Claimed: The Pregnant Heiress

by Day Leclaire

  Ronald gave Chase a proud nudge. “She takes after me. Always on time, that girl. Not one to make you wait around while she changes her dress for the twentieth time or fusses because she didn’t get her face drawn on quite straight.”

  “Good to know.” Chase and her father shook hands.

  To Emma’s profound relief, the men didn’t waste any further time on idle chitchat. She and Chase exited the room, crossed the three-story foyer of the Spanish-style stucco mansion and exited out the front door to where Chase had parked his car.

  The instant they were enclosed in the privacy of his Ferrari, he shot her a grim look. “You haven’t told him yet, have you?”

  Emma fastened her seat belt, all the while striving for a calm and casual tone. Instead, she managed to hit somewhere in the vicinity of nervous as hell. “No. And I appreciate your not dropping it on him by mistake during your discussion earlier.”

  “He’s going to have to know, and soon.”

  Emma closed her eyes. “I’m well aware of that fact, Chase. Please trust me to find the right time.”

  “I’m not pushing.” He started the car with a muffled roar. “Okay, I am pushing. I’m just concerned that word will get out. This is a small town. People gossip.”

  “But I haven’t mentioned it. Other than to you, that is.” She swiveled in her seat, allowing a hint of suspicion to show. “Have you told anyone I’m pregnant?”

  “You’re forgetting Dr. Hastings,” he said, which didn’t exactly answer her question.

  She waved that aside. “Not a chance. He’s my doctor. He’s bound by rules of confidentiality.”

  “And are the nurses on his staff bound by those same rules? What about the person who performed the ultrasound? Or the office workers? You don’t think that they occasionally talk, especially when it’s someone as high profile as the Worth Princess?”

  She stiffened. She’d been tagged with that name all her life and had learned to turn it aside with a joke the way she had with the Seaside Gazette reporter, Gillian Mitchell, or to ignore it with icy politeness. But with Chase… For some reason it cut deeper to hear him refer to her that way. “Please don’t call me that. Not you, Chase.”

  He spared her a swift, penetrating glance. “Normally I wouldn’t, sweetheart. I don’t even think of you that way. I was just making a point.” He reached over and brushed her cheek with the knuckles of his hand, a simple stroke of understanding. “I know you well enough to see how far from the truth it is. In fact, I’m one of the few people who gets it. Who’s lived beneath the shadow of an uncomfortable label, just like you.”

  Her hands tightened in her lap. Twisted. “I’ve never understood why they can’t look at me and see the truth. Even your brother has me pegged as a shallow party girl.”

  “Others don’t know you as well as I do.” His voice softened, filled with compassion. “They see the outer gloss and think the gloss goes all the way to the bone. They look at me and see a bastard and they don’t bother to look any further, either. It’s what I am, therefore it must be who I am. You tell me whether being called a princess is better or worse than being called a bastard.”

  Emma released a sigh. “I haven’t lived through what you have, so you know I can’t.” But their child would if she didn’t marry Chase, which was undoubtedly his point.

  “Exactly. Any more than I can fully understand your life unless you choose to open the door and let me in.”

  He stopped at a red light and rested his forearms on the steering wheel. His dark suit blended into the darkness while the slashing line created by his crisp, snow-white cuffs drew attention to his hands. They were powerful hands, capable and long-fingered, gripping the wheel with casual strength. And yet, she’d seen them demonstrate unbelievable gentleness when they’d tripped across her body.

  He turned his head to look at her. “You’re a Worth, Emma. Add to that the fact that you’re pregnant and unmarried. When you put all of those pieces together it creates serious fodder for gossip.” He allowed that to sink in before adding, “You don’t want your father hearing about this from anyone other than you.”

  He was right and she knew it. “Fine,” she said with a sigh. “I’ll tell him in the morning.”

  “Fair enough.” The light turned green and he drifted forward, the streetlights reflecting off the hard angles of his face. “Do you want me there when you give him the good news?”

  She was tempted. Sorely tempted. But she couldn’t predict how her father would react. At a guess, not well. And she didn’t want to risk Chase bearing the brunt of her father’s fury. “Thank you, no, though I’m sure he’ll want to talk to you soon enough.”

  “I don’t doubt it.” Chase sounded unusually grim. “If we have a daughter I would want to rip apart any man who impregnated her without benefit of a wedding ring.”

  Emma didn’t know what to say to that. Part of her softened at the protectiveness he portrayed toward their unborn child. Another part worried that he’d prove too controlling a parent. Her father had been like that, when he’d bothered to pull his head out of work long enough to pay attention.

  Chase spared her another glance. “What is it?”

  Emma shrugged off the question. “Nothing important. Just thinking about my father.”

  “You don’t look happy.”

  “Old history,” she replied briefly. “Not worth mentioning.”

  “Hmm. I think I can guess. I was raised by a father obsessed with business, too, remember?”

  It struck her then that she and Chase shared far more similarities than differences. They pulled beneath the stone portico that covered the entrance to Jacques’. A valet leaped forward to open Emma’s door and help her from the car. Then he took the key from Chase and, with an expression of keen anticipation, hopped into the Fiorano.

  “Thank God I bought full coverage when I rented the thing,” Chase muttered.

  “He did look a bit too eager, didn’t he?” she replied, amused.

  The instant they stepped through the heavy wooden doors of the restaurant, the maître d’, Henri, greeted them with a broad smile. “Welcome to Jacques’, Mr. Larson. Ms. Worth. Your private room is ready for you.”

  Emma lifted an eyebrow. “Private room?”

  Chase inclined his head. “Nothing but the best for our first date.”

  “First date?” The absurdity of it hit her and she smothered a laugh.

  He noticed her amusement and grinned. “Bizarre, isn’t it?”

  “Very.”

  How odd to realize that this was, indeed, their first date. Granted, they’d spent one day and night together back in November. But it hadn’t been a date, per se, more like two people on a delicious collision course, before they each went their separate ways once again. And since Chase’s arrival in Vista del Mar, it had been more of the same. They’d run into each other at the cocktail party celebrating the proposed sale of Worth Industries. Okay, fine, they’d slept together that night. But that hardly qualified as a date. In fact, she’d rather not consider what it did qualify as. Then they’d shared a drink at Bistro by the Sea, followed by a close encounter of the most delicious kind at Busted Bluff. None of those occasions could be considered a true date.

  And yet, here she was ten full weeks pregnant with Chase’s baby.

  Henri escorted them through the elegant dining room with its plush pearl-gray carpeting, soaring ceilings and glass walls overlooking the Pacific. Crystal sparkled and silver gleamed against the linen-covered tables.

  At the far end of the restaurant a pair of glass doors, etched with a lovely scene of a tidal pool teeming with sea life, assured full privacy by enclosing them in an intimate room set for two. Two of the walls were glass, one offering a slice of the town, the other a full panoramic view of the ocean. The table was small and intimate with candles throwing off subtle light and ruby-red rose petals scattered across the ivory tablecloth. In the middle of the table several matching roses and a glorious white lily in full blo
om floated in a shallow bowl of water.

  Henri held Emma’s chair, opened the linen napkin folded into the shape of an oyster and placed it neatly in her lap. Then he handed them each their menus. He described the specials for the evening at great length and seemed somewhat taken aback when Chase declined the need for a sommelier.

  “You can have something to drink, if you want,” Emma said once they were alone.

  “I’ll order sparkling water.” He glanced around the room. Along one wall a fire crackled in a stone hearth. “I understand they open this room during warmer weather.”

  “Yes, they remove the glass windows and you can either have it open-air or screened. Jacques’ will even arrange for a private table on the beach for special occasions.”

  “I was given that option but it’s too chilly tonight. Plus the wind is blowing straight off the water and I’d rather not spend the night picking sand out of my sea bass.”

  Emma chuckled. “This is a lovely alternative, thank you. The fire is a particularly nice touch.”

  “I’m glad you like it.” He gathered up her hand and interlaced their fingers. “You look stunning, by the way. I can’t decide if that dress is red or orange.”

  “Burnt orange, and thank you.” It was one of her favorites, a strapless confection that hugged her breasts and drifted to her ankles in layers of feather-light chiffon. “I was afraid I might be too chilly, but the fire makes it just warm enough.”

  Emma stared down at their joined hands and then lifted her gaze to study Chase with intense curiosity. Gently, she pulled her hand free of his. “If you don’t mind my asking, what are you hoping to achieve by bringing me here?”

  “Achieve?”

  “You’re a businessman, Chase. That means you have a plan.” She tilted her head, half amused, half exasperated. “Men like you always have a plan.”

  He sat back in his chair, so that shadows leaped across his face. They carved deep into the hollows beneath his sky-high cheekbones and turned his eyes to ebony. “Maybe you should clarify what you mean by that.”

  “When I say men like you?” At his nod, she continued, “Men like you and Dad and Rafe. You all look at the world like it’s some giant oyster and you’re all trying to figure out the best way to pry it open and seize the pearl inside for your own. Some men just whack at it, willy-nilly. Others sit around and wait, hoping the oyster will open up on its own. Businessmen—”

  “—like me, your father and Rafe,” he clarified.

  “Exactly. Businessmen always have a plan of attack.” She took a sip of water and gazed at him over the rim. “Care to share yours?”

  “No problem.” He snapped open his leather-bound menu and perused the contents. “I plan to seduce you into compliance.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.” He peered over the top of the menu and lifted an eyebrow. “How’s it working so far?”

  She considered. “Fairly well,” she admitted. “But it’s early yet.”

  “In that case, I’ll wait until after the appetizers.”

  The appetizers nearly worked. The crab-stuffed artichoke hearts were incredible and if she’d been foolish enough to combine them with wine, she might have crawled right into his lap and let him have his wicked way with her. Again. But the reason she refused the wine—her pregnancy—helped keep her libido in check. Or it did for the most part.

  A three-course dinner followed the appetizers, the seafood perfectly cooked and plated. They shared each other’s meals, which only deepened the level of intimacy. All the while, Emma waited for Chase to make his first move, curious to see if it would come as a romantic overture or under the guise of “getting to know you better.” He chose the latter, much to her distress.

  “So, I gather you’re an only child, which probably explains the princess label everyone in town is intent on hanging around your neck.”

  She helped herself to a final bite of sea bass—sans blowing beach sand—and steeled herself against the line of questioning he intended to pursue. Very few people knew her entire history. Now that she thought about it, Ana Rodriguez and her parents were probably the only ones aware of the true story, even though they hadn’t lived on the estate at the time the events in question went down. Over the years, she’d chosen to share the information with them.

  The instant Emma locked her emotions under tight control, she gave Chase the cool, gracious, Princess Worth smile. “You gather wrong. I have a brother who’s five years older. And I even have three Worth cousins,” she added, hoping the information would distract him. “Becca and her two brothers live in Napa Valley.”

  “And your brother?” Chase boomeranged right back where she didn’t want him to go. “I don’t recall meeting him.”

  “That’s because you haven’t. He…isn’t in the picture.”

  Chase absorbed that for an instant, no doubt surprised his research hadn’t turned up any information on the subject. “He doesn’t work for your father.” It wasn’t a question.

  “You’re right. He doesn’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “You cut straight to the quick, don’t you?” she ventured. “Just stick your foot right in where it doesn’t belong.”

  “Foot. Nose. Hand.” His congenial smile held a ruthless edge. “Whatever it takes to figure things out.”

  “Then, why don’t I give you the short version?” Emma pushed her dinner plate to one side and sat very straight and very still. “My brother went to boarding school at fifteen, which is also how many years it’s been since I last saw him.”

  Chase’s brows drew together in a quick frown. “Hell, Emma, I’m so sorry.” Genuine concern underscored the words. “What happened?”

  She should resent him asking, but it was a reasonable question, compassionately delivered, and one many in Vista del Mar would give anything to have answered. “Shortly after my mother died—” She broke off, horrified to discover she couldn’t continue.

  Chase escaped his seat and crouched beside her chair. “Damn it, Emma, don’t. Please don’t cry. You don’t have to say anything more if it’s going to upset you.”

  She fought to hold back her tears, wishing she could blame her emotional reaction on hormones. But it was more than that. “It’s painful and not something I talk about. Ever.”

  “It’s your choice, sweetheart.” He placed a hand on her bared shoulder and squeezed gently. “I won’t think any less of you if you don’t want to tell me.”

  She shuddered beneath his tender touch, but didn’t dare surrender to the desire that single caress aroused. It would be all too easy to turn to him. Tumble into mindless passion. But it would lead her down a path overflowing with pitfalls and unpredictable consequences. She forced herself to focus on a bead of condensation gathering along the side of her water glass, hoping the distraction would restore her self-control.

  It didn’t work. Past events swirled around her like a chill wind. As much as she hated the idea of discussing family history—old, painful, horrible history—maybe the time had come to excise the wound. Chase was here and willing to listen. If they had any hope of creating a future together, one of them needed to take a chance. To let down their guard and trust.

  “My mother and brother were close. Very close,” she found herself admitting. “When she died, my brother blamed my father.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  Emma shoved back her chair and escaped across the room to stand in front of the fire. For some reason she’d turned icy cold. She held her hands to the blaze. To her horror, she saw they trembled and swiftly dropped them to her sides, praying that Chase hadn’t noticed.

  Unfortunately, he proved far too observant. He joined her by the hearth and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her against the solid strength of his chest. Warmth surrounded her and she leaned into him. “I’m sorry. I can imagine how difficult this must be for you.”

  She turned in his hold and buried her face against his shoulder. How often had she long
ed to have someone to hold on to, someone able to see beneath the surface glitter to the woman beneath? A woman with needs and desires, who craved a deep passionate love all her own? Her body curved into his, softened against him, recognized him as an integral part of herself even though every bit of intellect screamed against it.

  “You’re Rafe’s brother,” she told him in a muffled voice. “I’m not sure I want to discuss this with you.”

  He pulled back, the iciness in her veins invading his expression. “You think I’d tell him?”

  She hated throwing a barrier between them, but she had no choice but to address the possibility. “I can’t be certain,” she confessed with unflinching frankness. “If it helped Rafe gain an edge with the sale…” She trailed off with a miserable shrug.

  “Let’s get something straight.” She caught the uncompromising intensity in Chase’s voice, an implacability that spoke of honor and pride. “I swear to you that I will not share anything you say to me about private family matters with Rafe.”

  She searched his face, searching for any sign of deception and saw none. This would be a huge test for her, proof positive of whether she could trust Chase or not. He was her baby’s father, which meant that they’d have a lengthy relationship, regardless of the form that relationship took. Tonight could be the start of something amazing, or the beginning of the most difficult road she’d traveled since her mother’s death. What troubled her most was how intensely attractive she found Chase, more attractive than any other man she’d ever known. It wouldn’t take much to push her past mere attraction into something far deeper and permanent. Into love.

  Emma shied from the knowledge, but now that she’d opened the door to that likelihood she found it almost impossible to close again. “Okay, I trust you,” she found herself saying. And yet, it was the truth.

  “Why did your brother blame Ronald for your mother’s death?” he repeated.

  He continued to hold her and she realized that he would pick up on every nuance communicated by her body, even inadvertent ones. Especially inadvertent ones. “My mother died of a drug overdose.”