes.

  Jared had indicated six, and she left her apartment at five fifty-five, took the lift down to the main lobby, and emerged just as Jared’s Jaguar drew to a halt at the front entrance.

  For a brief moment she wondered what Jared had told his mother about his and Tasha’s separate living arrangements. Would there be silent reproof or disappointment evident in Monica’s greeting?

  As to the pregnancy…had he mentioned anything in advance of this evening, or did he intend dropping the news like a bombshell over dinner?

  How did she greet him? A simple ‘hello’ seemed inadequate, yet—

  Jared took the decision out of her hands by lowering his head and closing his mouth over hers in a brief but evocative tongue-tangling kiss that succeeded in bringing alive each and every separate nerve-end.

  It wasn’t fair, he wasn’t playing fair, and if it hadn’t been for his mother’s presence she would have torn strips off him.

  ‘Tasha.’ Monica stepped forward and took hold of her hands. ‘It’s so good to see you again.’

  ‘Likewise,’ she agreed warmly. ‘I believe you’re heading down to the Coast for a few days.’

  They moved to the car, and Jared opened both front and rear passenger doors.

  ‘You sit in front, my dear,’ Monica indicated, and shook her head as Tasha voiced a refusal. ‘I insist.’

  Deliberately coupling her with Jared, she acknowledged as he eased the car out onto the road.

  The restaurant he’d chosen was one of the city’s finest, well known for its superb cuisine. The mâitre d’ greeted Jared with great deference and led them to a coveted table.

  ‘You must tell me all your news,’ Monica invited as they waited for the wine steward to deliver their drinks.

  Here was the moment she’d been unconsciously waiting for. Should she go with truth or fiction? She decided to hedge her bets. ‘You mean, apart from moving into my own apartment?’

  ‘I’m sure you had a very good reason.’

  Tasha met Jared’s inscrutable gaze, and was unable to discern anything from his expression.

  The arrival of the wine steward brought the conversation to a halt, and Jared waited until the waiter was out of earshot.

  ‘The floor is all yours.’ His indolent drawl held a tinge of silk, and she threw him a killing glare.

  ‘You’re so good with words.’ Let him take the hot seat! ‘I think you should tell Monica.’

  His soft laughter almost undid her. ‘I assure you she’ll be delighted to hear she’s going to be a grandmother.’

  ‘You’re having a baby?’ Surprised joy lit her attractive features. ‘Oh, I’m so happy for you both.’ She pressed her hands together and leaned forward. ‘My dear, are you keeping well?’

  ‘The mornings aren’t so good,’ Jared drawled. ‘And yes,’ he added to what he anticipated would be Monica’s next question, ‘I’ve asked Tasha to marry me.’

  ‘My dear, if I can help with wedding plans, please let me know.’

  And now came the difficult part. ‘There isn’t going to be a wedding,’ she said gently. ‘The pregnancy was unplanned.’

  Monica turned towards her son. ‘Jared?’

  ‘I’m working on it,’ he assured.

  Was he, indeed?

  It was as well the waiter presented their starters, and Tasha had to admire Monica for keeping the conversational ball rolling.

  Jared’s mother was active with various charity committees, and led a busy social existence. She had many amusing anecdotes to relay, and Tasha began to relax a little.

  ‘There was a terribly embarrassing moment at the close of the summer-collection showing last month when one of the models refused to part with jewellery lent for the occasion. It took some diplomatic soothing of ruffled feathers, a quiet but official word from the head of security before she graciously conceded to a misunderstanding.’

  ‘Tricky,’ Tasha ventured, and Monica chuckled at the memory.

  ‘Very.’ She shook her head as Jared indicated if she wanted more wine. ‘I’m really looking forward to the theatre production. I have great respect for David Williamson’s work.’

  The food was divine, and Tasha spared an envious glance at Jared’s plate. He’d ordered a prawn dish and they looked plump and succulent.

  He cast her a warm smile and speared one with his fork. ‘Try this.’ He lifted it to her mouth, and she bit into the delicate white flesh, tasted the sauce accompanying it, and almost sighed with enjoyment.

  He speared another and fed it to her, and she was supremely conscious of the intimacy of the gesture. She became caught up in the spell of it, the primitive alchemy that existed between them, and for a moment she wished she could turn back the clock to a time when everything was right between them.

  Could it be again?

  Possibly, she qualified. Except the doubt would always be there. She didn’t want a marriage built on a shaky foundation. Nor could she bear entering a marriage based on the premise that if it didn’t work out, divorce was an easy answer. As her father had. Without thought to how the consequences of his actions might affect the children of those subsequent marriages. Did he know what it was like to hold back from getting too close to any one of four stepmothers because they never stayed around very long? Or not to become fond of any young stepsiblings, because their mothers took them away?

  She’d become isolated and self-sufficient, aware survival of self was of prime importance.

  ‘Where did you go?’ Jared queried quietly, observing her fleeting expression, the shadows. He wanted to gather her in, override her fears, and keep her close. So close, she’d never have reason to doubt anything again.

  Tasha summoned a faint smile. ‘Nowhere special.’ She no longer felt hungry, and she replaced her cutlery and pushed her plate forward. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘No need to apologise, my dear,’ Monica said gently.

  Tasha declined dessert and opted for tea.

  It was after ten when Jared settled the bill, and as they walked from the restaurant he caught hold of her hand and linked his fingers through her own.

  His touch was warm and strong, and she didn’t pull away until they reached the car.

  The theatre lobby was filled with mingling patrons attired in glamorous evening attire.

  Tasha recogn
ised a few acquaintances, two clients, and offered a smile in acknowledgement as she stood with Jared and Monica.

  Conversation was difficult, given the noise of muted social chatter vying with piped music.

  Jared stood at her side, much too close for her peace of mind, for she could sense the strength emanating from his powerful frame, aware to a startling degree of the shape and size of him beneath the trappings of fine clothes.

  She had the strangest urge to lean in against his side, have his arm circle her waist, and feel the brush of his lips against her hair.

  All she had to do was shift her stance a little. Just a fraction, and the curve of her shoulder would nudge against his chest.

  Think, she cautioned silently, of the consequences of such an action. She didn’t play games, and pretending someone had jostled her simply wouldn’t wash.

  An electronic buzzer sounded, and she heard Monica’s voiced relief.

  ‘It’ll be nice to take our seats. It’s become a little crowded here, hasn’t it?’

  Tasha murmured an appropriate response as Jared moved between them as the patrons began to move towards the main entrance.

  The play was a modern parody with flashes of insight and humour, the acting superb, making it an extremely pleasurable few hours that captured and entranced the audience.

  Monica rhapsodised eloquently as they emerged into the foyer following the final act, and Jared chuckled a little as he brought her hand to his lips.

  ‘I’m glad you enjoyed it.’

  Tasha felt his arm along the back of her waist, the splay of his hand over her hip bone, and wondered if he knew the effect he had on her equilibrium.

  A month ago she would have lifted her face and met his dark gaze with the veiled promise of how the evening would end. Smiled, even teased him a little. And relished in the anticipation, the slow building of heat until they both burned with it.

  Abstinence was a bad bedfellow, and she longed for his touch, the feel of his skin beneath her lips, the silkiness as it stretched over taut muscle and sinew. His scent was an erotic aphrodisiac, one she wanted to feast with ravishing hunger.

  He had the skill to turn her into a weak-willed wanton, savouring every pleasure he chose to bestow, then return it tenfold until the breath hissed between his teeth as he sought control…and lost it, taking her with him as they scaled the heights.

  ‘Jared.’

  Tasha turned slightly at the sound of that familiar feminine purr, and felt her edge of her teeth dig into the soft underside of her lip.

  Soleil. Partnered by a legal associate whose name she failed to recollect.

  ‘Amazing first night,’ Soleil enthused as she trailed perfectly manicured nails down the sleeve of Jared’s jacket.

  Her gaze shifted to Tasha, who gained a perfunctory acknowledgement, before taking in the older woman at Jared’s side.

  ‘Monica.’

  It was a definite gush, Tasha conceded. Not overdone, but lacking in sincerity.

  ‘How wonderful to see you again. I take it you’re enjoying your visit?’

  ‘Very much so.’

  ‘Robert and I are going to Michael’s for coffee. We’d be delighted to have you join us. It would give me the opportunity to catch up with Monica. We have a common interest in charity fundraisers.’

  Oh, my. Was Jared going to buy that? The only person Soleil wanted to catch up with was him…and she was prepared to stretch the bounds of their professional relationship to achieve it. Her interest in charity fundraisers only extended to attending society functions in the latest designer gear and ensuring her photo with appropriate caption appeared in the glossy magazines, whereas Monica was actively involved behind the scenes, tirelessly giving her time within the various organisations.

  ‘Thank you,’ Jared inclined. ‘We’ve made other arrangements.’

  They had?

  Soleil masked her disappointment with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. ‘Another time, perhaps?’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  They moved with the crowd, then separated as they reached the pavement, and Monica turned towards her son.

  ‘Thank you.’

  Humour lifted the edge of his mouth. ‘For what, specifically?’

  ‘Dinner, the theatre, and excusing me from enduring Soleil Emile’s company.’

  ‘Think nothing of it.’

  ‘I knew her mother. Nice woman. Pity her daughter didn’t inherit her mother’s demeanour.’

  ‘She’s very good at her job.’

  His mother sent him a searching look. ‘She must be, if you concede to liaise with her professionally.’

  They walked the short distance to where Jared had parked the car, said their goodbyes and, although the drive to Tasha’s apartment building wasn’t a silent one, afterwards she had little recollection of their conversation.

  ‘There’s no need to get out,’ she said quietly as Jared brought the car to a halt outside the main entrance. Except he did, anyway, walking her to the outer door and waiting as she inserted her security key.

  She opened her mouth to thank him, only to have his finger press her lips closed.

  ‘Shut up.’

  It was a husky admonition as he drew her close and closed his mouth over hers with a thoroughness that staked a claim.

  ‘I’ll call you tomorrow.’

  She wasn’t capable of saying a word, and she stepped into the outer foyer, keyed in her code, then walked through to the bank of lifts.

  The doors of one slid open immediately, and she pressed the button for her floor, then glanced towards the entrance as the doors slid closed.

  Jared had moved to the car, waiting until she was out of sight.

  Tasha rose early Sunday morning, and after breakfast she tidied the apartment, then, dressed casually in jeans and a loose cotton-knit top, she collected her sunglasses, keys, and rode the lift down to the basement car park.

  The day beckoned, the sun shone, and the late-spring weather was warm and balmy as she drove through the city to Southbank.

  She wanted to explore the markets, visit the various attractions, eat lunch at one of the outdoor cafés, and afterwards she’d stop by one of two city department stores. There were a few things she needed, and she intended to browse without the constraints of a minimum business lunch hour.

  The sun was setting in a glorious blaze of orange and rose streaks in a paling sky when she drove beneath her apartment building. Her purchases reposed on the back seat, and there was a bag of Chinese take-out breathing a redolent aroma on the seat beside her.

  Tasha planned nothing more vigorous than sinking into a chair, watching television as she ate, then she intended to shower and slip into bed with a good book.

  The phone rang at eight, only seconds after she’d emerged from the shower, and she hurriedly grabbed a towel, then raced into the bedroom to pick up the extension.

  ‘Tasha.’

  The sound of Jared’s voice sent goose-bumps scudding over the surface of her skin, and she tightened the towel she’d wound round her slender form. A gesture of self-defence?

  ‘Jared,’ she responded politely, and heard his husky chuckle. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Buried beneath a pile of law books, referencing information into the laptop. And you?’

  ‘About to hit the bed with a good book.’

  ‘I could offer something much more interesting.’

  Her pulse quickened and began to race. ‘I’m sure you could.’ Just the thought of how interesting had heat pooling deep within. ‘But you won’t.’ She composed herself, and kept her voice level. ‘I presume there’s a reason for your call?’

  ‘I have tickets to a fundraiser at the Hilton Hotel on Tuesday evening. Valuable estate items have been donated to charity, and the executors have collaborated to hold an auction.’

  Playing dress-up and indulging in the social niceties for several hours—

  ‘It’s a worthy charity.’ He named it, adding, ‘The catalogue lists ge
nuine art, porcelain and jewellery.’

  The ‘porcelain’ clinched it, as he knew it would.

  ‘I assume you’re inviting me to attend?’

  He wanted to kiss and shake her, not necessarily in that order. ‘Your assumption is correct.’

  ‘In that case, yes.’

  ‘Be ready at six-thirty. The invitation states seven, for champagne and canapés prior to the auction scheduled for eight.’

  ‘Yessir.’

  There was a measurable pause. ‘Sassy is safe over the phone, darling. Will you be so brave in person?’ It was the voice he used in the night…gentle, velvet-soft, with a silky hint of promised retribution.

  ‘You know better.’ She told herself there was no quaver evident in her tone, but she had a terrible feeling she was fooling herself.

  ‘Tuesday, Tasha. Goodnight.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  MONDAY brought the delivery of a single red rose in Reception for her, and was followed by another on Tuesday.

  Tasha added each one to the vase where the others reposed, aware someone, presumably the night-time cleaners, religiously changed the water and tended to the stems, discarding a bloom only when its petals began to fall.

  Choosing what to wear to the charity auction took some deliberation, and she eventually settled for a long black fitted skirt with a conventional split, a black top with silver thread, and she draped a long silk evening scarf in varying shades of silver, grey and black round her neck. Stiletto-heeled pumps completed the outfit, and she took care with her make-up, sweeping the length of her hair into a careless knot atop her head.

  Jared buzzed her apartment on time, and she picked up the in-house phone. ‘I’m on my way down.’

  There was no doubt he looked sensational in an evening suit, white pin-tucked shirt and black bowtie. Definitely wow territory, she conceded as she moved forward to greet him.

  The warm gleam in those dark eyes gave her a pleasurable kick.

  ‘If I say you look beautiful, will you hold it against me?’

  ‘Why would I do that?’

  Jared seated her in the car, then crossed round to slide in behind the wheel.

  Valet parking at the Hilton made for a timely arrival, and they stepped into the main lobby, then rode the lift to the ballroom, where guests gathered in the foyer sipping champagne.