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Her hand trembled as she caressed the non-existent bump.
But, even knowing that, she knew she couldn’t have a termination. Because, however big a mistake this pregnancy was, however unforeseen and catastrophic, however much it would complicate her life and Nico’s and even Lukas’s, it already felt like more than just a problem that needed to be solved.
The soft knock on the bathroom door startled Bronte.
‘Bronte, a car has arrived to take you to Mr Blackstone’s hotel,’ Maureen’s soft voice came through the wood.
Panic and an unwanted desire—the same unwanted desire that had been tearing her apart for the last two weeks as she waited for Lukas’s return—coalesced in the pit of her stomach and churned like a perfect storm, spreading heat and horrified yearning over the snakes writhing in her belly.
She switched off the tap and dabbed the heat blazing in her cheeks with a towel, while also attempting to damp down the hysteria rising up her throat.
She would have to tell Lukas about the baby.
She dropped the towel, a thought skidding into her fevered mind that seemed grimly fortuitous. At least the news of this pregnancy would solve one problem. He would have no desire to pursue a relationship with her now. So she wouldn’t have to worry about her kamikaze reaction to his kisses any more.
‘Tell them I’ll be down in a minute,’ she murmured.
Despite all her frantic qualifications though, as she walked down the stairs towards the mansion’s back entrance and bid goodbye to Maureen, the hot snakes in her stomach hissed... And she didn’t feel anywhere near as relieved as she should.
* * *
Anticipation and frustration washed through Lukas as the elevator bell pinged in his penthouse. He turned
from his contemplation of the afternoon traffic on Park Lane to see the bodyguard he’d sent to accompany Bronte step out.
The tight knots in his shoulder blades released as the bulky man held the door open and Bronte followed him out of the elevator.
Her head rose as he walked towards her, trying to keep his steps even and slow.
‘Hello, Bronte. Thank you for coming,’ he said. She was stunningly beautiful, those wide tilted eyes mossy green pools of emotion.
The flare of desire was sharp and swift and all-consuming. He shoved his fists into the pockets of his pants to stop himself from reaching out and dragging her into his arms.
He’d had fourteen sleepless nights since he’d last seen her, and he still hadn’t got a handle on the effect she had on him.
She wore her trademark tomboy attire of well-worn jeans and a tank top and checked shirt. If she was trying to disguise her lush curves though, or the appeal of that supple, responsive body, she was failing.
‘I didn’t think I had a choice,’ she replied, but the flash of defiance he had hoped for wasn’t there.
He nodded to the security guard, who disappeared back into the elevator. He didn’t want an audience for what he had to say next.
He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Bronte. About the things they’d done together the last time she had come to him here. And the way he’d behaved the morning after. It seemed she hadn’t forgotten either from the bright flush on her cheeks, or the wary watchfulness in those expressive eyes.
‘You did have a choice,’ he said, determined to make amends. ‘I’m sorry; I didn’t make that clear.’
He’d gone over their parting words, and that brutal parting kiss, a million times in his head. And there was no way of getting around it. He’d behaved like a prize jerk. That she turned him on to the point of madness wasn’t an excuse.
She’d been innocent, inexperienced. A virgin, for goodness’ sake. Initiating virgins wasn’t something he’d had any experience of. But that was no excuse either. He should have been careful with her, gentle, persuasive—not pounced on her like a starving man. If he had been struggling to control the strength of his attraction to her, the hunger that had consumed him then and was consuming him now, how the heck did he expect her to deal with it? Other than to try and shut it down?
He was going to have to pay a penance now. And make the effort to show her that an affair could be good for both of them. It was a new experience for him, having to disguise the strength of his attraction to a woman. Mostly because he’d never been as attracted to any woman as he was to this one. Before now, if things weren’t working out he’d always been able to walk away. He didn’t pressure women into sex, and he’d never had a mistress either. But he wanted that security and stability with Bronte. He already knew his thirst for her wasn’t going to be easily quenched. Not least because it wasn’t just the sex that captivated him, but so many other things about her. Her fierce loyalty to Nico. Her determination to maintain her independence. Her refreshing honesty and the myriad emotions he could read so easily on her open, extraordinary face—despite her best efforts to hide them.
She wasn’t doing a lot to hide them now, he noted. She looked tense and anxious. And unfortunately there was no point in deluding himself any longer. He was the cause.
‘Come and sit down so we can discuss this situation rationally.’ He swept his hand towards the couches facing the panoramic view of Hyde Park.
‘I’d rather stand,’ she said, her stance stiff and uncomfortable. She folded her arms around her midriff in a protective gesture that had a novel feeling engulfing him.
Guilt.
