Mistresses: The Consequences Of Desire: Beach Bar Baby / Walk on the Wild Side / Claiming His Own

‘I didn’t say I was jealous.’

‘Uh-huh.’ He sent her a confident smile. And she huffed out a laugh. The tension in her chest easing.

He took a large bite of the cupcake, held it up. ‘Damn, that’s good.’ Finishing it off in a few quick bites, he placed the paper casing on the plate. ‘So why don’t you spill it, whatever it is you have to talk about. Before we get back into the shower.’

The colour in her cheeks flared again, under his watchful gaze. ‘Okay, it’s, well, it’s sort of hard to say right out.’

She gulped down the new lump in her throat.

‘Yeah? That doesn’t sound good.’ He sent her a crooked smile. ‘I really hope you’re not going to tell me you’re married.’

She laughed, the tension dissolving a little. ‘God, no, it’s nothing like that. It’s...’ She examined her fingers, suddenly shy rather than scared. Wouldn’t it be amazing if he was actually as excited about this as she was? ‘Actually, I’m pregnant. That’s why, well, I’ve gained some weight.’

The crooked smile remained, but the curiosity in his eyes turned to astonishment as his gaze dipped to her breasts and then her belly. He straightened on the sofa, his mouth opening. Then closing. Then opening again. ‘You...? You’re expecting a kid? You don’t look pregnant.’

She waited for the obvious next question, but he just continued to stare at her belly.

‘Well, I’m only twelve weeks, so it doesn’t show much yet.’ She placed her hands on the slight swelling, suddenly keen to emphasise it for his benefit.

His head lifted. She’d expected surprise, even shock when he made the connection; she’d even prepared herself for annoyance, and anger. What she hadn’t prepared herself for, though, was the way the relaxed, sexy charm had been ripped away to be replaced by complete horror. ‘Tell me you’re not saying what I think you’re saying?’

Her pulse throbbed painfully in her neck, and she cradled her abdomen, the urge to shield her child, instinctive. She couldn’t speak, so she simply nodded.

He leapt up from the sofa like a puppet who had been rudely jerked on stage. The vicious swear word echoed around the tiny room. ‘You have got to be kidding me? It can’t be mine—you said you were on the pill.’

She’d expected this accusation, on the numerous occasions when she’d had this conversation in her head. But all the careful explanations, the reasoned arguments, the excuses absolving her all seemed to pale into insignificance in the face of his frantic denial. And all she could manage was, ‘I know, I realised when I found out you may have got that impression, but I—’

‘You lied to me?’ He stepped forward, the stance threatening.

Somehow she knew he wouldn’t hurt her, not physically, but she could see the turmoil of emotion and it made her insides tangle into tight, torturous knots, the guilt that she’d kept so carefully at bay for weeks creating a yawning chasm in the pit of her stomach.

‘Why the hell did you lie?’ He dug his fingers into his hair, sending the damp strands into deep furrows. ‘Unless... Hell... You wanted to get knocked up? Is this a set-up? You figure I’ll pay you off?’

The accusation came so far out of left-field, she hadn’t seen it coming before it had smacked into her chest and hurled her heart into her throat. ‘What? No. I never...’ Her denial choked off at the contempt in his eyes. ‘You used a condom—how could I have planned it?’

‘I knew the cute and clueless act was too good to be true. But I fell for it anyway.’

‘What act? What are you talking about?’

‘Drop it, okay. You’ve got what you wanted.’ His eyes slid back to her belly, the light in them harsh and resentful. ‘My bun in your oven.’

‘No, you don’t understand. It was never planned.’ The justification, the explanation at last came tumbling out. ‘The pregnancy was...is an accident. It was all so rushed and...I didn’t think it would matter that I wasn’t on the pill.’

‘You didn’t think it would matter?’ His voice rose to a shout. ‘Are you nuts? I told you I didn’t want to risk it. What the hell about that did you not understand?’

‘No, that’s not what I meant. I didn’t think I could....’ She faltered, unable to reveal the truth about her medical history, her fertility issues, the test results she’d gone to Bermuda to escape. She couldn’t tell this stranger about any of that; it would make her too vulnerable, too raw, especially now, with her throat already aching with unshed tears.

‘You don’t have to be involved.’ She scrambled to justify, to explain, to avert the terrible feeling of loss. ‘I’ve made the decision to have this child. I want it. Very much.’ Her hands shook, the trembling having moved up from her toes, to her knees and across her torso.

Don’t you dare cry.

Why hadn’t she said all of this to start with, before she’d told him about the pregnancy? He obviously thought she was some kind of gold-digger. If she could just make him understand he didn’t have to feel responsible for this child, everything would be okay. But even as she told herself it, a part of her was dying inside at the knowledge that Cooper Delaney hated her now.

‘I just thought you should know.’

‘Right, so now I know,’ he snarled. ‘Thanks for that. And what the hell am I supposed to do with the information? You’ve told me a part of me is going to be walking around on this planet and I don’t get to have any say in that?’

She shook her head, the tears drying up inside her. Stay firm. Stay strong. Don’t break, not this time. ‘No. No, you don’t.’ She firmed her lips to stop them trembling. ‘I won’t have an abortion. And nothing you can do or say will make me.’

He flinched. ‘Who said anything about an abortion?’

‘I won’t do it. I want this baby very much. If you don’t, that’s okay. You never have to have anything to do with it.’

‘Yeah, right.’ Marching past her, he grabbed his bag off the floor. ‘Like that’s going to work.’ He slung the leather holdall over his shoulder and opened the door. Rain slashed down in angry currents against the hall window. But the summer storm that had seemed so cleansing, so perfect, so passionate only hours before, now appeared grey and dark and oppressive.

He sent her one last scathing look over his shoulder, the look of betrayal in his eyes palpable. And then slammed the door behind him.

She sank down against the wall, her legs too shaky to hold her, and pressed her forehead into her knees. And listened to his footfalls, heavy on the stairs, fade away into nothingness.

* * *

Coop stumbled out onto the street, his heart hitting his ribcage hard enough to shatter bone. Rain slashed at his face as he dumped his bag on the sidewalk and smashed his fist into the brick wall that marked the perimeter of her apartment building.

Pain hurtled up his arm, lanced across his knuckles, but went some way to dulling the terrifying emotions consuming him.

You dumbass. What the hell were you thinking? Coming here? Trusting her?

He sucked the battered knuckles, and picked up his bag in the other hand.

He hailed a cab, jumped in out of the rain and shouted through the grill, ‘Take me to a hotel.’

‘How about the Renaissance, sir? It’s pricey but very plush.’

‘Sure, great, whatever,’ he croaked, his voice hoarse, his whole body starting to shake. He didn’t give a damn where he went—he just had to get away from the memory of those big eyes glossy with unshed tears.

But then he caught the glittering pink logo on the window of Ella’s cupcake store as the cab sped past it. The panic boiled in his gut as the taste of her lingered on his tongue and the residual heat throbbed in his crotch. Mocking him.

He sank his head into his hands and wanted to howl with pain and frustration.

God help him, it didn’t matter what he did now, or how much money he made or how fast he ran—he could never ever be an island again. And it was all his own damn fault.

EIGHT (#uc7b533c5-be73-5780-b283-1d1b0d6cff9e)

Coop stared at the glittery pink lettering on the front of the diner, and then past it through the glass. He spotted Ella in front of the counter, busy chatting to a customer, her hand resting casually on her belly—and swallowed to ease the thickening in his throat.

Play it cool. No more freak-outs allowed.

He’d spent a night in the gothic splendor of the five-star hotel overlooking St Pancras Station, not sleeping a wink, as he went over every single thing she’d said, and every single thing he’d said. And he’d come to a few important—if shattering—conclusions.