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Claimed: The Pregnant Heiress
Day Leclaire


I'm having your baby. With those words, Emma Worth changed Chase Larson's life forever. Having been born on the wrong side of the marriage bed, the millionaire vowed no baby of his would be so cruelly labeled. There was just one thing that might keep him from making Emma his wife: their feuding families.She'd never dreamed one night with Chase would bind them forever. The pregnant heiress desperately wanted to raise their child together, but only if Chase could forget they were enemies. …










‘Perhaps this is a good time to explain that I won’t walk away from my child.’

‘First things first. I need to confirm the pregnancy. Then we’ll discuss the best way to handle the situation after that.’ She rose, the dame at her most grand. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to go home.’

He did mind. He minded more than he could express.

Chase relaxed back against his chair and studied Emma, while making a swift analysis. She didn’t work, mainly because she didn’t have to. She’d been raised with a silver spoon in her mouth. And she was the last person he’d ever have chosen as mother to his child.

The irony didn’t escape him. But unlike his father, Chase wouldn’t allow Emma to give birth to a bastard, to force his son or daughter to deal with the sort of snobbery he’d dealt with his entire life.

Whether she realised it or not, he was going to take control of both her and her pregnancy.

Starting now.




About the Author


USA TODAY bestselling author DAY LECLAIRE is described by Mills & Boon Books as ‘one of our most popular writers ever!’ Day’s tremendous worldwide popularity has made her a member of Mills & Boon’s ‘Five Star Club,’ with sales of well over five million books. She is a three-time winner of both a Colorado Award of Excellence and a Golden Quill Award. She’s won RT Book Reviews Career Achievement and Love and Laughter Awards, a Holt Medallion and a Booksellers’ Best Award. She has also received an impressive ten nominations for the prestigious Romance Writers of America’s RITA


Award.

Day’s romances touch the heart and make you care about her characters as much as she does. In Day’s own words, ‘I adore writing romances, and can’t think of a better way to spend each day.’ For more information, visit Day on her website, www.dayleclaire.com.

Day Leclaire writes for Mills & Boon


Desire


.

To Charles Griemsman, editor extraordinaire, who

worked so long and hard on this project and added

immensely to the concept. Thank you for everything

you’ve done to put together such a fun and exciting

series! It’s been a true pleasure working with you.


Dear Reader,

I have to say it’s been an absolute pleasure being the launch author for Modern


Romance’s latest continuity series, THE TAKEOVER. This particular series is overflowing with hot, sexy, amazing characters and exciting plots, and is written by some of my favourite authors. It’s been wonderful working with them on this project.

One of my favourite parts of this story was the interaction between the various characters. I adored how the hero and heroine clashed over all that kept them apart, while moving from passion to a deep, unwavering love. I loved the way they came to terms with the heroine’s pregnancy … together. And I really loved how they dealt with the various problem people in their lives in order to resolve the differences between them.

What could be better than reading about wonderful characters who find solutions to their problems and all the while discover something we all want in our own lives … the love of a lifetime!

Sit back, curl up with something hot and delicious (whether a beverage or a person—it’s your choice!) and spend a few lovely hours falling in love. I thoroughly enjoyed writing this book and hope you’ll enjoy reading it.

Warmly,

Day Leclaire




Claimed:

The Pregnant

Heiress


Day Leclaire




















www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




One


She was here.

Chase stood in the shadows of the portico just outside the banquet room of the Vista del Mar Beach and Tennis Club. The room glittered and sparkled with both people and jewelry, the people in full cocktail-party mode, the jewelry, too, he supposed. Dead center in the middle of all that glitter and sparkle stood Emma, the woman he’d spent a single incredible night romancing, seducing … and then losing.

While dance music played in the background, voices rose and fell, determined laughter taking the edge off the rocky undercurrents that flowed around the room. Ostensibly the cocktail party celebrated the impending sale of Worth Industries to Chase’s stepbrother and closest friend, Rafe Cameron. But old grudges and past secrets stirred restlessly beneath the surface. As his brother’s money manager and one of those involved in negotiating the purchase of Worth, tonight marked the start of a rough and treacherous passage.

Chase studied Emma while he sipped a thirty-year-old Laphroaig that his brother had stashed for those not interested in the free-flowing champagne. The single-malt Scotch whiskey went down as smooth as silk. Almost as smooth as Emma’s skin. She had a good portion of that skin on display, the pearl-gray silk dress she wore clinging to curves he’d do just about anything to uncover once again.

Her dress appeared vaguely Grecian in style, one shoulder bared while the silk draped from the other shoulder across her breasts. It hitched in a clever knot on her hip before flowing to just beneath the knee. Continuing with the Grecian theme, she wore toothpick-heeled sandals with straps that wrapped around narrow ankles and trim calves. With her ice-blond hair swept into an elegant chignon, she looked like a goddess. Like a player.

His eyes narrowed. Which begged the question … what the hell was she doing here? Since the guests were all connected in one way or another to either Cameron Enterprises or Worth Industries, she was, too. Either that, or she was the “plus one” gilded on to a guest’s invitation.

Maybe he’d wander over and find out. And maybe while he was finding out, he’d ask her why the hell she disappeared the way she had, leaving him ripping apart all of New York City in a fruitless search for the mysterious Emma With No Last Name. Before he could, Ronald Worth, soon-to-be ex-owner of Worth Industries, joined Emma and placed a proprietary hand on her bare shoulder.

Chase straightened, his mouth settling into a grim line. No way. Surely she wasn’t the arm candy of Rafe’s nemesis. Oh, hell, no. She couldn’t possibly be sharing a bed with that sixtysomething-year-old bastard. But based on the way good ol’ Ron lowered his head and whispered a loving comment in her ear and the affectionate manner in which she leaned into him and kissed his cheek, that was precisely what she was. Son of a—

“Don’t even think about it.”

Chase glanced over his shoulder at the sound of Rafe’s voice, his pale blond hair giving away his location in the darkness. “What?”

“The Princess. I see you staring at her, and I’m telling you. Don’t even think about it. That one will eat you up and spit you out just for the sheer pleasure of it.”

Chase fell silent, a tactic he’d learned during those rough, early years when he’d gone to live with his father. He turned to face his stepbrother, careful to conceal the anger surging through him. “You know her?” he asked mildly enough.

“Emma Worth, aka Spawn of Satan.”

Chase lifted an eyebrow, relief replacing his anger. So she wasn’t Ronald Worth’s mistress, but his daughter. “I gather Worth is cast in the role of Satan?”

Rafe’s grin lacked even a shred of humor. “What can I say? It comes naturally to him.”

“And the daughter? What do you know about her?” Since Chase didn’t want his brother to think he had a personal interest, he added, “Is she a factor in the sale?”

“She better not be a factor or she’ll find herself moved out of the way by whatever means necessary,” Rafe responded with characteristic ruthlessness. “But I don’t think she’ll be a player in any of this. She’s shallow. Overindulged. Pure useless fluff.”

“A party girl?”

Rafe hesitated. “A little lower profile than that. You don’t see her plastered across the scandal sheets. More of a private party girl.”

Chase turned and studied Emma once again while he considered this latest information. A private party girl. That fit with his experience, even though he hadn’t picked up on the cues when they’d been together. Nor had she come off as shallow. But considering they’d only spent one night together, what the hell did he know?

More than anything he wanted to confront her, demand an explanation for her disappearing act. But perhaps he already had his answer, courtesy of Rafe. She was a party girl. One-night stands were as common to her as shopping for groceries was to the average woman. Even so, he hated being made a fool of, another throwback to his formative school years.

At the ripe age of ten, when he’d first arrived in New York to live with his father, Chase had been dubbed Barron’s Bastard. That might have had something to do with the fact that his driven, world-renowned businessman father and his laid-back, California-mellow mother had never formalized their affair with traditional “I dos.” He’d soon had the “California” knocked out of him by his peers at the private school where he’d been dumped and learned to keep his emotions and personal opinions under tight control. It was a lesson he never forgot and one that had helped propel him to the top of his field as a money manager.

His gaze narrowed on Emma in careful assessment. As Rafe suggested, she exuded wealth, privilege and glamour. From the elegant twist of her pale blond hair to the discreet glitter of diamonds at her earlobes and wrist, she sent out signals that mixed a sultry come-hither sexiness with an Ice-Princess touch-me-not facade. It all boiled down to one compelling objective. Chase wanted her with an unrelenting hunger. And one way or another, he’d have her again.

Tonight.



“How are you feeling, Dad?” Emma asked quietly, slipping her arm through her father’s. “The party isn’t too much, is it?” “Don’t fuss, sweetheart. I’m fine.” Ronald Worth softened the testy edge in his voice with a smile. “It’s a minor heart ailment, as you know damn well.”

“Oh, really?” she challenged. “Apparently, it’s bad enough to convince you to sell Worth Industries to Rafe Cameron.”

He grimaced. “That’s only one factor in my decision. I keep telling you, if you’d step in—”

“—which I won’t, as I keep telling you.”

“Well, there you have it. I could continue chugging along for another decade or two.” He glared down at her. “Don’t give me that look, missy. I’m only in my mid-sixties. The prime of my life.”

Emma smothered a smile. “I didn’t say a word.”

“You didn’t have to.”

She sighed, giving his arm a swift hug. “Are you sure you’re doing the right thing? Even if running Worth isn’t something I’d care to do, you don’t have to sell if you’d rather not. You could delegate more. Hire someone to handle a greater portion of your day-to-day responsibilities.”

“That’s an option.” Ronald’s jaw firmed. “Selling is the one I chose instead.”

“But selling to Rafe Cameron, of all people. From what little I’ve seen of him, he puts the a in arrogance.”

His thick silver mane of hair glinting beneath the overhead lights, her father turned to glance in Rafe’s direction. “Nothing wrong with arrogance when you have a solid pair of brass ones to back it up.” A wistful note colored his words. “I was just like him at his age.”

“Dad—”

“Enough, Emma. It’s practically a done deal.” Lasersharp ocean-blue eyes gazed down at her and his harsh expression softened. “Have I told you how lovely you look this evening?”

She allowed her head to rest against his shoulder for a moment. “Just a chip off the old block.”

He snagged her chin and tipped her face up to his. “You have all my best qualities and none of my worst. Same could be said about your mother. You have her staggering beauty but none of her weaknesses.”

Emma’s eyes misted. The fact that he’d mention her mother was startling enough. But for him to say anything positive about his late wife, even if it came across as a rather backhanded compliment, was downright shocking. Now if she could just get her father to reconcile with her brother. They weren’t completely estranged. After all, her brother managed the family ranch at Copper Run Ranch. But it had been more than a decade since the three of them had sat down like a family and talked to each other. Painful, irreversible events from the past prevented that from happening.

“Dad …”

He must have guessed the direction of her thoughts because he shook his head. “Forget it, princess. Not going to happen.” He dropped a kiss on the tip of her nose. “Business calls. It’s going to be a late night for me. Need to get out there and shake hands, kiss babies and steal lollipops. Will you be all right? If you want to leave early, you can take the car. Just send it back for me.”

“Don’t worry about me, Dad. I’ll find my own way home.” She gestured toward his executive assistant with a smile. “Kathleen’s coming over. I’ll ask her for a ride.”

She could tell he’d already shifted gears. “Fine, fine. You do that. I have a few questions for William.”

He made a beeline for Rafe Cameron’s chief financial officer, William Tanner, a tall, gorgeous New Zealander who’d flown in for the party. He exuded a ruthless power similar to his employer’s. Her father’s departure left Emma standing alone, shaking her head. Not that she was alone for long. Kathleen Richards descended on her, snatching her up in an exuberant hug.

“Well, hello there, Emma. Aren’t you a picture?” So was Kathleen. With her flaming red hair, bright green eyes and feisty personality, she never failed to light up the room, especially when dressed in eye-popping amethyst. “I swear, the only girl prettier than you is my granddaughter, Sarah.”

Emma smiled, playing along. “Considering she’s the image of you, that must make me the third prettiest girl.”

Kathleen chuckled, the laugh unfettered and downright contagious. As always, heads swiveled in her direction at the trademark sound. “That’s what I’ve always loved about you. You look upper crust, but you’ve always been real folk, same as that adorable brother of yours.” She spared a swift look in Ronald’s direction and lowered her voice. “How’s he doing, by the way? I swear I haven’t seen him in a solid fifteen years.”

“Neither have I. Since he decided to walk out on us, we—”

Emma broke off and inhaled sharply. No! It couldn’t be. Of all the men in the entire world to show up out of the blue, Chase was the last one she’d ever expect to see. She’d spent every single day of the past two months trying to get this man out of her head, with zero success. And yet, there he was, walking toward her with the sleek, predatory prowl of a cougar, his ruffled blond hair the exact same golden-brown shade as a mountain cat’s pelt.

“What’s wrong?” Kathleen demanded. She glanced over her shoulder and chuckled. “Oh, I see. Let me tell you, Emma, I had the exact same reaction when Chase Larson walked into your dad’s office. Took me a solid minute to find my jaw and pull it up off the floor. Tell you what. Why don’t I introduce you?”

“No, you don’t—”

She waved a hand at Chase. “Mr. Larson? I’d like to introduce you to Ronald’s daughter, Emma.”

“You don’t have to—” Emma hastened to explain in an undertone. But it was too late to stop her. Far too late to stop him. “Chase and I have already met,” she finished lamely.

“You’ve met?” Kathleen’s gaze darted from one to the other and she grinned. “Well, then. Isn’t that interesting. I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you two get reacquainted on the dance floor, while I get out of your way?”

“An excellent idea,” Chase said. There was an unmistakable darkness edging his expression and lending a harshness to the deep timbre of his voice. He took her hand in his and gave a sharp tug, jerking her into his arms. He stared down at her, his blue eyes full of threat and promise. “Dance with me, Emma.”

But all she heard was “Gotcha.”

Chase took her in his arms, pulling her far too close. “Do you mind?” Emma attempted to ease back a precious few inches, only to have him tighten his grip. “In case you’re unaware, breathing is a necessary component to dancing.”

“If I don’t hold you close you may run away again.”

“I didn’t run away before,” she instantly denied.

She spared Chase a swift look, then wished she hadn’t. At a smidge over six feet, he was an impressive man, his features attractively chiseled with a firm chin, strong, nicely shaped mouth and intelligent gray-blue eyes. She’d grown up around tough men and this was one more example of the breed, despite the patina of sophistication that cloaked him like a second skin.

When they’d met while flagging down a cab on that fateful November day the weekend before Thanksgiving, he’d been so charming that they’d ended up sharing the taxi. Granted, the charm had been rough-hewn and deliciously edgy. But that had only added to the romantic ambiance of the lovely fall weather. They’d ended up spending the entire day together, followed by the entire night.

Chase swung her around in an easy circle, his hand resting tantalizingly low on her back and sending frissons of temptation racing through her. “Funny. As I recall, you were there when I fell asleep and you were gone when I woke up. No goodbye kiss. No note. No way to find you.”

Her brows drew together. “Then how did you?”

He gave a short, hard laugh. “You think I’m here for you?”

A hint of warmth drifted across her cheekbones. “I take it you’re not,” she said drily.

“I’m here to help finalize the Worth deal, Ms. Worth.” He leaned on her last name. “Our meeting tonight is sheer coincidence since you didn’t even bother to tell me who you were when we first met.”

“I don’t recall you asking. Nor do I recall you sharing your name at the time,” she replied with impressive calm.

“Now you know it. It’s Larson. Chase Larson.” The name rang a vague bell, but she couldn’t quite place it. As though aware of that fact, he added, “I’m Rafe Cameron’s brother.”

She missed a step and Chase supported her weight while she recovered her footing. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

“Problem?”

Where did she begin? Or perhaps she shouldn’t begin at all. If Chase was anything like his brother, whatever she said would definitely be used against her. “Suffice to say the list is long and detailed.” She focused on the knot of his crisp red bow tie, not daring to look at him in case her gaze reflected her distaste for his brother. “If you don’t mind my asking, what’s your involvement in the Worth Industries purchase?”

“I own Larson Investments, a financial investment firm. I’m helping Rafe put the purchase together.”

No wonder his name sounded so familiar. She’d heard of Larson Investments. Who hadn’t? That also meant that he was the illegitimate son of business tycoon, Tiberius Barron. Dismay filled her. How could her father possibly hope to negotiate a fair contract for the sale of Worth Industries when Rafe controlled such powerful factions? She moistened her lips. “I assume you’re in favor of the deal?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he replied, his expression giving nothing away. “Now that we’ve finished discussing our unexpected business connection, answer a personal question for me. That night we spent together, would you have told me your last name if I’d asked?”

Emma lifted a shoulder in a careless shrug. “I don’t see why not.” She glanced up at him and caught his guarded expression. “What about you? Would you have told me your last name?”

“Not our first night together.”

She stiffened, offended. “I see. I’m supposed to be forthcoming with you, but—”

“I’ve discovered it’s wise to protect myself.”

“Protect yourself,” she repeated, her eyes narrowing. “From what? Sexy little things who have an itch they’re hoping you’re rich enough to scratch?”

“Something like that.” His gaze impaled her. “Are you a sexy little thing?”

How could she have found him charming? He wasn’t the least bit charming. “Do you mean, am I after a wealthy husband or lover?”

“Are you?”

“No, thanks. You can relax. I have my own money.”

“See?” He flashed a smile that was all too—yes—charming. “Now I’ve insulted you. It’s not an easy question to ask on a first date, is it?”

She released a sigh. “Shall I assume that if I answered incorrectly when we first met there wouldn’t have been a second date?”

“No, there would have been.” Hunger flickered through his eyes so fast she wondered if she’d imagined it. “With you there definitely would have been.”

She scanned his expression, understanding dawning. “But it would have come with strings. Or should I say, a lack of strings? You’d be willing to share my bed, but I’d better not get any ideas.”

“Come on. Be fair, Emma,” he chided. “Is it any different for you? Aren’t you concerned that when men hear your name, learn of your connection to Worth Industries, they see you as their perfect shot at a life of leisure? To relax on a nearby beach sipping endless rounds of mai tais?”

Anger swept through her. “You give me far too much credit. Why would I object to that when it’s clearly my goal in life, too? At least, that’s your brother’s opinion of me, something he’s made abundantly clear the few times we’ve spoken.”

“I believe that’s because Rafe and I earned our fortunes the hard way.”

“Whereas I inherited mine?”

She could tell him that she chose to devote her spare time to working at It’s Time, the local women’s shelter, but why should she be forced to defend herself when she’d done nothing wrong? Exhaustion swept over her worsening the headache, which had been gnawing at the edges of her consciousness all day. “Are we through here, Mr. Larson? I’d like to go home, if you don’t mind.”

“First, my brother’s opinion does not reflect my own, so I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t color me with his brush. I prefer to form my own opinion about you, just as I expect you to form your own about me. And second, you still haven’t answered my question.”

She wondered if her desperation to escape showed. She’d had years of experience maintaining a calm, remote demeanor. But for some reason, whether the man or the occasion, she couldn’t pull it off tonight. “What question?”

“Why did you leave without a word?”

She really didn’t feel well. And now that she thought about it, it occurred to her that she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. That, combined with the few sips of champagne she’d consumed, was leaving her seriously off-color. “Sorry, Chase, but we’ll have to save this for another day.” She pulled free of his arms. “You know who I am now and how to get in touch with me, assuming it’s even necessary.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I haven’t eaten,” she admitted. “I’m feeling a bit light-headed.”

She should have known better than to offer so much information to someone like Chase. He instantly took charge. “There’s a buffet across the room. Why don’t we find something that will help?”

She couldn’t bring herself to look in that direction. Not when the scent of seafood drifted off the gleaming tables. “What I’d really like is to go home, put my feet up and fix myself some tea and toast.”

“Fair enough. How did you get here?”

“With my father,” she reluctantly admitted.

“You live with him?”

“Yes, but—”

“His estate is a few miles south of here, isn’t it?”

She eyed Chase sharply. “How do you know that?”

“I get paid to know things like that.” He cupped her elbow. “Come with me.”

After collecting her wrap from the cloakroom, he drew her toward the wide-flung doors exiting onto the portico. A stunning view of beach and sea spread like a carpet beneath the bluff on which the Vista del Mar Beach and Tennis Club perched. A setting crescent moon dipped toward the Pacific Ocean, gilding the waves in silver.

He escorted her around the building toward the valet stand. “Where are we going?” she asked.

“You need tea, toast and quiet. That’s what I plan to provide.”

“What I need is to go home,” she insisted gently.

And yet, somehow she found herself ensconced in the cherry-red Ferrari Fiorano Chase had rented. With the windows open, the chilly air helped clear her head. The instant he hit the freeway, he headed north, instead of south.

“Where are we going?” she asked, though at this point she wasn’t sure she cared anymore.

“To get you something to eat.”

Emma surrendered to the inevitable. She had a feeling that when it came to Chase there wasn’t another option. Five minutes later he pulled in to a circular drive protected by an electronic gate and lined with palm trees. The instant he killed the engine, he helped her out of the car and escorted her to the front door of the beachfront condo.

“Is this yours?” she asked, impressed.

“Sorry to disappoint you, but it’s a rental.”

She wandered deeper into the condo. “This is gorgeous.”

“I didn’t bring you here so you could tour the place.” He ushered her into the main living area, a huge room banked with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the ocean. Stripping off his tux jacket, he slung it across the back of a chair. “Sit and relax. Tea and toast coming up.”

As much as she wanted to insist that Chase take her home, she didn’t have the energy. She sank onto the couch and leaned against soft, thick cushions that molded themselves around her like a pair of warm arms. Despite all her attempts to remain alert, her eyes drifted closed. It wasn’t until she heard the rattle of glassware that she opened her eyes again.

She glanced around, disoriented. “Did I fall asleep?”

“Just for a minute.” He set a cup and saucer on a table at her elbow, followed by a plate with several slices of lightly buttered toast, cut into manageable bite-sized pieces. Pale greenish tea steamed gently from the clear glass cup. “Whoever stocks this place is big on herbal teas. This one’s chamomile and peppermint. According to the package, it’s guaranteed to relax and soothe.”

“Thank you. Just what I wanted.” Before she could take so much as a sip of tea her BlackBerry rang. She pulled it out of her purse and checked the caller ID. “Excuse me. I should take this. It’s my dad.”

The conversation was brief. But then, when it came to her father that was often the case. “Where are you?” he asked without preamble.

“With Chase Larson.” She spared him a brief glance. “He offered to give me a ride home.”

“Thought you were going with Kathleen.”

“I changed my mind.”

“Fine. Saw her here and I didn’t see you, so I wondered.”

She smiled, softening. “Thanks for worrying, Dad.”

“Of course I worry,” he retorted brusquely. “You’re my little girl, even if you are all grown up. Good night, sweetheart. Don’t stay out too late.”

“‘Night, Dad.” She disconnected the call and dropped the BlackBerry on the table beside her tea and toast. She caught Chase’s undisguised amusement and lifted an eyebrow. “What?”

He reached in his pocket and pulled out his BlackBerry. It was identical to her own. “I use the same ringtone, too,” he said. “Great minds.”

“I guess we’ll have to be careful not to get them mixed up.” She buried her nose in the delicate cup, inhaling the mild aroma. Then she forced herself to look at Chase. “Why are you doing this? I mean, why am I here? Why are you feeding me tea and toast instead of taking me home?”

He allowed his expression to say it all. “You know why.”

She shook her head. “There’s no point, Chase. You might be here long enough to put Rafe’s deal together, but then that’ll be the end of it. We live on opposite sides of the country. We want different things in life.”

“How do you know that?”

She sighed and reached for a square of toast, nibbling on it. “Because I’ve met men like you before.”

His eyes narrowed, the grayish-blue as turbulent as a stormy sea. “Men like me,” he repeated softly, a disturbing tension rippling through his voice. “Would you care to explain what you mean by that?”

She took her time, finishing the slice of toast and washing it down with a sip of tea. She wanted to moan in pleasure, but didn’t dare. Not when the gaze he turned on her still contained a whisper of desire mingled with a hint of intimidation. “Driven men. Men who put business ahead of everything else in their life. Men who live large and take whatever they want.”

Amusement replaced his tension and, to her alarm, the whisper of desire became a shout. “What’s wrong with taking what I want, especially if it gives you as much pleasure as it gives me?”

“Nothing. It makes—made—for an incredible night. But that’s over now. I’ve returned to my life. You’ve returned to yours.”

“And yet, here we are together again.” He joined her on the couch, sitting far too close. “As long as I’m here, why not enjoy another incredible night or two?”

How did she answer that, explain the conflict over wanting a man so closely connected to Rafe Cameron? How did she explain she didn’t want another incredible night? That getting over the first incredible night had been next to impossible? That if they spent another night together she might lose the final vestige of protection standing between her heart and her common sense?

She couldn’t afford to fall for a man like Chase. She’d watched what living with a man like him—her father, to be exact—had done to her mother. It had destroyed her. Emma had taken the lesson to heart. What she and Chase experienced in November had been a lit match. Taking the next step might turn the affair into a dangerous wildfire, one that could consume and destroy instead of pleasure and warm.

She smiled, fighting to keep the moment light and easygoing. “Thanks so much for taking care of me, but it’s time for me to go home. It’s long past my bedtime.”

“No problem.”

Before she could guess his intention, he stood and swung her into his arms. “What are you doing?” she demanded in alarm.

“Since it’s long past your bedtime, I’ll see to it you turn in. Now.” He carried her down a hallway and into a huge bedroom with views as spectacular as the living area. He released her so she dropped the few feet to the mattress. She bounced once before falling backward into the welcome embrace of the down-filled comforter. “And I’m turning in with you.”




Two


She lay on the silk duvet in glorious disarray, outrage flashing across her gorgeous, Sleeping Beauty face. Between the breeze from the drive and her tumble onto his bed, her hair had escaped its intricate knot and long, loose curls fanned out around her head. Her eyes in the dimness of the room were hard to read. Her expression was not.

Color bloomed in her too-pale cheeks while indignation animated her face. “Have you lost your mind?”

He snagged the ends of his bow tie and yanked. “Not that I’m aware of.” His shirt studs and cuff links followed and he dropped them carelessly onto the bedside table, followed by his BlackBerry. “I’ve wanted you back in my bed from the moment you left it.”

She sat up. The light filtering from the hallway cut across the upper portion of her face, highlighting the incredible power of her eyes. The odd forget-me-not blue, a shade just shy of lavender, had haunted him for two endless months. Well, not any longer. Whatever it took, he’d find a way get her out of his system so he could continue his life without the memory of their time together distracting him.

“You can’t believe I’m going to simply fall in bed with you.”

“That’s precisely what you did last time and what you’re going to do right now.” He stripped off his cummerbund and shirt, followed by his shoes. His hand dropped to the fastening of his trousers. “You feel it, Emma. Don’t pretend you don’t. It’s gotten so strong that it hurts to breathe. I can’t think about anything but you, about having you under me, being inside of you.”

Her breath quickened and those eyes, those amazing eyes, darkened with raw passion. “I’m not some cheap one-night stand, damn it. I won’t sleep with you tonight and have you walk away tomorrow.”

Humor had his mouth curling upward. “I believe you were the one to walk away last time. And considering you don’t have a car, I’m hoping you’ll still be here when I wake up.”

She waved that aside. “This is a mistake. You’re part of Rafe Cameron’s entourage.” She inched toward the edge of the mattress. “I can’t be seen fraternizing with the enemy.”

That stopped him. Granted, there was no love lost between Rafe and Ronald Worth. But why would Emma consider Rafe the enemy? “Do you oppose the sale?” he asked softly. “Are you trying to stop it from happening?”

She led with her chin. “I’m not convinced your brother is the best person to run Worth Industries. There are too many questions about his future intentions that are still outstanding. But since it’s not my decision, there’s not much I can do about it, is there?”

“No, there isn’t,” he stated. Okay, warned her.

“But that doesn’t mean I want to sleep with you. Not now that I know you’re Rafe’s brother.”

“One has nothing to do with the other.”

Her eyes narrowed in clear assessment. “How can I be certain you’re not seducing me so I won’t cause trouble?”

“First, because there’s nothing you can do to stop the sale of Worth Industries to Rafe. It’s as good as done. Second, when we made love that night in New York you were unaware of my connection to Rafe Cameron the same as I was unaware of your connection to Worth Industries.” The sound of his pants zipper being lowered grated against the stillness in the room. “And finally, you know damn well that what we’re experiencing tonight is identical to what happened two months ago.”

“Except it isn’t.”

The instant she said the words her breath hitched and he knew she’d give anything to snatch them back. “No, it isn’t,” he agreed. He stripped off the last of his clothing and approached the bed. “This time it’s far more intense.”

She stared at him, riveted. He waited to see whether she’d attempt to evade him, but to his surprise she didn’t. One minute she sat on the edge of the bed and the next she came into his arms. The silk of her dress flowed across his flesh like a teasing caress, while the curves that lay beneath it impacted against him, warm and delicate and deliciously feminine.

“This is a mistake,” she informed him.

He could barely contain his groan. “How can it be when we feel like this whenever we touch?”

He scorched a pathway of fire along her bared shoulder to her neck. Cupping the back of her head, he drew her up for a kiss. A low, delicious moan escaped her and her lips parted, surrendering beneath his. She tasted amazing. How had he survived two whole months without tasting her again? Without having her in his arms. And soon—very, very soon—he’d have her beneath him, be inside of her again. One way or another, before he left Vista del Mar, he’d quench the insatiable thirst she roused in him.

He pulled back and smiled down at her. “You’re overdressed, sweetheart.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” She offered a swift, gamine-like grin. “I rather like having you naked and at my mercy.”

“And what do you plan to do with me?”

“This …”

Her hands slid downward, over steely abs, and lower still. She cupped him, her hands unbelievably soft, shaping the length and breadth of him with gentle strokes. He almost lost it. But when he attempted to pull away, she shook her head in mock disapproval.

“Ah, ah, ah. You’re at my mercy, remember?”

Hell. “Is there any point in begging you to be gentle with me?”

“None.” A sultry smile drifted across her mouth and deepened the color of her eyes. “Since you’re one of those types who likes to be in charge all the time, you have to play this my way or we don’t play at all.”

“I’m not sure I like those rules,” he complained.

Just when he thought he couldn’t control himself a moment longer, she slid her hands upward and wrapped them around his neck. “But you’ll play by them, won’t you?”

He shot her a look filled with a combination of threat and warning. “For now.”

She tilted her head to one side in assessment. “Something tells me you’re a dangerous man to cross,” she said slowly.

“That something is called sheer self-preservation. I’d listen to your instincts.”

She simply laughed. “You wouldn’t hurt me.”

“How can you possibly know that? We’ve only been together for a handful of hours.”

Her laughter faded beneath the challenge of his statement and she studied him, pinned him in place with a penetrating stare. In that moment, he could see the father reflected in the daughter, the same fierce determination. “Is that the sort of man you are? Do you deliberately try and hurt people?”

“No. Not even a little. Will I hurt you? I hope like hell I won’t. It depends on where this takes us and what we decide to do about it if we continue down this road.”

A shadow flickered across her face. “I don’t want to worry about what happens next. If we’re going to do this, I can only handle tonight.”

“Then let’s make tonight count,” he suggested, allowing her a glimpse of the intensity of his passion.

She teetered, but she’d already made her decision, had made it shortly after he’d dumped her on to the bed. Whatever they’d ignited in his penthouse apartment in New York had continued to burn, the embers buried but still white-hot and ready to burst into flames with a simple touch.

“Please make love to me,” she whispered into the darkness.

“My pleasure.”

She pulled him in for another kiss, this one slow and languid, expressing a longing that matched his own. “Undress me,” came the hungry command.

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

He found the zip beneath her arm and lowered it. The bodice loosened, parted, allowing him access to the soft roundness of her breast. He shaped it in his hand and felt the nipple tighten and swell. She was so elegantly made, delicate and fine-boned. And yet there was a supple strength beneath her softness that spoke of someone well-honed in both body and spirit.

He pulled her up off the bed and into his arms, allowing the gown to drift downward. It snagged at the swell of her hips and she gave a quick shimmy that sent it sliding to the floor. She stood before him clad in garter and stockings, a small pale triangle of silk panties protecting her modesty. He eased her back onto the mattress.

“You’re beautiful, Emma.”

The words seemed so inadequate. Shallow. And despite what Rafe claimed, Chase didn’t find anything shallow about Emma. Granted, he didn’t know her well. Yet. But her intelligence glittered in her eyes, and enthusiasm exuded from her, a quiet, wholehearted joie de vivre filling her up and overflowing onto everyone around her.

With swift, economical movements he loosened the straps of her heels and toss ed them aside. He took more time removing her garters and stockings, tripping his fingers along the outer edge of her shapely legs and then up again along the sensitive inner length. She shivered when he reached her thighs. Moaned as he approached the apex. Released a soft cry of need the instant he cupped the very heart of her through her silk panties.

Just that one touch left her teetering on the brink, as close to going over as he was. At the last possible moment he remembered to grab a condom from the nightstand table. Then he swept her panties from her hips and settled down on top of her. Her lips were swollen from his kisses and a flush ran feverishly high along the curve of her cheekbones. Passion turned her eyes dark with need, a ripe, blistering ardor that more than matched his own.

“Why did you leave me last November when we have this between us? When it only takes a single touch for us both to go up in flames?” he demanded. “Why didn’t you tell me who you were or how to find you again?”

“I was afraid.”

“Afraid of me?”

She shook her head, her hair forming a pale, tangled halo of white gold. “Not of you. Never of you. I was afraid of this. Of wanting someone like you so much.”

“Afraid of how you respond when we come together?”

In one swift move he mated their bodies, one to the other. The breath sobbed from her lungs. “Yes. Oh, please don’t stop. I’ve been waiting so long to feel like this again.”

“Look at me, Emma. I want you to know who you’re with.”

Anger burned alongside her desperation. “I know who I’m with, Chase. How could I possibly forget how it was between us?”

The admission threw him off stride, but only for a moment. “It’ll be even better this time,” he promised.

Because this time he knew what she wanted. What made her sing. What made her explode. What made her soar within his arms. And he’d do everything within his power to give her all that and more.

As much as he wanted to take her fast and hard, he wouldn’t. Couldn’t. He needed that slow build, to experience that climb every inch of the way. To absorb her breathless moans with his every kiss and have that soft, soft flesh brushing against his. To savor the sweet scent of desire gathering in the air and taste it on her mouth and skin.

He sampled first her lips, then her breasts. And he moved with her, a slow, gliding waltz. He caught her hands in his and locked them over her head, their fingers entwined. Her legs slid along his, her toes pressing into his calves in joyous welcome, then wrapping around his hips, anchoring him tight. The tempo increased, moving from waltz to tango.

Sighs turned to murmurs of demand. Control escaped his grasp. How was that possible? He never lost control with women. Always maintained a safe distance even in the most intimate of situations. Never allowed anyone to glimpse his raw emotions in case they were used against him. But with Emma … The dance grew ever faster and he surrendered to the drive, to the magical music the two of them made whenever they came together. She arched beneath him, bowing upward as her climax slammed through her. He couldn’t help himself. He followed her up and over, leaping with her into that glittering place of rapture met and fantasy realized.

Silence reigned for endless seconds afterward, while they both struggled to catch their breath. “How do you do that?” Emma asked at last, gasping for air. “How do you take us so much further than I ever believed possible?”

Her heartbeat thundered against his, a perfect counterpoint to his own. “It’s a skill.”

“One you have down pat, apparently.” She spared him a speaking glance. “Lots of practice?”

“Some. But with you—” He broke off before he revealed too much.

“With me … what?”

“It’s different.” And that’s all he intended to say.

She slipped out from beneath him and curled tight against his side, one leg thrown across his. “Different how?”

How the hell had he gotten into this? He decided to take the manly way out. “Why ruin the moment by picking it apart?”

She simply laughed. “Oh, please. You can’t get out of explaining yourself with that old dodge. You’re the one who brought it up.”

“You know it’s different without my explaining how or why,” he insisted gruffly.

“I just wanted to hear you admit it.” She relaxed against him. “And if it makes you feel any better, I don’t understand why we’re like this together, either.”

Chase had always been good at analyzing disparate elements and organizing them into a recognizable shape. It was one of the factors that made him such an outstanding investor. The instant Emma admitted that her reaction to him didn’t mirror what she experienced with other men, a puzzle piece clicked into place, causing that night in New York to assume a new and fascinating shape.

“You realized it the first time we were together, didn’t you?” he asked. “You realized that what we feel when we’re together is different somehow.”

She reluctantly nodded. “Yes.”

He dropped the other shoe. Hell, a closet full of shoes. “And that knowledge scared you.”

She hesitated for another telling moment before asking, “Doesn’t it scare you?”

“Anything I can’t control scares me,” he admitted.

“So what now?”

“Now we go to sleep.”

She didn’t speak for a brief moment, then remarked, “Wait until the cold light of day when we’re both running scared before discussing what happens next?”

His mouth twitched. Her sense of humor always took him by surprise. It was something he was learning to appreciate about her. “Better than making rash or stupid decisions in the post-heat of passion.”

“Okay.”

He slid his fingers into her hair and turned her toward him. “You’re still going to be here when morning comes, right?”

“As you pointed out, I don’t have a car. Plus, you know where I live.” She gave an exaggerated shiver. “I’d just as soon you not come pounding on my father’s front door demanding to know why I’m not still in your bed.”

“Fair enough. Tomorrow we’ll discuss this rationally over breakfast like two mature adults.”



Chase woke to an empty bed and shot upright. Son of a bitch! So much for discussing their situation like two mature adults. He touched the sheet beside him, expecting to find it stone cold. To his relief it was still warm, which meant Emma couldn’t have gotten far. He escaped the bed, and almost tripped over her dress. It rested in the middle of the floor in a crumpled pearl-gray heap of silk where he vaguely remembered tossing it.

He checked the nightstand table for his car keys. They were there, right beside his BlackBerry. Okay. Chances were Emma hadn’t taken off naked and hitchhiked home. That meant she was around here, someplace. He noticed the bathroom door was closed and smiled.

Gotcha.

He padded across the room naked and rapped lightly on the door. “Why don’t I get the coffee going?” he offered.

“Fine.”

Chase paused. Her voice sounded odd, tight and almost pained. “You okay?”

“Fine.”

There it was again, that underlying edge of despair. It didn’t take much thought to figure out what caused it. Morning-After Regret. Well, tough. She’d have to deal with it because he didn’t regret what happened one little bit. And he intended it to happen again at their earliest convenience … like immediately after breakfast.

He snagged a pair of jeans and yanked them on before heading toward the kitchen. At the last second he pocketed the car keys, just to be on the safe side. He wished he’d remembered to add beans and water to the coffeemaker last night. If he had he’d be enjoying his first hit of caffeine right this minute—the most crucial part of his morning—instead of waiting the endless five minutes it would take to percolate.

But he’d had more important matters on his mind the previous evening. Like Emma. He made short work of the coffee and opened the refrigerator to rummage through the contents, not that it offered up much in the way of real food. He spent most mealtimes in a restaurant entertaining clients or, occasionally, a woman. So what did he have that qualified as breakfast?

Beer. Okay, he considered that real food, at least it was in his world. Still, probably not the best option to offer Emma for breakfast. He shoved the beer aside and pulled out a carton of eggs. That would work. Bread and butter. He still had some left over from last night. And a pint of half-and-half. Fair enough, he decided. It could be worse.

He consumed his first cup of coffee while making some halfway decent scrambled eggs, even if they were a tad rubbery, and toast that wasn’t too badly burnt. After dumping everything onto two plates and placing them on the breakfast table, he poured a second cup of coffee for himself and a first one for Emma. Based on what she’d ordered after their one dinner together, she liked it heavy on the milk and light on the sugar. Considering he spent his day putting together million-dollar deals and handling tens of millions worth of investments, he was inordinately pleased with himself over throwing together such a simple breakfast. Now he just needed someone to share it with him.

“Emma?”

He entered the bedroom, his brows snapping together when he saw that she still occupied the bathroom. No sound of running water. No feminine splashing or fussing. Just a nerve-wracking silence. Hell. She’d been off-color last night. Was she sick? He tapped on the door.

“Sweetheart? Are you all right?”

“Go away,” she moaned.

“The hell I will. Fair warning, I’m coming in.”

“No, don’t—”

“Too late. I’m in.”

To his concern, he found Emma curled up on the tile floor, her face buried in the knees she’d drawn to her chest. He’d have found it amusing that she wore his dress shirt from the night before if she didn’t look so utterly wretched. He crouched down beside her and smoothed her damp hair away from her brow. Her complexion was as snowy white as his shirt, with just the merest hint of green for contrast. Not a good color combination on her.

“I’m sorry, Emma,” he said sympathetically. “I didn’t realize you were unwell. What can I do to help?”

“Other than go away?”

He smiled. “Sorry, sweetheart, I’m not made like that. What’s option number two?”

“Hold my head while I get sick again?”

He winced. “Stomach virus? Food poisoning?”

“That would be nice,” she replied in a muffled voice.

Okay, that didn’t make the least bit of sense. “Why would a stomach virus or food poisoning be nice?” he asked cautiously.

She lifted her head, her eyes dark and bleak. “Think it through, Chase. You’ll get there.”

Maybe if he’d downed that second cup of coffee it would all make perfect sense to him. After all, his analytical skills were pretty damn impressive. But for some reason they seemed to be on the fritz this morning. He shook his head, indicating his bewilderment. “I’m obviously missing something here. Care to fill me in so we can both be on the same page?”

She sighed. “Take one woman. Add a tablespoon of gee-she’s-sick. Toss in a cup of second-missed-period.” She made a small stirring motion with her finger. “Mix with hey-it’s-morning. And guess what you get?”

No. Oh, hell no. “You’re pregnant?” He meant to ask the question calmly, with the same stony cool attitude with which he’d learned to handle all of life’s crises. Unfortunately, somewhere between “you’re” and “pregnant” his voice had risen to a roar.

She flinched. “I don’t know for certain. But I’d say all the signs are there.”

“You said …” He shot a hand through his hair, struggling to think straight. What the devil had she said? “You said second missed period. As in January, minus two equals November. We were together in November. We were together, together in November.”

“You know something, Larson?” she asked, an edge in her voice. “You really are a genius when it comes to numbers and statistical analysis.”

“Can the sarcasm, Worth. I’m not the one on the floor puking my guts out. As I recall we used protection each time we made love that night.” He never, ever made love without precautions, since he’d never risk the possibility of history repeating itself.

“Yeah, that bothered me at first, too.” To his horror tears filled her eyes. Huge, gut-wrenching, I-can’t-believe-this-is-happening tears. “It was the shower that did us in.”

“The shower,” he repeated stupidly.

“Exactly. The shower. It came off, remember?”

He winced. That’s right. It had. “You think the baby’s mine?”

“No,” she shot back, insulted. “The baby’s mine. You were simply involved in the conception.”

He bit off a sharp retort. Sniping wouldn’t get them anywhere fast. First things first. “Have you seen a doctor? Had a pregnancy test?”

She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I’ve been deluding myself the past few weeks that I was simply late.”

“Two months late?”

“It happens,” she retorted defensively. “Or so I’ve heard. But now …”

“Now you’re not so sure.”

She buried her face in her knees again. “No.”

He struggled to think logically, to tackle the problem—assuming a baby could be considered a problem—one step at a time. “First, is there anything I can do to help with the sickness?”

“Tea and crackers would be nice.”

“I have the tea, but not the crackers. But since I’m going to run out to a pharmacy and pick up a pregnancy test, I can snag some crackers at the same time. I assume you want plain versus fancy? Crackers, that is.”

She shuddered. “Very plain.”

“Emma?” He waited until she lifted her head and looked at him. “One way or another we’ll figure this out. First on the list is to find out whether or not you’re pregnant.”

A hint of amusement brought some much-needed color into her face. “There’s a list already?”

He leaned in and kissed her forehead. “Honey, there’s always a list.”



Chase soon discovered the difficulty wasn’t finding a pregnancy test. It was choosing among the dozen options that filled the shelves. Finally, he simplified matters and scooped up one of each before heading for the checkout counter. The cashier gave him an odd look.

“That hopeful or that afraid?”

He could hear Brooklyn in her voice, a familiar whiff of home. Chase handed over his card and gave her a steely look that had successfully cowed some of the toughest businessmen New York had to offer.

“Charge it,” he told her.

For some reason The Look didn’t work with Brooklyn. “I’m just saying.”

Fortunately, the crackers and the basketful of basic food groups he decided he should add to his ever growing list proved far less stressful to purchase at the grocery store. This cashier, clearly a native Californian, limited himself to a polite “Have a nice day.” And though he didn’t actually say “dude,” it was implicit in his voice. Considering that he’d been born and raised here in Vista del Mar, before going to live in New York with his father at the tender age of ten, he had feet planted on both coasts. Memories cascaded through him of a life he’d given up all those years before. Carefree years. Lean years. Years filled with laughter and a mother who adored him. He shoved the bittersweet images aside, refusing to dwell on the what-ifs if he’d made a different choice and forced himself to maintain his focus on the job at hand.

Chase returned to the condo, collecting a speeding ticket along the way. Officer Garcia was also excruciatingly polite and Chase made an executive decision to avoid choosing a red Ferrari for his next visit. You just couldn’t go wrong with basic black. He found Emma where he’d left her and joined her on the floor, upending the bag from the pharmacy.

Emma stared at the dozen boxes. “I appreciate your enthusiasm, but I don’t have this much pee.”

“I didn’t mean for you to use all of them.” Though if the first result proved positive … or negative … Chase frowned. Proved baby-on-board, he’d insist she take another one. “I figured you could choose the easiest to use.”

“I think they’re all pretty much the same. But maybe some are easier to read than others.”

“Right. Start with those.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “Start?” When he didn’t say anything, she sighed and pointed to the door. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather do this in private.”

He stood and stared down at her. She looked so small and delicate, curled up on the floor. “You’ll call me as soon as you know anything?”

“Of course.”

“And, Emma …?”

She spared him a swift glance, but didn’t speak.

“If the baby’s mine, I’ll do the right thing,” he informed her. “For both you and the child.”

And with that, he left.




Three


For several minutes after Chase exited the bathroom, Emma didn’t move. Then, reluctantly, she lined up the boxes along the spotless counter before sinking back down onto the equally spotless tile floor. She stared at them. They stared back, whispering to each other, no doubt talking about her and her situation.

Pregnant.

Emma splayed her fingers over her abdomen. Was she? She suspected it was all too likely. For weeks now she’d made excuse after excuse to explain away the telltale symptoms, first because she had no idea how to find Chase. And second because she dreaded the coming confrontation with her father when she informed him of her condition.

The boxes continued whispering, and with an exclamation of annoyance, she snatched the first of the pregnancy tests off the counter—the noisiest of the twelve—and ripped it open. She scanned the literature, determined to get the test over with as soon as possible. Maybe then the boxes would shut up and leave her alone.

The directions informed her that it only took One Minute! to obtain the results. Just Sixty Seconds!!—for those who needed further clarification as to the meaning of a minute. The directions didn’t lie. As promised, precisely One Minute! later she had her answer. Stripping off Chase’s dress shirt, she stumbled into the shower and stood beneath the pounding spray struggling to keep from hyperventilating.

How odd that in Just Sixty Seconds!! her life could change so dramatically. From One Minute! to the next she went from being an average healthy woman to someone carrying the spark of new life. She snatched a deep breath. Okay, it wasn’t the end of the world, not even close. It simply confirmed what she already suspected in her heart. She could deal with this, she told herself. Sure she could.

Sometimes life brought her to her knees with a blow so hard she didn’t think she could endure it. But she always fought her way back. She always came out swinging. She always triumphed. She’d handled far worse events during the past twenty-five years—the death of her mother, for one—and managed to survive the ordeal. She blinked against the painful burning in her eyes. She would on this occasion, too. Plus, a baby wasn’t a death to grieve or some horrible disaster, but a life to celebrate, even if unplanned.

Another possibility struck. Tests like these weren’t always accurate. Lots of times they gave off false readings. What if this was one of those times? What if she’d read the directions wrong or hadn’t followed them correctly? She’d been in a hurry. It could have happened. She turned off the water, grabbed one of Chase’s large, fluffy towels from the built-in linen closet beside the tiled shower stall and wrapped it around herself. This time she’d read everything twice. Be meticulous. Make sure she followed the instructions exactly.

Thirty minutes later she stood in front of the bathroom sink, one lined with a full dozen little sticks and wands and trays with circular windows. She clutched the stack of instructions for each of the tests while she went down the row, comparing picture to actuality.

Two pink lines. Pregnant.

A plus mark. Pregnant.

Little window that actually spelled out pregnant.

Another little window that had forgotten the not in front of that all-important word.

Two blue lines. Very pregnant.

On down the row she went until she reached the very last tray. They all said the same thing. The little windows glared up at her with their little lines and crosses and plus marks and those P words. She backed away from them until she hit the wall next to the shower stall and sank back onto the bathroom floor. She should be horrified. She should be terrified. In a panic. Her brows drew together. Why wasn’t she in a panic?

Her hand stole across her abdomen. She was pregnant. Her baby grew here, nestled deep within her womb. Hers and Chase’s. She wasn’t panicked, she realized, any more than she was horrified or terrified. A child. Dear heaven, she’d been given a child. She’d been given the chance to have a family again, one not torn apart by death and disaster, dishonesty and despair. The tears came then, but to her amazement, she discovered they weren’t tears of misery or fear.

They were tears of wonder.



Chase frowned at the bathroom door, a firmly closed bathroom door. How long did a simple pregnancy test take, anyway? He thought he’d seen one of the packages exclaiming: Response in just one minute! Maybe she hadn’t used that one. Maybe she’d used the one that read: Response whenever we damn well want to give it to you!

Unable to wait another second, he tapped on the door. “Emma? Do you need help?” He shut his eyes. Help? That was wrong on every possible level. “I have your tea and crackers.” Of course, the tea was now iced tea and the crackers were probably stale. The hell with it. “Emma, I’m coming in.”

He found her more or less where he left her, curled up on the floor. Only now she wore a towel instead of his shirt. He couldn’t decide if that was a good sign or a bad one. She looked up when he entered and waved a slim hand in the direction of the counter.

“Take a look,” she said.

To his surprise, she’d used all twelve tests. “No wonder it’s taken you so long. How much water did you have to drink to pull this off?”

“Think camel and add a gallon or two.”

“So, what’s the verdict.” He examined the lineup and stiffened. “Some of these say pregnant.”

“All of them say pregnant.”

“All?”

He whipped around, feeling sucker punched. Until that moment he’d refused to consider the possibility that she might actually be pregnant, had maintained an emotional distance from the unfolding events. He’d managed to convince himself that Emma had made an understandable mistake, one rectified by a simple test. After all, why stress until there was something to stress about? Well, there sure as hell was something to stress about now.

“All?” he repeated.

“Every last one. Look, I’d rather not discuss this dressed in a towel, if you don’t mind,” Emma said in an excruciatingly polite tone of voice. She pushed herself upward. “I need to get dressed.”

His brain switched to automatic, processing and stringing words together in a seemingly calm and coherent manner. “You can wear your dress from last night, although it’s pretty wrinkled. Or I have a T-shirt and running shorts you can borrow.”

“Thank you. I think the tee and shorts would be more comfortable.”

He realized he blocked her exit and stepped back into the bedroom. Emma trailed after him. Still moving on automatic pilot—dear God, a baby—he opened a dresser drawer, retrieved the promised clothes and set them on the bed.

He gave her a searching glance. She remained ghost-pale, though not as shell-shocked as he undoubtedly looked. In fact, her poise impressed the hell out of him. “We need to talk,” he announced.

“In all honesty, I’d rather go home. Perhaps we can meet in a few days and discuss the situation then. That will give us time to assimilate the information.”

Assimilate the information? What was he, a Borg? He’d already assimilated all he needed to know. Emma was pregnant and she’d pasted a big, fat red arrow over his head, labeled Daddy. Still, it wasn’t worth arguing with her, not when she didn’t feel well. Since she couldn’t go home without his driving her there, she couldn’t very well control what he chose to say or discuss between now and then. Nor would he allow her to leave without feeding her first. Feeding their child. He shot a hand through his hair. Aw, hell.

“Get dressed, sweetheart. I’ll freshen up your tea and crackers.”

“Thanks. I’m actually starting to feel a little hungry.”

She joined him a short time later and he smiled at the droop of his running shorts on her daintier frame, while something visceral swept through him at the sight of her breasts outlined by the thin cotton of his T-shirt. Were they larger due to the pregnancy, or was it his imagination?

“Since you said you were hungry, I opened up a very mild bean dip to go with the crackers, if you want. Or, if you’re in the mood for eggs, I can scramble up some more.”

“More?”

He shrugged. “I made some earlier. The trashcan says thank you.”

She smiled at that. “Believe it or not, the bean dip sounds great. Do you have any fruit?”

Good thing he’d decided to pick up a few of the basic necessities from each food group. Even better, he actually considered fruit a food group. “In the fridge.”

She pulled out an orange and proceeded to strip away the rind and section it, then went back for a kiwi and some black grapes. Satisfied with her selection, she arranged the dip, crackers and fruit onto plates, her artistry impressing the hell out of him. Then, with uncanny accuracy she crossed to the cupboard that contained place mats and linen napkins and proceeded to set the table with the same style and eye appeal.

“Okay, how do you do that?” he demanded.

Her smile grew. “Years of practice entertaining my father’s clients. My mother—” She faltered for a split second before continuing. “My mother was an artist. I guess I inherited her eye for color and space.”

“Do you paint?”

Emma took a seat at one of the chairs surrounding the glass breakfast table and waved him to the one opposite her. “Not so much as a brush stroke.” She unfolded the napkin and placed it in her lap. Even when enjoying a casual breakfast dressed in his running clothes, she exuded a natural elegance in the way she sat and moved. “I’m lucky if I can draw a straight line.”

“But you wish you could draw,” he guessed shrewdly.

She nibbled on a cracker smeared with bean dip. “You’re right. I do.”

“Maybe our baby will inherit her abilities,” he said, deliberately introducing the subject of Emma’s pregnancy.

“Let’s hope that’s all he or she inherits,” Emma murmured.

His gaze sharpened and he made a mental note to research Ronald’s late wife. Chase vaguely remembered some sort of scandal from his youth, but couldn’t quite recall the details. It must have been after he’d moved to New York to live with his father. He didn’t think his mother had ever mentioned it, though she hadn’t moved in the same circles as the Worths then—or now.

“Fair enough. You don’t want certain characteristics of your mother to show up, and I have to admit there are a few anomalies I’d just as soon any son or daughter of mine didn’t chip off the old genetic block.” He paused, then asked, “Should I assume you plan to keep the baby?”

“That’s the only part of this you can assume. I will have the baby and I’m not considering adoption. I …” She caught her lower lip between her teeth. “I couldn’t. I couldn’t give my baby away.”

“Our baby. At least, I assume it’s ours.” He wished there were a less awkward way of asking his next question. “You implied I’m the father.”

“There’s no other possibility.” She made the statement with calm certainty.

“You’re sure?”

She jabbed an orange slice in his direction. “All right, Money Man. Let’s put this in terms even you can understand. One woman who’s had a rather lengthy sexual dry spell plus one man who ended aforementioned dry spell, minus one condom equals oops. In case you missed it, I double-checked my math twelve different times. It came up baby on every test.”

He would have laughed if the situation weren’t so serious. “I’m not questioning your math.”

Her expression froze over. “You’re just questioning which of my many lovers is the father, is that it?”

He cautiously moved the question aside and out of reach. “I assume you won’t object to a paternity test?” he asked instead.

“Of course not.”

“In utero?”

Her brows drew together. “They do that now?”

How the hell should he know? He’d never been in this situation before. Had done everything within his power to prevent it from ever happening. “We can ask your doctor.”

Emma shoved her plate aside. “There is no we.”

“If there’s a baby, there sure as hell is a we.” He leaned forward to give emphasis to his words. “Perhaps this is a good time to explain that I won’t walk away from my child. If it’s mine, I’ll be intimately involved every step of the way.”

“First things first. I—and I do mean I—go to see my ob/gyn and confirm the pregnancy. Then we’ll discuss the best way to handle the situation after that.” She rose, the dame at her most grand. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to go home.”

He did mind. He minded more than he could express. But he hadn’t gotten where he was in the world by losing his temper or indulging in a knee-jerk reaction when someone gave him a verbal shove. Chase relaxed back against his chair and studied Emma, while making a swift analysis. She was beautiful and clever and fascinating. But, she was also a Worth, which meant she came from money. Unfortunately, that small detail made her the last person he’d have chosen as mother to his child because he’d had so many bad experiences with others who came from that rarified world of inherited wealth.

The irony didn’t escape him. No doubt his father had felt the same dismay when Penny Larson had informed him of her unplanned pregnancy though Tiberius Barron’s reasons would have been far different. Unlike his father, Chase wouldn’t allow Emma to give birth to a bastard, to force his son or daughter to deal with the sort of snobbery he’d dealt with his entire life. Nor was she the same as the other trust fund babies he’d known. There was something irresistible about her. Something that appealed on every possible level. Even more important, she carried his child, which meant that whether she realized it or not, he was going to take control of both her and her pregnancy, starting now.

“I’ll be happy to take you home.” He waited until the relief gleamed in her violet-blue eyes. “On one condition.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “This is not a business negotiation,” she snapped.

Oh, but it was. She just didn’t realize it, yet. “This is my child, too. As I said, I want to be involved from day one.” He offered a crooked smile. “Actually, I was involved on day one. Now, I want to be involved in the next step. I want to go with you to the doctor.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Emma, it would be a mistake to shut me out. I’ll simply find a way to go around you. It would be far easier to cooperate.”

“Once I confirm the pregnancy, we’ll get together and discuss how we plan to handle the matter from that point on. But I need time to come to terms with what’s happening.”

He wasn’t about to give her that time. He didn’t know her well enough to risk what she might do while he sat around twiddling his thumbs. He didn’t answer, though she took his silence for acceptance, assumed she’d gained the upper hand in their little skirmish. Turning on her bare heel, she stalked to the bedroom, returning with her clothes, shoes and BlackBerry.

“Don’t bother to show me out.” So calm. So cool. So proud. So determined to make An Exit. “I’ll call a cab.”

He eyed the BlackBerry, then glanced toward the couch where she’d sat the night before and sipped herbal tea. He shrugged. “Okay.”

She opened the front door and gently closed it behind her, demonstrating her ability to make An Exit that was also calm, cool and proud. He waited, counted to ten, then crossed to the table beside the couch and picked up Emma’s BlackBerry. Next, he headed for the bedroom to collect his car keys. The soft knock sounded at the door seconds before he reached it.

He opened the door and lifted an eyebrow. “Forget something?” Like who was actually in charge around here?

He had to hand it to her, she maintained her poise with impressive fortitude. “I think we mixed up our cell phones.”

“We, huh?”

Her chin came up. “Yes. We.”

“Come on. I’ll drive you home.”

“I said—”

“I know what you said, Emma. You want your BlackBerry back?” He didn’t wait for her response. He exited the condo, striding past her toward his Ferrari. “Then stop giving me grief and let’s go.”

Emma Worth had a lot to learn about him, Chase decided. Like the small fact that he didn’t like being thwarted. But she’d get the message.

Soon. Very soon.



“Hello, sweetheart. Thanks for letting me know our appointment was this Monday morning.” He glanced down at his BlackBerry and frowned. “For some reason I didn’t have it scheduled.”

Emma froze in the doorway between the examination area of the doctor’s office and the waiting room and stared in disbelief at Chase. It had been less than forty-eight hours since they parted and yet he sat in one of the chairs, the ankle of one leg resting on the knee of the other in a typically masculine pose. A parenting magazine sat open on his lap. He flipped the magazine closed and tossed it onto the stack of similar periodicals spread across the glass-and-chrome table in front of him.

Her gaze darted to the other occupants in the waiting room and she worked hard—very hard—to keep her voice low and even. “What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you, of course. The nurse offered to let me join you.”

Emma drew in a deep breath. “Did she?” She turned to close the door behind her, using the few precious seconds it offered to regain her equilibrium.

“She did,” Chase confirmed. “Next time I’ll take her up on her offer.”

It was a warning, as clear as though he’d shouted it. Clutching the various pieces of literature the doctor had given her to study, along with an ultrasound photo of their baby, she forced herself to walk briskly across the waiting room toward the exit. Chase stood, pocketed his BlackBerry and followed her. She managed to keep her temper until they reached the parking lot and were standing where they couldn’t be overheard.

Then she turned on Chase. “How dare you? How dare you!”

Apparently, he dared plenty because he didn’t appear to appreciate the extent of her outrage. If anything, his features settled into a stone-hard cast. “You knew I wanted to be at that first appointment.”

“Why?” She jabbed a finger into his chest, allowing her anger free rein. “In order to be with me? Or in order to ask whether you could get an immediate paternity test?”

He planted his fists on his hips and bowed his head for a moment before shooting her a straight look. “I have the right to know whether the baby is mine.”

“Oh, for …” She took a deep breath. Getting upset wasn’t good for her and it certainly wasn’t good for the baby. “I’m done with this conversation.”

“Not a chance.” He glanced around the downtown district adjacent to the medical building and gestured toward Bistro by the Sea—or the Bistro as the locals referred to the small deli and coffee shop. “Come on. We can grab a couple coffees and talk there.”

She didn’t bother to resist. They had to have this out at some point. Better someplace where they could conduct their conversation with enough privacy to speak frankly, but in a public setting so she could get up and walk away whenever she’d had enough of Chase’s frankness.

He chose an outdoor table in the sun, one well out of the reach of the crisp northern breeze. Excusing himself, he went inside and returned a few minutes later with a large coffee for himself. Instead of another for her, he’d been considerate enough to purchase an herbal tea. Then he took a seat and regarded her thoughtfully.




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