Susan Meier - Falling For The Pregnant Heiress

Because she was pregnant. Pregnant. About to be a mom.

She pictured herself holding a tiny baby the way Avery had held Abby right after she was born. The sweet little thing would snuggle against her and, like Avery, she would marvel that she had created a life.

Warmth filled her, along with a sudden desire to cry. Happy tears. Now that she’d adjusted to it, being pregnant was like a dream come true. Her life was busy but established. She could take time off, create a nursery in her big condo, set playdates, take her baby for long walks in Central Park.

The elevator reached her floor. She stepped into the lobby with two doors. One to her condo. One to the condo of a nice, recently retired couple who traveled a lot. She had breakfast with them once a month when they were home, and if they ran into each other at the elevator, they chatted happily. They’d raised four kids and adored their three grandkids.

They’d be the perfect neighbors for a single mom.

She punched a code into her alarm to disable it, then pressed her key card to the lock and opened the door onto her pristine home.

Wide-plank hardwood floors ran through the open floorplan that included a white kitchen, formal dining space and living room with a long sofa in the center of three conversation areas.

She faced Ziggy with a smile. She’d already decided which room would be the nursery and that she could dismantle the third bedroom and turn it into a playroom.

“Okay. Now that you’ve nudged me, you can go. Thank you for the use of your jet. Honestly, I’ll be happy to compensate you for the flight crew and the fuel when I return.”

His head tilted. “Oh, you think I’m just going to hand over my jet?”

“You’re not?”

He laughed. “No. I’m coming with you. You’re my best friend’s little sister and you’re pregnant. I’m not letting you fly across an ocean alone. What if you get sick? Or just faint? For at least the first trimester, I don’t think it’s wise to travel across an ocean alone.”

She was surprised he even knew the word trimester , let alone that that could be a scary time for a woman, but she let that go in favor of her real concern. “I don’t need help.”

“Never said you did. My coming is more of a just-in-case thing. Just in case you get sick. Just in case you faint.”

She wanted to argue, but she wanted to get to Paris more. It was night. She and Trent were both tired. They’d undoubtedly fall asleep for the entire seven-hour flight. When they woke in the morning, he’d be in a tux and she’d be in jeans and a shirt, suitably dressed to find Pierre.

Before Trent could buy proper clothes for a morning in the city, she’d be at Pierre’s apartment, telling him about the baby. He’d undoubtedly say he didn’t want to be a dad and she’d say that was fine. She’d just thought he had a right to know he was about to be a father. Then she’d go back to the airport to fly home.

There was no point in arguing with Ziggy because she could make the timing work for her.

“Fine. Come to France with me, but all you’ll be doing is sleeping on the jet. We won’t even talk.”

“I know the drill. I always fly at night.”

“Great.” Without another word, she walked to her bedroom to throw enough into an overnight bag to get her through a flight and a day in Paris.

When she returned to her main room a few minutes later, Ziggy stood by the wall of windows, staring at the twinkling Manhattan skyline. He’d removed his jacket and rolled his shirt sleeves to the elbows, revealing strong forearms peppered with black hair. He’d also taken off his bow tie and opened the top few buttons of his shirt. Now he was just a guy in black trousers and a white shirt. He could go with her to Pierre’s condo.

It didn’t matter. Even if he begged, she wouldn’t take him to Pierre’s. Surely, he could keep himself busy for a few hours in the most glamorous city in the world.

He took her overnight bag. “Ready?”

She slid the strap of her purse over her arm. “Ready.”

She’d chosen jeans and a peach-colored T-shirt with brown wedge-heel sandals for the flight and had combed out her long hair. Because of the curls of the up-do, it flowed in gentle waves to her shoulders.

Ziggy’s gaze traveled from her hair down her T-shirt and along the line of her jeans to her sandals. When his eyes met hers, a little jolt of electricity zapped her.

Now she knew what was going on. She was attracted to him. Sort of. The man was good-looking. But electricity? Sparks? She didn’t believe in those. Never had.

Forcing herself to ignore the firestorm rolling across her nerve endings, she smiled her most professional smile at Ziggy and headed for the door. “Let’s go.”

“Sure.”

They drove to a private airstrip and boarded the jet. The front of the cabin had four cream-colored leather seats. Behind those were two rear-facing blue leather recliners angled toward an enormous TV. It wasn’t the kind of luxury she was accustomed to. Her family’s biggest plane had two bedrooms, a kitchen and a formal dining room. But Ziggy’s little jet was obviously expensive with plush carpeting, lush leathers. And it was convenient. With no unnecessary bells and whistles, it was almost cozy.

“All the seats recline.” He pointed to a cabinet tucked behind the television. “Blankets are in there.”

She tossed her bag into one of the empty chairs and got herself a blanket. “Great. I’m exhausted.”

“Me, too.”

But when she sat on one of the pale seats, he walked back to the blue ones in front of the TV. Glad he hadn’t sat beside her—she didn’t care to feel the crazy jolt of electricity she got when he was too close—she reclined the seat, snuggled into her blanket and almost instantly fell asleep.

She slept deeply and eventually dreamed she had twins who sometimes morphed into triplets, and every time she took them to the park, Ziggy followed her, walking a big, furry dog on a leash that sometimes got caught in the wheels of her babies’ stroller.

The chaos of it jolted her heart. She woke with a start to discover they had landed in Paris, and decided her dream was an extension of Ziggy’s following her around all day at the wedding. With a long drink of air to wake herself completely, she rose from her padded seat, grabbed her overnight bag and turned to go to the private area of the small aircraft.

Rushing to the door in the back, which she assumed was a bathroom, she didn’t look right or left, not wanting to accidentally make eye contact with Ziggy. Or worse, wake him. The sooner she got out of here, the better her chances of leaving alone. All she needed to do was change her shirt, refresh her makeup and maybe take a minute to think about what she’d say to Pierre—

She opened the bathroom door and gasped.

Standing in the middle of the compact room, wrestling a shirt over his head was Ziggy— Trent .

A broad chest with well-defined muscles that led down to six-pack abs?

That was Trent. Adult. Sexy. And oh, so male. She’d never be able to think of him as her brother’s college friend Ziggy again.

She spun away, her heart doing something that felt like a samba in her chest. “Sorry.”

“No, wait. I’m done.” He slid out of the room into the main cabin and tossed a duffel bag onto one of the empty seats. “Didn’t want to be wearing a wrinkled tux around Paris.”

“How’d you get an overnight bag?”

“There’s always a go bag in my office. Had one of my assistants bring it to the plane while you were packing.”

She worked not to glance down at his chest, now covered by a gray T-shirt. But the vision of his pecs and abs was firmly planted in her brain. “I didn’t think you would be going to Pierre’s apartment with me.”