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She glanced again at the clock and saw with relief the hands had finally moved and Mel should be back any moment so she could slither to her office, or maybe home. This damn bug was taking for ever to work its way out of her system. Lovesick, she mocked bitterly, that was what she was—or lust-sick.
The door opened and Cally dragged herself to her feet, not wanting to look such a layabout in front of a customer.
The blonde was pretty and as pregnant as it was possible to be. She looked puffy in the face and hot and Cally was amazed she wanted soup at all. She looked at the fridge and gave Cally a conspiratorial grin.
‘Do you have any cold soups?’
‘Like gazpacho?’
As Cally moved the nausea rose and the walls started wobbling. Oh, hell, she wasn’t going to faint again, was she?
‘Are you OK?’ Curious concern was clear in her customer’s gaze and Cally lowered hers to avoid it. She stared at the round belly. A sudden suspicion gripped her. She felt warmth flooding into her cheeks. She managed to ask.
‘When are you due?’
‘Just over a month.’
And the thoughts swirling in her head were so dizzying, so impossible and yet so true. She couldn’t believe it. Could hardly dare to think it. Excitement and hope and incredulity flooded her and in the craziness her brain decided it couldn’t cope—it needed to descend into darkness to meditate on the idea a while.
She came round and stared into Mel’s concerned face.
‘Cally, not again!’ Mel was on her knees beside her, clutching at Cally’s upper arms, rubbing them as if she were cold.
Cally threw her a ‘settle down’ look.
Mel wasn’t having it. ‘You have to go home. See a doctor. This has gone on too long to be some bug.’
Cally looked over to see if the customer had left. No. The pregnant woman was looking right back at her. For a suspended moment their gazes met and meshed. Recognition flowed between the two. A shared knowledge.
Cally grinned, the first huge, natural beam in three weeks. Unstoppable delight. And the curious question in the customer’s eye settled into certainty.
‘Mel, I’m fine. Really. I’m absolutely fine. In fact, I’m fantastic.’
‘I’ve got that info you wanted.’
It was first thing the day after he’d asked her. Judith could always be relied upon to deliver the goods. He’d hired her immediately on application. She had drive, dedication and was completely and utterly competent. And she was thoroughly in love with her husband, which meant there wasn’t any risk of unwanted attraction or distraction. He wasn’t looking forward to having to replace her. She also had a social networking system like no one else he’d ever encountered. Which was why she’d been the one to hit up unsuspecting males for the bachelor auction.
Today he could see she looked agitated. Usually her eyes sparkled and good humour shone from her—even when he was being demanding. But now she looked troubled and, yes, apprehensive. He sat very still and braced himself. Whatever it was, she didn’t want to tell him and that gave him the feeling he didn’t want to hear it.
‘Tell all.’
‘You know the state of the business already—you can see from the sales sheet there. I’ve pulled the most recent mentions in the paper—social stories as well as business. Seems she’s pretty active in the charity scene although not obviously so. No significant male interest. In fact you could say she’s conspicuously single. She’s known as a workaholic.’
‘What else?’ He gripped the pencil that little bit tighter. ‘Spit it out, Judith.’
His secretary sighed and looked him straight in the eye. ‘I think she might be pregnant.’
‘What?’
‘I think she’s pregnant.’
Blake picked up the two pieces of the pencil and tossed them into the rubbish bin by his desk, leaned back in his chair and tried, vainly, for a relaxed pose. ‘What makes you say that?’
The uncomfortable look increased. ‘I have no concrete evidence. But I do have intuition, Blake, and she was fainting and she looked at me, looked at my tummy and I just know it, Blake. I know it.’
Judith did not get things wrong. He knew to trust her judgment. If she thought there was good reason to suspect anything, then he’d suspect it.
‘Early on, I’d say. She’s not showing or anything. In fact, I think she’s still getting used to it herself. Certainly keeping it to herself—she hasn’t told her staff.’
Blake stared into middle distance. Judith’s voice faded as he thought about the possibilities. The implications. Then he remembered what she’d said—that she was never having children, that nothing was more important to her than her business. He’d assumed she meant she was covered contraception-wise. A career girl through and through. Just like Paola.
She’d better not be just like Paola.
He swore—short, sharp and loud. He was not going to be shut out again. He was not going to be robbed of all power. He’d get in there and make damn sure his baby was all right. Nothing would happen to another child of his. He wouldn’t let it—not this time.
She’d been so adamant about her business being her priority. His eyes narrowed, as did his concentration. This was the business about whose future she was unsure—how unsure? Exactly how honest had she been with him? What the hell kind of game was she playing?
He rapidly reassessed his plan. If what Judith thought was true then Cally Sinclair had no idea what was about to hit her. OK, so this wasn’t going to be some nice little beneficial-for-all merger. This was a takeover. And he was quite happy for it to be hostile, because one thing was for sure: he was going to be in control.
‘Blake?’ He heard his PA’s soft voice and when he looked at her he realised it wasn’t the first time she’d tried to get his attention.
‘Is there anything I can do?’ She looked worried.
‘No.’ He summoned a slight grin. ‘Thanks. Head home and rest up. I’ll handle things here.’
‘It’s a few hours off home time, but I’ll leave you in peace and find something to do.’ She gave him a look but said nothing further, reminding him why he’d given her that rise. Then she stood and made for the door.
‘Judith?’ She turned to look at him. ‘I don’t need to remind you about discretion, do I?’
CHAPTER EIGHT
CALLY slothed on the sofa in her favourite raggedy robe and kept pressing the button on the remote. Finally she stopped on a cooking channel, only to press it again when she saw they were doing awful things with offal. She was in such a state of shock she couldn’t focus on her computer, or a book, she’d be best off with a lame comedy, complete with cues telling her when to laugh. Ten minutes later she couldn’t have told anyone a thing about the show screening. She was kidding herself she was calming down when inside her head there were at least five hamsters competing on treadmills with bells and whistles attached.
The hammering on the door startled her. She heaved herself up, head spinning, made her way to the door and peeked through the peephole.
Damn.
‘Open up. I know you’re in there, Cally.’
Hell, her insides were going mush-tastic. Her silly heart let out a squeal. Her lower belly began to soften like liquid honey. But her head hit the panic button. She’d fob him off for now. Deal with him when she was on better form. She pasted a smile on and opened the door. ‘Blake, what a surprise.’
He too wore a smile but its edges were sharper than a porcupine spike. ‘You didn’t get my message?’
‘What message was that?’
He held up a couple of grocery bags. ‘That I’d be doing dinner tonight.’
‘Umm …’ Stunned, she tried to think. Message? What message? When message? How message? He was here to do dinner? Half thrilled, half terrified, totally hungry and utterly too late, she went to decline, polite platitudes finally finding their way to her brain.
He’d already pushed past and was disappearing down the hall. She had nothing else to do but shut the door and follow him. He’d gone straight to her kitchen and was unpacking the contents of the bags onto the island bench. Unsure of what to say she looked at the label on the bottle of wine, brows lifting when she saw the vintage. She glanced up and found him studying her sardonically.
‘Why so surprised? I’m not cheap, Calypso, as well you know.’
Her ears pricked. ‘Since when do you call me Calypso? How do you know my name is Calypso?’
He took the bottle and lazily started uncorking it. ‘Shall we let it breathe a while?’
She said nothing, just kept her stare up, eyebrows still sky high.
The cork came out with a small, satisfying pop. ‘I had you investigated.’
‘You what?’
‘Not by a private eye. I wanted to find out more about you. So I got my PA to dig round.’
‘Around what—me or my business?’
‘Your company initially, but, as you are your company, a bit came up about you too—nothing terribly exciting save the odd rumour. And as you haven’t been around to ask I got her to—’ He broke off. ‘Where’ve you been these last few weeks, Cally? Not at work?’
‘I haven’t been well.’
‘Oh?’ He skimmed over her robe. ‘Nothing serious, I hope?’
She ignored the obvious question. ‘What rumour? About the company? Food isn’t your business. Money is.’
‘Your food makes money. You’ve got a solid performer there.’
‘Don’t try to flatter me. What’s your interest?’
He turned his attention to the bag again, lifted out various-sized containers.
‘Calypso.’ He mused. ‘Calypso—the concealer. Did you know your name meant that? Got anything you’re concealing, Cally?’
‘It’s the name my airhead mother gave me because she wanted something different. I think I’m lucky really. It could have been a lot worse.’
‘Hmm. Seems appropriate to me.’
What did he mean by that? She didn’t get the chance to ask because he was talking again and she was so surprised to see him all she could do was stare.
‘So, have a glass of wine with me. I’ve got some other delicacies.’
She watched with horror as he poured two glasses full of the deep red wine and then pulled the lid off a tub of marinated mussels. Shellfish. She shouldn’t have shellfish. Then he lifted out a creamy camembert so ripe the smell had her gagging.
Quickly she went to the sink and ran a glass of water. Knowing she had to take small sips. Just small or she’d lose it all.
He’d fallen silent, not drinking, not laying out the nibbles, not eating, just watching her with intense focus.
‘I’m not really feeling like wine tonight,’ she started babbling. ‘Not that hungry, actually. Would you mind if we postponed this? I’m afraid I didn’t get your message.’
‘I thought it would be a nice surprise.’ He placed the glasses across from each other on the centre island. ‘Don’t you like surprises?’ He ripped the lid off another container. ‘I don’t much like them either. And I don’t want to postpone this. In fact …’ he stopped moving altogether and simply stared at her—hard ‘… I think we need to have that chat we didn’t have a few weeks ago.’
She just needed to keep breathing, she thought desperately as she heard the steel behind his words. Whatever it was he wanted to talk about, he wasn’t going away. Defensive, guilty, she tried to rouse anger that he’d had someone pry into her life. ‘I can’t believe you had me investigated.’
His body tensed. ‘Nothing that isn’t readily available. Company records, newspaper articles, financial accounts. You come from interesting stock, Cally. It wasn’t hard to find out about you. But, honestly, it wasn’t that helpful. I already know things about you that not many others could possibly know. I don’t need an investigator to know you intimately.’ His voice lowered and his eyes were like lasers. ‘I already know how you want it, what you like me to do, how you sound when I do it.’
The reaction in her body was immediate and she ran her fingers across her forehead, obscuring her face so he wouldn’t see it. The heat fevered her mind and the temptation to slip her robe off her shoulders was almost irresistible. But it wasn’t Blake-The-Playful standing here now and nor was she in any position to resume some frivolous, meaningless sex-a-thon. Clamping down on the desire, she looked back to him, waiting to hear what it was he had to say.
He gestured to the delicacies now spread between them on the bench. ‘You sure you won’t have some of the cheese? It’s really very good.’
If it was even remotely a risk Cally wasn’t having it. But he moved to stand opposite her. ‘I know you like gourmet, Cally. Have some with me.’
‘No.’
‘An oyster, then?’ He skewered one and waved it in her direction.
‘No.’
Something settled in Blake’s face. He put the fork down, placed his hands on the bench and leaned across it towards her. She stood still and tried to ignore how damned attractive he was, fighting the magnetism dragging her towards him and the sweet craving for intimacy.
Looking her square in the eye, he spoke softly so she listened hard. ‘I’m nothing if not honest with you, Cally. Can you say the same to me?’
She was hypnotised by his eyes, burning inside, and her newly discovered but most treasured secret tumbled out.
‘I’m pregnant,’ she whispered and her heart thundered. He was the first person she’d told. She supposed it was right that it be him. She had been going to tell him anyway—some time.
‘Congratulations.’ He said it coolly but then picked up his glass of wine and emptied it in one gulp. ‘How far along are you?’
‘Only a little. I only just found out.’
‘Only a little? You’re either pregnant or you’re not, Cally.’
‘I am. I’m pregnant.’ Even as she said it—to a guy who was looking less than thrilled about the idea—she couldn’t stop the thrill running inside. Unutterable delight. She’d never expected to be able to say that, had refused to dream it could or would ever happen. But it had.
He refilled his glass. Took another sip—this time not quite draining the glass but, still, it was no way to drink a bottle of wine that expensive. ‘I thought you said you were never having children.’ He was looking frostier by the second. She’d known this would probably be his reaction but disappointment jolted her all the same.
‘I shouldn’t have. The chances of my conceiving a baby are—’
‘What, one in six?’
He definitely was not pleased. She knew then to kiss goodbye any fantasy of baby makes three and happy ever after. Blake didn’t need to worry; she wanted nothing from him. Well, that wasn’t strictly true. She’d thought these last three weeks had got her over that attraction. But one second of seeing him through that door and the all-encompassing desire was back.
But there was a lot more at stake now and she was better off ridding him from her life. She’d swallow the lust and focus on her future—hers and her baby’s.
He strolled, with an unmistakable air of menace, around the island separating them, coming to tower over her.
‘So what exactly were you bidding for at that auction, Cally? Sperm donor?’
She gaped. ‘No.’
