Susan Meier - Falling For The Pregnant Heiress

“I told you. You’re my best friend’s sister. I’m not going to let you go to some guy’s house alone and tell him you’re pregnant. God knows how he’ll react.”

“He’s not going to hit me.”

“You’re damned right, he’s not. I’m not going to let him.”

The electricity she’d felt the night before came back with a vengeance as his dark eyes held hers. It took all the strength she could muster to keep her breath from stuttering when she said, “No. Really. You can’t come with me. This is private.”

“Oh.”

The disappointed expression on his face knocked the electricity off her nerve endings but it tugged at her heart. This was a man who took his responsibilities seriously.

“Look. It’s okay. He’s going to say he doesn’t want to be a dad. And I’m going to say fine , then fly back to New York and raise my child alone.”

He gaped at her. “You don’t want your baby to know his dad?”

“I do want my child to know her dad. But Pierre’s not going to want to be a big part of her life. I won’t be cruel. Pierre can visit anytime he’s in New York. But I doubt that he will.”

His forehead puckered. “He’s not going to want his child?”

“Pierre’s a narcissist. His parents had a marriage as bad as my mom and dad’s and he vowed to make up for that by giving himself everything he’d wanted but didn’t get as a child. I have to be practical. And honest. He told me he didn’t want to have children and my being pregnant probably won’t change that.”

Trent shook his head. “You can’t know that. You saw what happened to Jake. He about went crazy when Avery didn’t want anything to do with him after she learned she was pregnant. Now he’s so smitten with Abby it’s almost funny. Then there’s Seth. A confirmed bachelor until Harper walked into his life with Crystal.”

“There was hope for Jake and Seth.”

“No, there wasn’t. Your dad had soured them both on relationships and made both wonder if they could be good dads...yet they pulled through.”

“Neither one of them is a flighty artist like Pierre.”

“But you loved him?”

“We had a relationship, based mostly on our common love of art. We also had the same kind of childhood. Pierre’s not the kind of guy a smart woman falls in love with.”

His eyes widened. “Wow.”

“I’m just saying that Pierre and I had a lot in common and we had a great couple of years together. But we never wanted anything serious.”

“Okay. I get that. But don’t write him off.”

She sighed. “Trent, I’m a planner. I teach other people how to look down the board and see the future. I’ve already played this all out in my head.”

“I’ll bet not all of it. You’re going to want to get married someday. And when you do your baby’s going to have a stepfather. I had a stepfather. He was a wonderful dad to my half brother and sister, the kids he had with my mom, but he never seemed to warm up to me. I was the boy my mom had with another guy. The one who came into the marriage. I wasn’t blood.”

Gobsmacked by the admission of something so personal and saddened for the lost little boy she pictured him to be, she said, “That’s terrible.”

He pulled in a breath. “Not really. The truth is he tried. I tried. We just never seemed to bond.”

She stared at him. She’d always had the impression he’d come from one of those perfect, close-knit blue-collar families. “But now you get along?”

“Depends on what you mean by get along. When I left home, my mom, stepdad and half sister and brother became a tight little unit. I’d see it every time I came home for a holiday and feel more left out. When I became wealthy, I bought them a house and insulted my stepdad, who refused it and accused me of thinking I was better than they were now that I was rich.” He shrugged. “So I kind of stay away.”

She absolutely did not know what to say. Particularly since he’d just confirmed her decision to never marry. Even if her parents’ marriage hadn’t warned here off, she’d heard enough horror stories from her friends at private school, whose parents had gone through divorces. From middle school through high school she’d heard tales of wicked stepmothers and grouchy stepfathers. Having a child just guaranteed she’d never marry. She would not put her son or daughter through that.

He caught her gaze. “What I’m telling you is, if I had a choice between being raised by my real father or my stepfather, I know which one I’d choose.”

Sabrina stared at him. He wasn’t upset, more like resigned, but to Sabrina that made his situation all the sadder.

When she didn’t respond, Trent turned her toward the small dressing room again. “Go. Change. Fluff out your hair. Do whatever it is women do to get ready. I’ll be right here waiting for you.”

She almost pivoted to face him again. He’d shifted gears from his own troubles to hers so easily it was as if his didn’t matter.

With her problems being the ones in the forefront, she supposed they didn’t. At least not now. At some point she’d circle back, ask him if he really was as okay as he sounded. But right now, she had to get dressed to tell Pierre he was about to be a dad.

She walked into the bathroom, splashed her face and slipped into her clean clothes. Though she knew what she intended to say, there were three or four ways she could approach Pierre. Strong and confident. Soft and loving. Matter-of-fact. And even strictly professional, like a lawyer stating the facts.

All the options had merit. Even after a few minutes to think them through before she left the bathroom, none of them stood out.

Trent’s staff had a limo waiting. The driver opened the back door for them, and she told him the address of Pierre’s apartment. As they drove along the streets, she only got glimpses of the Eiffel Tower. But it didn’t matter that she couldn’t see the usual sights. She loved the everyday hustle and bustle of Paris. Brick and stone streets. Tourists studying maps or ogling buildings. And the scents. Croissants. Madeleines. Éclair. Wonderful crusty bread. And that rich, dark coffee she loved so much.

But she couldn’t have coffee. She wouldn’t drink coffee for nine months.

When they reached Pierre’s apartment building in a residential section of the city, Trent followed her out of the limo.

She stopped him with a hand to his chest. His very solid chest. She almost groaned at the whoosh of attraction that rolled through her. Instead, she shook off the woozy, fuzzy feeling and said, “This part is private.”

“I’ll tell you what. You let me walk you up to the door and see what kind of mood he’s in. If he seems okay, I’ll let you talk alone.”

She wanted to argue. She wanted sexy, handsome, electricity-inspiring, nice guy Trent to disappear so she could tell Pierre he was about to be a dad.

Except, what if Trent was right? What if Pierre reacted badly? It wouldn’t hurt to have tall, buff Trent in the loose gray T-shirt and nice-fitting jeans at her side.

“All right. You stay for a minute or two. Then the rest of the discussion is private.”

He grinned. Her heart tumbled. How had she not noticed before how gorgeous he was with his unruly hair and seductive smile?

“Absolutely.”

They entered the building and climbed the two flights of stairs to Pierre’s apartment. It wasn’t the best building in the world. But Pierre didn’t make as much money as she did from her art. And that wasn’t a lot. She lived on her salary from the nonprofit and an extremely generous trust fund.

Still, her leg muscles became rubbery when she remembered how angry he’d been when her art had outsold his at their last showing. Her steps faltered.