Like everyone else in the community, she’d been dying to see inside the lodge, situated outside the small community called Hunter’s Landing. The locals had been abuzz about the house—a 9,000-square-foot, multilevel, log-and-stone structure that had taken almost a year to complete. She’d climbed the path to peer inside at the end of construction, amazed by the number of fireplaces and the majestic staircases. Building permits had been issued to a nonprofit corporation in Los Angeles, the Hunter Palmer Foundation, information deemed newsworthy enough for the local paper. But beyond that, details had been stingy. Curiosity had died when the house was completed and nothing happened, except that a man had stayed there in March, then a different one in April.
And now Devlin, who said he would also be staying there for a month.
What had he called his trip? Not business, but someone else’s idea of pleasure? What could that possibly mean? It must somehow tie in with the other solo occupants who’d lived there for only a month. She wondered what the connection was.
Nicole approached the tall oak entry doors flanked by stone columns. She reached to ring the bell but the doors opened and Devlin stood framed there, looking very much like the lord of the manor in his jeans, boots and plaid shirt, the sleeves rolled up. It wasn’t his clothing that labeled him, but his posture and inborn confidence.
She wanted to walk into his arms, as she had in the elevator that night. “Good morning,” she said instead.
“Did you sleep okay?” he asked, stepping aside, giving her room to enter.
“Yes, fine.” She faced an enormous staircase that split into two different directions at the top. “Did you?”
“No.” They moved side by side up the stairs, then up another flight. “Have you eaten?” he asked when they reached the top of the staircase. “Would you like some coffee?”
“I’ve eaten, thanks, and I stopped drinking coffee.”
“Then we’ll go into the great room instead of the kitchen.”
Could she ask for a tour? Maybe she should ask now, in case she never got another chance. But then she saw the view from the great room and stopped to stare. The sight of Lake Tahoe rimmed by trees never got tired, and this particular view was stunning. Boats were already cruising, specks on the lake, including the paddle-wheeler sightseeing boats that ran year-round. She kept promising herself she would take one of the tours but hadn’t gotten around to it.
“Have a seat,” he said.
He’d lit a fire in the immense stone fireplace. She sat in a burgundy leather chair next to it. He didn’t sit but stood, his arms crossed, staring at the fire. She waited, getting more nervous by the second. Which was the real Devlin? Was it the caring, perceptive, sexy man she’d known in Atlantic City or this stern-faced one who seemed to have a steel backbone?
“I’m sorry you didn’t sleep well,” she said into the long silence. She locked her fingers together in her lap. Her waist-band cut into her. If she could just unbutton her skirt…. She slipped her hands under her jacket, behind her back, trying to unobtrusively unfasten—
“What’s wrong?” he asked, looking at her intently.
“Nothing.”
He raised his brows.
She stopped short of sighing. “My skirt is too tight. I’m trying to unbutton it. Okay? Satisfied?”
“You’re cutting off your circulation, which is bad for the baby.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. I’m not endangering the baby. And I’m getting some maternity uniforms today. I seemed to expand all of a sudden.”
His gaze slid down her body. She automatically folded her arms in front of her.
“I’ll be right back,” he said, then left the room.
She let out a long, slow breath, not realizing she hadn’t been breathing normally until she did. Why was she letting him intimidate her? It wasn’t like her at all. He was just a man, flesh and blood.
And what great flesh…
She’d dreamed about him for weeks after their night together, had hunted for him among the blackjack players, hoping he would return. She remembered every detail. How he’d looked naked. The feel and scent of his skin. His amazing hands. The incredible way he used his mouth—everywhere. He’d bombarded her senses, and she’d become someone she’d never known she could be. The night had been all about pleasing—and forgetting. She’d gotten the sense that it had been the same for him.
Nicole decided not to be sitting when he returned. If he was going to stand, so would she. The small, internal rebellion giving her a bit of satisfaction, she wandered closer to the floor-to-ceiling windows. Snow still frosted the mountain peaks but had melted from the ground. The lake was too cold for swimming, but from where she stood, the blue depths looked inviting.
Devlin came up beside her and passed her a piece of paper. “I need you to fill this out.”
There was no heading, just a questionnaire with spaces for her answers: name, address, birth date, social security number and other personal information. Like a credit application or something.
“What’s this for?” she asked.
“My lawyer wants to run a background check.”
“On me?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, your lawyer wants it.” She almost laughed at the absurdity. While she had no doubt his lawyer had provided the form, Devlin wanted it. Wanted her to sign on the bottom line giving him permission to delve into her private life—which he would undoubtedly do with or without her permission. It was just tidier with her permission.
“If we’re going to be married,” he said, “I need to know who you are.”
The words on the page blurred. She lifted her head. His jaw flexed, his eyes bored into her. She wished she knew him well enough to interpret his expression. Accusation? Anger? She wasn’t sure.
“Who said anything about marriage?”
“No child of mine will be born out of wedlock.”
“So you believe the child is yours?”
He barely hesitated. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“For the same reason I slept with you that night.”
“What reason was that?” she asked, intent.
“Damned if I know. Instinct.” He paused. “Look, Nicole, DNA testing will prove paternity. Anyway, I’m laying the groundwork for our union so there will be no delays later.”
How romantic. The thought stung. Just the kind of marriage proposal every woman hopes for. “This isn’t the Dark Ages.”
He smiled slightly, coolly. “Feels like it to me.”
Well, she hadn’t expected him to be thrilled, after all. “I expect you to fill out one of these forms, too,” she said just as coolly. “For my lawyer.”
His mouth quirked. In appreciation? Admiration? Irritation? She didn’t know, couldn’t tell if he was laughing or mocking.
“That’s fair,” he said.
“I’ll bring your form back to you tomorrow. I expect yours to be ready then, too.”
“I’ll stop by the hotel when you get off work, and we can exchange papers.”
“Mine won’t be ready by then. I’ll do it at home tonight, after work.”
“You have a lunch break, don’t you?”
“I eat on my lunch break. And put up my feet. And relax. It’s good for the baby.” Ha! He couldn’t