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How was he supposed to fight this? This ethereal image of motherhood.
She smiled, but he only caught half of it, her face turned away as her counsel introduced her to his. Tigh flashed her his easy grin, then offered her a chair, and she sat, clutching her tiny beaded handbag on her lap before she finally twisted a look at him.
Chase nodded.
Tessa nodded.
The air between them was charged with defiance before Tessa turned back to Dia, taking a calming breath. Oh, lord. Did he have to be so handsome? Where were the warts she spent half the night praying for? she wondered as his lawyer gestured to an empty chair and Chase rounded the back of the table, sliding in it. He adjusted his tie and let his gaze creep across the table and up to her face. She could feel it, like a fingertip under her chin, and she fought the urge to look at him. She kept her gaze locked on Dia.
Her lawyer racked papers and addressed Tigh. “Miss Lightfoot wants to know what rights you believe you’re entitled to.”
“I don’t believe I am, I know.”
Tessa looked at him sharply, briefly, and in a heartbeat, Chase was snagged in those vivid green eyes.
“Miss Lightfoot feels this is the clinic’s problem.”
Ignoring Tigh’s prior warning to let him negotiate, Chase went on. “It’s our problem. Because that’s our baby. And does Miss Lightfoot,” he growled, “even have a voice?”
Tessa cocked a look at him. “As a matter of fact I do, though not as loud as yours.”
Chased stared, then grinned suddenly, and Tessa was startled, her cheeks warming.
Dia and Tigh exchanged a glance.
“Surely your client will agree this is an unusual situation,” Tigh said. “We would like to know how this mistake was discovered.”
The lawyers exchanged copies of paperwork. “Lab techs were updating records, a periodic checking of log numbers against donors, making certain no donor is used more than once.” Chase felt his skin tighten. “The donor’s—” Dia cleared her throat, making Chase squirm “—Mr. Madison’s —sperm was incorrectly listed.”
“Then how do they know he’s the one,” Tigh asked, “if he was just a number in a registry?”
Dia glanced at Tessa and she nodded.
“When this matter arose, Miss Lightfoot underwent amniocentesis to be certain.”
That she would go through such pain and risk told Chase more than he wanted to know and he leaned across the table, his gaze flicking between Dia and Tigh, then to Tessa:
“And?” His breath locked in his lungs.
Tessa knew this should come from her and lifted her gaze from her lap, her eyes glossed with unshed tears. She put just enough resentment into her tone as she said, “It was your donation, Mr. Madison.”
The wind went out of Chase then. There had been the shadow, the sliver of a chance that this was just a mix-up in paperwork. But now that warm feeling came again, spreading to his fingers this time, seeping into his heart and burrowing deeper and stronger with each passing moment. A dad. He leaned back in the chair, so damned pleased. And he hoped it showed, hoped this woman realized that he wasn’t giving up any rights to his child, without one hell of a fight.
But Tessa knew, by his expression, his eyes, warming to a wonderful cobalt blue. She looked away suddenly. Oh, Cod, what have I done? Acknowledging him offered him rights. Parental rights. No. He’s just the donor, a test tube of defrosted fluid.
“The difficulty lies in how your sperm was even registered,” Dia was saying. “As I understand it, you and your wife—” Tessa looked instantly horrified and Chase interrupted sharply.
“Ex-wife. Dead ex-wife.” Bitter, a quick slap of fury before it was gone.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Madison,” both women said, but Chase had eyes only for Tessa, his gaze burning over her golden skin as he stared and stared, until she lifted her eyes to his. A small smile curved his lips, half there, half not, and it made her wonder what was hatching in his brain.
“You were going to use a surrogate,” Dia finished, and Tigh agreed for him. “Well, while Mr. Madison’s specimen should have been destroyed at the termination of his marriage, my client was listed as a surrogate.”
Tessa jerked her gaze to her sister. “That’s impossible.”
“Is it?” Chase interjected.
She turned on Chase. “Yes, I would never have a child only to give it away, not for anyone.” Her voice rose. “And Dr. Faraday knows this, knows exactly what I’ve been through!” Dia clasped her hand and Tessa fell into silence.
Chase’s heart suddenly skittered. Was there a problem with the pregnancy? Though he wanted to know, needed to know, he didn’t think she’d tell him if he asked.
“I will never give you my baby,” she asserted, her beautiful eyes sparking with barely checked fury.
“Our baby,” he countered across the table.
“No. Mine. The donor signed over rights when he donated sperm to the bank. That’s why I chose it.”
“Don’t like men, do you?”
Tessa looked appalled and Chase had his answer.
“Regardless,” their lawyers interrupted, sending their clients an I’m-supposed-to-do-the-talking look. Chase and Tessa settled back, stiff, their anger sizzling across the polished table.
“You both have rights. Suing the clinic will not change anything,” came from Dia.
“I don’t want to sue,” Chase said.
“Then we can set up visitation rights when the child is born.”
Chase’s gaze jerked to her attorney’s. “No way. I’m not visiting my own child. I want him.”
Panic, absolute and undeniable, sent Tessa leaning forward, her hand gripping the table ledge. “I don’t want you in my life, Mr. Madison, father or not!” She stood abruptly. “Possession is nine-tenths of the law, and until this child is born, you have no rights.”
“I have the same as any father.”
“Then go off and be anybody’s father. We don’t want you.”
Dia rose and settled Tessa back into the chair, glaring at Chase. “It isn’t wise to upset her,” she remarked.
“Oh Dia, be serious,” Tessa murmured under her breath. “I’m pregnant, not an invalid.”
“Use any weapon you can,” her sister whispered, and Tessa scowled.
“I think the court should decide this,” Tigh suggested.
“No!” came from both parents, nearly bringing them out of their chairs.
Dia and Tigh glanced at each other, then their clients. The lawyers leaned their heads together, speaking softly, and Chase gazed at Tessa. She was fuming mad and he liked it. Even though she was going to fight him in every way she could, he liked it. She was protecting her baby, their baby. But he was just as determined to get what he wanted. His gaze lowered to her fingers drawing slow circles over her tummy, and Chase suddenly wondered what those fingers would feel like on his skin.
Damn.
Where did that come from?
Yet he watched her, the slight tremble in her breath, the way the force of the air conditioning fluttered the delicate fabric of her dress against her breast. She was truly a radiant woman, and he wondered, as any normal man would, what she looked like without his child growing so beautifully inside her.
“Have lunch with me, Miss Lightfoot?”
She blinked, stunned, then her green eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“Don’t you think it would be better for all three of us—” he nodded to her stomach,“—if we came to at least a cease of friendly fire?”
Caught in indecision, Tessa let her gaze linger over him, his rugged features, his dark brown hair, short and cleanly cut, his eyes, blue as a kid’s crayon and penetrating. But mostly, aside from the body in the dark suit, she noticed the lines around those incredible eyes, tanned and crimped and showing Tessa that this man, gruff and angry, smiled. A lot.
“All right.” She nodded almost regally. “Cease-fire agreement. I promise not to throw food at you, at least.”
Chase’s lips tugged at the corners and he folded his arms over his chest, briefly glancing at the floor to hide a smile, but all Tessa noticed was the straining fabric, the muscles hiding beneath the tailored coat. Too sexy for his own good, and she imagined he knew it.
“I’ll meet you at noon at—” she paused, looking thoughtful. “Golden—”
“Arches?” he teased.
“No, Dragon. I want dim sum.”
Chase eyed her, her wonderful belly, then her face. “Cravings, Miss Lightfoot?”
“No. Hunger. Humor me, I’m pregnant,” she said, then stood, kissed her sister’s cheek, and nodded to Tigh before she left. Chase looked from Dia, who was smiling royally, to Tigh, who smiled consistently, then to the empty chair. He bolted for the door and the lawyers dropped back into their chairs.
“I feel as if I’ve cheated my client,” Tigh said.
“Me, too.”
“We didn’t do anything.”
Dia sent him a sly glance. “Oh, I think we did.”
At the elevator Chase caught her, pressed the down button and grinned.
“I said noon.”
“Where are you going?”
“If it’s any of your business, back to work.”
“Work?”
“What? Did you think I was independently wealthy? That I could have a baby when I felt like it?”
He shook his head, jamming his hands in his trouser pockets and ruining the fine lines of the suit. “I don’t know what to think.”
“Good.”
His lips thinned. “Try not to fire on a white Hag,” he said through gritted teeth.
Tessa sighed heavily. “Look, Mr. Madison—”
“Chase.”
“Mr. Madison,” she stressed. “You may have contributed to the gene pool, but that’s it.”
“Are you going to hold the fact that I can’t give birth against me?”
She reared back. “Of course not. But we don’t have anything to say to each other, and I’d like to keep it that way. Lunch is a compromise.”
“You mean a concession to the lowly father, huh?”
God, it sounded so insensitive and spiteful when he put it like that.
“I’m meaningless to you, aren’t I?” he continued. “You couldn’t care less if I spend the next ten years trying to gain my rights.”
The elevator chimed and the door sprang open. She stepped inside and Chase stood still as she faced him and punched the lobby button. The moments between gave her a chance to forget his hurt look and retrieve her determination. He didn’t want to simply help financially as Dia suspected. Chase Madison wanted her baby and he was planning to make her life miserable.
“Forget about me, Mr. Madison. The last thing I want is you in my baby’s life.”
The door closed and Chase jerked his tie loose, then shoved his fingers through his hair. Not the baby’s life, he thought angrily, or yours?
Tessa watched him from a distance, gathering her nerve. He’d changed into more casual clothes, and she remembered how he’d kept tugging at his tie earlier that morning. He either didn’t wear suits often or just didn’t like them, she decided. She watched him as he stared off into the street. The sidewalk café was a good spot, open, crowded. They couldn’t argue here. Yet it struck her that he looked lonely, forgotten, relaxed in the chair, one arm slung over the back. Women paraded past him, hoping, she didn’t doubt, to catch his attention. But he didn’t spare them a glance, his gaze so distant she felt a pang of sympathy. He was divorced, his wife dead, and he lived alone. That’s all Dia had been able to find out in such a short time, other than that he owned a construction company.
And you want to take his child away from him. a voice pestered. She moved her shoulder as if to nudge it away. He wants to take my baby. Mine. This child had been all hers, until last week, until his lawyer called, until computer glitches and the damn clinic made it his, too.
Liar, the voice cried. Liar. He is the biological father.
Tessa rubbed the space between her eyes, willing back the threat of a headache, and straightened her shoulders. Nodding to the mître d’, she followed him to the table. As if sensing her presence, Chase turned his head, then leapt to his feet, pulling out a chair. She sank into it gratefully, working off her shoes. Pregnancy and happy feet did not coexist.
She smelled like cinnamon, Chase decided as he tucked her chair and took his seat. They ordered, and when the waiter left, Chase turned his attention to the woman across from him. He’d positioned her chair at a safe distance, sensing she didn’t want to be too close, and he didn’t want to scare her off. The stakes were too high. She could vanish, taking his unborn child with her, and Chase would be left alone. Again.
“Are you just going to stare at me or what?”
His gaze lingered over her dress. It was the same one she’d worn earlier that morning, and he was glad she hadn’t changed. He liked the antique look. It suited her.
“Where do you work, Tessa?” he asked
She thought about saying nothing, but with Tigh McBain for a lawyer, Chase likely knew the shade of her bathroom by now.
“I have a shop about four blocks from here, Mr. Madi-son, ” she enunciated, hoping he caught her meaning.
He did, but ignored it. “Let me guess, a dress shop.”
“No, an everything shop. Tessa’s Attic.”
