Apart from the two undone buttons at the top of his pristine white shirt, and the furrows in his thick black hair, he didn’t look like a man who had recently been ravaged by a nymphomaniac.
Unfortunately, she knew better.
She resisted the urge to groan. And let go of the fervent prayer that he might have taken the hint when she shot off to the shower, and miraculously vanished.
‘Decaff is all I have.’ She avoided his eyes, deciding that the post-coital politeness was as unbearable as the antagonism that had preceded it.
‘I hope black works, because I couldn’t find cream either,’ he said, handing her a cup.
‘Black’s fine.’ She leant over the counter to take the mug he must have pulled out of her packing case, careful not to step back into the kitchenette with him.
Best not to get too close to him again. The man had some weird chemical effect on her self-control that appeared to be exacerbated by her pregnancy—how else could she have allowed this to happen? Again.
‘I’m moving out this afternoon. Hence the empty fridge,’ she said, ignoring his steady, concentrated gaze as she skirted round the countertop and retreated back into the living area.
She heard his footsteps on the wooden flooring as he took the hint this time and followed her into the larger space.
‘Listen, Tess.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Despite how it looks, I didn’t come here to…’ She turned when he hesitated, surprised to see the dull flush on his cheeks beneath his tan.
Some of the tension in her shoulder blades eased at the thought that he was as confused by their insane behaviour as she was.
‘To boff me senseless on my kitchen counter,’ she finished for him.
He looked taken aback for a moment, then huffed out a laugh. ‘That’s one way of putting it.’
He sipped his coffee, watching her intently over the rim as if he were trying to gauge her mood. ‘I seem to have serious control problems when it comes to you and confined spaces.’
Despite the flutter of panic still buzzing about in her belly, she smiled. ‘Ditto.’
‘You’re not angry?’ he asked, sounding genuinely surprised.
‘Why would I be angry? You gave me the choice and I distinctly remember giving you my whole-hearted permission.’
He chuckled, his eyes glittering with amusement.
‘Although I think next time you give a girl a choice,’ she added playfully, hoping humour would skim over the awkwardness, ‘don’t wait until the moment of penetration. It might make your offer seem a little disingenuous.’
He stepped forward. ‘Point taken.’
‘And knicker-ripping is sort of frowned on too. Those happened to be Indian silk.’
‘I ripped your panties?’
‘Yes, you did, I have the torn shreds to prove it. By the way that’s two pairs you owe me now.’
The lazy smile softened his features and reminded her painfully of the reckless, devil-may-care charmer who had seduced her so easily nearly two months before. ‘Don’t worry, I’m good for them.’ Then he reached out and touched her cheek.
Tess jerked her head away from the tender stroke, disturbed by the clutch in her heart and the awareness shimmering across her cheekbone.
‘No touching, Nate,’ she said, holding onto the shiver of longing when his hand dropped to his side. ‘Twice was enough, don’t you think?’
Even for a raving nymphomaniac.
The smile died on his lips—but she refused to regret it.
Their latest chemical explosion was only going to complicate an already untenable situation. She’d made a commitment to have her baby.
She’d signed up with Eva’s obstetrician and had her first appointment four days ago. She’d bought a stack of books on pregnancy and childbirth, and had been on the phone every morning to Eva to debate her ballooning bust size and the slight queasiness that contrary to everyone else she’d ever heard of only affected her in the afternoon. And she’d been to the pharmacy to stock up on enough pregnancy vitamins to fell a rhinoceros. She’d even lined up interviews with a series of hospitality firms and started putting together a killer portfolio of her recent events to wow their socks off if she got an interview.
And after a week of careful planning, and getting her life—her new life—into some semblance of order, she was convinced that she’d made the right decision. But it was her choice, and her baby, and she wanted to keep it that way. She wasn’t going to make the mistake of trying to drag Nate Graystone into that equation again, just because he had some spurious biological connection to her child.
Clearly, spending over a year dating a man who had the sex drive of a sloth had made her uniquely susceptible to a man with the libido of a rampant tiger, but she wasn’t going to give in to her hormones—or him—again.
She folded her arms over her waist and dampened the silly little blip in her heart rate as his gaze intensified. Let him think what he wanted. She needed to get over her reaction to this man. And fast. And flirting with him probably wasn’t the best way to go about it.
‘So what exactly did you come here for?’ she murmured when he didn’t say anything.
Suspicion shadowed his eyes.
‘I came to find out if you are really pregnant and if the child’s definitely mine.’
There was that if again, she thought resentfully. But she held onto her temper this time, determined not to say anything she would probably end up regretting.
She’d foolishly had monkey sex with Nate Graystone twice now, but a chemical reaction was not a relationship. He’d rejected her once and he’d rejected her child too—she wasn’t going to leave herself open to more of the same.
‘Why the sudden change of heart?’ she asked evasively. ‘You seemed fairly convinced I was a lying tart the last time we met.’
His brow creased, and the familiar cynicism flickered across his face. ‘I never said that.’
She put the coffee mug down. ‘I told you I was pregnant. You told me it wasn’t yours. What part of that didn’t I understand?’
‘I overreacted,’ he replied curtly.
‘That’s quite an understatement,’ she said. ‘But it still doesn’t answer my question. What made you change your mind and decide I might not be lying after all?’
‘I never said you were lying.’ The crease on his brow became a fissure. ‘Are you pregnant or not? And if you are, how sure are you the child is mine?’
Tess pushed her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. Did he really believe that the truth was all that mattered? That whether or not he was the father made up for the flippant response, the cold dismissal?
‘How would you react? If I told you that I am pregnant and the child’s definitely yours?’
‘I don’t know. Is that what you are telling me?’ he asked, his voice rising.
It was her turn to frown. ‘What do you mean, you don’t know?’
‘I mean, I don’t know. I haven’t thought that far ahead. Now give me a straight answer, damn it.’
Her heart sank at his curt, frustrated tone and what it meant. He didn’t feel anything for this child. He was simply here out of some warped sense of duty. She’d given him a straight answer ten days ago and he hadn’t wanted to hear it then. And she doubted he wanted to hear it now.
If