Cat Schield - A Royal Baby Surprise

Nic’s mouth tightened into a grim line. “It was fun. But you were all in and I wasn’t.”

Brooke bit her lip and considered what he said for an awkward, silent minute. “You broke up with me because I told you I loved you?” At the time she hadn’t worried about confessing her feelings. After all, she was pretty sure he suspected she’d been falling for him for five years. “Did you ever intend to give us a chance?”

“I thought it was better to end it rather than to let things drag out. I was wrong to let things get so involved between us.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this in the first place?”

“I thought it would be easier on you if you believed I’d chosen work over you.”

“Instead of being truthful and admitting I wasn’t the one.”

This wasn’t how she’d expected this conversation to go. Deep in her heart she’d believed Nic was comfortable with how fast their relationship had progressed. She’d been friends with him long enough to know he didn’t squander his time away from the Griffin project. This led her to believe she mattered to him. How could she have been so wrong?

Conflicting evidence tugged her thoughts this way and that. Usually she considered less and acted more, but being pregnant meant her actions impacted more than just her. She needed a little time to figure out how to approach Nic about her situation.

“I guess my optimistic nature got the better of me again.” She lightened her tone to hide the deep ache centered in her chest.

“Brooke—”

“Don’t.” She held up both hands to forestall whatever he’d planned to say. “Why don’t we not talk about this anymore while you give me a tour of your palatial estate.”

“It’s not palatial.” His thick black eyebrows drew together in a grim frown.

“It is to a girl who grew up in a three-bedroom, fifteen-hundred-square-foot house.”

Nic’s only reply was a grunt. He got to his feet and gestured for her to precede him. Before entering the house, Brooke kicked off her sandals. The cool limestone tile soothed her tired feet as she slipped past him. Little brush fires ignited along her bare arm where it came into contact with his hair-roughened skin.

“This is the combination living-dining room and kitchen,” he said, adopting the tour guide persona he used when escorting potential Griffin investors.

She took in the enormous abstract paintings of red, yellow, blue and green that occupied the wall behind the white slip-covered couches. To her left, in the L-shaped kitchen, there was a large glass table with eight black chairs, offering a contrast among the white cabinets and stainless appliances. The space had an informal feel that invited relaxation.

“The white furniture and walls are a little stark for my taste,” she said. “But it works with the paintings. They’re wonderful. Who did them?”

“My sister.”

He had a sister, too? “I’d like to meet her.” Even as Brooke spoke the words, she knew that would never happen. Nic had made it perfectly clear he didn’t want her in his life. She had a decision to make in the next day or so. It was why she’d come here. She needed his help to determine how the rest of her life would play out. “Did Glen know about your family?”

“Yes.”

That hurt. The two men had always been as tight as brothers, but she never expected that Glen would keep secrets from her.

“Tell me about your brothers.” She didn’t know what to make of all these revelations.

“We’re triplets. I’m the middle one.”

“Two brothers and a sister,” she murmured.

Who was Nic Alessandro? At the moment he looked nothing like the overworked rocket scientist she’d known for years. Although a bit wrinkled and worse for wear, his khaki shorts and white short-sleeved shirt had turned him into an ad for Armani’s summer collection. In fact, his expensive sunglasses and elegant clothes transformed him from an absentminded scientist into your basic, run-of-the-mill European playboy. The makeover shifted him further out of reach.

“Is there anyone else I should know about?” Despite her best efforts to keep her tone neutral, her voice had an edge. “Like a wife?”

“No wife.”

Brooke almost smiled at his dark tone. Once upon a time she’d taken great delight in teasing him, and it should have been easy to fall back into that kind of interaction. Unfortunately, the first time he’d kissed her, she’d crossed into a deeply serious place where his rejection had the power to bruise and batter her heart.

“Who takes care of all this when you’re not here?” Keeping the conversation casual was the only way to keep sadness from overwhelming her.

“We have a caretaker who lives in town. She comes in once a week to clean when we’re not in residence, more often when we are. She also cooks for us, and her husband maintains the gardens and the boat, and fixes whatever needs repairing in the house.”

Brooke looked over her shoulder at the outdoor terrace with its informal wood dining table and canvas chairs. A set of three steps led down to another terrace with more lounge chairs. Potted herbs lined the three-foot-high walls, softening all the concrete.

“What’s upstairs?”

Nic stood in the middle of the living room, his arms crossed, a large, immovable object. “Bedrooms.”

“One I can use?” she asked in a small voice.

A muscle twitched in his jaw. “There are a number of delightful hotels in town.”

“You’d turn me out?” Something flared in his eyes that brought her hope back to life. Maybe she hadn’t yet heard the complete explanation for why he’d broken off their relationship. She faked a sniffle. “You can’t really be so mean as to send me in search of a hotel when you have so much room here.”

Nic growled. “I’ll show you where you can shower and grab some sleep before you head home.”

Although it stung that he was so eager to get rid of her, she’d departed California suspecting he wouldn’t welcome her intrusion.

“Then, I can stay?”

“For the moment.”

Mutely, she followed him back out through the open French doors and onto the terrace. He made a beeline toward the duffel bag she’d dropped beside the stairs that lead up from the beach.

“I can’t get over how beautiful it is here.”

“Most people are probably more familiar with the islands in the Aegean,” he said, picking up her bag. “Mykonos, Santorini, Rhodes.”

“I imagine there’s a lot more tourists there.”

“Quite a few. Kioni attracts a number of sailors during the summer as well as some people wanting to hike and enjoy a quieter island experience, but we’re not overrun. Come on, the guesthouse is over there.” He led the way along the terrace to a separate building.

“You should take me sightseeing.”

“No. You are going to rest and then we’re going to find you a flight home.”

Brooke rolled her eyes at Nic’s words and decided to take the fact that he kept trying to be rid of her as a challenge. “My return ticket is for a flight a week from now.”

“Don’t you have a lot to do to prepare for your students at Berkeley?”

“I don’t have the job yet.” Though Brooke held a position at UC Santa Cruz, teaching Italian studies at Berkeley had been a dream of hers since her sophomore year in college. And then she and Nic had begun a relationship. Soon the distance from San Francisco to the Mojave Desert had become an impediment to what she wanted: a life with Nic.

He shot her a sharp look.

She shrugged. “The interview got postponed again.”

“To when?”

“Not for a few weeks yet.”

In truth she wasn’t sure when it was. There’d been some scheduling conflicts with the head of the department. He’d already canceled two meetings with her in the past month. Not knowing how many people were up for the position she wanted gnawed at her confidence. Few shared her research credentials, but a great many had more experience in the classroom than she did.