The Lawyer's Pregnancy Takeover (Destiny's Child Book 2)

by Zee Monodee

  “Does it hurt a lot?”

  “Bloody hurts.” He groused and tried to move his face away when she started to wipe his upper lip.

  As easy as dealing with a petulant toddler. She sighed and ignored his evasive tactics. “Try to smile.”

  His eyes grew wide. “You mad?”

  “Just smile, will you? If you manage to do so, it means the nose cartilage isn’t broken.”

  Michael growled behind her. “He’s fine.”

  She’d forgotten about him. The unconcealed menace back in his tone made her bristle. So much for thinking this man could prove gentle. She had to remember what he had come here to do. Strong-willed people like him only responded when someone didn’t back down in front of them. See if she’d let him off the hook.

  “Yes, like hell he is.” She turned towards him. “Don’t you think you’ve caused enough trouble already? So stay out of this now, will you?”

  Both men remained silent. She’d bet no one had ever shut Michael Rinaldi up in this manner.

  Satisfied to have won herself a few minutes of calm, for she knew a storm must be brewing in the impetuous young man, she went into the adjoining bathroom and came back with a wet hand towel.

  She paused in her step. Michael was gone. Strange, that. She’d never thought she could be that persuasive. Then she shrugged, going back to Umberto to clean his wound. Good riddance on that other count.

  Once she’d finished, she went back to the bathroom to dump the soiled towel and wad of tissues.

  “Jane, you’ve met Michael before?” Umberto asked her once she’d stepped back into his office. “I could swear … never mind. And did I hear that right? You’re pregnant?”

  Forced to confess now, she sighed. “Yes, it’s true.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  She waited for reproach in the voice. Or even exasperation.

  Strange how she heard none. Could it be she’d even picked up concern in his words?

  She shook her head. The hormones had to be playing with her perception again. Umberto cared for no one except himself.

  “It’s complicated,” she explained. “I just found out myself, and I’ll tell you about it later, okay?”

  He didn’t press for more information. Relieved, she returned to making an ice pack with cubes from the minibar and another towel. The wound had reduced to just dark red swelling, nothing broken. She left Umberto with the cold compress on his face and went back to her desk to grab a couple paracetamols for him.

  She nearly did a double take when she came across Michael casually seated in one of the plush couches of the waiting room. What was he still doing here? He didn’t bother to look up, enthralled as he seemed with his phone. Good, he hadn’t noticed her. Yet. On tiptoe, she quickly went to her desk and got the medication.

  On the threshold of the office doorway, she paused. Her every instinct urged her to hide behind one of the wide double panels. Michael would surely leave once his patience had been tested. But that would be childish. She’d always faced everything head-on, hadn’t she?

  So on a deep breath, she went out and back to her desk, making as if she hadn’t even seen him sitting there.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed him getting up to stroll her way. He stopped at the edge of the table, but she still didn’t look up at him.

  “I suppose in your condition, you have to eat lunch. Let’s go out.”

  She raised her eyes up to his face. “Thanks, but no. I’m good.”

  Could this bloke be more of a bully? She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of caving in to his every whim. After what he had done to poor Umberto ... Granted, it had been a very bad idea for her boss to get entangled with his ex-wife again, but did that mean his son had to come in and punch him in the face? That sort of behaviour was fit for the primary school playground. Not lunchtime in The City.

  “Jane.” His voice carried a slight growl again. “You and I have to talk.”

  She glanced up from her laptop screen. “I doubt that.”

  She had nothing to discuss with the likes of him. Also, loyalty and all that. Her loyalties lay with her boss. Not with his son.

  His gaze narrowed. “Don’t push me.”

  Seriously? That’s the way he would play it?

  She returned an equally pointed glare at him. “Haven’t you proved your point already by punching your father back there?”

  “That was between me and him.” He pressed open palms on the desk in front of her, leaning forward until his face lay mere inches away from hers. “Now, it’s between me and you.”

  She parted her lips, but no words came out. Her thoughts were being scrambled by the close proximity of her body to this hunk’s magnetic persona. Damn hormones yet again! A bully he might be, but Lord, the man was GQ-cover gorgeous. What woman would not openly ogle that kind of handsomeness, never mind that only selfish bastards always looked this yummy? More proof she’d always made the worst choices ... Michael Rinaldi also had his father’s Mediterranean charisma in spades, too, and he didn’t even need to smile for it to weave its spell on those physically close to him.

  And then, he smiled at her. “Lunch.”

  She frowned and blinked out of the spell. Why the sudden change in attitude? Switching tactics? This sounded too easy.

  “I smell a catch in there, Mr. Rinaldi. So my answer is no.”

  He didn’t reply, but the smile stretched into a slow, lazy grin.

  “Please.” His warm breath caressed her face.

  She blinked again, unable to break the new spell weaving itself over her with his honeyed attitude. This man was dangerous, because he could get an unwilling woman to do things …

  And that’s how she found herself a few minutes later in the underground car park of the bank, stepping into a sleek, black Mercedes McLaren SLR.

  When Michael slid into the driver’s seat next to her, she trailed her gaze along his hard profile. She had to admit she still felt slightly stunned, dazed. What had happened back there? Suddenly, she’d heard herself saying yes … and he’d caught her hand, making her stand up, then had placed a wide, warm palm in the small of her back to propel her to the lift.

  And now, here they were, in his car. The sight of him and the overall impression of the vehicle made her think of the dark, shady, Gothic world of underground superheroes like Batman. Michael reminded her of a hardened Bruce Wayne—handsome, rich, mysterious, and elusive—and his car resembled a modern version of a Batmobile or the vehicle such an urban hero would use to zip through the darkened streets of the town.

  In the world of comic books, however, she recalled, the superhero or the masked lawman inevitably spelled bad news for any woman who crossed his path. The women always lost their heart and more to the impassive heroes hell-bent on doing their duty.

  What was she going to lose?

  The car eased into the busy London traffic, before zipping rather recklessly in the lanes to get through the congested streets. What was it with London drivers? Were they all practicing to be the Stig on Top Gear?

  Fifteen minutes later when they reached the classy area of Knightsbridge, Jane knew the first thing she would lose was the contents of her stomach.

  *

  Michael parked the car in front of Tabitha’s Cove, an exclusive eatery in the same district as world-renowned, high-end shopping venues like Harvey Nichols. Tables here were booked solid six months in advance, but Tabitha was a friend, and she always had a booth or two free for those who featured in her good books. He and Jane would certainly have privacy here, despite the fact that Tabitha loved gossip. The sight of him with a woman was bound to make tongues wag. One thing at a time, though. Why else did people rely on PR firms to do damage control?

  He glanced at Jane as she rushed to exit the car. A trick of the light, or was her face tinged by the same greenish hue of her dress?

  Tossing the car keys at the valet, he took her elbow and guided her towards the front door. They stepped thr
ough the opened smoky glass panel into a world of cool and dark splendour, reminiscent of twenties’ era high-class eateries.

  Jane squirmed next to him, but he discounted that as an attempt on her part to break away from his grasp. She wouldn’t get away that easily. The woman had already proved she could go toe-to-toe with him in the wits’ department. He had only the physical advantage, and he’d use it for all it was worth in order to keep her by his side until she’d heard—and agreed to—his offer. He tightened his hold on her, pulling her into his side all while smiling brightly at the petite woman heading their way.

  “Michael, dah-ling!”

  He bent to kiss her cheek. “Tabitha, luv. You’re looking gorgeous.”

  She laughed. “Always the charmer. It’s been a long time since we had you here.”

  “Yes—”

  He stopped talking when Jane pushed his hand off her elbow. So she also had physical strength. Not an opponent to underestimate, that one. He grabbed her hand before she would wiggle out completely.

  “Excuse me, but where’s the ladies’ room?” she asked Tabitha, her voice a little strangled.

  Tabitha frowned, her gaze going from him to Jane. She must not have missed the little power struggle between them. “That’s the first door to the left, dear.”

  “Thanks.”

  Jane suddenly crushed his fingers with hers, and, surprised, he let go of her. She wasted no time dashing towards the door Tabitha had indicated. On the way, she bumped into a waiter, but didn’t even pause to excuse herself, and simply disappeared behind the swinging panel. How strange. He wouldn’t have pegged her down as lacking basic manners.

  Tabitha frowned. “Is your friend all right?”

  He had started to wonder the same thing. Jane Smithers had struck him as a composed young woman, and the sudden flight seemed odd.

  She’s pregnant, a little voice whispered in his mind.

  A little bit of dread trickled into him, rendering his muscles heavy and stiff. Maybe she wasn’t okay, and maybe he better go check on her. As long as she was with him, she was under his responsibility. Old-fashioned again, yes, but his mother had raised him a gentleman.

  “Please excuse me.” He headed for the swinging door, too.

  He paused at the entrance to the powder room. Usually, the insulated walls in the restaurant pretty much muffled any sounds from room to room, even just beyond the door. So when he actually heard the horrendous retching noises coming from inside, he dropped any qualms about pushing the panel open and stepping in to find Jane.

  She hadn’t even closed the door of the stall behind her. Her leather bag lay in a heap near the wall, and she had fallen onto her knees in front on the toilet bowl. Her body shook every time she heaved.

  The sight and sounds tore at his gut. She was sick.

  He stepped beside her and laid a hand on her shoulder. “Jane?”

  She didn’t reply and retched again. Nothing seemed to be coming out of her mouth, but she continued trembling, and her whole back sagged.

  That didn’t seem right. Something must be really off here …

  He squatted down by her side, worry now consuming him. What could he do for her? He had never seen a woman in such distress, and that left him at a loss.

  Could she be having a fever? That usually brought on vomiting, no? He reached out to touch her forehead. Her skin felt clammy and cold, strands of her long hair sticking to her temples. With a gentle brush of his fingers, he pulled her hair back, away from her face, grazing the soft skin of her delicate ears.

  It seemed she started breathing with a bit more ease when he’d pulled her hair back. Had that helped?

  Holding her tresses with one hand while rubbing his palm over her back in soothing motions, he waited for her to quiet down. The gesture seemed to have a calming effect on her.

  After a few minutes, her body stopped heaving, and her breathing returned somewhat to normal.

  He stilled his hand on her back. “Feeling better?”

  She nodded.

  Bracing his palms on her waist, he stood, taking her along with him. “Come.”

  She allowed him to steer her to the marble sinks. After pulling a tissue from the dispenser, he wiped her mouth. He suddenly worried that he’d smear her lipstick, but strangely, no colour bled off when he ran the paper towel over her lips. With his fingers under her chin, he propped her face up so that she would look at him. Trails of tears ran down her cheeks. With the pad of his thumb, he wiped them away. He frowned at seeing the area around her eyes still clear, though a bit puffy. So no mascara, then?

  A woman who went out, in The City, at that, without makeup? That actually existed?

  When she broke away from him to go splash some water over her face and also rinse her mouth, he stood there and watched her. What could have made her sick …?

  She was pregnant, though. If this was the thing they called morning sickness, he now had renewed respect for expecting women.

  “Do you get that often?” he asked.

  “First time.” She nodded. “The speed.”

  He frowned. What did she mean? Then it hit him. She’d been sick because he had driven, as usual, like a madman. This was all his fault.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know it would affect you like this.”

  She stared at him, her dark eyes wide, pale lips parted. Then she blinked and looked down.

  A knock came at the door.

  “Is everything all right?” Tabitha asked from the opened doorway.

  Jane shrugged away from his side and gave the older woman a weak smile. “I’m fine. Just need to make myself presentable again.”

  Was that a cue asking him to leave her alone? He threw her a last glance before leaving the room. Shaken by her present condition and realizing he was the cause made worry fill his mind. Men really did walk on eggshells around pregnant women.

  “Is your friend sick?” Tabitha placed a hand on his sleeve.

  “No. Just pregnant.” Belatedly, he realized what he’d let slip, and he cursed softly. Concern had made him drop his shield, and he had opened a can of worms in front of Tabitha. “Can you get her something light to eat? I think her stomach is rather upset right now.”

  “Sure, dah-ling. Let me take you to a secluded booth. What will you have?”

  “Just a cup of coffee, please.”

  She led him to a far corner of the restaurant. From where he sat, he could see the whole place, but few of the patrons would be able to spot him. Good.

  Five minutes later, a waiter brought his coffee, a plate of dainty sandwiches, and a pot of tea. Tabitha ambled over to the table.

  “Cucumber sandwiches and ginger tea for your friend. Works wonders for an upset stomach. Used to tide me over when I was expecting all three of my lads.”

  The tiny bells on the front door jingled then, and she left to welcome the newcomers.

  Michael took a sip of his coffee. How long would it take Jane to emerge from the bloody ladies’ room?

  He finally spotted her. She scanned the place with a wary gaze before noticing him in the corner. With purposeful steps, she walked his way.

  She hadn’t once glanced at the front door. He liked that; she didn’t shy away from conflict, and didn’t take the coward’s way out. She just might help him out without any coercion on his part, after all.

  He stood when she reached the booth, and waited for her to be seated before he sat down again. “Better?”

  “Yes.”

  “The food’s for you.” He nodded at the plate.

  She seemed to shudder. “I don’t think I can eat anything right now.”

  “Try it.” He paused. “Think of the baby.”

  A flush of colour crept up her light gold cheeks, making her appear even more washed out through the sudden contrast. She reached for the teapot and poured herself a cup, then took a sip of the pale amber liquid before biting into a delicate sandwich.

  Jane Smithers wasn’t what most people would call conv
entionally beautiful. Her features were too sharp and angular for that. Her cheekbones slashed across her face, her chin jutted out too much, and her nose had a too-pointy aquiline shape. She was also an unusually tall woman and had a big-boned frame. The long, straight, black hair softened her features a little, but she wore a no-nonsense expression on her features that would deter anyone who didn’t have serious business to undertake with her.

  Still, she was … different. Something about her, he couldn’t quite shrug off.

  “I really am sorry for having driven like a maniac.”

  Where had that come from? Hadn’t he already apologized?

  She raised her dark brown eyes to him. Her gaze reminded him of midnight and the kind of sultry darkness he had seen in South American women’s eyes. Could she not be entirely British, even with a name like Jane Smithers?

  “It’s okay. I haven’t been feeling well today. It’s actually a relief to have been able to throw up.”

  That was strange to hear. It puzzled him more than anything.

  “Well, if you say so.” He took another sip of his coffee.

  In truth, he had to admit Jane didn’t strike him as an idiot or a calculating bitch, either of which she had to be to work for Umberto and not see what he really was. So what was she doing with him? Did she need her job that badly?

  She broke his train of thought when she spoke. “I can’t believe I can actually eat this.”

  “Morning sickness?”

  “Yes, and then some. I’ve been feeling awful for the past few weeks.”

  “How far along are you?”

  “A little more than two months, apparently.”

  “Apparently?”

  She shrugged. “To tell you the truth, I just found out about it.”

  He couldn’t help but note that her tone had grown subdued. Some instinct made him glance at her left hand. No ring. “Your boyfriend not happy?”

  She bowed her head. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

  He tightened his grip over the coffee cup. She was alone and pregnant, and that often meant ... “He’s married?”

  She brought her steady gaze back up to his face. “None of your business. But no. It’s just none of his business, either.”