Yeah, they needed to talk. Preferably where no one would interrupt them to offer lemonade. “Tomorrow, then,” Rafe said.
“Sounds good.” Mac was staring at her, so she dug deep for something polite to say. “I look forward to it.”
Rafe tilted his head down but kept his gaze locked on hers. “As do I.”
“Say, Rafe, in two nights, I’ll be at the Texas Cattleman’s Club—we’ve got a meeting. If you’re interested in setting down some roots locally, you could come with me.”
Violet started choking. Somehow, the air had gotten very sharp in her throat. She couldn’t have heard that right—could she have? “What?”
Rafe inclined his head at Mac, but he spoke to Violet. “I have been considering branching out into the energy business, so naturally I sought out my old friend.”
“Oh, naturally. That makes total sense.” She tried to smile, but it must have looked more like teeth baring, because both men recoiled slightly.
Something didn’t add up here. But her head was such a hot mess right now that she had no hope of figuring out what it was.
“I shall see you for dinner tomorrow night,” Rafe said, and she didn’t miss the particular timbre of his voice that seemed designed to send a thrill through her body. Then he turned, giving Mac a big smile that seemed less than sincere, Violet thought. “And I would be delighted to see this club of yours.”
“Great,” Mac said, clearly missing the forced smile. “It’s a plan!”
* * *
Morning sickness was a lie. This was what Violet had concluded after a night and a day of suffering with a roiling stomach.
Of course, there was also the possibility that it was not morning sickness. A quick web search revealed that most people were only sick for the first three months, and Violet was safely in her fourth month. After all, she knew the exact date of conception.
Just thinking about that night in Ben’s—Rafe’s—arms again made her stomach turn. Frankly, she defied anyone to not have an upset stomach in a situation like this.
She stood in front of her meager closet in nothing but her panties and bra—her regular bra, not the black-with-white-embroidery number she’d been wearing when she met Rafe. This was a smooth white T-shirt bra. Not a danged thing sexy about it.
Because that’s who she was—functional and dull and not terribly sexy. If Rafe thought she was going to show up for dinner tonight as V again, he had another think coming.
Besides, her one fancy cocktail dress—black with the lacy sleeves—well, it didn’t exactly fit right now. She’d already tried it on and she couldn’t get it zipped.
All those little changes her body had been experiencing—the slight weight gain, the nausea, the overwhelming urge to nap—she’d written off each and every little bump in the road as exhaustion or a bug or the changing of the seasons or stress or, hell, the phases of the moon. But now?
Not a bump in the road. A baby bump.
She had a plan. She had an appointment with an obstetrician in Holloway in two weeks. It was ridiculous that she felt she had to go to the next town over, but she hadn’t exactly decided just yet on how she was going to tell Mac about this “bump in the road.” She kind of had it in her mind that once she had a doctor’s official...whatever, it would be easier to talk to Mac. But if she went to the local doctor in Royal, word might get back to Mac before she could gird her loins. So she was just buying a little time here.
And as for Rafe...okay, she was still working on that part of the plan. She’d done another quick internet search on his country, Al Qunfudhah. The Wikipedia article had stressed that, compared to some of the neighboring countries and kingdoms, women enjoyed a great deal of freedom in Al Qunfudhah, but the article had hit Violet funny. Why would anyone make such a big deal about women being able to drive as if it were some wondrous gift?
She did not know what Rafe intended to do. He really was, according to that same article, a sheikh. His brother ruled the country. His father had died a few years ago. But beyond that?
It had been bad enough when she’d been pregnant with some random stranger’s baby. But a sheikh’s baby?
She was getting ahead of herself. Dinner first. And that meant she needed to put on clothes.
She finally settled on one of her few dresses—the fanciest dress she’d owned, until she’d bought the black one on a whim. It was an olive-green cotton dress with tiny pink flowers printed on it, and it had a pink satin bow at the scoop neck. It was just a little bit girlie but also, due to the darker color, not so girlie. Plus, it was a forgiving cut and it still fit. She paired it with her jean jacket and her nice pair of brown boots, the ones with the pointed toe. She twisted her hair up and pinned it into place, but she decided against dangly earrings. This wasn’t a date. This was a...negotiation, really.
That didn’t stop her from putting on small hoops, as well as mascara and a little blush, though. Not enough that it looked like she was trying, but every little bit helped.
At least Mac wasn’t here. If he saw her in any dress at all, he’d start asking questions. Outside of weddings and Easter services, she was not known for busting out the dresses.
She was debating the merits of her regular tinted lip balm versus actual lipstick when the doorbell rang. Crap. Violet started to hurry, but then thought better of it. She was not at Rafe’s beck and call. She was pregnant. She would not hurry to accommodate him. He’d better get used to doing the accommodating around here. She slowly applied a light layer of a deep pink lipstick and then grabbed her jacket. She was cool, calm and collected. No reason to be nervous, right? Just dinner with the father of her child. Easy peasy.
But by the time she got downstairs, she was on shaky legs and it only got worse when she opened the door to find Rafe standing there, a devilish grin on his face and a single red rose in his hands. And then he took her in, her dress and her boots and her jacket, and she wished in that moment she’d tried a little harder to get the zipper up on her black dress.
“Ah,” he said in a voice that sent a shiver through her. The voice was so unlike the way he’d spoken to her yesterday that she stared at him. This was the man she’d met in a bar. This was the man who’d taken her to bed.
“Hello,” she said, feeling unsettled because it was so hard to reconcile this man with the one who’d sat in the living room yesterday and looked at her as if she were a deer and he were a wolf.
He still looked as though he wanted to devour her, but the difference was so startling that she was helpless to do anything but stand there, gaping.
He held out the rose. “A beautiful flower for a beautiful woman.”
She couldn’t help it: she wanted to kiss him again. She wanted to feel the way he’d made her feel, beautiful and sensual and desirable. But now that they knew who the other was, she didn’t think chasing that little bit of happiness was the best idea. “Look—is this a date? What is this?”
There was that hardness in his expression again and she had to fight the urge to step back. She was not imagining that. “I would never force you to do something against your will, Violet. If you would like to go to dinner as friends, then we may do that. If you would like to consider this a more romantic evening...” His voice trailed off as his eyes warmed.
She took the rose and set it down on the foyer table. “The last time we had a romantic evening, things went wrong.” Two-positive-pregnancy-tests wrong. “I think we should get a few things settled before we do anything else.”
“Yes, that is a wise choice. It would be too easy to...well.” She could be seeing things but he might have actually blushed. “Shall we? I made reservations