“Right. Whereas you and I were only well suited in bed.”
Alexa stared at him. “What are you doing here, Chance?”
He opened his mouth but no sound escaped. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, looking at a loss, out of sorts and so completely different from the man she’d met four months ago. “Hell if I know,” he finally sighed.
Alexa fought it, she really did, but her heart cried out at the unexpected vulnerability in his expression. He looked...awful. At the charity auction, he’d fit in with the sophisticated crowd—breathtaking in a tuxedo that outlined his six-foot-something frame with a perfection that would bring any red-blooded woman to her knees. His dark hair had been brushed back from his wide forehead, revealing his classic bone structure, gorgeous blue eyes and a pair of dimples to die for.
Today his hair fell across that forehead in disarray. His face looked gaunt. The spark was missing from those sapphire blues, the dimples nowhere to be seen beneath the rough stubble.
Four months wasn’t much time, but so much had happened. She had a new life growing inside her, and Chance—Chance had almost died. “I heard the news reports.”
Cringing, he asked, “Which one?”
“The one that said you’d been killed in a suicide bomb attack.”
“Bad reporting.”
“It doesn’t look that far off.” She hadn’t noticed earlier, but he stood off-center, resting the majority of his weight on his left side. How close had he come to dying?
“I’m fine. I’ll be back in the field in no time.”
Right, Alexa thought bitterly, because who would let nearly getting blown up make them rethink their life choices?
A few years before her parents were killed in an avalanche while skiing in the Italian Alps, they had survived a plane crash. The small jet had experienced engine failure, and the pilot had made a miracle landing on a middle of nowhere country road. But instead of making her parents rethink their high-flying, jet-setting lifestyle, surviving the near-death incident had only made them feel that much more invincible.
Alexa could only imagine Chance would react the same—taking more risks, accepting more challenges until his luck ran out way too soon.
At the moment, though, it was hard to think about him being thousands of miles away, putting his life in danger, when he was right there, close enough to touch. And it was all Alexa could do not to erase the mere inches between them, to throw her arms around him, to see, smell, touch, taste that he was really and truly alive and well—
Hormones, she thought desperately. She’d read how pregnancy could lead to a skyrocketing of emotions, but the rationale failed to erase the dizzying rush of desire flooding her veins. Nothing more than a momentary lapse.
Unfortunately, her lapses were all too common at least where Chance McClaren was concerned. But just because she’d made a mistake didn’t mean she would keep making them. From now on, she would make no more impulsive decisions; she would do her thinking with her head, not her heart.
And certainly not with her hormones.
Taking a sanity-saving step back from the hold Chance had over her, she whispered, “You should go before...”
His lips twisted in a mockery of a smile as he came to his own conclusion as to what she was afraid might happen. “Right. Wouldn’t want your fiancé catching you alone in a hotel room with a guy you slept with.”
Alexa opened her mouth to argue only to stop. What would be the point? Maybe it was better for Chance to think she and Griffin were engaged.
“But don’t worry. We’ll have plenty of time to see each other around.”
She shivered slightly at the promise—warning—in his expression. “Why is that?”
“Didn’t my sister tell you? I’m your wedding photographer.”
* * *
Alexa smiled at the waitress who topped off her glass of water before looking across the small table to find Griffin staring at her. “What?”
“You’re not eating.”
After the confrontation with Chance, Alexa had wanted nothing more than to escape the hotel. When Griffin returned to their suite and suggested a trip into town, she’d instantly agreed. They’d spent the afternoon browsing through the charming stores along Main Street. She would normally have loved taking in the Victorian architecture—the turrets, the wraparound porches, the elegantly detailed trim work and bright colors of the painted ladies—but she couldn’t concentrate.
She sighed as she picked through her salad. Couldn’t eat.
After surviving bouts of morning sickness her first trimester, her appetite had come back with a vengeance. So much so that when she’d reminded Griffin she was eating for two, he’d asked, “Are they both linebackers in the NFL?”
But now, with her nerves so frazzled from the confrontation with Chance, she could barely swallow a bite. “If you want, we can go somewhere else,” Griffin offered.
He’d spotted the old-fashioned diner with its black-and-white floors, stainless-steel eat-in counter and red-vinyl-covered booths. Despite—or perhaps because of—the five-star restaurants boasted by many of his family’s hotels, he’d always enjoyed a basic burger and fries.
They were seated toward the back of the diner, and Alexa had a view of the entire place. The booths and barstools were crowded with a mix of tourists and locals. Pink-uniformed waitresses called out orders to a cook behind the counter, and fifties music bounced through the speakers. The smell of grilled meat and fried food would have been mouthwatering if she’d had any kind of appetite.
“No, this is fine.” She stabbed at a piece of chicken in her Cobb salad.
Dunking a fry in a pool of ketchup on the corner of his plate, Griffin casually asked, “That was him, wasn’t it?”
Alexa froze, midchew, convinced he couldn’t be asking what she thought he was asking. But his gaze was so certain, reminding her that she’d never been able to pull anything over on him. Still, she swallowed and reached for her glass.
“I’m sorry...” After taking a sip of slightly tart apple juice, she asked, “Who’s ‘him’?” Childish of her to play dumb when Griffin knew her so well. She might as well close her eyes and pretend the world—pretend Chance McClaren—couldn’t see her.
“You know.” He nodded to the spot hidden beneath the opposite end of the table. “Your baby daddy.”
Alexa set her glass back on the white-fleck Formica table with a thunk. “Have I told you how much I loathe that term?”
“Do you have a better expression in mind?”
Weekend fling...
Sperm donor...
Father of her child...
None of them did anything to settle the nerves spiraling through her stomach.
“Besides, it doesn’t matter what I call him. I’m still right, aren’t I? He’s the one.”
The one. Somehow that sounded even worse than all the others. Yes, Chance McClaren was the one man who’d made her forget herself for a long weekend. The one man who’d gotten her to take a chance, to risk stepping outside her comfort zone. The one man who’d made her feel free.
A flutter of movement in her belly seemed to mock that thinking. Not so free now.
But