Pride and Pregnancy

by Sarah M. Anderson

  It was hard to even remember how this had started—her house had felt wrong. Tom thought it was bugged. Someone was potentially planning to blackmail her.

  So what had she done in response to a blackmail threat? Run away with the FBI agent assigned to the case and thrown herself at him. And now she was running away with him again, this time to Washington, DC.

  For someone who prided herself on making the right choices ninety-nine out of a hundred times, Caroline was sure screwing things up.

  “Hold on, I’ll ask her.” Tom turned to her. “What size do you wear?”

  It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen her naked and didn’t have a really good idea of her weight. So this was just another indignity. “Eight.”

  Tom repeated the number and then said, “What?...Oh. Yeah, okay.” Then he handed the phone to her. “Be polite,” he said in a low voice.

  She scowled. When was she not polite? “Hello?”

  “If you could just give me your dress size, shoe size, hair color, eye color, skin tone and body type, that would make this so much easier,” a cultured woman’s voice said with no other introduction.

  Whoever this was, she certainly sounded like a Celine.

  “Excuse me?” Maybe this was some sort of personal assistant? Frankly, at this point, nothing would surprise her.

  “For tonight?” Celine said, as if she were speaking to a child. “Thomas has indicated you will need something to wear.”

  Thomas? She looked up at him. He was frowning, but that could have just been his normal expression at this point. “What’s happening tonight?”

  Tom’s frown deepened. If she hadn’t spent the weekend wrapped around him, she might be intimidated.

  “Why, the Rutherford Foundation’s annual gala benefit,” Celine announced, as if that were the most obvious thing in the world instead of a complete surprise. “Thomas is, as usual, the guest of honor. And if he thinks enough of you to bring you as his guest, we can’t have you looking like you just walked off the plane, can we?”

  The Rutherford Foundation? Later, she was going to strangle the man. Slowly. But she’d promised to be polite—and she had to admit, she desperately wanted to meet the woman Tom not only apologized to freely, but would let call him Thomas. “Oh. Yes. He mentioned something about that,” she lied. “I’m a size eight and I wear a seven and a half in shoes.”

  “Hair color? Eye color? Bra size? Are you pear shaped or top-heavy?”

  This was not awkward at all, she kept repeating to herself as she answered the questions. Her face felt like it was on fire with embarrassment, but she answered as honestly as she could.

  “Thank you,” Celine said, and oddly, she did sound genuinely grateful. “If I could speak with Thomas again? Oh—I didn’t even get your name.”

  “Caroline. Caroline Jennings.” Should she mention she was a judge? Or was that on a need-to-know basis? “Thank you for your help,” she said, remembering her manners. “Will I have the chance to meet you tonight?”

  Celine laughed, a delicate, tinkling sound. “Oh, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  With that vaguely ominous statement, Caroline handed the phone back over. What the hell had she gotten herself into?

  This wasn’t her world. Her world was predictable and safe. She lived her life to minimize the number of risks she took. Risks like running off with a man who was little more than a stranger, or falling into bed with said stranger.

  Or jetting across the country to attend a gala benefit for a foundation with a dress code that required her body shape to be up for analysis, for God’s sake.

  She was skipping work. That was a hazard to her professional reputation. And Tom...

  “We’ll see you in a few hours,” he told Celine, his gaze cutting over to Caroline.

  Tom was definitely hazardous.

  Tom ended the call and loomed over her. Unlike in Pierre, where they had been the only people in the airport besides a ticket clerk who’d also been the baggage handler, the Minneapolis Airport was crowded with people. Tom had only been able to snag one seat at their gate, and he had insisted Caroline sit in it.

  It was sort of chivalrous. Thoughtful, even—which was quite a change of pace from him waking her up at the butt crack of dawn and informing her she was flying to the nation’s capital with him, no discussion allowed. But that one small chivalrous act was barely a drop in an ocean of other things that were the complete opposite of thoughtful.

  “We’re going to a gala benefit for the Rutherford Foundation?” she asked, wondering if she should pinch herself—hard—to wake up from this strange dream. “You don’t think you might have mentioned that before I had to give my body type to some woman named Celine?”

  “I wanted to make sure you would be welcomed at the benefit,” he said, choosing each word carefully.

  She tried to be understanding. Really, she did. If she were to look at the situation objectively, Tom’s behavior made perfect sense within a certain context. And that context was that he was a widowed officer of the law. He’d lived alone for years. He was used to giving orders and having them followed. He was used to being right, because who was going to contradict him? The criminals he arrested?

  No, she had known from the very first moment Tom had walked into her courtroom that he did things his way, and honestly, that was part of his appeal. Or it had been, until this morning.

  But damn it, she was not some common criminal he was shuffling from courthouse to jail. Hell, she wasn’t even a witness that he was protecting at all costs. She didn’t know what she was, except the woman who couldn’t resist doing whatever he told her to.

  She was definitely going to regret this.

  “For the record,” she began, standing so he wasn’t staring down at her, “you should have told me first. Even better, you should’ve asked me to go as your date. It’s a lot more effective than ordering me around and keeping me in the dark.”

  “I’m not—it wasn’t—”

  “You were and it was,” she interrupted. “I like you, Tom. I hope you realize that. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

  He took a breath that looked shaky. “I am aware of that.”

  God save her from men who couldn’t talk about their feelings. Caroline pressed on. “But if you keep treating me like...like a chess piece you can move around the board whenever the whim strikes you, this won’t end well for either of us.”

  She wasn’t ready for what happened next. His scowl slipped, and underneath, she saw... vulnerability. Worry. “You’re not a chess piece, Caroline.” He stepped in closer to her. She felt him all the way down to her toes. “Not to me.”

  Her whole body leaned toward him without her express permission. Something more—that’s what he was to her. That’s what she was to him, right?

  No. Get a grip, she ordered herself. She’d rather be mad at him. There was nothing wrong with angry sex, after all. But tenderness was dangerous. For all she knew, affection could be deadly.

  So she didn’t allow herself to feel any of that. “Good,” she said, making sure to keep her voice firm, “Now, why don’t you tell me about this gala benefit I’m accompanying you to this evening?”

  * * *

  Celine had done as she’d promised. More than she’d promised, Tom realized when he and Caroline walked into the room at the Watergate Hotel. Celine and Mark always offered to put him up in their guest room, but he’d been staying at this hotel for years. It was better this way. The room was a small apartment, really, with an office, dining room, kitchen and a generous bedroom—with a generous bed.

  There, right there in the middle of the room, were boxes from Bloomingdale’s, stacked seven high on the coffee table. Hanging over the back of the bedroom door were two garment bags, one long and one shorter.

  An unfamiliar twinge of
nervousness took him by surprise. He couldn’t be nervous. He did this every year. He’d attended enough formal events that he could push through feeling that he was an impostor. He belonged here now.

  At first, coming back to DC, getting suited up in his tuxedo and pressing the flesh with the political movers and shakers had almost been more than Tom could bear, but he’d done it to honor Stephanie’s memory and pay his respects to her parents.

  By now this trip was old hat to him. He was on a first-name basis with those movers and shakers. His custom-made tuxedo was cut to conceal his gun. He could chat with Mark and Celine without feeling like his heart was being ripped out of his chest. There was no reason to be nervous.

  “Holy hell.” Caroline’s voice came from behind him. She sounded stunned. “Look at this place! And—whoa.” She stepped around him and stared at the boxes. “How much clothing did she get for me?”

  It was a fair question. In addition to the seven boxes on the coffee table, there were three more on the floor. “Knowing Celine, she probably got you a few options, just in case something didn’t quite work.” A huge clotheshorse, Celine would have enjoyed the opportunity to shop for someone else.

  But he didn’t say that. He felt out to sea here, because he hadn’t had a date, as Caroline had started calling this evening, in...

  Okay, he wasn’t going to think about how long.

  It wasn’t a date, though. He was not dragging her around the country just so he could have sex with her whenever he wanted. This was a matter of safety. Of public interest. He couldn’t compromise this case any more than he already had.

  Yeah, he wasn’t buying that, either.

  Caroline reached over as if to pick up the top box and then pulled her hand back. “I don’t think I can afford what she picked out.”

  “I’m paying for it.” She turned and launched another blistering glare at him. “I’m the one who dragged you out here,” he reminded her. “The least I can do is foot the bill for the appropriate evening wear.”

  She chewed at her lip, and even though his head wasn’t a mess and he wasn’t nervous about tonight, he wanted to kiss her anxiety away. He wanted to do a lot more than kiss her. He wanted her back in his bed, where they should have been this morning.

  “And her husband—that’s Senator Rutherford, right?” She nervously twisted her hands together. “I can’t believe that he was your father-in-law. And I really can’t believe that I’m going to a party with them tonight.” Her brow wrinkled as she stared at the boxes.

  “You’ll do fine,” he said—not so much because it was what she needed to hear, although it might be. But it was because he needed to hear it, too.

  He was just introducing the only woman he’d slept with since Stephanie to her parents. No big deal.

  “We’ve got a few hours,” he said, carrying his bag into the bedroom. He needed to hang his tux and make sure his shoes were shined. “I need to check in with the office.”

  The look on her face let him know loud and clear that he’d said the wrong thing. “Oh.”

  Damn it. He immediately saw his mistake. What kind of jerk was he to drag her to DC and then ignore her? “What I meant to say is, after I check in, if there’s something you want to see, we could go do that.”

  She snorted in what he hoped was amusement, but her face softened and he got the distinctive sense that she knew he was trying. Mostly failing, but trying anyway. “Play tourist with you? Now you’re getting the hang of this date thing. Sadly, I don’t think we have time to wander the Mall. I need to see what I’m dealing with here—” she gestured to the boxes “—and I definitely need a shower.” She looked again at all the boxes. “I hope there’s some makeup in there or something.”

  The mention of a shower caught his attention. Shower sex was definitely one of his fantasies. Nothing in this day had gone according to plan. Yeah, he was rolling with the punches as best he could, but...

  He wanted to relieve some of the tension that had started to build the moment she’d sat up in bed this morning, the sheet pooling at her waist.

  He wanted to get her naked and wet, their bodies slick and then he wanted...

  But he couldn’t. He had ignored his responsibilities long enough. He had to do his job. Long after whatever this thing with Caroline was had ended, the job would still be there.

  So instead of leading her to the shower and stripping her bare, he took a step back and said, “I’m sure there is. And if there isn’t, I’ll get you some.” She notched an eyebrow at him. “I’ll have someone who knows something about makeup get some for you,” he corrected. “Deal?”

  “Deal.” She cracked her knuckles and made for the boxes. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”

  Ten

  What they had, Caroline concluded an hour later, was half a department store’s worth of clothes. Good clothes. The kind of designer names that made her bank account weep with frustration.

  Armani. Gucci. Halston, even. Celine Rutherford had exceptional taste and apparently an unlimited budget.

  How on earth was she supposed to let anyone else pay for all of this? Four gowns—gowns!—plus two summery sundresses, a pair of Bermuda shorts, a pair of twill trousers, four different tops to pair with the pants, matching accessories and shoes for every outfit. For God’s sake, there was even lingerie in here. Really nice lingerie. The kind a woman wore when she was intent upon seducing a man. Pale pink silk, delicate black lace—damn.

  And of course there was makeup. Hell, the stuff in one of those bags wasn’t even the brands she sometimes splurged on at the department stores. Tom Ford? Guerlain?

  She was looking at a complete wardrobe that had probably set Tom back close to ten thousand dollars. More, if the stones in the necklaces and earrings were real diamonds and emeralds and not reasonable facsimiles. She hoped like hell they were fakes.

  Her chest began to tighten as she surveyed the luxury goods. This wasn’t right. This was like when she’d been a first-year prosecutor, drowning under the weight of her student loans, and had woken up one day to discover that, somehow, all of her debts had been mysteriously paid off.

  It had been a mistake then not to undo that. It would be a mistake now to accept all of this finery.

  What complicated things even more was that she was afraid she was falling for Tom. Some of him, anyway. She wasn’t in love with the domineering parts of him that gave orders first and made requests second. But a part of her even found that appealing. He was just such a strong man, confident and capable, willing to run toward danger. But underneath that was a streak of vulnerability that tugged at her heartstrings.

  Wrap that all up in his intense eyes and hard body and—well, was it any wonder she was in Washington, DC, willing to compromise her morals again just to be with him?

  She glanced back at the doorway that led to a small office. Tom had disappeared in there when she’d started unpacking the boxes—he obviously wasn’t the kind of guy who was heavily invested in women’s fashion. Every so often, she could hear him talking—was he working or was he checking in on Maggie?

  It almost didn’t matter. Caroline strongly suspected that, when it came to his friends, his focus was just as intense as it was when he was working a case. He took his job seriously and she respected the hell out of him for it, even if she selfishly wanted him all to herself.

  If this whole crazy weekend turned into something more...what would they even look like as a couple? She couldn’t ask him to stop working—it was clearly such a huge part of who he was, just like being a judge was fundamental to who she was. It wouldn’t be selfish to ask him to pull him back from his duties to spend more time with her—it would be unconscionable.

  A flare of guilt caught her by surprise. No, she couldn’t compromise his ability to do his job—any more than she already had. And she couldn’t compromise h
er reputation any more than she already had, either. Gifts as extravagant as this wardrobe looked bad, and when it came to conflicts of interest, appearance was everything.

  Which meant she couldn’t keep the clothes.

  She’d have to wear one of the dresses and the shoes. But she wouldn’t take the tags off anything else. The rest of it was all going back.

  Now she just had to figure out how to tell Tom that. She didn’t want to seem ungrateful, but she didn’t want it to look like she could be bought for the price of designer formal wear.

  She needed a shower to clear her head. “I’m going to start getting ready,” she announced after she tapped on the office door. “Is it okay if I shower first?”

  He shot her a look that kicked the temperature of the room up a solid five degrees, and Caroline found herself hoping that he’d offer to join her. Then he said, “Be my guest.”

  She was not disappointed by this. She needed to shave and exfoliate, and it was hard to do all those things with a man in the tub with her. So this was just fine. Really.

  She was rinsing her hair when the door to the bathroom clicked open. She turned to find Tom leaning against the sink, watching her.

  There was something about the way he was holding his body that made her nipples tighten in anticipation. Maybe he had come to join her, after all. She shouldn’t want him here. She shouldn’t willfully keep making the same mistakes, over and over.

  But here he was, and she was powerless to send him away.

  “Are you waiting on the shower?” As she asked, she ran her fingers over her chest and down her stomach, rinsing the soap off.

  Even at this distance—maybe six feet between them—she could see his eyes darken. He practically vibrated—but he didn’t move.

  “Or,” she said, musing out loud, “you could join me. Plenty of room.” She made a big show of scooting to one side.

  He made a noise that echoed off the tiled walls. His clothes hit the floor, and the next thing she knew, he had her pinned against the wall, his erection nudging at her. “Did I mention that this is one of my fantasies?”