Beginning with Their Baby

“I was in the neighborhood.” Even the slow, honeyed drawl was the same. “Thought I’d drop by.”

“Long walk from Italy.”

She shrugged, unconcerned. “Yeah, well, Florence is overrated.”

“Really?”

“No. But you know me. I get bored if I stay in one place too long.”

“I remember.” He kept his voice cool, made sure none of the confusion—or desire—he was feeling leaked through.

“Can I come in?”

“Now’s not really a good time.”

Uncertainty flashed across her face—was there and gone so quickly that he told himself he’d imagined it. “It won’t take long. I just wanted to talk for a few minutes.”

“Talk?” This time he let her see his skepticism—and a little bit of the anger he thought had dissipated in the weeks since she’d walked out. “Since when do you want to talk about anything? I thought action was more your thing.”

As soon as the words were out, he wanted to call them back. Her smile had turned predatory, those amethyst-colored eyes running over him from head to toe. It was as if she was cataloging each one of his flaws and weaknesses, and he’d never felt more vulnerable. “Bitter much?”

“I wouldn’t call it bitter.”

“No? Then what would you call it?”

“Smart.” He grabbed the edge of the door, made as if to close it. “Now, if you will excuse me—”

“I really do need to talk to you.”

“Yeah, well, I really needed to talk to you all those times I called you.” Shit. He did sound bitter.

She sighed heavily, as if he was just too high maintenance for her. It was like setting a match to dry kindling and all the emotions that had been seething in him for the past few months came roaring out.

“Look, Camille, I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but count me out.”

“I thought you liked games—at least, that’s what you told me the night we met.”

“I did—until you kept changing the rules without warning.”

“I wasn’t the one who changed the rules, sweets. You were.”

He started to snap back, but how could he when she was right? She’d told him up front that she was only in town for a few weeks, that the thing between them couldn’t go anywhere. He was the one who hadn’t listened.

He was the one who’d gotten burned.

But at least he’d learned his lesson—he was done playing with fire.

“I’m tired, Camille, and I have company. Either say what you came here to say or leave—I really don’t care. But I don’t have the time or the inclination to stand out here all night shooting the breeze. I’m letting bugs in.”

Her smile drooped a little at the edges, and she didn’t answer for long seconds. Guilt slinked through him. Maybe he’d been too harsh. He could have said things more nicely, could have—

No! Damn it, no. She was the one who had walked out on him. The one who had come back here after ignoring all his attempts to reach out to her in the hopes of picking up where they’d left off. And now, just when he’d started to move on, here she was. So why exactly should he make it easy for her?

Why should he have anything to do with her at all?

“Matt?” Ariane’s voice drifted down the hall. “Can you bring my wine when you come in?”

“Aah.” The hint of vulnerability was long gone, replaced by the party-girl mask he’d learned to hate during their brief affair. “You’ve got that kind of company.”

He felt himself flush at her words, at the look in her eyes. But he didn’t have anything to feel sheepish about, he reminded himself. She was the one who’d broken things off.

“Sure, Ariane.” He raised his voice a little, so Ariane could hear him. “I’ll be there in a minute.” Then turned back to his most recent ex-lover.

“It was good seeing you, Camille. You look great. But, as you can see, I’m a little busy. So if you wouldn’t mind heading out—”

“I do mind.”

“Excuse me?”

“I should be in Florence right now, combing museums with a glorious man named Stefano and eating pasta on the patio of a little trattoria.”

Who the hell was Stefano? Matt bit back the instinctive spurt of jealousy that flared. It wasn’t his business what she did—or who she did it with. She’d made that abundantly clear when she’d walked out on him.

“So why aren’t you?”

“Because I’m three months pregnant.”

And just like that, his world imploded.

OH, GOD, HAD SHE REALLY just blurted it out like that? No finesse, no work-up? Just I’m pregnant, with you’re the father strongly implied?

No wonder Matt looked like he’d fall over if she breathed too hard.

She’d planned on breaking it to him much more calmly. Had figured he’d invite her in for a cup of coffee and she could work her way around to it. But he hadn’t invited her in, hadn’t wanted anything to do with her.

His reaction had hurt her, made her angry—and careless. Of course, now that it was too late, she would do anything to take back her hasty words. Matt hadn’t deserved to find out about his impending fatherhood so callously.

“Three months?” he finally asked, his voice low and hoarse.

“Yes.”

“As in twelve weeks?”

“Yes.”

“As in…”

“Yes. I got pregnant that last week in Austin.” To his credit, he didn’t ask if she was sure. Of course, that could be more from the shock than from any consideration for her. But somehow, she doubted it.