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Ella’s gaze shimmered back into focus as a rough palm touched her cheek and blunt fingers sank into her hair. Those deep emerald eyes searched her face, making her chest tighten.
She nodded, gently, feeling stunned, her sex still clenching and releasing from the intensity of her orgasm. Seemed absence didn’t just make the heart grow fonder.
‘Yes,’ she whispered, her throat raw from the wellspring of emotion.
His lips curved, and he placed a tender kiss on her forehead. ‘Come on.’ He hefted her into his arms, bracing his forearm under her buttocks as she held onto his shoulders. ‘Let’s grab a shower. Then I want a cupcake.’
‘But we still need to talk,’ she murmured against his neck.
‘Sure. But first I want to see that magnificent rack covered in soap suds.’
She chuckled, resting her head on his shoulder, and draping her arms around his neck, her emotions too close to the surface to protest. Surely a few more minutes of intimacy, of getting reacquainted, wouldn’t do any harm—she’d waited this long already?
Locating the tiny bathroom at the back of the flat, he put her down to twist on the shower. But kept one hand on her hip, as if he were afraid she’d run off. She remembered leaving him, that morning with only a thank you. And felt the renewed trickle of guilt.
The water gurgled and spurted out of the shower head, the stream thin and underwhelming.
‘Is that as good as it gets?’ he remarked.
She smiled. ‘This is British plumbing we’re talking about. That’s the equivalent of Niagara Falls.’
His quick grin lifted her spirits and made the trickle of guilt dry up.
‘At least it’s hot,’ he said, testing the temperature before he hauled her into the cubicle.
‘Not for long.’
He grabbed her lemon verbena soap off the ledge, and worked up a lather, his hair plastered to his head, his eyes wicked with intent. ‘Then we better get this party started.’
Gentle hands cupped her breasts, lifting and testing the weight as his thumbs glided over pebbled nipples. The heat pulsed and tugged between her thighs.
She took the soap to wash him in return, putting all the emotion she felt into the task as her hands stroked the lean, muscular slopes of his abdomen, explored the roped sinews that defined his hip bones. She took his penis into her palm, felt it lengthen and harden as she caressed it.
Blood surged into her tender clitoris, and she knew she wanted him again, already, surging deep, the delicious decadent stretching feeling of his flesh entering hers. Touching her womb where their child grew.
Soon he would know, and, whatever his reaction, surely it would be okay, when this closeness, this physical joining felt so good, so right.
But then he lifted her breasts, the cooling water sluicing away the soap, and said, ‘I like the extra weight—it looks great on you.’
The approval in his gaze had the wave of guilt flopping over in her stomach. She couldn’t wait any longer. It wasn’t fair to him, or to their child. She drew away from him, her back wedged against the wall of the cubicle.
‘We need to get dressed. I have something I have to tell you.’
‘Okay.’
He flipped off the shower control, but took hold of her wrist as she opened the cubicle door. The sudden silence felt deafening, despite the blood roaring in her ears. He tugged her towards him as he stepped out behind her, tucked a finger under her chin, lifting her gaze to his. ‘What’s up? Is something wrong?’
‘No, I just...’ She gulped past the tightness.
Not yet. Get yourself together first. You need to tell him gently. Carefully.
Her gaze dropped to his erection. She certainly couldn’t function, let alone think clearly, while he was standing naked in front of her, visibly aroused.
‘I just need a minute.’
His grip had loosened, his gaze puzzled, but not yet wary. She pulled her hand free, headed for the door. ‘Shall we get dressed? I can meet you in the living room in ten minutes? Make you that coffee I promised?’
He shrugged, grabbed a towel from the rail to wrap around his waist. ‘Sure.’
She darted out of the door before he could change his mind.
* * *
‘All right, let’s have it, what was so important we couldn’t finish what I was busy starting in the shower?’
Ella smiled at the rueful tone, and glanced up from the cupcakes she was busy arranging on a plate.
He stood with his legs crossed at the ankles, leaning against the kitchen counter. He’d changed into a pair of faded jeans and a black T-shirt, which must have been in the bag he’d had with him. Had he come straight from the airport, then, to see her? She felt a renewed spike of optimism, of hope.
She’d figured so many outcomes for what she was about to tell him, but none of them had included the possibility that he might be pleased with her news. Yes, it would be a shock, but why had she assumed it would necessarily be a disaster?
She never would have guessed he would come to London, or the chemistry between them would have remained as hot for him as it still was for her.
‘Why don’t you sit down?’ She gestured towards the living area. ‘The coffee will be ready any minute.’
His brows lifted, the rueful grin taking on a mischievous tilt. ‘It’s not coffee I want.’ Stepping close to hold her chin, he gave her lips a quick peck. The kiss felt casual and affectionate. The hope swelled in her chest. ‘But we’ll play it your way, for now.’
He settled on the sofa, while she fussed over the coffee for another precious few minutes, getting her thoughts lined up.
Finally she couldn’t put it off any longer. Sitting on the opposite sofa, she placed the plate of cherry-chocolate cupcakes on the coffee table and poured him a cup of coffee. She had a momentary wobble when he told her he took it black, and it occurred to her how much she didn’t know about him.
Don’t chicken out now. Telling him is the first step to finding out all those things you don’t know.
She took a long fortifying sip of the fennel tea she’d made for herself. ‘I’m not sure where to start,’ she began, galvanised by the thought that she was excited about taking this new step.
He lifted a cupcake off the plate. ‘Then why don’t you start by telling me why you ran out on me?’
‘I didn’t,’ she said, frowning at the slight edge in his voice. ‘I woke up and you were gone. I figured you’d run out on me.’
‘Damn, seriously?’ He looked genuinely stunned, which was a balm to her ego.
‘Well, yes. And I felt uncomfortable with your friend Josie there.’ She remembered the spike of dismay and asked, ‘Who is she, by the way? She seemed to know you exceptionally well.’
His eyebrows rose and his lips crinkled. ‘Are you jealous?’
Colour stained her cheeks.
He chuckled. ‘Josie’s like a kid sister. An annoying kid sister. Believe me, you’ve got nothing to be jealous of.’
‘I didn’t say I was jealous.’
‘Uh-huh.’ He sent her a confident smile. And she huffed out a laugh. The tension in her chest easing.
He took a large bite of the cupcake, held it up. ‘Damn, that’s good.’ Finishing it off in a few quick bites, he placed the paper casing on the plate. ‘So why don’t you spill it, whatever it is you have to talk about. Before we get back into the shower.’
The colour in her cheeks flared again, under his watchful gaze. ‘Okay, it’s, well, it’s sort of hard to say right out.’
She gulped down the new lump in her throat.
‘Yeah? That doesn’t sound good.’ He sent her a crooked smile. ‘I really hope you’re not going to tell me you’re married.’
She laughed, the tension dissolving a little. ‘God, no, it’s nothing like that. It’s...’ She examined her fingers, suddenly shy rather than scared. Wouldn’t it be amazing if he was actually as excited about this as she was? ‘Actually, I’m pregnant. That’s why, well, I’ve gained some weight.’
The crooked smile remained, but the curiosity in his eyes turned to astonishment as his gaze dipped to her breasts and then her belly. He straightened on the sofa, his mouth opening. Then closing. Then opening again. ‘You...? You’re expecting a kid? You don’t look pregnant.’
She waited for the obvious next question, but he just continued to stare at her belly.
‘Well, I’m only twelve weeks, so it doesn’t show much yet.’ She placed her hands on the slight swelling, suddenly keen to emphasise it for his benefit.
His head lifted. She’d expected surprise, even shock when he made the connection; she’d even prepared herself for annoyance, and anger. What she hadn’t prepared herself for, though, was the way the relaxed, sexy charm had been ripped away to be replaced by complete horror. ‘Tell me you’re not saying what I think you’re saying?’
Her pulse throbbed painfully in her neck, and she cradled her abdomen, the urge to shield her child, instinctive. She couldn’t speak, so she simply nodded.
He leapt up from the sofa like a puppet who had been rudely jerked on stage. The vicious swear word echoed around the tiny room. ‘You have got to be kidding me? It can’t be mine—you said you were on the pill.’
She’d expected this accusation, on the numerous occasions when she’d had this conversation in her head. But all the careful explanations, the reasoned arguments, the excuses absolving her all seemed to pale into insignificance in the face of his frantic denial. And all she could manage was, ‘I know, I realised when I found out you may have got that impression, but I—’
‘You lied to me?’ He stepped forward, the stance threatening.
Somehow she knew he wouldn’t hurt her, not physically, but she could see the turmoil of emotion and it made her insides tangle into tight, torturous knots, the guilt that she’d kept so carefully at bay for weeks creating a yawning chasm in the pit of her stomach.
‘Why the hell did you lie?’ He dug his fingers into his hair, sending the damp strands into deep furrows. ‘Unless... Hell... You wanted to get knocked up? Is this a set-up? You figure I’ll pay you off?’
The accusation came so far out of left-field, she hadn’t seen it coming before it had smacked into her chest and hurled her heart into her throat. ‘What? No. I never...’ Her denial choked off at the contempt in his eyes. ‘You used a condom—how could I have planned it?’
‘I knew the cute and clueless act was too good to be true. But I fell for it anyway.’
‘What act? What are you talking about?’
‘Drop it, okay. You’ve got what you wanted.’ His eyes slid back to her belly, the light in them harsh and resentful. ‘My bun in your oven.’
‘No, you don’t understand. It was never planned.’ The justification, the explanation at last came tumbling out. ‘The pregnancy was...is an accident. It was all so rushed and...I didn’t think it would matter that I wasn’t on the pill.’
‘You didn’t think it would matter?’ His voice rose to a shout. ‘Are you nuts? I told you I didn’t want to risk it. What the hell about that did you not understand?’
‘No, that’s not what I meant. I didn’t think I could....’ She faltered, unable to reveal the truth about her medical history, her fertility issues, the test results she’d gone to Bermuda to escape. She couldn’t tell this stranger about any of that; it would make her too vulnerable, too raw, especially now, with her throat already aching with unshed tears.
‘You don’t have to be involved.’ She scrambled to justify, to explain, to avert the terrible feeling of loss. ‘I’ve made the decision to have this child. I want it. Very much.’ Her hands shook, the trembling having moved up from her toes, to her knees and across her torso.
Don’t you dare cry.
Why hadn’t she said all of this to start with, before she’d told him about the pregnancy? He obviously thought she was some kind of gold-digger. If she could just make him understand he didn’t have to feel responsible for this child, everything would be okay. But even as she told herself it, a part of her was dying inside at the knowledge that Cooper Delaney hated her now.
‘I just thought you should know.’
‘Right, so now I know,’ he snarled. ‘Thanks for that. And what the hell am I supposed to do with the information? You’ve told me a part of me is going to be walking around on this planet and I don’t get to have any say in that?’
She shook her head, the tears drying up inside her. Stay firm. Stay strong. Don’t break, not this time. ‘No. No, you don’t.’ She firmed her lips to stop them trembling. ‘I won’t have an abortion. And nothing you can do or say will make me.’
He flinched. ‘Who said anything about an abortion?’
‘I won’t do it. I want this baby very much. If you don’t, that’s okay. You never have to have anything to do with it.’
‘Yeah, right.’ Marching past her, he grabbed his bag off the floor. ‘Like that’s going to work.’ He slung the leather holdall over his shoulder and opened the door. Rain slashed down in angry currents against the hall window. But the summer storm that had seemed so cleansing, so perfect, so passionate only hours before, now appeared grey and dark and oppressive.
He sent her one last scathing look over his shoulder, the look of betrayal in his eyes palpable. And then slammed the door behind him.
She sank down against the wall, her legs too shaky to hold her, and pressed her forehead into her knees. And listened to his footfalls, heavy on the stairs, fade away into nothingness.
* * *
Coop stumbled out onto the street, his heart hitting his ribcage hard enough to shatter bone. Rain slashed at his face as he dumped his bag on the sidewalk and smashed his fist into the brick wall that marked the perimeter of her apartment building.
Pain hurtled up his arm, lanced across his knuckles, but went some way to dulling the terrifying emotions consuming him.
You dumbass. What the hell were you thinking? Coming here? Trusting her?
He sucked the battered knuckles, and picked up his bag in the other hand.
He hailed a cab, jumped in out of the rain and shouted through the grill, ‘Take me to a hotel.’
‘How about the Renaissance, sir? It’s pricey but very plush.’
‘Sure, great, whatever,’ he croaked, his voice hoarse, his whole body starting to shake. He didn’t give a damn where he went—he just had to get away from the memory of those big eyes glossy with unshed tears.
But then he caught the glittering pink logo on the window of Ella’s cupcake store as the cab sped past it. The panic boiled in his gut as the taste of her lingered on his tongue and the residual heat throbbed in his crotch. Mocking him.
He sank his head into his hands and wanted to howl with pain and frustration.
God help him, it didn’t matter what he did now, or how much money he made or how fast he ran—he could never ever be an island again. And it was all his own damn fault.
EIGHT (#uc7b533c5-be73-5780-b283-1d1b0d6cff9e)
Coop stared at the glittery pink lettering on the front of the diner, and then past it through the glass. He spotted Ella in front of the counter, busy chatting to a customer, her hand resting casually on her belly—and swallowed to ease the thickening in his throat.
Play it cool. No more freak-outs allowed.
He’d spent a night in the gothic splendor of the five-star hotel overlooking St Pancras Station, not sleeping a wink, as he went over every single thing she’d said, and every single thing he’d said. And he’d come to a few important—if shattering—conclusions.
