by Day Leclaire
“Why does this feel like we’re sneaking around?”
Emma smothered a laugh. “Because we’re sneaking around?”
“Yeah, that must be it.”
Her expression sobered. “Come on. Let’s get this over with.”
Chase bit back a sharp retort. The ramifications of her pregnancy weren’t something to get over, any more than their child was. He forced himself to remain patient and hold fire while they crossed the street to her BMW, a pretty white Cabriolet convertible with tinted windows and a hard-shell top that was currently up instead of retracted behind the backseat.
Emma drove through the downtown area toward the ocean and took the winding coast road that climbed above the city. Redbud, acacia and palm trees, as well as the occasional creosote bush, filled in the dots between gorgeous ocean-view homes. It didn’t take long to reach her destination, a secluded bluff high above Vista del Mar with a view of both the town and the ocean.
“Let me guess,” Chase said. “The local Lover’s Lane?”
“Something like that, though not at this hour,” Emma replied. She set the parking brake and swiveled in her seat to face him. “Actually, it’s called Busted Bluff.”
He choked on a laugh. “Busted Bluff? I’d forgotten that. That’s what the locals called this place, isn’t it?”
She shared in his amusement. “That’s right. When the cops started cracking down on all the kids who’d come up here to drink and party.”
“And make out?”
“And make out,” she confirmed with a tiny smile.
“How many times did you get busted?”
“Never.” She sounded scandalized at the mere idea. “My father would have had my head, the keys to my car and various body parts of any boy reckless enough to be caught messing with me.”
“So you never came up here and fooled around?”
She grinned. “I didn’t say that, now did I?” Her smile faded, perhaps because she’d “fooled around” last November and now faced the unexpected consequences. “What do you say we skip the idle chitchat and get serious?”
“Especially since our situation is serious?”
“Very.” She released a sigh rife with frustration. “You just proposed marriage in order to prevent our child from being labeled a bastard.” She made a sweeping gesture with her hand. “Why don’t you pick it up from there, since I wouldn’t begin to know where to go with it.”
“When you put it like that—”
“What other way is there to put it?” Her pansy-blue eyes filled with a sharp intensity. “I get that you don’t want history repeating itself. But I need more information. Why don’t you start with your parents. Explain to me what happened with them. You said they weren’t married, right?”
“My family dynamics are complicated,” he warned. “Here, let me show you.”
He searched through his pockets and pulled out a pen and notepad. It only took a moment to create a quick chart listing the key players. He leaned in toward Emma to show her what he’d written.
A soft, potent fragrance drifted off her. He couldn’t tell whether it was a combination of perfume, soap and shampoo, or just her natural scent. Whichever, he found it swamped his senses and kicked in the irrepressible urge to do far more with her than sit in a car and explain his various family connections. Other than the light January breeze buffeting the car, the only sound was the quiet give-and-take of her breath. The knowledge that he could change it to something faster and more urgent threatened to overwhelm him.
One kiss and he could alter the entire tenor of the moment.
She must have picked up on his thoughts because she drew back. “Not now, Chase.”
He shot her a hot, ravenous look. “You sure?”
“Positive.” But she didn’t look positive. In fact, she looked just as hungry as he felt.
He reached for her and tugged her toward him. “How positive?”
“This positive.”
Her arms came around his neck and she pulled him down so she could take his mouth in a blistering kiss. How was it possible? Back in November she was supposed to have been a one-night stand, and yet the morning after when he’d discovered her gone, he had wanted her every bit as much as the first time he set eyes on her. Then when he’d found her again, he’d tried to sate his need for her—several times, in fact—and it still didn’t make a bit of difference to how he felt now.
One touch and he was desperate to have her again. She was pregnant with his child and all he could think was thank God he didn’t need a condom, since he sure as hell didn’t have one on him.
He tore off his suit coat and tossed it into the back of the car, followed by the purse she’d placed as a barrier between them. He must have missed the seat because he could hear the bounce and spill of the contents. Later. They could reorganize later. Right now, he needed to touch her. Kiss her. Feel her silken flesh under his hands and wrapped around his body.
The buttons of her blouse surrendered beneath his assault, and he next tackled the tiny catch of her bra. Why the hell didn’t they make the fastening large enough for a man to unhook it without requiring a magnifying glass and surgical instruments? Finally the scrap of silk and lace parted, allowing him to stroke the fullness of her breasts.
She moaned into his mouth and he pulled back slightly, not certain if the sound was one of pain or pleasure. “Am I hurting you?”
“Not really. My breasts are sensitive, but good sensitive if you know what I mean.”
“Not even a little, but if it feels good that’s all that matters.”
“It feels wonderful.”
Chase pulled Emma up and over the small console that separated the two seats so she sat on his lap, facing him, her legs parted and resting on either side of his. The flowing silk of her skirt rode high on her thighs. Her blouse hung open and her sweet breasts trembled in front of him, just at kissing height. He took immediate advantage.
Her head fell back and another moan sighed from between her lips. He slipped a finger along her velvety inner thigh to the crotch of her panties and dipped inward. She instantly came apart in his hands. He didn’t think he’d ever seen anything more glorious.
He started to reach for the zip of his trousers, then hesitated. Instead his hands slipped farther upward beneath her skirt and splayed across her abdomen. He found it almost impossible to believe that his child dwelled there, safe and snug, and not much larger than the lima bean it resembled.
Chase leaned in and pressed his mouth to the section of skirt covering their child. “Hey, bean,” he whispered.
The full ramifications hit him then and he closed his eyes and rested his head back against the leather seat. A baby. Dear God, a baby. He looked at Emma. Her mouth and cheeks were ripe with color, and passion glittered in those gorgeous forget-me-not eyes. Even knowing she carried his child, he still wanted to make love to her.
“I can’t remember the last time I did this in a car,” he murmured.
“I can. Right here on my eighteenth birthday.” She winced, the memory causing the desire to leach from her. “Dear heavens, what in the world am I doing?”
“Making love,” he offered helpfully. Or maybe it was hopefully.
She pulled back and swept the edges of her blouse closed. “Making love. In a car in the middle of the day on top of Busted Bluff. Pregnant, no less.”
“Seems appropriate, don’t you think?”
She laughed despite herself. “Not even a little,” she informed him with mock severity.
She scrambled off his lap and climbed over the console, back into the driver’s seat, somehow still looking graceful and elegant in the process. He couldn’t help but notice that her fingers trembled as she rehooked her bra and buttoned her blouse, tucking it into the waistband of her skirt. He also couldn’t help but notice the glint of frustrated desire that remained in her eyes.
Before he could act on that desire, she glanced around. “What happened to your notebook and that littl
e chart you drew for me?”
He released a gusty sigh. Time to throttle back. Both of them were far too old to be screwing around in a car. What if someone had driven by and seen them? A town this small, the news would have spread faster than wildfire whipped by a Santa Ana wind. “I tossed it in the back with your purse. Hang on.”
He leaned over the seat and shoved through the paraphernalia littering the floor from when he’d upended her purse. It took a minute before he unearthed the notepad. His BlackBerry was resting on top of it where it must have fallen out of his jacket and he grabbed that, as well, shoving it into his pocket. Emma leaned in and tapped the diagram he’d drawn.
“Okay, explain this to me.”
He pointed to the circle in the center of the page. “That’s my mother, Penny Larson.”
“Your mom’s a circle?”
“Actually, she’s more of a free-form design, but circles and squares and the occasional triangle are the extent of my artistic ability.”
“Got it. So, go on, who’s the big messy square?”
“My father.” His mouth tightened. “While working at Worth Industries, my mom met and had an affair with New York über-businessman Tiberius Barron—The Barron, as I tend to call him—who was in town working one of his mega-million-dollar deals with Ronald Worth. I was the result of their affair.”
“I’ve heard of Tiberius Barron. But then, who hasn’t, right?” She waved her hand. “Go on.”
He pointed to the far side of the page where Hannah and Bob Cameron were listed. “Hannah is Rafe’s mother. When she became pregnant with Rafe, your father fired Hannah and Bob for breaking his no-fraternization rule.”
Emma paled. “That can’t be right,” she insisted in a stilted voice. “My father never had such a ridiculous rule. Since practically everyone living in Vista del Mar is employed by Worth Industries, the only way it would work is if everyone in town were celibate.”
“I assure you, it was a rule at that time. Or perhaps the rule only applied to Hannah and Bob for some reason. At this point in the game it hardly matters. It’s ancient history.” Chase tapped his pen against their names. “The two left Worth Industries, married and had Rafe. Unfortunately, Hannah died from COPD—chronic obstructive pulmonary disease—the year Rafe turned fifteen. A few years later my mother, Penny, and Rafe’s father, Bob, married. I was in my first year of college, Rafe in his senior year of high school. After Rafe graduated, the Camerons, who by then included my mom, all relocated to Los Angeles. Bob and Mom still live there.”
Emma’s brows tugged together. “That makes you and Rafe stepbrothers, not real brothers.”
Chase’s mouth tightened. “When you introduced me to Ana Rodriguez, you said you were as close as sisters. Is she any less your sister because she isn’t related to you by blood?”
“Okay, I get your point, but…” She nibbled at her lower lip. “I don’t remember you growing up around here, only Rafe.”
Chase nodded. “That’s because I didn’t. When I turned ten I moved to New York to live with my father. I was known as Barron’s Bastard from that point on.”
“Why did you stay in New York and put up with it?” she asked, appalled. “Why didn’t you just move back home with your mother?”
A wintry coldness wrapped around him, filled with dark, painful memories. “Let’s just say The Barron made me an offer I couldn’t refuse and leave it at that, shall we?”
“But—”
He cut her off. “Which brings us to the issue of the baby. If it’s mine, I refuse to have my son or daughter raised a bastard.”
“If,” Emma repeated. She lifted an eyebrow at his sharp glance. “You still have doubts, don’t you? Even though you’re the one who’s hot to get married in order to spare our baby the humiliation of being called Worth’s Bastard, some part of you wonders if I’m really pregnant with your child. I mean, isn’t that what this is all about?”
“Yes.”
“So let’s say we marry…” She stepped behind her Princess Worth facade, making her expression impossible to read. “That means you’ll have to trust me when I say that the baby really is yours, because I’m not risking a miscarriage just to give you six-plus months’ worth of peace of mind.”
He considered, weighed the odds for several long moments, then nodded. “Fair enough. I’m willing to accept the possibility of error and deal with the consequences if you’re mistaken. It’s more important to ensure the baby bears my name, even if we later establish that he isn’t mine.”
“You’re unbelievable, you know that?”
She jerked the car door open and jumped out, slamming it behind her. Wrapping her arms around her waist, she crossed to stand along the edge of the bluff. Chase joined her, pulling her back a few feet from the crumbling sandstone. The beach below was riddled with rocks and pebbles while white-capped waves crashed toward the shoreline. A short way out intrepid surfers in wetsuits looked like seals lounging on their boards, waiting for the perfect wave.
“Look, Emma, I know neither of us wants marriage. But we have to think of what’s best for the child. At least let me give him the protection of my name. If you want a divorce after he’s born, fine.”
She stiffened within his hold. “You think divorce is better than illegitimacy?”
“In my book, yes.”
She spun around to face him. “Well, not in mine. I’ve seen firsthand what an unhappy marriage can do to the children of that union. They’re the ones who ultimately suffer, and I won’t put any child of mine through that sort of trauma.”
“We’re not talking about a real marriage, merely a temporary one.”
She lifted her chin in a proud gesture. “I don’t need to marry to give my baby legitimacy. The Worth name will protect him or her.”
“The Barron name didn’t protect me,” he shot back. “And it carries far more weight than your name does. Nor will I allow people to make snide comments about the bastard having a bastard. That’s just not going to happen.”
“And how are you going to stop it?” she demanded. “You can’t force me to marry you.”
“Everyone has their price, Emma. Even you.”
He couldn’t have insulted her more if he’d slapped her. Bright color carved a path across her cheekbones. “You’re wrong,” she retorted in a tight voice.
“Am I?”
He closed the distance between them. He could see her pulse rate kick up, heard the unevenness in her breathing. Beneath her anger and outrage, desire lurked. She might resist, but it was there all the same. He leaned in, watching the conflict build in her eyes. Just as she teetered on the edge of surrender, he pulled back.
“See? It’s just a matter of finding the right price.”
“I think this conversation has gone on long enough.”
She gave him a wide berth on her return to the car. He wasn’t the least surprised when she started the engine with a roar, and reversed in a plume of sand and dirt. The tinted driver’s side window lowered. “Call someone to come and rescue you. I’m sure you won’t have any trouble if you offer the right price.” And with that, she drove off.
That went well, Chase congratulated himself. Maybe for his next career he should consider diplomacy. Clearly, he was a natural. He reached in his trouser pocket for his BlackBerry. It wasn’t until he accessed it that he realized that at some point during their embrace in the car, they’d swapped phones again.
Damn it, damn it, damn it!
Emma deliberately slowed her descent from the bluff, giving careful focus to the curves of the road. How could she have allowed herself to fall into Chase’s arms again? There wasn’t one thing, not one single item, that the two of them shared in common other than their baby.
Well, and their sexual reaction to each other.
No. She refused to consider that something they had in common. Not any longer. She didn’t care how gorgeous a body Chase possessed, or the fact that it rippled with lean, ropy muscles. Or how aesthetically app
ealing his hard, masculine features were. Or how attractive she found the sharp intelligence in those storm cloud-blue eyes. She tightened her grip on the steering wheel. Or how amazing that mouth of his felt against her lips. Against her skin. Against—
Her BlackBerry warbled from the backseat and with an exclamation of annoyance, she pulled over to the side of the road and threw the car in Park. She turned to check the backseat and realized that at some point her purse had been upended and all the various sundries she felt obliged to carry around were scattered across the plush carpeting.
She recovered the phone and took the call. “If this is you, Chase, you can just forget about it. I’m not coming back for you.” A long pause followed her outburst and she realized she really should have checked the caller ID before speaking. “Chase?”
“Actually, I’m trying to reach Chase.” The deep cool voice rumbled in her ear. “Who is this and why are you answering his phone?”
“This isn’t his phone, it’s—” She broke off. Oh, no. Please, please, please don’t let it have happened again. They couldn’t have mixed up their phones. Not again. She retreated into the sort of unruffled formality that had been drummed into her from birth. “Who is this, please?”
“Rafe Cameron.”
It just figured. It truly did. “I don’t suppose you called the wrong number?” she asked hopefully.
“Doubtful. I have Chase on both speed and voice dial. Mind telling me who this is?”
She didn’t want to tell him. She really didn’t. It would raise far too many questions, questions she wasn’t prepared to answer at this point in time. “I’ll give Chase your message,” she said abruptly and disconnected the call.
Then she lowered her head to the leather-padded steering wheel. It took every ounce of self-possession to keep from weeping. Hormones, no doubt. She’d heard about them affecting pregnant women. It would appear she was about to have firsthand experience.
As soon as she recovered her composure, she executed a cautious U-turn and returned to Busted Bluff. Chase stood in the shade beneath a eucalyptus tree, his arms folded across his chest, simply waiting. She pulled up next to him, refusing to so much as glance his way when he opened the door and slid into the seat beside her. She tossed his BlackBerry in his direction.