Reunited...and Pregnant Read online

  Cady walked past her wine rack on the way to her kitchen—wishing she could indulge in a glass or three—and opened her fridge to remove a carton of fruit juice. It was Friday night, she was alone and pregnant, wearing an old pair of yoga pants, thick socks and a long T-shirt of Tom’s he’d failed to reclaim.

  He’d taken everything else when he visited her a week ago—his CDs, the ceramic kitchen knives he’d given her for her last birthday, the abstract painting of red and yellow globs she’d never liked. While he’d been gathering his possessions, he’d intimated that he’d be prepared to resume their relationship if and when she freed herself of her “responsibilities.”

  He might even throw some business her way.

  Since she didn’t have the slightest intention of either aborting her baby or talking to him again, Cady marched to the door, opened it and told him to get out. She’d considered yanking one of the ceramic knives from its holder and stabbing him, but she didn’t want to waste the little money she had on bail.

  Cady sipped her juice, walked over to her kitchen window and stared at the street below. The sleet-tinged rain fell steadily and the streets were deserted. Loneliness, cold and heavy, fell over her and she wished that she could pick up the phone and call someone. Anyone. Building her business had taken all her time, and the few friends she’d had slipped away. Then Tom came into her life and she’d convinced herself that she wasn’t lonely, that someone with a lover and a business couldn’t be lonely.

  But she had been. She was.

  She wished she had one good friend she could call and say, “I’m scared and I’m lonely and I’m not sure I can birth a new campaign and a baby.”

  Amy, Beck’s personal assistant and possibly his lover, jumped into mind. Cady was sure Amy had never felt lonely in her life; with her ebullient and feisty personality she could talk to everybody.

  Unfortunately, the person she most wanted to call was Beck.

  Back then she’d been able to tell Beck anything and everything. Well, everything besides the truth about her autistic brother. That her parents had sent him to live in a residential home because they hadn’t wanted him to live with them anymore. Beck wasn’t a fan of her parents, and that knowledge would’ve amplified that dislike. Neither had she told him that she’d lived her life wondering if her position within their home was equally tenuous.

  All her life she’d tried to be perfect and she’d sacrificed relationships in her effort to win the trophy, the election, the prize. Beck had been her first real, intense friendship and she’d loved talking with him, being with him as much as she loved kissing him and making love to him. She’d reveled in his attention and, for the first time since Will was sent away, felt that there was no pressure to be anything other than who she was.

  She now realized how little Beck told her about himself. He’d been happy to listen to her ramble on but he’d never opened up to her. She knew his body intimately but nothing of what drove him.

  What she thought they’d shared had been very one-sided. And why did that still hurt?

  Shaking off her melancholy, she told herself that the power to change was always one decision away. Tom and her business had been her focus for the last while. Her boyfriend was a married, insensitive asshat, and her business was in intensive care, but she was rid of one and the other was recovering. Once this campaign was finished, when the ground under her feet felt a little more solid, she’d make an effort to be more sociable, to make some new friends.

  Or maybe not. People had the habit of turning out to be someone or something you never expected.

  Cady heard the rap on her door and frowned. Visitors to her Sunset Park, Brooklyn, apartment needed to be buzzed in. Tom was the only person who’d come to her place in more than a year. Her buzzer hadn’t sounded and Cady felt fear lurch up into her throat. Who was at her door so late on a freezing night and what could that person want?

  Cady crossed her tiny apartment to the front door and looked through the eyepiece to see the distorted image of Beck on the other side.

  Beck? She immediately looked at the clock on her kitchen wall and frowned at the time. Ten-twenty on a Friday night? She expected him to be on a date, eating dinner in a four-star restaurant, in a club or at a party, the things that normal, filthy-rich Manhattan bachelors did on a Friday night.

  “I’m growing old here, Collins. Open up.”

  Through her thin door Cady heard Beck’s growly words, so she flipped the three dead bolts open. She yanked the door open, realized that the chain was still on, shut it again, removed the chain and opened the door to Beck.

  Calm the hell down. There’s no need to feel so damn excited at seeing him.

  “You’re in Brooklyn? Did you get lost?” Cady asked, leaning against her door frame so that he couldn’t step into her teeny, tiny apartment. God, his bathroom was probably bigger than her whole place.

  Beck grabbed her elbows, lifted her up and walked her into her apartment. He placed her on her feet, shut the door behind him, shot the bolts and shrugged open his coat.

  “Amy said that you need to see me,” Beck said, ignoring her annoyed squawk.

  “Yes, during office hours.”

  Beck sat down on her black-and-white-striped couch and rested his forearms on his thighs. “I’m here now. Got a beer?”

  Cady frowned at his bent head and watched him as he rubbed his forehead with his fingers as if he was trying to massage a headache away. He looked frustrated and exhausted, like the week had kicked his ass to hell and back.

  Cady waved her hand at her small wine rack. “I have wine. Nothing special, but I can offer you a glass.”

  Beck stood up and it took him two strides to reach her galley kitchen and the small wine rack next to the fridge. He started pulling out bottles to check the labels and Cady waited for the disparaging comment at her shoddy taste in wine. Instead he just picked a bottle of Cabernet and opened it.

  He lifted two glasses off the shelf next to the rack, pouring the ruby liquid into the first glass.

  “I don’t want any,” Cady quickly told him.

  Beck lifted an eyebrow. “Why not?”

  She couldn’t tell him that she was pregnant, so she opted for a quick shrug. “Not in the mood.”

  After a sip of his wine, he brought his glass and the bottle back to where she was perched on the single chair and resumed his seat.

  After a long silence, during which Beck examined her apartment, Cady linked her hands around her knee and spoke. “Why are you here, Beck?”

  “Two reasons. The first is that I need to apologize.” He stared down into his glass, his mouth tight. “I was wrong to offer you money for you not to take the job. It was insulting and, well...” He looked at her, his eyes troubled. “I didn’t like the fact that we got that hot that fast. It was a quick, get-out-of-the-fire-fast reaction.”

  She understood. She’d felt as disoriented, as shattered as he had obviously. And she couldn’t forget that she’d come very close to taking the money and bolting out of there. “Um...okay. Thanks?”

  Beck’s mouth held the hint of a smile. He sipped his wine and kept his compelling eyes on her face. “The second reason is that Amy told me to give you some time because your begging her for an appointment is driving her nuts.”

  “Begging is a strong word,” Cady replied. “But I do need to talk to you about the campaign.”

  “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry, I’ve had a hell of a week.” He leaned back and placed an ankle over his knee. “Can we do it now?”

  Cady glanced at her desk, tucked into the corner of her tiny apartment, and saw her meticulously organized files, her laptop. She’d brought home everything she needed from her office, but she never liked discussing business in a ratty T-shirt and yoga pants. Still, Beck was here now... She nodded her agreement and then she saw the yawn he t
ried to hold back, saw the tension in his neck, the exhaustion in his eyes. It was the end of a long week and they were both played out.

  “You look tired, Beck.”

  Beck scrubbed his hand over his face. “It’s been busier than usual. Linc has taken a few weeks off. He’s dealing with his own personal crisis, so I’m holding down the fort.”

  As his hands fell, she saw a different Beck from the handsome playboy the world saw online and in the society column. She didn’t see the man who was always ready with a smart-alec comment, the well-dressed, ripped, swoon-enticing Bachelor Ballantyne. She saw a man who looked like he’d worked an eighty-hour week. The Ballantyne director with far too much responsibility on his plate. Someone who hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep or a good meal in far too long.

  “Have you eaten?” Cady asked him.

  “Lunch, a lifetime ago.” Beck took a moment to answer. “I was planning on nuking a frozen pizza when I got home.”

  Cady wrinkled her nose. She wasn’t a great cook, but even she knew that frozen pizzas were nothing more than refined sugars and MSG. “I have some frozen homemade pasta sauce and I can boil some linguine and put out a salad, if you’d prefer real food to fake pizza.”

  Enthusiasm flickered in Beck’s eyes, but it was quickly replaced by regret-tinged determination. “Don’t bother. I just came over to see what it was you wanted to discuss with me.”

  She needed his answers and approvals, but he needed food, decent food. Besides, her brain was so fried she didn’t think she could have a clear and detailed conversation about the campaign if he put a ticking time bomb under her butt. And she suspected that Beck wasn’t at his best, either.

  “It’s far too late to discuss business, so we’re not going to do that. Pasta and sauce, last chance to say yes.”

  Beck reluctantly nodded his head.

  So, Beck didn’t feel comfortable with gestures of kindness and thoughtfulness. Was this something new, or was it something she’d never known about him before? Beck had never really shared himself, so for all she knew he could’ve come out of the womb walking and talking and trading shares on Wall Street.

  And she’d been so caught up with juggling her parents’ disappointment in her and her own rebellion, that she never considered he might need to lean on her occasionally.

  Shame on her.

  In the kitchen, Cady took out the frozen sauce and put it in the microwave to defrost. She placed a pot of water on her small stove and dashed in some salt. “Where is home, by the way?” she asked him after she pulled a ready-made salad from the fridge.

  “SoHo.”

  Of course he lived in the most expensive, trendy area of Manhattan. Where else?

  “In a warehouse-converted loft apartment or in a new development?” Cady asked.

  “I own the top floor of a warehouse that was converted into apartments in the nineties.” Beck slid down so that his head rested on the back of the sofa. “It’s a lot of space, but I’m a big guy and I don’t like feeling like I’m living in a teacup.”

  “Then you must feel like this place is a thimble,” Cady commented.

  Beck looked around. “It is tiny but very you. And those framed mirrors on the wall make it feel a lot bigger than it actually is. And, although I don’t think both of us would fit into your kitchen, it has charm.”

  “Yeah, this is as charming as I can afford.”

  When it was ready, Cady took the heated sauce from the microwave before moving the pot of pasta to the sink. Using a tiny colander, she drained the pasta, added olive oil, tossed in the sauce and wished she had some Parmesan to grate over the top. When she had a regular income, and time to shop, she promised herself she’d always have cheeses and sauces and herbs in her fridge.

  Cady placed a fork and a placemat on the coffee table in front of him, put the plate down and gestured for him to eat. Beck scooted forward and quickly pulled his tie from around his neck. He tossed it in the general direction of his jacket before picking up the fork. “This smells great.”

  “It tastes better.”

  Cady curled up into her chair, tucking her feet beneath her bottom and watched Beck eat. He’d always loved food and he’d never hesitated to try something different while they were traveling.

  “So good,” Beck muttered between mouthfuls.

  Cady smiled and rested her head on the back of the chair. Beck was in her apartment, eating her food and looking so hot it made her ache. She wished that she could crawl into his lap, rest her head on his chest and feel his muscled arms around her. He’d always made her feel so protected, like nothing could hurt her. But if she did that, she knew that his big hands would skim her from butt to knee and she’d lift her mouth to nuzzle his throat. He’d sigh, look down at her and she’d drop her head back and two seconds later his mouth would be on hers.

  Within another two seconds she’d be naked. And she was not going to get naked with Beckett Ballantyne again! He was her client and she’d learned her lesson with Tom. Naked and business and client were words that shouldn’t occur in the same sentence.

  Add pregnant to the melee and bad went directly to terrible.

  It didn’t bear thinking about.

  Yawning, Cady tucked a cushion under her head and rested her hand on her still-flat abdomen. Good idea, she told herself. Think about the baby and not Beck. Come to think of it, she needed to make an appointment with a doctor to have a checkup.

  Thinking of the baby made her think of her parents. Her mother had given her a pass on coming home and meeting the church interview committee, but sooner or later she had to inform them that they were going to be grandparents. But she wasn’t ready to tell them...she wasn’t ready to tell anyone, and especially not Beck. What, exactly would she say? I’ve just broken up with my married ex-client and I’m pregnant with his child.

  Married man. Who was also her client. Who made her pregnant. Strike one, two and three. Professional she was not.

  But she was determined to be professional with Beck. She’d made enough mistakes confusing business and pleasure, and no matter how sexy Beck was, it would only be business between them. To prove her point, she’d show him how dedicated she was and run through her ideas for the campaign with him at nearly eleven on a Friday night. She’d just wait for Beck to finish his food and then she’d open her eyes and tell him.

  * * *

  Beck looked up and smiled at Cady’s open mouth. Her long lashes were smudges on her too-white face. He’d thought she looked tired when he first arrived, but now, her face relaxed in sleep, he could see how exhausted she really was. Her face was thinner as were her arms and thighs, he noticed now as he let his eyes roam down her slight frame.

  Cady looked like she needed to go on a month-long diet of hamburgers and milkshakes. Beck placed his fork on his plate and rested his forearms on his knees, happy to take the time to really look at Cady. Thailand Cady had been open and chatty, but this Cady was quieter, stronger, somehow even more attractive. She was mysterious, an enigma, a puzzle he wanted to solve.

  And he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he wanted her under, on top of him, any damn way he could get her.

  That hadn’t changed.

  Beck ran his hand over his jaw and pushed his plate away. How the hell was he going to work with her and be around her without stripping her naked and taking her on the nearest surface or up against the closest wall? And that was the real reason he’d ignored her request for an appointment this week. He’d wanted time to wrap his head around the kiss that they shared, and around the fact that she was back in his life and fifty times as likely to turn it upside down.

  He’d needed time to get his need for her under control. To get his life back.

  He needed that control.

  He’d been in her apartment, in her presence, for less than an hour and
he was thinking about picking her up, walking the five steps to her bedroom and, after placing her on the bed, exploring every inch of her skin, kissing her mouth, sliding into her hot, moist channel. He’d dreamed of her for so long and here she was, back in his life.

  God, resisting her was torture. Plain and simple. Since time hadn’t dulled the attraction between them, he’d been right to push her away all those years ago.

  Beck found himself reaching out to push a dark curl off her cheek. He yanked his hand back and shot to his feet, picking up his plate and taking it to the kitchen. He rolled up his sleeves and filled the small sink with hot water, finding the dish soap in a tiny cupboard to his left.

  He was bone tired, he thought as he washed her dishes, but after a visit to Cady, sleep wouldn’t come easy tonight. It never did. He’d tried meditation and acupuncture and massage, but his brain refused to shut down. Exercising to the point of exhaustion was one of the few ways he could obtain a few hours of sleep.

  To this day, making love to Cady was still the only activity that relaxed him enough to fall asleep and stay asleep for any length of time. After she returned to the States, insomnia had quickly become his best friend and he’d assumed sex was the answer. He was an okay-looking guy and sex and backpacking went together like popcorn and beer, so finding someone to share his bed, or tent, or hammock had never been difficult.

  When his sleep patterns didn’t improve he had to admit that it might’ve been sex with Cady that relaxed him and not plain sex.

  And speaking of sex, he couldn’t remember when he’d last had that pleasure, either. Three months ago? Maybe.

  He wanted to make love to Cady, and sleep would be a fantastic side benefit. Beck tossed the dish towel onto the counter and looked across the room to her still-sleeping form. This wasn’t all about reliving their past. He also wanted to make love to her because she was still the most fascinating woman he’d ever met. At nineteen, she’d been young and in need of his protection, a role he hadn’t minded taking on. But this Cady, fast asleep and breathing deeply, was tougher, stronger and far too compelling for his piece of mind.