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“Liz did do it to you. She did it to us both.”
Regan shook her head. “No! She would have told me. I know she would.”
Cole swore, jammed his hands through his hair. “I thought she had told you. But whether you like it or not, I am the father of the baby you’re carrying.”
It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true. Panic racing through her, she blurted out, “You’re lying. You have to be.”
“Why the devil would I lie? What could I possibly hope to gain?”
“Vengeance,” she replied without hesitation. “You hate me. You told me so the day I ended our marriage.” As long as she lived, she would never forget the bitterness in Cole’s voice when he’d thrown those words at her. Or the way she’d felt—as though he’d run a knife through her heart.
“I was angry at the time.”
“You meant it.” And he had. She had seen it in the way he’d looked at her with such utter contempt. Even now just the memory made her shudder.
“Can you blame me?” he snapped. “Can you? You were pregnant with my child. You had married me, sworn that you loved me, would always love me. But the minute your father showed up and threatened to cut your purse strings, all those pretty vows you took weren’t worth spit. You high-tailed it home with daddy and left me.”
“I told you later why I did it. I tried to explain—”
“You made excuses, princess. That’s all they were. Excuses. The truth is that you liked the sex between us and needed to dress it up as love to justify what we did. But you didn’t love me, and you didn’t trust me to take care of you and our baby.”
“Believe what you want.” Defending herself against his accusations would be pointless. If he hadn’t believed her twelve years ago, he certainly wouldn’t believe her now. Besides, even if she did manage to convince him that he’d been wrong, what good would it do now? They couldn’t go back and undo the past. Whatever love he’d felt for her—if it had indeed been love and not simply a mixture of lust and guilt over taking her innocence—those feelings had died the moment she’d told him she’d lost their baby. Even now, a chill went through her as she recalled Cole asking her if she’d lost his child or gotten rid of it. Shoving the crippling memory from her thoughts, Regan met his wintry gaze.
“I believe what your actions told me. The fact that you chose daddy and his money over me said plenty.”
Not up to arguing with him, Regan shrugged. Feigning a calm she was far from feeling, she shifted her gaze away from those laser-sharp eyes and reached for her now-tepid cup of tea. She took a sip. The brew could have been dishwater for all she knew because her mouth tasted like ashes. “Which brings us back to my point. I bruised that monster-sized pride of yours, and you’ve never forgiven me for it. You swore someday I’d regret making a fool of you. Aunt Liz telling you about the baby and how I got pregnant would make it easy for you to pretend you’re the father and certainly give you an opportunity to settle the score.”
“Is that what you believe? That I’m settling a score?”
“Why should I believe otherwise? Even if Aunt Liz had asked you to be my sperm donor, we both know you would never have agreed. You hate me too much.”
“Evidently not nearly as much as you seem to think,” he said, his voice as tight as his expression. “Because you are pregnant, and it’s my baby you’re carrying.”
Another flutter of panic twisted through her. Regan tightened her fingers around the cup she held. She didn’t want to believe him, didn’t dare believe him. “You’re lying—”
“I’m telling you the truth,” Cole countered, cutting off her denial. His expression thunderous, he moved closer, crowding her until her back nudged the kitchen counter.
She started to move away, but Cole’s arm shot out, blocking her escape. Regan slapped her gaze up to his. And she went still at the cold determination in his eyes.
After a long moment, he said, “Liz told me about your problem a few months ago, and she did ask me to be a sperm donor. Foolishly, I agreed and until a few minutes ago I thought you had, too. But then, I guess I should have known better. Because you would never have wanted a man like me to father your baby, would you, princess?”
She didn’t even bother dignifying his taunt with an answer.
“But the fact is it was my sperm Liz used. Mine. Unfortunately, you’re just going to have to accept the fact that the baby you’re carrying is mine.”
He was telling her the truth. Even if the conviction in his voice hadn’t told her, she could read the truth in his cold, hard eyes.
She was carrying Cole’s baby. Just like the last time. No, not like the last time. This time there was no love, no tenderness.
As the full measure of her predicament hit her, Regan’s hands started to tremble. So did her legs. Suddenly the cheery lemon-and-white kitchen began to spin, and her body began to slide to the floor.
Cole swore. “Regan!”
On some level, Regan was aware of Cole snatching the wobbling cup from her fingers, of his strong arms wrapping around her, of him muttering something about crazy women. The colors in the room collided, turning into a sickly shade of gray. Then, as though in a dream, she felt herself being lifted, her head falling against his sturdy chest where a heart beat strong and fast beneath her fingertips.
And as she sank into the sea of gray that rushed up to swallow her, the last thing Regan remembered was the sound of Cole’s voice whispering, “Come on. Open your eyes for me, princess.”
At the sound of Cole’s voice calling her princess, Regan fought her way back through the gray fog that had engulfed her.
“Come on. That’s a girl. Open your eyes for me.”
Slowly she lifted her heavy eyelids, her lashes fluttered once, twice, and finally Cole’s face came into focus. His expression was grim, Regan noted and she caught a glimmer of alarm in his eyes. When the grip on her fingers tightened painfully, she realized that he was holding her hand.
“That’s it,” Cole murmured. He brushed a strand of hair away from her face, and he placed a cool, damp cloth on her forehead. “That’s it. That’s a good girl. Come on back now,” he coaxed.
“W-what happened?”
“You fainted,” he told her, his voice taut, his skin the color of paste.
“Sorry.”
“Dammit, Regan, I don’t want an apology. I…” He whooshed out a breath. “Are you all right?”
Regan blinked, taken aback by the concern in Cole’s tone. Lord, if she didn’t know better, she would actually think Cole cared about her. Just as quick as the thought came, she nipped it. That was one bridge she had no intention of buying. “I’m okay. I just got a little dizzy for a minute.” She started to sit up.
“Stay put,” he ordered, pressing a restraining hand against her shoulders. “There’s an ambulance on the way and Liz is going to meet us at the hospital.”
“What?” Regan slapped his hand away and sat up. Still slightly woozy, it took a moment before she realized that she was on the couch in her office. “You can just cancel that ambulance and tell my aunt not to bother going anywhere. Because I’m not going to the hospital.”
“You’re going.”
“Think again, Thornton. No one tells me what to do—least of all you.” She scooched herself up into a semi-sitting position and dragged in a calming breath. “Listen, I appreciate your concern. But there’s nothing wrong with me. I’m fine.”
“The hell you are!” Hands bunched into fists at his sides, Cole glared down at her. “You call tossing up your cookies and fainting fine?”
“No. I call it being pregnant,” she informed him.
He eyed her warily as though she were some alien creature that he wasn’t quite sure how to handle. Lord, but the man was a mess, Regan realized. He fit every cliché about expectant fathers that she’d ever heard of, from the off-color skin tone and panic-stricken eyes right down to the dark hair that looked as though he’d combed it with a rake. The last time she’d been pregnant, she couldn’t remember him being so shaken. Not that she would have noticed. She’d been far too busy—first trying to convince Cole they should elope and then later trying to placate her father. But the poor guy was definitely shook up now, she thought, an amused smile curving her lips.
“I’m glad you think this is funny,” the object of her musings snapped and rammed a fist through his already mussed hair. “You scared the hell out of me!”
“Sorry,” she murmured, but she couldn’t quite make herself feel remorse—not when her heart was still doing extra blips over the fact that Cole was actually worried about her. “I mean it. I really am sorry if I scared you. But please, no ambulance. Honestly, I feel fine now.”
Cole shoved his hands into his pockets and huffed out a deep breath. “For Pete’s sake. You’re pregnant, princess. What if something…is wrong?”
“There’s nothing wrong with me,” she assured him.
“What about the baby?”
The momentary pleasure induced by his concern for her died swiftly. Of course, it wasn’t her Cole was worried about. It was the baby. “There’s nothing wrong with the baby. I’m pregnant, Cole. Sometimes pregnant women get nauseous and have dizzy spells.”
“You don’t. The last time…”
He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to. Because they both remembered that the last time she’d been pregnant she hadn’t been sick at all. It wasn’t until she’d missed her period for the third time that she’d even bought a test kit and confirmed her suspicions. To his credit, Cole hadn’t hesitated to take responsibility. He’d insisted they get married right away. Oh, he had said all the right things that a seventeen-year-old girl needed to hear—that he loved her, that he would have asked her to marry him in a few years anyway, that they were just moving up the timetable a bit. Of course, she hadn’t realized at the time how important it was to Cole that his child be born legitimate or that his insistence that they marry might have been due to her being pregnant and not because he loved her. She’d had plenty of time to figure that out later—after she’d lost the baby, after Cole had refused to listen to her pleas for a second chance, after he had left town and her for good.
“I still don’t think you should take any chances.”
“I don’t intend to,” she told him, pulling her thoughts back from the past. She stood and made her way over to the phone and buzzed her assistant. “Amy, please cancel the ambulance Mr. Thornton ordered and then notify my aunt that I’m all right and there’s no need for her to go to the hospital.” After assuring the other woman she was indeed fine, she hung up the phone and turned to face Cole.
“I want you to see a doctor,” he informed her, a forbidding scowl on his face.
“I plan to.”
“I’ll drive you.” He started for the door, then stopped when she didn’t follow. “What’s wrong?”
“I can get to the doctor on my own.”
“How? By driving?”
“Yes—by driving.”
He frowned. “And suppose you have another dizzy spell or black out while you’re driving? What then? You could hurt yourself, the baby and God knows who else.”
She hadn’t thought of that, Regan conceded. Cole was right. She really had no business driving as long as she was having these dizzy spells. Still, she had no intention of going anywhere with Cole—not until she had a long conversation with her Aunt Liz and figured out exactly what she was going to do. “I’ll get Amy to drive me or I’ll take a taxi.”
“I said I’d take you.”
Refusing to be bullied, Regan sank down on the chair behind her desk. “I appreciate the offer. But I prefer going alone.”
His lips thinned. Marching over to her, he planted both hands firmly on the desk’s surface and leaned in so that she was forced to look at him. “Let’s get something straight, princess. That baby you’re carrying is mine. And I have no intention of letting you shut me out of any decisions or matters where my child is concerned. I have rights as the father, and I intend to exercise them.”
The mention of his parental rights brought Regan’s predicament slamming home. She didn’t doubt for a second that Cole was telling her the truth. That he had been her sperm donor. But she had no intention of admitting as much to him. Not yet anyway. Oh, Aunt Liz, how could you have done this to me? What if Cole fights me for the baby? What if…?
Regan clamped down on the panic bubbling inside her and once again reminded herself that she wasn’t the naive, love-struck girl Cole had married all those years ago. She was an independent, responsible woman now—a woman who refused to be intimidated by the likes of Cole Thornton. She shoved back her chair and stood. Squaring her shoulders, Regan tipped up her chin and said, “If this is in fact your baby that I’m carrying, then you and I will talk about your rights with our lawyers. But until I confirm that with my aunt, I suggest you back off.”
“Go ahead and talk to Liz. But if I were you, princess, I’d start getting used to the idea of me being around. Because I intend to be a part of my child’s life.”
Marching over to the door, Regan held it open for him. “If Aunt Liz confirms your story, I’ll have my lawyer get in touch with you.”
He walked over to where she stood with her back ramrod straight, her hand on the doorknob. He stood so close to her, she could smell the spicy scent of his cologne. As he stared at her, a devilish glint came into his eyes. Slowly, he slid his gaze down the length of her, then back up again, and Regan’s pulse began to stammer. When his eyes locked with hers again, his mouth twisted into that crooked smile that had made a seventeen-year-old girl fall head-over-heels in love. “Don’t worry. Liz will confirm my story.”
“We’ll see.”
His smile widened, giving her the full benefit of that killer smile. “One more thing, princess,” he murmured softly, catching her chin and leaning in close.
“What?” she asked breathlessly, far too aware of his nearness and the feel of his fingers on her skin.
“Forget about having your lawyer call.” He brushed his mouth against hers, a featherlike caress that sent tremors through her body, awakening memories and needs buried ages ago. When he lifted his head, he took her hand and pressed a card into her palm. “My cell phone number’s on there. You call me.”
But Regan didn’t call—not that afternoon or the next. Nor did she respond to any of the messages he’d left at her office, her home or on her car phone. Caught somewhere between irritation and concern, Cole half-listened on his cell phone to the hotel operator as she read off a string of new phone messages to him. Apparently everyone wanted to speak with him—his assistant, his banker, his stockbroker. Even the luscious redhead he’d met in Paris last week who had somehow managed to track him down at the hotel in New Orleans. Everyone wanted to speak with him—except Regan.
As the hotel operator droned on, Cole paced the length of the veranda at the front of the St. Claire estate, where he’d spent the past two hours waiting for Regan. Leaning on the banister, he stared up at the sky. The sun had set long ago, leaving a slight nip in the air. A full moon lit up the heavens, and stars splattered across the skyline, shimmering like diamonds on beds of black velvet.
“That’s the last of this batch, Mr. Thornton,” the operator said.
“Um, thank you,” Cole murmured, rubbing his weary eyes. “Just leave those in my box at the front desk with the others. But if Ms. St. Claire should call—”
“We’ll have her phone you on your cellular right away,” the operator said, then read off the number he’d left the other half-dozen times he’d checked in with the hotel on the off chance that Regan had tried to reach him there. “Don’t worry, sir. Everyone at the front desk’s been alerted that you’re expecting a call from Ms. St. Claire. The minute she calls, we’ll be sure to have her contact you.”
“Thanks,” Cole muttered as he ended the call, chagrined that he’d obviously made a nuisance of himself. “Dammit, Regan. Where are you? And why in the devil haven’t you called me?”
But he had a feeling he already knew the answer. It was the kiss. Kissing her had been a mistake. He still wasn’t sure what had possessed him to kiss her in the first place. The blasted woman had reminded him of a spitting cat yesterday afternoon with her green eyes flashing, that stubborn chin of hers poking up in the air while she ordered him to back off. He’d only meant to ruffle her fur a bit. Instead he’d been the one to get ruffled. Hell, ruffled didn’t come close to what that one kiss had done to him. A simple case of attraction had turned into full-blown lust and short-circuited his brain.
Dammit, he’d frightened her. Hell, he’d scared himself, he admitted. Because he’d wanted her with a fierceness that bordered on pain. And she’d known it, too. That was the reason she hadn’t called him. He’d pushed her too hard, too fast—just as he had twelve years ago when he’d used her pregnancy to bind her to him in marriage. She hadn’t been ready for marriage. He’d known it, but he’d pushed her anyway because he’d been afraid he would lose her. Thinking back to that time, to the mistakes that he’d made, Cole cursed his impatience and all that it had cost him. Regan had been so innocent—part girl, part woman and pure temptation. She’d been caught up in the flush of her first passion and too blinded to know the difference between lust and love. He, on the other hand, had been born old and was long past innocent. The four-year difference in their ages might as well have been forty. He had known from the time he was six years old what he wanted in life—to be rich, successful, respected—and he’d made up his mind to do whatever was necessary to make it happen. He’d allowed nothing and no one to deter him from the path he’d set for himself.
Until Regan.
He hadn’t counted on her coming into his life…on him wanting her, needing her, loving her. She was everything he’d ever dreamed of in a mate. Only she had come into his life too soon—before he’d been able to make himself into somebody, before he’d had a right to love her, to expect her to love him. But he’d been selfish and loved her anyway. And for the short time that she’d been his, he had felt less alone. He’d almost believed that she truly loved him, that who and what he was didn’t matter.
Of course, it had mattered. He grimaced as he reflected upon his self-delusions. Even now, the admission of his stupidity left a bitter taste in his mouth. How had he ever allowed himself to believe that a sharp mind, a strong back and ambition would wipe out the fact that he was the bastard son of a woman who cleaned houses for a living? He hadn’t belonged in Regan’s world of black-tie dinners, designer gowns and blue bloods. Just as she hadn’t belonged in his world of two jobs, rundown apartments, and no time to hit the study books. So he’d pushed her. And in the end, his impatience had cost him not only Regan, but the life of his unborn child.
The hollow ache that always came with thoughts of the baby daughter who had died before she’d ever had a chance to live threatened to claim him now. Dwelling on the past was the last thing he needed. He couldn’t change the past, Cole reminded himself. He needed to think of the future, of the new baby growing inside Regan.
His baby. Regardless of the circumstances, they had conceived another child together, which meant he and Regan were once again a part of each other’s lives. Once again, Regan and their unborn baby were his responsibilities. And, unlike his own father, he intended to live up to his responsibilities—even if it meant fighting Regan to do it. No child of his was going to be subjected to taunts and whispers, made to feel his or her birth had been a mistake. His child was never going to wonder who daddy was because his child was going to have his last name. A fact which he intended to make clear to Regan—just as soon as she got home.
If she got home. Cole stared at the cell phone, willed the thing to ring. It remained silent instead. Impatient, he flipped the phone open and started to punch in Liz’s number again. Just as quickly he slapped the thing shut. If Liz had heard from Regan, she would have called him—especially after he’d taken his well-meaning friend to task for meddling in his and Regan’s lives. Besides, Liz had said that when Regan had stormed out of the clinic four hours ago, she’d been royally miffed with her aunt and had claimed that she needed to think about what she was going to do.
So where the devil did you go to do your thinking, princess?
A late March wind, heavy with the scent of night jasmine, whistled through moss-draped oak trees that stood along the property that had been in Regan’s family since the turn of the century. The familiar scents of New Orleans brought back a rush of memories. Memories of the tiny, dank apartments where he had lived with his mother as a boy, places that had been sweltering hot in the summer and freezing cold in the winter. Other memories washed over him like scenes in a kaleidoscope—memories of his mother working, struggling to make ends meet by scrubbing floors in other people’s homes until her hands were worn and wrinkled. Unable to stop the flood of memories, he squeezed his eyes shut as the scenes tumbled behind his closed lids. His mother serving the fancy guests at parties in the beautiful homes. His mother shuffling him off to a corner in a kitchen and telling him to be a good boy while she worked. Him sneaking peeks at the party guests and wanting to join the other kids there. Him wishing he could be like those other kids, wishing that he belonged.
Cole opened his eyes and drew in a cleansing breath. Bracing his back against one of the home’s stately columns, he listened to the tinkling of a wind chime somewhere. The musical sound triggered another memory—a memory of other nights like this one—nights when, as a youth, he’d wandered through the dark, narrow streets of the French Quarter, lured by the soulful music and sultry scents, the ghostly tales of pirates and voodoo, the promises of sex and sin that lurked on every corner. He recalled how quickly one turn down a wrong street could prove not only dangerous, but deadly. Suddenly fear knotted like a fist in Cole’s stomach. How many times had Regan taken off to roam the French Quarter streets when she’d wanted to be alone to mull over a problem or brood about an argument with her father?
What if Regan had gone walking in the French Quarter tonight to think?
Bile rose in Cole’s throat at the thought. She knew the area like the back of her hand, the places to avoid, the areas no woman or man should ever venture alone, Cole told himself.
But what if she had another dizzy spell? Or if, in her distressed state, she wandered down one of those wrong streets?
Cole’s heart slammed against his ribs, and he took off across the veranda at a run. “Damn! Damn! Damn!” He should have insisted on going with her. She and the baby were his responsibilities now. If anything had happened to her or the baby—
Cole shut off the thought, refused to even give credence to the notion that something could have happened to her. Still, he raced down the stairs, taking them two at a time. His feet had barely cleared the last step when the black iron gates fronting the property’s entrance swung open, and Regan’s white BMW came cruising up the long driveway.
Relief flooded through Cole, making his heart kick. Remembering past mistakes, Cole forced himself to stay put, not to rush out to meet her and demand an explanation of where she had been. It took Regan no more than a few minutes to park the car and maneuver the path to the house, but to Cole it seemed an eternity. An eternity in which he jammed his hands into his pockets and dug deeply inside himself for patience while every instinct demanded he snag her close, run his hands over her and assure himself she was unharmed.
“Cole,” she said, her voice strained, her expression wary. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
From the expression on her face, he knew that she hadn’t wanted to see him here. The realization smarted more than Cole had thought possible, but he handled it as he had so many others in his life—by focusing on his goal. And his goal at the moment was the baby. “I didn’t hear from you,” he said, taking care to keep any accusation out of his tone. “When I couldn’t reach you by phone, I came here. Since you weren’t home, I decided to wait.” He saw no point in telling her that he’d been waiting for more than two hours, that he’d called everyone he could think of, searching for her, and that he’d been about to start tearing the city apart to find her.
