Sandra Field - Pregnancy Of Convenience

“We’ll be gone by morning,” he said gently.

“I regret the day our son first saw those big blue eyes of hers!”

Dieter came through the door, passing Cal towels, pajamas and toilet articles. “Thank you,” Cal said. “I’ll say good night now, I’m a bit jet-lagged.”

He was actually distressingly wide awake, all his nerves on edge. Grabbing War and Peace from the shelves on his way by, he strode to the back bedroom. Joanna was still sleeping, her neck crooked at an awkward angle. For several minutes he simply stared at her, as though the very stillness of her features might answer some of the questions that tumbled through his brain. She was too thin, he thought. Too pale. Asleep, she looked heartbreakingly vulnerable.

Normally he was a fairly astute judge of character. But something about Joanna had disrupted his radar. One thing he did know: next time he was asked to do a favor for a dead mountaineer, he’d run a mile in the opposite direction.

He added more wood to the fire and settled down with his book. Two hours later, adding one name to his handwritten chart of the characters, he realized the fire had nearly died out. After he’d added some kindling and a small log, he turned around to find Joanna Strassen’s eyes open, fixed on him. They looked almost black, he thought. Depthless and mysterious. Full of secrets.

He said heartily, “Sorry if I woke you. How are you feeling?”

“I have to go to the bathroom.”

Moving very carefully, she sat up. Then she swung her legs over the side of the bed and pushed herself upright. Abruptly she brought her hand to her forehead, staggering a little. “I feel so dizzy…”

“Here,” Cal said unwillingly, “lean on me.”

She swayed toward him. He put an arm around her waist, furious with himself for liking her height, and the way her cheek brushed his shoulder. “Why don’t you have a hot bath?” he added noncommittally. “It would relax you.”

She stopped, looking him full in the face. “I won’t relax until I’m on a plane heading east,” she muttered. Then her jaw dropped. “My flight—I’ve missed it!”

“Everything’s canceled because of the storm.”

Agitated, she said, “It was a seat sale, will they charge me more?”

Franz had said she was miserly with her money. Is that why she wore no jewelry? “They won’t. But if they did, surely you could afford it?”

Her eyes suddenly blazed like blue fire. “Oh, of course. I’m a rich widow. How stupid of me to forget.”

He’d always liked a woman with spirit. Suzanne, his wife, had made a fine art out of avoiding conflict. But then Suzanne had had something perennially childlike about her; she’d never matched him, adult to adult. When he’d married her, he’d been too much in love to understand that about her; or to anticipate how her behavior would affect him.

Suzanne had also lied to him frequently, with casual expertise. He’d gradually come to understand that she didn’t lie out of malice, but simply because it was easier than owning up to responsibilities or consequences; after a while he’d stopped expecting anything more from her than a modicum of truth. While he certainly was intelligent enough to realize that every beautiful woman wasn’t necessarily a liar, Suzanne’s legacy, overall, had been a deep-seated reluctance toward any kind of facile trust. This trait had done well for him in the world of business. But as far as Joanna was concerned, was it doing him a disservice?

With an effort Cal came back to the present. “Maria’s loaned you something to wear to bed. I’ll get it for you.”

As she supported herself on the frame of the bathroom door, he passed her the pajamas. Automatically she took them, the fingers of her other hand digging into the wood; for a moment Cal wondered if she was going to faint. He grabbed her around the waist. “What’s wrong?”

“How she hates me,” Joanna whispered, and suddenly flung the pajamas to the floor. “Don’t you see? They’re Gustave’s pajamas! She knew I’d recognize them.”

Cal said evenly, “You hated Gustave. Didn’t you?”

“I no longer loved him. If that’s what you mean.”

“I’m not sure it is.”

“You won’t believe me when I say this, because your mind’s made up about me. But a long time ago I realized that to hate Gustave would destroy me.”

Hate was horribly destructive: Cal was certainly sophisticated enough to know that. He said provocatively, “So you destroyed him instead?”

She sagged against the door frame. “Can one person destroy another? Doesn’t destruction come from within?”

Again, Cal could only agree with her. Into his silence, Joanna added fiercely, “So you think I could destroy you? And how would I go about doing that?”

“Like this,” said Cal, putting his arms around her and kissing her full on the mouth.

She went rigid with shock, her palms bunched into fists against his chest. Then she wrenched her head free, her breasts heaving under her sweater. “Tell the truth—it’s you who wants to destroy me,” she cried. “But I won’t let you, I’ll never let a man that close to me again.”

What the devil had possessed him to kiss her like that? And why, when she was glaring at him as though he was the Marquis de Sade, did he want to kiss her again? But differently this time, not out of anger but out of desire.

The bruise on her forehead standing out lividly, she backed into the bathroom and slammed the door in his face. The lock snapped into place. If she’d taken the prize for stupidity by attempting to drive a small white car through a blizzard, he was now a close second. Kissing Joanna Strassen had been the stupidest move he’d made in a dog’s age.

But he’d liked kissing her. More than liked it. It had inflamed every one of his senses.

When he left Winnipeg, he was headed to Boston on business. He’d give Jasmine a call. Wine her and dine her and take her to bed. That’s what he’d do. And the sooner the better.

In fact, he might even phone her from here. Yeah, he might just do that.

Picking up Gustave’s pajamas from the floor, Cal put them on the dresser. He could hear water running in the bathroom. He hoped to God Joanna wouldn’t slip or faint in the bathtub.

He’d broken a car window already today. He could always break down the bathroom door.

That would really impress Maria.

Somewhat cheered, Cal picked up War and Peace again. He had the whole night. He might as well get on with it.

Half an hour later, Joanna opened the bathroom door. She was fully dressed, her cheeks pink from the heat. Cal said calmly, “You can have these,” and passed her the new pajamas Dieter had given him.

“They’re yours,” she said inimically.

“They’re Dieter’s. I never wear pajamas.”

“And where are you planning to sleep?” Her nostrils flared. “Do you know what? I don’t even know your name.”

“Cal,” he said, and held out his hand, adding ironically, “Pleased to meet you.”

She kept her own hands firmly at her sides. “Answer the question.”

“On the couch. Unless you’d rather have it. It’ll be too short for me.”

“As far as I’m concerned you can sleep outdoors in a snowdrift.”

For the first time since finding her in the car, Cal’s smile broke through. “That’s not very nice of you. I did, after all, save your life.”

“And would you have, had you known who I was?”

“Of course I would. What kind of a question’s that?”

She chewed on her lower lip. “Thank you,” she said grudgingly. “I guess.”

“Put on your pajamas and go to bed,” Cal ordered. “Before you fall flat on your face.”

She was scowling at him as though her one desire was to strangle him with the pajamas. Cal quelled an inappropriate urge to laugh his head off. He’d give her one thing: she sure didn’t back down.