Bombshell For The Black Sheep

But it was the long view that worried her. Like the deadly undertow out at the beach, Hartley had the power to drag her under...to tear apart the life she had built for herself. She was proud of her independence. She didn’t lean on any man for support.

The danger lay in the fact that without even trying, he made her want to throw caution to the wind. When she was with him—and also when she wasn’t—the smart, careful, cautious side of her brain shut down.

Even now, all she could think about was how much she wanted to share a bed with him again. Naked and wanton. Losing herself in the elemental rush of sexual desire. Hartley made her alive. And she loved it.

But with great joy came the potential for great heartbreak.

With the way she was feeling, it was too much trouble to cook anything. Instead, she opted for cereal and a banana. A cup of hot tea warmed her cold fingers. When she was done with breakfast, she carried a second serving of tea to the living room and curled up on the couch.

Cradling the china cup in her hands, she debated calling off tonight’s dinner. Who was she kidding? If Hartley came over, she would sleep with him. Wouldn’t she? Did she have it in her to say no?

Sitting here alone, it was easy to see all the problems.

The Tarletons were Charleston royalty. They and J.B.’s family, the Vaughans, had endowed libraries and funded hospital wings and sat on the boards of half a dozen philanthropic organizations across the city. Their bloodlines went back to pre–civil war times.

Fiona appreciated her own worth, but she was a pragmatist. Hartley appeared to have the attention span of a moth. He was interested in Fiona at the moment, because his life was in crisis. And because they had shared a couple of encounters that had all the earmarks of a romantic comedy.

Life wasn’t like that, though. In the long run, the chances that he would actually come to love Fiona were slim. Maybe she was his flavor of the month right now, but when the novelty paled, he would be off on another adventure, with another woman, and Fiona might be left with a broken heart if she were foolish enough to fall for him.

Despite all her hashing and rehashing of the facts, she couldn’t bring herself to text him and say don’t come. How pathetic was that? She desperately wanted to see him. And then, of course, there was her curiosity about where he had been all these months.

He had never struck her as a liar. If he had explanations to make today, she had a hunch they would be true. Fantastical maybe, but true.

She finished her tea and stood, only to have the room whirl drunkenly.

With a little gasp, she reached behind her for the arm of the sofa and sat down gingerly. Had she poured bad milk in her cereal? Her stomach flipped and flopped. What was going on?

Five minutes later, she tried again. This time the familiar outlines of her furniture stayed put, but the nausea grew worse. At the last moment, she made a dash for the bathroom and threw up, emptying her stomach again and again until she was so weak she could barely stagger to her bedroom.

She curled up in the center of the mattress, shaking and woozy, and pulled the edge of the comforter over her.

Then it hit her. A possibility that had never once crossed her mind...though it should have. Was she pregnant? She’d had these odd episodes for several weeks now...had written them off as a virus or inner ear trouble or low blood sugar.

Her heart hammered in her chest. Her periods were not regular...never had been. At her gynecologist’s urging, Fiona typically noted them on a paper calendar she kept in the bedside table.

When she thought she could move without barfing, she reached for the drawer, extracted what she needed and stared numbly at the unmarked boxes. Back one month. Then two. Then three. At last, she found it. A brief notation in her own handwriting. She’d had her period about ten days before Hartley last showed up at her house.

Dear Lord.

He’d used protection. Hadn’t even balked at the idea when she told him she wasn’t on the pill. In fact, he’d used protection that night after the wedding, too. He’d been a generous, thoughtful lover.

But no method of birth control was 100 hundred percent. And now that she thought about it, three months ago, they had made love multiple times during the night when they were both half-asleep. Had they messed up? Was there one of those times when his body had claimed hers skin to skin?

Her teeth started to chatter. She couldn’t tell him. Not yet. Not until she was sure. He was going to be at her house in a few hours. With a moan of mortification, she buried her face in the pillow.

Yet even as she trembled with fear, excitement and happiness bloomed in her chest. A baby? Was she really pregnant? This could be the future she had always dreamed of...the family she so desperately wanted.

Hartley didn’t have to be involved, but he had to be told.

Four (#u65a9cba7-6c0a-5646-8ed5-a73741a91e1b)

Hartley felt like a sailboat with a broken mast. He was home to stay. His time away had always been temporary. But his siblings hadn’t known that, because he hadn’t told them.

He’d left Charleston in order to be a hero. To fix things. And he’d succeeded in part. All the answers to all the questions had been found, thanks to his extended visit in Europe. Ironically, those answers were too dangerous and painful to explain to Jonathan and Mazie.

Had it all been worth it? Or had he ruined his relationships for nothing? On the day after his father’s funeral, he found himself going in circles, or at the very least, becalmed.

What was he going to do with himself? If Jonathan wasn’t keen or willing to have him back at Tarleton Shipping, Hartley was lost.

His enormous home adjacent to the world-class golf resort was not him. Never had been. At least that was one thing he could change. He spent the day taking care of small maintenance issues, and then called a Realtor and set up an appointment for the following morning.

He was going to sell his house. Immediately.

Maybe he would rent something in Fiona’s neighborhood while he figured out his next step. She couldn’t help him revamp his life—that was up to him—but sharing her bed would keep him sane. If she allowed it.

By the time four thirty rolled around, he was hot and sweaty but feeling pretty damn good about himself. He jumped in the shower, humming with more enthusiasm than expertise. With the prospect of seeing Fiona tonight, he had plenty of reasons to be upbeat.

His life had taken some unexpected turns, but he would get himself back on course. His siblings were all he had. Fiona was an alluring distraction from his painful family situation. Maybe it was wrong to pursue her. Maybe it was cowardly. Because if he used her and walked away again, he knew in his gut the damage would be permanent.

It would be smarter and kinder to stay away.

Even so, at ten till six, he pulled up in front of her charming home, grabbed the gifts he had brought and locked the car. He thought he saw the edge of a curtain twitch, but maybe not.

When he knocked, she answered almost immediately. “Hi, Hartley. You’re right on time.” She was wearing a daffodil-yellow sundress that bared her shoulders and emphasized her modest breasts.

He kissed her cheek. “These are for you.”

She glanced at the label of his three-hundred-dollar bottle of wine and raised an eyebrow. “A little over-the-top for homemade spaghetti, don’t you think? What if we save it for a special occasion? I made iced tea. And there’s beer in the fridge...the kind you like.”

He was ridiculously pleased that she remembered his preferences. A tiny detail, but a good sign...he hoped. “Sounds like a plan,” he said. “Shall I put the flowers in water?” He’d brought her yellow and white roses, a summery bouquet that suited her home and her personality.

“Yes...thanks. You’ll find a vase underneath the sink.”

The conversation was stilted for two people who had seen each other naked. He wanted to say to hell with dinner and take her straight to the bedroom. “Did you have a good day painting?”

She whirled around, her eyes wide. “Why do you ask that?”

He cocked his head. “You told me you’re starting a big new project.”

“Oh.” She flushed, her gaze skating away from his. “It was fine. Beginnings are always hard.”

“Are you okay, Fee?” Now that he thought about it, she seemed pale...and nervous. She hadn’t been this skittish the first afternoon they met. At that endless wedding rehearsal.

“Of course I’m okay.” Her voice was muffled, because she had stuck her head and shoulders halfway into the fridge.

He glanced at the stove. “Do I need to turn off the heat? The spaghetti is boiling over.”

“Oh, damn.” She whirled around and rescued the pasta just in time.