The Rodrigues Pregnancy

Christian nodded. ‘I do.’

She shook her head. ‘Dear God, what if—?’

‘Olivia, we can all torture ourselves with “what-ifs”,’ he declared flatly. ‘What if he hadn’t been driving so fast? What if he hadn’t been on that particular stretch of highway at all? He did, he was, and this has happened. It’s up to us to make it as easy as possible for him to get over it. Right?’

She sniffed and then said stiffly, ‘Us?’

‘Yeah.’ Christian glanced back into the cafeteria. ‘Look, why don’t we go and sit down again?’

‘Not in there.’ Her response was urgent, and she turned her face away from the restaurant. ‘I—perhaps we should go back upstairs. Luis may be back from his examination by now.’

‘And he may not,’ retorted Christian shortly.

‘Come on, Olivia. We’ve got to talk about this so it might as well be now.’ He chewed on his lip for a moment, and then added, ‘Why don’t we go and find a lounge? There are bound to be waiting rooms for visitors somewhere.’

She hesitated for a moment and he thought she was going to balk again, but she didn’t. ‘All right,’ she agreed at last. ‘You can tell me how the accident happened, and how you came to be the one they got in touch with.’

Christian’s mouth flattened. Yeah, right, he thought grimly. That was the most important thing as far as she was concerned. What had happened months before the accident and how they were going to deal with that in the future was not in question. She was only talking to him at all because she really didn’t have a choice.

They took the stairs instead of using the elevator. Evidently, Olivia had no desire to be confined in an airless cubicle where the smell of antiseptic and medication were all-pervading. In her present state, she would have probably preferred to walk outdoors, but that wasn’t possible. Even without the rain, the streets beyond the parking lot that surrounded the hospital wouldn’t offer them the privacy they sought.

They found a visitors’ lounge on the second floor, just down the corridor from Luis’s room. To Christian’s relief, it was empty, though he guessed Olivia didn’t share his enthusiasm as she surveyed the deserted chairs and sofas.

But there was a coffee machine in one corner and Christian got them both plastic cups of the steaming beverage before he sat down. Olivia, he saw, had chosen an armchair and he took the sofa opposite. He deposited the cups on the table nearby before spreading his legs and letting his hands hang loosely between his thighs.

He couldn’t help but notice that she avoided looking at him. But she gave him a brief nod of thanks for the coffee before concentrating on the contents of the cup. With it cradled between her palms, she was successfully shutting him off from whatever thoughts she was entertaining. He guessed she wasn’t only thinking about her stepson.

But he couldn’t ask her that now. ‘Okay,’ he said instead, forcing her to listen to him. ‘The first thing we have to decide is where Luis is going to convalesce when he leaves the hospital.’

That got her attention. The pinkness had left her lids now and long, silvery-grey eyes set between thick curling lashes focussed on his face. ‘Where he’s going to convalesce?’ she echoed. ‘Isn’t that a little premature? We still don’t know how long he’s going to be in the hospital.’

‘Not long,’ said Christian, taking a mouthful of his own coffee. He found it palatable, if a little weak.

‘It’s my experience that patients who are not in need of any surgery are discharged fairly quickly. They’re encouraged to continue their recovery at home.’

‘At home?’ Once again she repeated his words.

‘But—Luis’s apartment is at Berkeley. There’s no one to care for him there.’

‘I know that.’ Christian put down his cup and regarded her intently. ‘How would you feel about opening up the house in Bal Harbour and caring for him there? After all, it was Luis’s home as well until he left for the west coast. I know you chose to leave Miami, but I don’t suppose that’s written in stone.’

CHAPTER THREE (#u5ccbf294-071a-50b0-8e96-e6eb75406ecd)

IT IS.

Olivia’s lips parted in dismay. She’d suspected what was coming, of course, but she still wasn’t prepared for the shock she got when he voiced the words. He expected her to look after Luis. To go on being the mother she had been for the past fifteen years. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t. She couldn’t come back to live in Bal Harbour. Not with Christian just a few miles away, able to come and go as often as he pleased.

And what about Luis himself? She’d hoped to have had the baby before she saw him again. It had been a faint hope, she knew, but since he’d gone to college Luis had become much less dependent on her. As she’d assumed no one knew where she was, it hadn’t seemed such a stretch.

‘I—can’t,’ she said now, before sympathy for her stepson and her own thwarted maternal instincts kicked in. She put her coffee cup down before she dropped it. ‘I’d like to help Luis, but—well, coming back to Florida isn’t on my agenda.’

Christian’s dark face showed his angry reaction. Although he was not a handsome man, his strong features did possess a sensual appeal. A sexual appeal, she admitted, trying to avoid that conclusion and failing miserably. But at this moment any sensuality—or sexuality—was absent.

‘What is on your agenda?’ he demanded, and although she was tempted to tell him to mind his own business, she guarded her tongue.

‘I have plans,’ she said vaguely. Plans that did not include spending the next few months evading Christian’s suspicions.

‘What plans?’ he asked at once, as she’d known he would, and she wondered if he realised how arrogant his question was.

Probably, she decided, giving his dark intense features a covert appraisal. Christian always knew exactly what he was doing. From the moment Tony had brought his cousin’s orphaned son into the business, Christian had known precisely where he was going. He’d always intended to be Tony’s successor, and now he was. But he had no right to push family obligations into her face.

A faint twinge of guilt rippled over her. Who was she to talk about family obligations when she had no intention of telling him she was expecting his child? She knew what he’d do if he ever found out about the baby and that was what scared her. He’d expect to play a prominent role in its life.

But the last thing she wanted was another marriage like the one she’d had with Tony. Okay, maybe she’d been naïve in thinking Tony had married her because he loved her, but she had expected some loyalty from him. Instead of which within weeks of her wedding she’d discovered he was still seeing the woman he’d been having an affair with before he’d asked Olivia to marry him. Tony had had no intention of changing his way of life. He’d enjoyed the excitement of the chase too much.

And Christian was like his cousin. He’d no doubt expect his wife to be as pure as the driven snow while he slept with whomever he chose. Olivia had already lost count of the number of girlfriends he’d had since he came to work for Tony. He seemed to have as little respect for her sex as Tony had himself.

Of course, she was flattering herself by thinking that Christian might ask her to marry him. Heavens, she was at least six years older than he was and that was a lot. Just because she was having his baby she should not think he’d consider giving up his freedom for her. Yet, like his cousin, he cared about family. He might be willing to sacrifice his freedom to give his child a name.

Oh, God, if only it had been anyone other than Christian who had brought her the news about Tony. Even now, she found it hard to believe that she’d behaved as she had. She’d been a reckless fool and now she had to deal with it. Which meant, if she wanted to maintain her independence, keeping him from finding out she was having his child.

Realising he was waiting for her answer, she decided to tell him part of the truth and risk his derision. ‘I—I want to write and illustrate children’s books,’ she said quickly, resenting the need to bare her soul to him. ‘It’s what I’ve always wanted to do, but—well, I’ve never had the time before.’

‘No?’ Christian’s dark brows arched quizzically and he gave her a disbelieving look.

‘No.’ She disliked his attitude. ‘No, I haven’t.’

‘I see.’ His lips twisted into a mocking smirk. ‘And you’ve been busy doing—what, exactly?’

‘I don’t think that’s any of your business,’ she retorted, refusing to try and explain her reasons to him.

‘Anyway, those are my plans.’

‘And all these years you’ve been married to Tony, you’ve never found the time to put pen to paper before?’

Olivia’s mouth tightened. ‘Not seriously, no.’

Christian picked up his cup again and took another mouthful of the cooling coffee. But his eyes continued to survey her across the rim of his cup. She felt her pulse quicken, her palms grow damp with apprehension. He was no fool, she thought uneasily, and he must be wondering where she should have suddenly acquired this desire to write.

Nevertheless, while Tony was alive such an activity would have been unthinkable. Despite his own shortcomings, Tony had never allowed her to forget that she was his wife, his possession. He’d given her total freedom with his son, but in all other respects she’d been expected to comply with his wishes. And, for Luis’s sake, she’d stifled her own ambitions, contenting herself with making up stories for the boy and illustrating them in his drawing books.

Christian put down his cup with a measured deliberation and Olivia stiffened instinctively. What now? she wondered, watching as he smoothed long brown fingers over the fine woollen cloth that lovingly encased his thigh. He was wearing one of the Italian-designed suits he generally favoured, its charcoal fabric complementing and enhancing his virile appeal.

His dark features were potently male, too, and she was not unaware of it. Nor was she unaware that the hands that were presently employed in such an apparently innocent activity had once caressed her skin. She remembered how it had felt when he’d peeled her nightgown from her, how hotly sensual his skin had felt against her bare flesh…

‘Lo que sea,’ he said, with a shrug, but she knew it was a measure of his frustration that he’d spoken in his own language. He’d spoken Spanish when he was making love to her, she remembered, the unwilling memory of his hands pushing into her hair, of his mouth playing with hers, of the awareness that had started deep within her abdomen and spread to every tingling nerve in her body, causing her to press her hot palms against her suddenly burning cheeks.

But Christian hadn’t made love to her, she corrected herself fiercely. What they’d shared had been hot and carnal, but love had had nothing to do with it. They’d had sex, pure and simple. Good sex, perhaps; great sex, she admitted honestly. Not that she was any expert. Tony had been the first and only man she’d slept with.