CHAPTER TEN

W HEN C HARLEY WOKE the next morning, groggy and sore, it took her a moment to figure out where she was as the stream of sunlight illuminated the room’s luxurious furniture and stunning view. Then she became aware of Cade’s arm wrapped around her waist.

She could feel his breath, slow and steady on her nape, feel his warmth against her back, cocooning her. But the moment of calm, the feeling of security, was quickly obliterated by the twist of nausea in her belly.

She flung back the sheet as the twist sharpened and threatened to surge.

She raced across the thick carpeting, vaguely aware of Cade’s voice—husky with sleep—asking what was wrong behind her. She reached the bathroom just in time to flip up the toilet seat and heave.

Her tender stomach felt as if it were turning inside out as she lost everything she had eaten the night before. She didn’t hear him come into the bathroom until his hand stroked her hair back from her face.

Finally the endless retching stopped, and she collapsed onto the bathroom’s marble tiles, shaking.

She was vaguely aware of the sound of running water. He handed her a dampened flannel.

‘All through?’ he asked, his voice grave.

She nodded despite the achy exhaustion and the still jumpy sensation in her belly as she wiped her face. ‘It must have been something I ate,’ she said weakly.

This should be excruciatingly embarrassing, but she felt too awful to care.

He handed her a toothbrush. As soon as the peppermint scent of the paste he’d added hit her senses, her stomach rebelled again.

She grasped the bowl, leaning over with a moan to retch some more. But mercifully there was nothing left to come up.

She felt fragile and pathetically grateful for his presence as he helped her off the floor and guided her back to the bed when she had finally finished vomiting.

‘I’m calling a doctor,’ he said, his phone in his hand.

‘Don’t be silly. It’s just a stomach bug.’

He ignored her, but she felt too rubbish to argue further as she listened to him contacting one of his assistants and ordering them to have the nearest medic sent to the suite.

Embarrassment scorched her cheeks when he finished the call.

‘Get some rest,’ he said. ‘The doctor will be here soon.’

She lifted her aching head and turned over to stare at him. He sat in the chair opposite, having donned his shirt as well as his trousers.

‘This is silly,’ she said. ‘I’m sure I’ll be fine now. I’ve been needing to do that for days.’

His forehead furrowed. ‘What do you mean? For days?’

‘I’ve been a bit queasy for a while, that’s all. And tired. It must be a bug that’s going round.’

‘So not something you ate?’ he said, his eyes narrowing.

‘Well, no, maybe not.’

‘Exactly how long have you been feeling nauseous?’ Why did he sound so annoyed?

Her tired mind tried to grasp his mood, but she couldn’t seem to grasp much of anything at all. ‘Only a week or so.’

‘A week ?’ He cursed. ‘Why didn’t you tell me before I dragged you to the party last night?’ he added, confusing her more. It was impossible to tell from his expression whether he was angry with her now, or himself.

‘Would it have made a difference?’ she asked.

‘Of course. I’m not a monster, Charlotte,’ he said, getting increasingly aggrieved by the second, which only fascinated her more. ‘I wouldn’t have made you spend all evening on your feet. And I sure as hell would never have touched you if I’d known you were sick. You should have told me.’

‘I didn’t feel sick last night though. I think that was fairly obvious.’

He paced across the room, looking more agitated than she had ever seen him.

This was new. But while her stomach still felt super-delicate—and the heat in her cheeks at the thought of vomiting in front of him wasn’t exactly abating either—his agitation was somehow reassuring.

In fact, she almost enjoyed it when the knock sounded on the door and he shot across the room to answer it.

Who knew? The way to make Cade Landry lose his cool, and that cast-iron control, was to puke your guts up in front of him.

He stood beside the bed, tapping his bare foot on the carpet, hovering over her as the nice Dr Ramirez introduced himself, then started to ask a lot of questions.

The doctor took her blood pressure, checked her pupils, then asked her more questions. But as Cade got more agitated, she found herself relaxing. The nausea had finally faded. And it was almost sweet to have Cade so concerned. About her.

When she was a child, she’d always felt like a burden whenever she was sick. She knew the staff had been paid to look after her because her mother was too fragile to spend any time with her and her father was always working—or banging his latest bit on the side—and her older brother was away at boarding school.

How strange to have that yearning for someone care to enough about her to look the way Cade looked now—agitated and worried—finally fulfilled in these circumstances.

But then her own composure took a major hit.

‘Is there any chance you could be pregnant, Ms Courtney?’ the doctor asked.

‘No... What? No! ’ she sputtered, refusing to look at Cade.

‘I see. When did you have your last period?’

Her mind slammed into a wall of sheer panic as she tried to remember the date. She hadn’t had one in a while. But her menstrual cycle had always been erratic. ‘I... I’m not sure. I’d have to check my phone.’

She was forced to look at Cade when he scooped up her purse and handed it to her. To her astonishment, his agitation had disappeared. But then, she couldn’t gauge his reaction to the doctor’s line of questioning because his expression had gone completely blank.

It took her forever to locate her phone, switch it on and open her calendar app. But as she scrolled through the weeks—looking for the red P she always stuck into the app to keep track of her cycle—panic started to claw at her throat.

By the time she finally located the P , then counted the weeks in between, her fingers were trembling. She lifted her head.

The doctor had a kindly, encouraging smile on his face. Cade, though, who stood behind him, was staring at her with an intensity she recognised, his stance rigid.

She wasn’t pregnant. That would be nuts. He’d worn a condom that night. And they’d only done it the once.

‘Charlotte, how long?’ Cade prompted, his voice controlled, but with an edge which suggested he was holding on to his composure by his fingertips.

‘Um...well, it’s been a little over seven weeks... But really that’s not unusual. I have a very irregular cycle,’ she rushed to clarify, her cheeks burning now, because talking about her menstrual cycle with this man felt more intimate than having him inside her.

Which was almost as ludicrous as the notion she might be carrying his child.

This isn’t happening. It can’t be. It’s too absurd.

But even as she tried desperately to convince herself the doctor had to be mistaken, all the ways in which her body had changed—the things she had dismissed as the emotional and physical stress of kick-starting her business and the fallout from her night with Cade in San Francisco—suddenly coalesced in her head into a burning pile of incontrovertible proof.

Her sore, heavy, oversensitive breasts. The queasiness which had begun over a week ago. The fact she’d had her last period three weeks before she’d slept with Cade that first night. Yes, her cycle was erratic, but not that erratic.

She pressed her hand to her stomach.

‘And did you have sexual relations during that time?’ the doctor asked gently, oblivious to Charley’s shock and that strange feeling of horrified awe which was now pressing down on her chest.

Charley’s gaze met Cade’s. ‘Um...yes, once,’ she murmured. ‘About four and a half weeks ago. But we used protection.’

‘What kind of protection?’ the doctor asked.

‘A condom.’ Cade’s deep voice cut through the feeling of unreality. ‘Which I was too distracted to check afterwards.’

The doctor nodded—still so calm, as if Charley’s life wasn’t going into free fall.

‘Condoms are usually very reliable, Mr Landry.’ He turned to address Cade. ‘But I would still advise a pregnancy test. The symptoms Ms Courtney has described to me are very common in the first trimester.’

‘How do we do that?’ Cade asked, taking charge, because Charley had totally lost the power of speech now—her emotions pitching on a stormy sea of questions without answers.

Could I have made a baby? With Cade Landry? What if I have a life? Growing inside me? How do I even feel about that?

‘You can get an over-the-counter test—they’re very accurate—or I could arrange a blood test this morning at my office on West Twenty-Fifth Street...’

‘We’ll take the blood test,’ Cade said with his usual pragmatism.

Charley should have been annoyed—this was her body he was talking about—but she couldn’t seem to feel much of anything at the moment.

As the next hour passed, she sank deeper into the fog.

Cade accompanied her to the private medical facility in Chelsea. She had to sign a ton of forms, the nurse drew a vial of blood, and five minutes later they were led into Dr Ramirez’s office. The clean white space looked out over the Hudson River, the scent of expensive leather and potpourri doing nothing to cover the scent of the man beside her.

She could have objected to Cade being there, but it seemed pointless.

The realisation they would always share this moment made her pulse race when Dr Ramirez appeared. And cut straight to the chase.

‘Your blood test is conclusive, Ms Courtney. Given the date of your last menstruation, that would make you just over seven weeks pregnant.’

With Cade Landry’s child.

The blood rushed out of her head to pound in her heart. Cade asked a string of pragmatic, surprisingly measured questions. But she couldn’t hear them...because all she could hear were the clear, unequivocal thoughts in her head. Thoughts she never would have expected in these circumstances, but were there nonetheless.

How this happened, why it happened—or how impossible this situation is—doesn’t matter. All I know is that this is my child. As well as Cade’s. And I want to have it.

But how did that even work? When she had never considered becoming a mother until this precise moment...and had no confidence whatsoever she would be a good one?

Cade sat across from Charlotte in the limo as they headed out of the Midtown tunnel en route to JFK.

He’d made an executive decision to fly straight to San Francisco—and told his assistant to arrange to have Charlotte’s luggage collected from the hotel on the High Line. They needed time to regroup and take stock without having to deal with any press attention.

Charlotte hadn’t objected. But then, she hadn’t said much of anything at all.

She was staring out the window of the car now, but he doubted she was seeing the buildings of downtown Brooklyn. She looked shell-shocked. He knew the feeling.

A baby. A child. His child.

He had no idea how to process the news they’d just been dealt by the doctor. And he had no doubt at all she was struggling to process it too, given that her hands were clasped so tightly in her lap the knuckles had whitened.

It felt as if they had entered an alternative reality. And there was no way to get back to normality ever again. The one thing he could process, though, was a fierce sense of protectiveness—towards both Charlotte and the child.

Weird on one level. Because he had never thought of becoming a father. But not that weird on another. Hadn’t he spent his whole life building a legacy he could be proud of? Why had it never occurred to him until now that it would mean nothing if he had no one to pass his business on to?

But as he watched Charlotte—trying to gauge her reaction—he knew this wasn’t a child yet. It wasn’t even a baby. It was simply a pregnancy. And for him to feel so protective already—to be envisioning Charlotte’s slender body heavy with his baby—was premature. What if she didn’t wish to keep his child?

He cleared his throat. Her head jerked round and her gaze met his, her expression that of someone who had been woken from a trance.

‘How does your stomach feel?’ he asked. The doctor had given him a ton of advice about the morning sickness because he’d quizzed the guy while Charlotte had sat beside him in silence.

She placed a hand on her stomach, her throat contracting as she swallowed. ‘Okay, I guess.’

It bothered him that he couldn’t gauge her reaction, because all he could see was shock.

One of his greatest assets in business was his ability to read people and act accordingly to get what he wanted. Not being able to figure out how she felt about the pregnancy was a problem, forcing him to break cover.

‘How do you feel? About having this baby?’

She stared. Her bottom lip started to tremble. She bit into it.

‘I want to have it,’ she said at last. The relief he felt was palpable. Then she added, ‘But I’m also absolutely terrified.’

He could see her fear was genuine, and wondered where it came from. But before he could ask her about it, she said, ‘And you? How do you feel?’

‘Shocked,’ he admitted. ‘But also kind of thrilled.’

Her eyes widened, her pale skin flushing. Clearly she hadn’t expected that answer.

‘Really? You want to become a dad?’ she said, sounding incredulous. ‘I thought you’d try and pressure me into having a termination.’

He should have been insulted...but he let the knee-jerk reaction go. Because she was right about one thing. He hadn’t actually thought of becoming a dad , per se.

The baby, his baby, represented a legacy to him first and foremost—a part of himself which was even now growing inside her womb. Strictly speaking it wasn’t the thought of becoming a father, but rather that fierce sense of possession and vindication—at the thought of Charlotte not only having his child but also nurturing it, the way his mother had never nurtured him—which thrilled him.

But before he started examining his own reaction, he wanted to examine hers. Their current situation wasn’t ideal. If they were going to negotiate this bombshell, they would need to work together. So it might be good to find out, when she had decided he was a total jerk?

‘Why would you think I’d do something like that?’ he asked.

‘Because...’ She huffed. ‘Well, you’re you .’

He coughed out a laugh, not sure whether to be insulted now or amused.

‘Are you trying to say you think I’m a selfish bastard without saying I’m a selfish bastard?’

It was supposed to be a joke, but when she studied him, he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear her answer.

‘I don’t know you well enough to know if you’re a complete bastard,’ she said. ‘But I do think you’re deeply cynical. And arrogant. And that you make sure you always get what you want—no matter the collateral damage. Which reminds me, rather unfortunately, of my father...’ Before he could ask her about the man, she carried on. ‘Then again, you held my hair while I was puking this morning—and took care of me when I didn’t expect you to, which makes you not quite as much of a bastard as he was.’

‘Gee, thanks,’ he said, well and truly damned by her faint praise. What had she expected? That he would ignore her, or worse, be squeamish about a little vomit? ‘Your old man sounds like a real peach,’ he added.

‘You have no idea,’ she said. ‘How about yours? Did you know him?’

‘Nope,’ he said, then added, before he could think better of it, ‘I doubt my mother knew who he was either.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ she said, sympathy shadowing her eyes.

‘Why?’ he asked, determined to deflect her pity. ‘It doesn’t sound like you got much out of knowing your old man.’

‘True,’ she said. ‘But I’m not sure it’s a good thing that neither of us has first-hand knowledge of what a dad is supposed to do.’

‘I guess not,’ he said, glad the flicker of pity had disappeared.

‘I appreciate your directness about the pregnancy,’ she continued, but the sadness and confusion still lurked in her eyes. ‘I’ve got to admit, you’re not the sort of man I would ever have expected to be thrilled about an accidental pregnancy. Especially with a woman like me.’

‘Exactly what kind of woman do you think you are?’ he asked, wanting to make this about her again instead of him.

‘It’s not what kind of woman I think I am. It’s what kind of woman you think I am.’

‘Uh-huh. Enlighten me,’ he said, both annoyed and oddly intrigued by her candour.

‘Reckless, impulsive, immature, entitled,’ she said, her tone flat and pragmatic. But he could see the hurt in her eyes, hear the defensiveness—and the echo of the fragile girl he’d first met. ‘Basically, not the kind of woman you’d want to be the mother of your child,’ she continued. ‘If you’d had a choice.’

‘You’re right, you are reckless and impulsive,’ he said, because he’d be damned if he’d sugar-coat his opinion of her. After all, she certainly hadn’t sugar-coated her opinion of him. ‘But entitled and immature?’ he continued, determined to prove that while he might be arrogant and cynical, he wasn’t as dumb as she thought he was. ‘I may have seen that when we first met. I don’t see it any more.’

‘Perhaps you better tell me what you do see now...’ she said, but then she turned away to stare back out the car window. And he realised she was braced to hear the worst—which made him consider his words carefully. He wanted to be honest, but he also had no desire to hurt that girl again.

‘I think you’re passionate, smart, brutally honest and hard-working, and someone who is not afraid of adversity. All of which make you a lot better suited to being a mom than my own mother...’

Her head swung back, and he saw her surprise, but then compassion darkened her eyes.

Why the hell had he mentioned his mom?

‘So, tell me, if you want to have this baby, what are you so terrified of?’ he said before she could start feeling sorry for him again.

Charley stiffened at the direct question. And the probing look in Cade’s eyes.

She wished she hadn’t told him about her fear, because the last thing she needed to do right now was discuss all her insecurities. Frankly, she was already freaking out enough—not least about the thought of having a link to this man for the rest of her life.

A man who scared her on a lot of levels, and not because he reminded her of her father...but because, in many ways, he didn’t.

Cade was certainly ruthless and arrogant. He was also forthright, and complex. His admission he was thrilled about this pregnancy had astonished her. It had also elated her on a visceral level.

But she knew she couldn’t risk getting too invested in the way he had taken care of her this morning. Or allow his forthright defence of her character and her ability to be a good mother mean too much. All of which was no easy feat when her emotions were all over the place.

Gee, thanks, pregnancy hormones!

She placed her hand on her belly, rubbed the spot where their baby was the size of a prawn and admitted to herself she was also terrified of having to do something so important—something she wasn’t convinced she would have any aptitude for—entirely alone.

What a mess...

‘I just... I don’t want to make a mistake,’ she managed, because Cade was still watching her, waiting for a coherent answer...not that she had one to give him. ‘I don’t want to have this baby only to screw up its life, because I have absolutely no clue what I’m doing.’

He nodded, but the intense emotion which crossed his features had her heart bounding into her throat again.

‘Does anyone know what the hell they’re doing?’ he said. ‘Before they have kids?’

‘I suppose not,’ she said.

‘Then I guess we’ll just have to figure it out,’ he said.

She nodded, feeling the emotion sting the backs of her eyes.

She blinked furiously, determined not to get sentimental about the we in that sentence.

But she couldn’t help wondering about the tiny insight he’d given her into his relationship with his own mother. Was that why he was so driven? And why he refused to shy away from this responsibility? While she was glad he seemed willing to do this with her, she was fairly sure their mostly terrible—or non-existent—relationships with their own parents were not going to make parenthood easy for either of them.

‘If we’re both gonna prepare for this new reality, though...’ he interrupted her chaotic thoughts with typical pragmatism, his gaze dropping to her belly ‘...we have a lot of stuff to discuss.’

The massive understatement made her smile. ‘Ya think?’

He let out a rough chuckle. And the anxiety in her stomach finally began to ease. A little. But as the car took the exit to the airport, she felt the exhaustion she’d been trying to suppress all morning envelop her again.

‘Would it be okay if we put that conversation on hold? I’m shattered,’ she managed. It made her feel like a wimp, but she needed some downtime before she agreed to anything.

Cade Landry was a forceful and demanding guy who she knew wouldn’t think twice about making decisions for her and their baby if she gave him too much leeway.

He frowned, not too pleased with her request. ‘Of course,’ he said at last. ‘By the way, I’ve arranged a thorough check-up first thing tomorrow morning with the West Coast’s top ob-gyn, who happens to be based in Pacific Heights.’

Oh, did you, now?

She clamped down on her annoyance at his high-handedness. He was being conscientious. Not controlling. Much.

‘Do you know if the West Coast’s top ob-gyn is a woman?’ she asked.

His frown deepened, as if he didn’t have a clue why that would be relevant. Because... men !

‘Yeah, I think so.’

‘Great, well, I’ll see her then. Thanks.’

They arrived at the hangar, where the Landry jet was waiting for them. She could hear him making the final arrangements with an assistant, but tuned out the conversation as she headed to the bedroom at the back of the plane.

He didn’t join her.

She was glad he’d taken the hint. Because as she strapped herself into the bedroom’s seat for take-off, the exhaustion seeped into her soul, the emotionally charged conversation in the car—as well as the demands of her pregnancy—taking their toll.

As the jet lifted into the early afternoon sunlight, and the plane banked over Manhattan, her heart rose into her throat. But as the jet levelled off, her heart remained jammed under her larynx.

It was less than five hours since she had woken up in Cade’s arms. She could still feel the pulse of awareness in her core, where he had taken her last night with such urgency, such passion...and she had enjoyed every second of it.

But since then, her whole life— both their lives—had been turned on their heads. She pressed her palms to her stomach. And while she already felt a connection with the new life inside her, she also felt completely and utterly overwhelmed.