“My place is free.”
“I thought you had three other people living there.”
She laughed. “I do, but Caren has already left for her mission, remember? So that leaves two. And I think the only one off today is Sam. So if we tiptoe past his door, we might be able to sneak in unseen.”
His finger hooked around hers. “But what about all that noise you’ll be making.”
“Wow, that sure of yourself, are you?”
“No. That sure of you.”
Her brows went up. “Oh, now you’ve just throw down a gauntlet I can’t resist. I bet you tickets to the ball game of your choice that I’m as quiet as a church mouse.”
“You’re on, Tess. But just in case, I think you’d better turn the speakers on your MP3 player way up.”
Tessa fell back onto the bed, her breath heaving from her lungs, the strains of jazz still blaring in the room. She laid a hand on her bare stomach and stared up at the ceiling, trying to get her racing heart back under control. “Okay, so maybe the church mice were throwing a party today.”
Clay rolled onto his stomach and bracketed his arms on either side of her shoulders. “That must have been some party, with all that shouting they were doing.”
“God. You don’t think Sam heard anything, do you?”
“Does it matter if he did?”
She punched him in the chest. “Only if I want to be able to look him in the face again.”
“He didn’t see me come in. He’ll probably assume it was a show on TV.”
“Jazz punctuated by moments of moaning and crying. I see how that could become a whole new trend.”
Gripping her waist, he flipped back over, dragging her on top of him. “Don’t knock it until you try it.”
“I just did.”
“And did you like it?”
She slid up his body until she was perched on a certain part of him. “So much that I’m thinking about repeating the experience.”
“Hell, woman, you’re going to kill me.”
Only it didn’t feel as if she was killing him. In fact, if what was happening beneath her was any indication, she’d say that he was up to the challenge.
Forty minutes later, dressed back in her street clothes, she headed out to the kitchen to get them both a glass of wine. Stuck beneath a magnet on the door of the huge stainless-steel refrigerator was a note penned in a decidedly masculine hand.
Interesting choice in music. Headed to the hospital, so don’t bother sneaking him out.
She grabbed the note and scrunched her nose. Gads! And you can’t have wine, ninny. You still haven’t had your period.
Another little something she was going to have to deal with at some point.
Making her way back to her unit with one glass of wine and one bottle of water, she was slightly disappointed that Clay had also gotten dressed while she’d been getting their drinks. She set them on the scarf across her dresser and waved the note under his nose. “I blame this on you. You can’t get me all sexed up like that in front of people.”
He glanced at the words then wrapped his hands around her waist and reeled her in. “It was hardly in front of him. But if that’s the kind of thing you like…”
“Stop it. I’m already going to have a hard time not turning beet red the next time I see him.”
“I’d like to be there to see that.” He glanced at the drinks with a slight frown. “It’s been almost a week. And since we just had sex, I’m assuming you still haven’t seen any sign of activity.”
“Not that kind of activity, no.” She pulled away and sat on the bed. “My emotions are all mixed up about it right now.”
“So you’re still planning on keeping it?”
“That’s the plan.” But beyond that she had no idea what she was going to do.
He uncapped the water bottle and handed it to her then took a big sip of his wine before sitting down next to her. He slid his hand across her belly, sending a shiver through her. “I don’t mind telling you, I’m already starting to think of this as a reality.”
Pressing his hand against her, she linked fingers with him. “This isn’t at all what I’d planned on. But now that it might be a possibility… She shrugged. “A million things have been going through my head, like names and whether it might be a boy or a girl.”
“A girl.” He leaned over and kissed her temple. “One who has red hair and is as proud as her mama.”
“Or a boy, with a big heart like his daddy.”
Clay’s thumb rubbed across her stomach. “I want to talk to you about something.”
Everything in her tensed up. Please, don’t ask me to marry you, Clay. Not like this. Not for this reason.
She was being stupid. Of course he wasn’t going to do that. They didn’t even know for sure if she was pregnant. And he had a daughter of his own to think about.
“Okay, what is it?”
He didn’t look at her or get down on one knee, so a part of her relaxed.
“I know it’s still early and this could all be a false alarm, but I’ve been thinking. You don’t want any financial support, right?”
Her jaw tightened. “We’ve already been over this.”
“And I’m willing to respect that. But this baby will be mine as well, and I want to make sure he or she is provided for. What if I set up a college fund that would be used just by the child?”
Tessa’s heart turned to ice in her chest. “You mean pay for everything? Kind of like your parents did for me?”
She hadn’t meant the words to come out with the harsh edge they had, but there was no way she could call them back now. Not when all the walls she’d just let down started to go back up, block by block. She knew him well enough to know that he would just keep pushing, trying different angles in order to get his way. She wouldn’t accept his financial help, so he would just bypass her and give it to their child instead.
Was that what she wanted? For herself? For the baby?
As if sensing her thoughts, Clay pulled his hand from her stomach and stared straight ahead. Then he took a drink of his wine. Then another.
He stood to his feet and set the glass back on the dresser.
Just when she thought he was going to leave without saying another word, he turned to her. “If you think I’m just going to sit back and not participate in my child’s life, you’re wrong, Tessa. You can’t expect me to help Molly get an education someday and do nothing for this child.”
“But it’s different with Molly—”
“No. It’s not.” He sent her an angry glare. “Even if she lived with her mother on a full-time basis, I would still want to contribute—to have some say—in what happens to her. It’s the same for any child you and I might have. I would want to take care of him or her. How can you not see that?”
I want to take care of him or her.
At those words, all the anger from the past bubbled out of the compartment she’d built for it and tainted everything they’d shared over the past couple of weeks. His constant need to take care of her years ago—to give her things—had become a point of friction, rubbing at her until she was raw. Well, she could read the writing on the wall. He was about