Janice Maynard - Bombshell For The Black Sheep

Even now, all she could think about was how much she wanted to share a bed with him again. Naked and wanton. Losing herself in the elemental rush of sexual desire. Hartley made her alive . And she loved it.

But with great joy came the potential for great heartbreak.

With the way she was feeling, it was too much trouble to cook anything. Instead, she opted for cereal and a banana. A cup of hot tea warmed her cold fingers. When she was done with breakfast, she carried a second serving of tea to the living room and curled up on the couch.

Cradling the china cup in her hands, she debated calling off tonight’s dinner. Who was she kidding? If Hartley came over, she would sleep with him. Wouldn’t she? Did she have it in her to say no?

Sitting here alone, it was easy to see all the problems.

The Tarletons were Charleston royalty. They and J.B.’s family, the Vaughans, had endowed libraries and funded hospital wings and sat on the boards of half a dozen philanthropic organizations across the city. Their bloodlines went back to pre–civil war times.

Fiona appreciated her own worth, but she was a pragmatist. Hartley appeared to have the attention span of a moth. He was interested in Fiona at the moment, because his life was in crisis. And because they had shared a couple of encounters that had all the earmarks of a romantic comedy.

Life wasn’t like that, though. In the long run, the chances that he would actually come to love Fiona were slim. Maybe she was his flavor of the month right now, but when the novelty paled, he would be off on another adventure, with another woman, and Fiona might be left with a broken heart if she were foolish enough to fall for him.

Despite all her hashing and rehashing of the facts, she couldn’t bring herself to text him and say don’t come . How pathetic was that? She desperately wanted to see him. And then, of course, there was her curiosity about where he had been all these months.

He had never struck her as a liar. If he had explanations to make today, she had a hunch they would be true. Fantastical maybe, but true.

She finished her tea and stood, only to have the room whirl drunkenly.

With a little gasp, she reached behind her for the arm of the sofa and sat down gingerly. Had she poured bad milk in her cereal? Her stomach flipped and flopped. What was going on?

Five minutes later, she tried again. This time the familiar outlines of her furniture stayed put, but the nausea grew worse. At the last moment, she made a dash for the bathroom and threw up, emptying her stomach again and again until she was so weak she could barely stagger to her bedroom.

She curled up in the center of the mattress, shaking and woozy, and pulled the edge of the comforter over her.

Then it hit her. A possibility that had never once crossed her mind...though it should have. Was she pregnant? She’d had these odd episodes for several weeks now...had written them off as a virus or inner ear trouble or low blood sugar.

Her heart hammered in her chest. Her periods were not regular...never had been. At her gynecologist’s urging, Fiona typically noted them on a paper calendar she kept in the bedside table.

When she thought she could move without barfing, she reached for the drawer, extracted what she needed and stared numbly at the unmarked boxes. Back one month. Then two. Then three. At last, she found it. A brief notation in her own handwriting. She’d had her period about ten days before Hartley last showed up at her house.

Dear Lord.

He’d used protection. Hadn’t even balked at the idea when she told him she wasn’t on the pill. In fact, he’d used protection that night after the wedding, too. He’d been a generous, thoughtful lover.

But no method of birth control was 100 hundred percent. And now that she thought about it, three months ago, they had made love multiple times during the night when they were both half-asleep. Had they messed up? Was there one of those times when his body had claimed hers skin to skin?

Her teeth started to chatter. She couldn’t tell him. Not yet. Not until she was sure. He was going to be at her house in a few hours. With a moan of mortification, she buried her face in the pillow.

Yet even as she trembled with fear, excitement and happiness bloomed in her chest. A baby? Was she really pregnant? This could be the future she had always dreamed of...the family she so desperately wanted.

Hartley didn’t have to be involved, but he had to be told.

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