Last Chance For Baby

“I don’t have all night,” said the cab driver. “I go off shift in half an hour. What’s your address, lady?”

Raoul’s eyes narrowed and he looked every bit an imperious sheik, ruler of his world. “You will wait as long as necessary, is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.” The man ran a finger under his collar and scrunched down farther in the front seat.

Julia sighed. There wasn’t any point in fighting the issue. One way or the other Raoul was coming with her and she might as well get it over with. She gave the driver her address, certain that Raoul would remember both the number and street name. Whatever else he was, he wasn’t stupid, and he was determined to get his answers about their brief affair.

When the taxi pulled into the driveway of her nineteenth-century brick house, set well back from the street, she squared her shoulders. “Uh…thanks. I’ll see you at work.”

A soft laugh came from Raoul as he took the fare from his wallet. “I will see you inside, and call another cab after you’re settled.”

“No.”

“Yes, Julia.” His tone, though gentle, didn’t brook disagreement, and she simply didn’t have the energy to start another argument.

“Fine,” she muttered.

Lord, she was tired. Too tired to fight, which was frightening. It was too easy to let someone else take control, to find yourself struggling for an identity. Raoul was exactly the sort of man she’d vowed to keep out of her life, and here he was, square in the middle of it.

The interior of her house was chilly, and she hurried to the thermostat and pushed it higher.

“Go lie down,” Raoul murmured. “I will fix you something warm to drink.”

Julia found herself obeying before she could even think. In the bedroom she threw off her skirt and sweater and deliberately pulled on a thick velour nightgown that covered her from her neck to her toes—a far cry from the scraps of lace and silk she’d worn during their time in Washington.

Still…she looked at herself in the mirror and decided that even without the less-than-romantic nightwear, she was hardly a candidate for seduction. Her skin was pale, her medium-length shag-cut hair was stringy around her face, and there were dark circles beneath her eyes. The extra tiredness was natural. After all, she was pregnant and she’d never expected to see Raoul again. He’d stormed back into her world with the subtleness of a lovesick camel.

Muppet, her five-year-old black-and-white cat, was curled up on the bedroom fireplace hearth. He got up and stretched when she crawled under the down comforter, then wiggled his way under the sheet to settle next to her stomach.

“Hello,” she whispered, running her fingers through his fur. He purred, and the comforting rumble eased some of the tension in her body.

When Raoul left she would have to force herself to eat and drink more milk. It was like a mantra these days. Eat. Eat. Eat. Drink gallons of milk. And pray the baby gained weight. She’d taken her prenatal vitamins that morning, so….

Julia’s eyes flew open.

The vitamins.

She tried to remember where she’d left them. If they were on the kitchen counter, then the secret was probably out. Alarmed, she slid from the bed and went into the bathroom, gratefully closing her fingers around the bottle sitting on the vanity.

“Julia?”

“I’ll be right out.” Quickly she thrust the bottle into a drawer.

Raoul had placed a tray on her bedside table, and he watched as she hurried across the room. Despite the condition of her stomach and nerves, Julia felt a curl of heat in her abdomen. She’d never expected to be in a bedroom with Raoul Oman again, and it was harder to ignore the memories in such a private setting.

And, while she couldn’t tell what Raoul was thinking, there was a certain intensity in his posture that suggested he was remembering, too.

“I prepared tinned soup and tea,” he said. “Get under your blankets before you become chilled.”

“I turned the heat up.”

Raoul kept the smile from his face, knowing it would simply annoy Julia. There had been many surprises about her that day, and her house was another. It was a beautifully restored brick bungalow from the 1800s, with a simple, restful decor that belied the cool sophistication she projected.

“I hope you don’t object, but I made myself a cup of coffee,” he said when she was settled in her bed, resting against a pile of pillows. “But I thought you would prefer the tea I found by your stove. Herbal, I think.”

Julia’s eyelids fluttered open, and she looked at him, so pale and beautiful that he wanted to pull her into his arms. Their time together had been so brief, yet it seemed that every cell in his body was imprinted with her warmth and scent. Sometimes at night he woke, thinking she was there, and the desire was so strong he would be unable to sleep again.

“You’re welcome to the coffee,” she whispered. “I don’t mean to be…ungracious.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

He wanted to pursue the reason she’d eluded him following the Washington conference, but he couldn’t. Not when she was so vulnerable. Something told him Julia would only resent him for taking advantage, making things more difficult later.

The blankets next to her stirred as she reached for the cup of soup and a furry head poked itself out. Julia stroked the feline’s head with an absent caress and it settled down, watching Raoul with unblinking eyes.

“Your cat seems suspicious.”

“Muppet is protective.”

“Ah, the jealous type…I can understand. He is in an enviable position—one I wouldn’t relinquish easily.”

Raoul could see the muscles in Julia’s throat convulse. He’d given her a reminder of his interest, a reminder she understood. Truly, he couldn’t comprehend why she’d acted one way at the conference—a bold temptress with flashing gold eyes and a sassy smile—and now was so reticent. It was a woman’s prerogative to invite or cast a man from her bed, but this did not make sense.

Still musing on the mystery, Raoul sat on the end of the mattress while he drank his coffee. It wasn’t the Arabic blend he liked best, but at least he’d brewed it at the proper strength.

Julia took small sips of her soup, keeping her gaze cast downward. She was so strong, he disliked seeing her so quiet and withdrawn. Despite her denials, could she really be sick? Something serious?

A chill that had nothing to do with a Chicago winter went through him. Julia had looked well earlier, her color bright with anger, but that didn’t mean there was nothing amiss with her health. When Raoul couldn’t stand wondering any longer, he leaned forward.

“Is Kane correct—are you ill?” he asked. “More than your excuse about recovering from rich holiday food?”

The tip of her tongue flicked over her lips and she put her teacup back on the tray. “I’m fine. Anyway, you don’t have to worry, I’m not your concern.”

“We were lovers,” he reminded. “Do you think I care so little for the women I take to my bed?”

“I…” Julia drew a shaky breath.

We were lovers.

The words reverberated in her heart and mind. They had engaged in the most intimate of acts between a man and woman. She hadn’t wanted to feel pleasure, wanting to think of it as a medical procedure and nothing more, but she’d burned when Raoul Oman touched her. A burning she’d never come close to feeling with another man.

“Never mind, chère,” Raoul murmured. He put his cup on the tray next to her empty soup bowl, then moved both to the top of her dresser.

Tell him.

Her conscience was darned inconvenient, but Julia opened her mouth to the unspoken command. “Raoul, we…I…”

We’re having a baby and I planned it all along. “Rest now. I’ll arrange for you to see a doctor tomorrow.”