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He nodded.
“No.”
“Were you seeing someone?”
“In January?”
Was she being deliberately obtuse? Probably. She probably wanted to irritate him. She’d succeeded. If he was the father of her child, and she’d known his name and where he lived, and then had decided not to tell him about the pregnancy, he had reason to be irritated. And furious. He could see no justification for her keeping it a secret from him.
He didn’t answer her question about the month but gave her a look he figured she could interpret.
“I was not dating anyone then,” she said, looking straight out the windshield, a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. “And no one since, either.”
Again, no eye contact. He didn’t trust someone who wouldn’t look him in the eyes. In the banking business you learned to trust your instincts about people. Body language spoke loudly. He didn’t like what hers was saying.
He took a step back. “See you tomorrow.”
She didn’t even roll up her window against the chill but backed out of the parking space and sped off.
He watched her go. He’d come to Lake Tahoe as part of a deal he’d made ten years ago. He’d come with a plan to change his life, giving himself the month to work it out, since he was stuck here, anyway.
Now his life was being changed for him.
It wasn’t a good start.
At midnight Nicole wrapped herself in a quilt and stepped onto her porch. She glanced at the thermometer tacked to the porch post—thirty-eight degrees. The roads would probably be icy by morning.
Her breath puffed white in front of her, but the fresh air felt good. Since she’d moved to the area two months ago, she’d come to crave the crisp coldness of Lake Tahoe the way some people yearned for the heat of her hometown, Sacramento. She wouldn’t miss the hundred-degree summers a bit, nor the humidity of Atlantic City, which she’d called home for ten years.
Nicole sat on her porch swing and eased it back and forth, the chains groaning quietly against the overhead hooks, the motion calming.
It wasn’t as if she hadn’t known this day would come. She’d planned to tell Devlin—just probably not until the baby was born and DNA testing could be done, because she knew he would require that.
She couldn’t blame him for not trusting her. They’d been strangers, without reasons to trust each other. All he knew of her was that she’d fallen into bed with him without knowing him, without any prelude at all. The sex had been like nothing she’d thought herself capable of—anonymous, all-consuming and with little tenderness—exactly what she’d needed that night. And even without the reminder growing inside her, she would’ve remembered everything about those hours with Devlin. She’d cried in his arms more than once. He’d never asked her why but had simply held her, then made love to her—with her—again. And again. And again.
In the morning, she hadn’t sneaked out, but woke him up to tell him thank you, kissing him goodbye. That was supposed to be the end of it. No regrets.
Surprise!
Nicole closed her eyes, keeping the swing moving, remembering the exact moment two months after that incredible night when she’d realized that it wasn’t lingering grief making her feel so miserable, but pregnancy. Now in her second trimester, the morning sickness gone, she felt healthy and strong and capable of dealing with Devlin.
She shivered, but whether from the cold or the anticipation of contending with Devlin, she wasn’t sure. She needed sleep, would try again and hope for better results than the past hour of tossing and turning.
As she stood she saw headlights coming up the road. The vehicle slowed at her driveway, stopped for a few seconds, then turned in and eased up the twenty feet to her house. Not recognizing the big black SUV, she sat again, grateful she’d turned off the porch light.
The car door opened and a man got out. Devlin. She held her breath. What was he doing? How had he found her? Did he plan to bang on the door and wake her from what should’ve been a sound sleep?
Apparently not. He just stood there looking around. After a minute he walked around the side of the house, out of sight, then reappeared shortly.
She wondered about his reaction. She loved her little cabin. It was only seven hundred square feet, but cozy and comfortable and hers—or in twenty-nine years and eleven months it would be hers. She’d always rented before.
Dead leaves and pine needles crunched under Devlin’s shoes as he came close again, this time veering toward the porch. His hands tucked into his jacket pockets, he put a foot on the lowest step but went no farther.
“Looking for someone?” she asked, figuring he would spot her soon enough.
He swore, which made her smile. She liked that she’d been the one to do the startling this time.
“What are you doing out here?” he asked, coming up the remaining stairs. “It’s freezing.”
Vanity had her wishing she wasn’t in a robe, flannel pajamas and fuzzy slippers, and free of makeup. “How’d you find me?”
“Typed your name into the White Pages on the Internet. I wasn’t going to knock. I just wanted to see where you live.” Without invitation he sat next to her on the swing. His breath billowed in front of him, as hers did. “You couldn’t sleep, either?”
She shook her head. She was cold to the bone now, but she wasn’t about to let him know that. And her entire body reacted to being so close to his. Memories invaded, warming her, arousing—
“Invite me in,” he said, leaning toward her slightly.
Apparently the word please wasn’t in his vocabulary. “We’ll talk tomorrow, as scheduled,” she said.
“You’re not sleeping. I’m not sleeping. Why not talk now?”
“Because we’re both overtired. One of us is bound to misspeak.”
“I don’t misspeak.”
“Then you must be immortalized in some comic book with those other superhumans.”
“You’re shivering,” he said, ignoring her remark. “It can’t be good for the baby.”
“I don’t do anything to put this child at risk.” What was she doing? Acting like an idiot just to prove a point—that she was doing fine without him and would continue? She’d already been headed into the house when he’d shown up. She was twenty-eight years old and acting like a teenager. “Want some hot chocolate?” she asked.
To his credit he didn’t look smug but stood and held out a hand to her. He’d kept his in his pockets, so they were warm compared to hers. She let go as soon as she was standing, then led the way into the house.
Nicole had almost finished decorating. She had combined yard-sale finds with consignment-shop treasures, had reupholstered, painted and sewed, with only the baby’s room to go.
The living room, dining nook and kitchen were visible from the front entry. She laid her quilt over a chair, tightened the sash on her robe and headed into the kitchen. She pulled out a saucepan, milk and cocoa mix.
“Mind if I look around?” Devlin asked, tossing his jacket atop her quilt.
“Go ahead.” She was glad to have him wander off for a minute. Her bedding was jumbled, but what did it matter? She’d gone to bed, tried to sleep. He would know that. On the other hand, the place was so small he would be back before the milk had even gotten warm.
“Do you own or rent?” he asked, returning and leaning against the refrigerator, watching her.
“Own.”
“It’s small…to raise a child.”
“How much room does a child need?” she countered.
“More than this.”
“I disagree.”
He seemed about to argue but didn’t. “It’s rustic,” he offered after a moment.
She shook her head, amused. He was skirting around saying what he really wanted to, apparently trying to keep the peace between them for the moment. Obviously he wanted something.
“What do you expect, Devlin? It’s a cabin in the woods. Rustic fits the environment,” she said, getting down two mugs. “The roads are plowed in the winter, and I’ve got the fireplace and a generator if the power goes out. It’s perfect.” It’s mine. She poured the hot chocolate into the mugs and passed him one, then cupped hers in both hands, treasuring the warmth. She was sorry she’d let him come in, was too tired to deal with him, just as she’d said.
“Did you know who I was?” he asked.
“I looked you up in the database.” She watched him over the rim of her mug as she took a tentative sip, testing its heat.
“When?”
“In the morning, after I left your suite.”
“Not before?”
She frowned. “Before, I was standing at the blackjack table with you. Before that I was passing through the casino on my way to my boss’s office when I stopped to talk to a friend, a fellow employee. You caught my attention, and I stayed to watch for a minute. Then you wouldn’t let me leave.”
“You were my good luck charm.”
“So you said.” She gestured toward her sofa, which faced the unlit fireplace. “Are you asking if I recognized you or something? Stalked you?”
“Did you?” he asked as they sat at opposite ends.
“The answer is no, to both questions. How could I know who you are? You’re not a celebrity, are you? And even if I’d recognized your name from the reservations—which I wouldn’t have—you didn’t get a room until after I left the table.” She was working up a little righteous anger at his ego. “And how could I accidentally run into you in the elevator? There were twelve banks of elevators. What were the chances the one I was in would stop on the right floor at the right time to run into you again?”
“I—”
“I understand you don’t want to believe this baby is yours,” she said, “but you seem to be an intelligent man, a logical one. Nothing was preconceived,” she added, trying to lighten the mood.
He didn’t smile even a little bit at her joke, hadn’t smiled once since he’d asked if it was his. “It wouldn’t be the first time a woman falsely claimed a child’s paternity.”
Nicole’s attempt at patience evaporated. “DNA testing has taken care of that problem. It makes it impossible to lie.”
“So why didn’t you tell me?” He set his untouched mug on the coffee table. “If you knew you could prove it, why keep it from me?”
“I did try to tell you. I even went to your house.”
“When?”
“The day after I found out. The day before I was set to move here.”
“I wasn’t at home?”
“You pulled up to your house moments after I got there.” She’d parked in front of his Society Hill town house, the beautiful building confirming her fears—that he came from wealth and status. “But you weren’t alone.”
The woman on his arm had worn a short, sexy black dress and very high heels. He’d slipped his coat jacket around her, then kissed her before they’d climbed the stairs arm in arm and disappeared into the house. Soon after, a light had gone on upstairs. He’d stood silhouetted in the shade-drawn window for a long moment and undone his tie, then he’d moved out of sight.
“I waited for hours,” she said. “Eventually I decided it was fate that you weren’t available, because as I sat there I came to the conclusion that you would think I was shaking you down for money. I figured I should wait until…Well, I thought you had a girlfriend. It sure looked like it. I decided to wait until I was settled in here.”
“You’ve been here for two months.”
She nodded. What could she say? She’d been stalling. Who wouldn’t?
He leaned forward, his arms resting on his thighs, his gaze on the fireplace, even though it wasn’t lit. “What do you want from me?”
She sat back. He hadn’t disputed having a girlfriend. “Nothing.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“To quote you from earlier—tough.” Annoyed, she stood. She was too tired to argue with him. “You need to leave now.”
He hadn’t taken even one sip of his drink, but he headed to the door, grabbing his coat along the way. He hesitated, his hand on the doorknob. “Why’d you do it, Nicole?”
“Be specific.”
“Go to my room with me that night. You were upset about something, enough to cry.”
She closed her eyes for a moment, memories slamming into her, then made eye contact. “Yes, I was hurting, and you offered a kind of comfort. But you were upset about something that night, too.”
He nodded slightly. “I’m usually scrupulous about using condoms. And I assumed you were on the Pill. I should’ve asked.”
“I can’t tolerate the Pill, and I should’ve said so. I don’t know why I didn’t, except that I was a mess that night. But you need to know that I’m not sorry.” She curved her hands over the child she already loved and wanted. Not that she’d accepted her situation instantly, but it had taken a surprisingly short amount of time to do so. “I really don’t expect anything from you.”
Hope was another matter altogether, however. She’d felt something powerful that night, a connection she couldn’t even describe. Yes, she hoped.
“A decent man doesn’t abandon a woman pregnant with his child,” he said.
“We’ll come to some agreement, Devlin. But not tonight, please. I’m exhausted.”
He nodded. “I’ll see you at ten-thirty.” He shut the door behind him.
As his car pulled away she poured his cocoa down the drain then leaned against the sink to sip hers. He was a cool one—unemotional and practical—so different from their night at the hotel, when he’d bombarded her with emotion in the form of incredible sex, intense and challenging and satisfying. Tonight she’d seen the businessman. She’d looked him up on the Internet and learned his family’s business was banking, with several branches in the Philadelphia area.
Old money. Old values, too, she guessed. The privileged son of such a family wouldn’t get involved with a strictly middle-class someone like her—except for a night of anonymous sex.
She wondered how he was going to explain it to his family. If he was going to, that is. Maybe he’d offer her a payoff to keep quiet about the child’s paternity. Wasn’t that the usual way of things in his world?
Just how much was her uncomplicated world about to change?
Three
At exactly ten-thirty the next morning, Nicole pulled into the driveway leading to the grand entrance of the lodge where Devlin was staying. She’d fallen asleep easily after he left and slept well, not waking until almost nine. She felt ready to face him.
Like everyone else in the community, she’d been dying to see inside the lodge, situated outside the small community called Hunter’s Landing. The locals had been abuzz about the house—a 9,000-square-foot, multilevel, log-and-stone structure that had taken almost a year to complete. She’d climbed the path to peer inside at the end of construction, amazed by the number of fireplaces and the majestic staircases. Building permits had been issued to a nonprofit corporation in Los Angeles, the Hunter Palmer Foundation, information deemed newsworthy enough for the local paper. But beyond that, details had been stingy. Curiosity had died when the house was completed and nothing happened, except that a man had stayed there in March, then a different one in April.
