“Protection?” What in the world did she need his protection for? And from what? And what was this later-down-the-road notion for her plans?
“We’re a professional NFL family. That brings with it a level of fame and notoriety unrivaled in any other business domain. The fans are passionate. And while most of them are supportive, there is a segment that takes the game very personally. Some of the more unstable types occasionally seek revenge for what they perceive as bad decisions.” His jaw flexed. “Since your child is my child, that puts our baby at risk as a Reynaud. If you won’t stay here for yourself, then stay for our child. We are safe here.”
He had found the one reason she couldn’t debate. But she needed to be careful. To give herself time to think through the consequences of what she was agreeing to, and she couldn’t do that now when she was so tired.
“I am weary. It has been a long, emotional day. I would appreciate being shown to these guest suites that you speak of and I will consider it.”
“Of course.” He picked up his phone and tapped the screen twice before setting it down. “You’ll find all the toiletries you need at your disposal. I’ll have someone show you to a room and make sure you have everything you need.”
Before he finished speaking, a maid had arrived at the door, perhaps summoned by his phone.
Apparently, Gervais was serious about giving her some space if she elected to stay in the house with him. And while she appreciated that, she was also surprised at his easy efficiency. Hadn’t her pregnancy announcement rattled this coolly controlled man even a little?
“Thank you.” She looked at him, her breath catching at the raw masculinity of the man. She backed up a step, needing boundaries. And sleep.
“And I’ll have a long Hurricanes jersey sent up for you to sleep in.” His eyes remained on hers, but his voice stirred something inside her.
The last time they had slept under the same roof, there hadn’t been much sleeping accomplished at all. And somehow, as she took her leave of him, she knew that he was remembering that fact as vividly as she did.
* * *
The door closed behind her, and she loosed a breath that she didn’t realize she’d been holding.
This was...different from what she had grown up with. The billowy sheer curtains thinly veiled a view of Lake Pontchartrain. Heels clacked against the opulent white marble as she made her way to an oversize plush bed. Instinctively, she ran her hand over the white comforter as she took in the room.
A grand, hand-carved mahogany-wood nightstand held a score of toiletries.
It was luxurious. She unscrewed the lid on one of the lotion bottles, and the light scent of jasmine wafted up to her. She set it down, picked up the shampoo, popped the lid and breathed in mint and a tropical, fruity flavor.
This house was old, not as old as her castle, of course, but it still had history. And such a different feel than her wintry homeland. This was grander, built more for leisure than practicality.
Plopping onto the bed, Erika was somewhat surprised to note the bed was every bit as comfortable as it looked. The bed seemed to wrap her in a hug.
And she needed a hug. Everything in her life was undergoing a drastic change. Untethered. That was where she was. Her career in the military was over. It left her feeling strange, adrift. The past few years, her path had been set. And now? A river of conflicting wants and obligations flooded her mind.
Yes, she wanted to pursue her dream. She wanted to be a nurse-practitioner and pursue her studies in the UK, wanted that so badly. But that dream wasn’t as simple as it had been a couple months ago.
Even now, thousands of miles away, she felt the tendrils of familial pressure. When they learned she was going to have a child, they would be pressuring her. Probably into marriage. And Gervais seemed to have the same ideas. How was she supposed to balance all of it?
In her soul, she knew she’d be able to take care of her child. Give her baby everything and have her dreams, too. But the weight of everyone’s expectations left her feeling anxious. First things first, she needed to figure out what she wanted. How she would handle all of this. And then she could deal with the demands of her family and Gervais.
Lifting herself off the bed, she made her way to the coffee table where a stack of old sports programs casually dressed the table.
Dragging her fingers over the covers, she tried to get a feel for Gervais. For his family. The Greek Revival hinted at wealth but shed little on his personality. Though, from her brief time in the halls, she noticed how sparsely decorated the place was. On the wall, directly across from where she stood, were some photos in sleek black frames. They were matted and simple. The generic sorts of photographs that belonged more in a cold, impersonal office than a residence.
She walked over to investigate them further. The two images that hung on the wall were formal portraits, similar to the kinds she and her family had done. But whereas her family bustled with Viking grace and was filled with women, these pictures were filled with the Reynaud men.
The sons stood closer to the grandfather. Strange. A man who looked as if he could be Gervais’s father was on the edge of the photograph, an impatient smile curling over his face.
Gingerly, she reached out to the frame, fingers finding cool glass. Gervais. Handsome as the devil. A smile was on her lips before she could stop it. She dropped her hand.
No, Erika. She had to remain focused. And figure out how to do what was best for her—their—child that didn’t involve jumping into bed with him. Again.
Pulling at the hem of the jersey that cut her midthigh, a jersey she’d found on her bed and couldn’t resist wearing, she resolved to keep her hands off him. And his out from under her jersey. Even if that did sound...delicious.
* * *
Father.
The word blasted in his mind like an air horn.
Gervais tried to bring his mind back to the present. To the meeting with Dempsey, who had stopped by after Erika retreated to a vacant suite for the night. Just because Erika was pregnant didn’t mean his career was nonexistent. He needed to talk with his brother about the Hurricanes’ development. About corporate sponsorships and expanding their team’s prestige and net worth.
But that was a lot easier said than done with the latest developments in his personal life.
He swirled his local craft beer in his glass, watching the mini tornado foam in the center as he made himself comfortable in the den long after dinner had ended. Back when this house had still belonged to his parents, most of the rooms had been fussy and full of interior decorator additions—elaborate crystal light fixtures that hung so low he and his brothers broke a part of it every time they threw a ball in the house. Or three-dimensional art that spanned whole walls and would scrape the skin off an arm if they tackled each other into it.
The den had always been male terrain and it remained a place where Gervais felt most comfortable. The place where he most often met with his brothers. Dempsey had headed for this room as soon as he’d arrived tonight.
Now, sipping his beer, Gervais tried like hell to get his head focused back on work. The team.
Dempsey took an exaggerated sip from his glass and set it on the table in front of them. Cocking his head to the side, he settled deeper in the red leather club chair and asked, “What’s the deal with the princess’s arrival? She damn near caused Freight Train to trip over his feet like a first-day rookie.”
“She came by to see me.” Gervais tried to make it sound casual. Breezy.
“Because New Orleans happens to be right around the corner from Europe?”
“Your humor slays me.” He tipped back his beer. Dempsey was a lot of things, but indirect?