Pursued (The Diamond Tycoons 2) (10 page)

Which meant she would have to call him. And explain the situation. And grovel—a lot. God. She closed her eyes, lowered her head to the desk. She hated groveling. She really, really, really hated groveling—especially when she was the one in the wrong.

But she was smart enough—and woman enough—to admit that she had brought it on herself. She was the one who hadn’t listened to Nic and she was the one who was so wrapped up in her investigation, and the kind of man she’d thought he was, that she’d left one voice mail for him and then given up. Even though she was carrying his baby. And even though she’d known—though she would deny it to her dying day—that there was a good chance that after she’d ignored him for weeks that he wouldn’t listen to any message she left.

Just because she knew what she needed to do didn’t mean it was easy. Desi gave herself five minutes to sulk and then did what she had to do. She put on her big-girl panties and called Nic.

Ten

H
e brought her to one of his favorite restaurants in LA, a little trattoria in the heart of Beverly Hills. He liked it because the food was great and the owner’s brother had worked for Bijoux for years, but he could tell the moment they walked into the place that he had definitely chosen wrong.

Though Desi didn’t say anything, it was obvious that she was uncomfortable. He thought about ignoring her discomfort so as not to make it any worse, but they already had a lot of strikes against them. This dinner was supposed to be about finding some common ground, and if it would make her feel better to go someplace else, then he was more than willing to do that for her.

But when he asked if she’d feel more comfortable at one of the other restaurants on the street, she just shrugged and said, “This is fine.”

“Are you sure? Because if you don’t like Italian—”

“Everyone likes Italian food,” she told him with a slightly exasperated roll of her eyes. “That’s not the problem.”

“Then what is?”

“This place is expensive.”

“Don’t worry about that. I asked you out—”

“I don’t want your money. That’s not why I called you tonight. And it’s definitely not why I’m keeping the baby. I just want to say that up front and you need to believe me. I don’t need or want you to take me to fancy restaurants and spend a lot on me.”

“Believe me,” he answered with a smirk, “I am well aware that you don’t want my money, Desi. Otherwise you wouldn’t have written an article guaranteed to cost me billions.”

She flushed, and for the first time since they sat down, she refused to look him in the eye. “I know I already said it, but I’m really sorry about that. I wasn’t out to get you. I just believed the wrong person and…” Her voice trailed off as she ducked her head.

He didn’t like this new, humble version of her. Yes, ten hours ago he’d pretty much been out for D. E. Maddox’s blood. But that was before he realized D. E. Maddox was also Desi. The woman he’d spent the most sensual, sexy, satisfying night of his life with. The woman who met him point for point with strength and attitude. The woman who, he now knew, was carrying his child.

“Look, why don’t we just start over?” he told her, reaching across the table and resting his hand on top of hers.

“Start over?” She looked incredulous. “I’m nearly five months pregnant with your son. I think it’s a little late to try starting over.”

He laughed. “I don’t mean that I want to walk up to you in a bar and introduce myself to you while we pretend we don’t know each other. I just mean, let’s have a clean slate. Leave whatever’s in the past in the past and deal with where we are now without any of the junk from before messing it up.”

“You want us to just forget everything?”

“Why not?”

“Do you think we can do that?”

“Do you not?”

She laughed then. “Are we seriously back to this? Answering each other’s questions with more questions?”

“Hey. I asked the first question—you’ve just been piling question on question after that.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how it happened.” She eyed him skeptically. “But I’m willing to take the blame this time, as a peace offering.”

He felt himself relax, really relax, for the first time in days. Desi was here with him, they were having a conversation that didn’t involve sniping at each other—and that he hoped would, soon enough, also include real communication. Plus, his company was safe. At this exact moment in time, what else could he ask for?

After giving their order to the waiter—chicken picatta for him and angel-hair pasta for her—the two of them made small talk. About LA, about the weather, about a band they had both recently seen in concert. But as the meal went on, Nic grew increasingly frustrated. Not because he minded talking to Desi about that stuff—she was smart and funny and interesting, and if things were normal he’d be happy to spend the evening laughing and flirting with her over their dimly lit table.

But things weren’t normal, and while he tended to be pretty easygoing about most things that didn’t involve Bijoux, he wasn’t okay with being easygoing about this. Not when she was carrying his child. And not when they had so much to figure out.

By the time their meal had been cleared and he had ordered dessert—she had passed, but he hoped to tempt her with some lemon marscapone cheesecake—he was more than ready to talk about their son and what arrangements they were going to make for him.

Desi seemed to sense his mood, because she stopped right in the middle of the story she was telling and looked at him.

He didn’t like the apprehension in her eyes, or the way her body tensed as if she was waiting for a blow. He’d spent his whole life charming women. The last thing he wanted was for the mother of his child—for Desi—to be afraid of him.

Reaching across the table, he slid his hand down her hair. She startled at his touch, but he didn’t move his hand away. Instead he pushed an errant lock behind her ear. Then he skimmed a finger down the soft curve of her cheek.

Her eyes drifted shut at the first touch of his skin on hers and she swayed a little. Leaned her cheek into his hand. And, just that easily, the fire that had burned so hotly on the night they met reignited.

It had been eighteen weeks since he’d held her, eighteen weeks since he’d kissed his way across her shoulders and down the delicate curve of her spine. But he still remembered what she felt like against him, around him. Still remembered the way she moaned when he slipped inside her and the way she raked her fingers down his back when she came.

“Let me take you back to your place,” he said, his voice hoarse with a desire he didn’t even try to hide. “Let me make you feel good.”

Her eyes flew open at his words, and in their depths he saw the same arousal he was feeling, the same need. But there was a reluctance there, too, that spoke of confusion and conflict, and he knew—no matter how much he wanted her—he couldn’t have her. Not now. Not when things were still so unsettled between them.

So he pulled back, let his hand fall away from her cheek.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ve made such a mess of things.”

She had, but he wasn’t going to blame her for it. Not when he’d made his share of mistakes, too. He was the one who had erased her number from his phone. He was the one who hadn’t been diligent about listening to his messages and had ended up missing the most important voice mail of his life.

“That’s why we’re starting over. No more messes to clean up, from either of us.” Because his head was still a little cloudy with desire—and it wasn’t the only part of his anatomy to feel that way—he leaned back in his chair and took a long sip of water while he tried to get his thoughts together.

“Look, I know you want to talk about the baby, but I’m not sure what to say about that yet. I’ve spent the last three months thinking I’m going to be doing this alone and now you’re here and you want to be involved. That’s great, but I need time to adjust.”

“I get that. I do. And we’ve got time to figure everything out. But I want you to know that you aren’t in this alone anymore.”

“I know.”

“No, I don’t think you do,” he told her. “I don’t just want to be a part of the baby’s life after he’s born. I want to start now. You’re pregnant and, I don’t know, pregnant women need things, right? If you do, I want to be there to help you out.”

For long seconds, Desi didn’t say anything. Which was fine, because she didn’t reject his words outright. But the longer she kept him waiting, the more anxious he got. He’d already threatened her once today about the baby. He didn’t want her to think he was doing it again.

But just as he opened his mouth to explain, she said, “I’m okay with that.”

“You are?”

“You don’t have to sound so surprised,” she said with a laugh.

“I’m not. It’s just… I was a real ass about the baby earlier and I’m sorry. I don’t want you to think this is a part of what happened before because it’s not.”

“Hey, you’re the one who keeps talking about a clean slate. I think that’s supposed to work both ways, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. I guess it is.”

She nodded, then took a deep breath. Let it out slowly. “So, you want to be a part of the pregnancy?”

“Absolutely.” He thought back to when he was in the park earlier, to the father and the son who’d been at the swings when he was walking by. He wanted that, more than he’d ever imagined possible, and he was going to do whatever he had to do to get it.

“Okay. I have a doctor’s appointment next week. You could come to that if you want.”

“I do want to. But I want more than that, as well.”

“More?” She looked confused. “That’s pretty much all there is at this point. A doctor’s appointment once a month and then, when I’m closer to my due date, one every two weeks. And, I should probably warn you, they aren’t very exciting appointments, you know? I pee on a stick, I listen to the baby’s heartbeat—which, I admit, is the best part. Sometimes the doctor takes my blood. But that’s it.”

“It sounds pretty good to me.”

“That’s because you aren’t the one getting stuck with needles,” she told him.

“Well, thank God,” he said, adding an exaggerated eye roll for effect. “I’m a crier.”

“You know, I can see that about you,” she said with a laugh. “You’ve got that look about you.”

He lifted a brow at her. “I look like a crybaby?”

“You look…sensitive.”

That startled a laugh out of him. “Well, I’ve got to say, that’s the first time anyone’s ever told me
that
.”

“That’s because you keep your sensitive side hidden behind all that charm.”

She said it as a joke, but again, there was something about the look in her eye that told him she saw more than he wanted her to. More than he wanted
anyone
to. His whole life he’d been the joker, the charmer, the easygoing one who countered Marc’s intensity. He’d been the one who defused their father’s temper when things started to go bad and the one who stepped between him and Marc when things
did
go bad. And he did it all with a smile.

He’d spent years honing the persona, years perfecting it until everyone who knew him believed he was
that
guy. Hell, most of the time he believed it himself. The idea that Desi saw through the mask, that she saw what no one else had ever bothered to look for, rocked him to his core.

Which was the only excuse he had for what happened next.

From that moment in the park, when he’d decided definitively what he wanted, he’d been working toward this moment. Everything he’d done since then had been geared toward making Desi trust him, geared toward making her want to go along with his suggestion. He’d even had a plan about how to broach the idea.

But as he sat here, reeling from what should have been a simple throwaway observation but somehow wasn’t, he wanted nothing so much as to change the subject. To get the focus off him. So he blurted out the first thing that came to mind, not caring—until it was too late—that doing so blew his whole plan sky high.

“I want you to move in with me,” he told her straight out, not even bothering to cushion the blow.

“Move in with you?” She looked at him as if he was crazy. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m totally serious.”

“You aren’t.”

He waited until the waiter stopped by to freshen their waters and drop off dessert before he said, “I am.” Then he reached over and forked up a bite of cheesecake and held it out to her.

She didn’t take it right away. Instead, she studied him and studied the bite of cheesecake while the second hand wound its way around his watch.

“Maybe you are,” she finally said, leaning forward to take the bite off his fork. “But you shouldn’t be. We don’t even know each other.”

She’d gotten a tiny dab of whipped cream on his very favorite part of her upper lip and he wanted nothing more than to lean forward and lick it off. The only thing holding him back was the fact that he knew it wouldn’t score him any points right now—and it sure as hell wouldn’t help him convince her that he wasn’t angling for a roommate-with-benefits relationship…

“But it makes perfect sense. What if something happens and you need me—”

“I didn’t realize you were a doctor.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“No, but if I need you, I can call you.” She held up her phone. “That’s what these really nifty smartphones are for. That is, of course, provided you actually pick up this time.”

She said it as if it was a joke, but there was an underlying bite to it that he’d have to be an idiot to miss. “Exactly my point. If we were living together, you wouldn’t have to call me. I’d just be there.”

She sighed heavily, then said, “Nic, look, I know this whole baby thing has thrown you for a loop today. Believe me, I get that. I’ve known for months and it still freaks me out. But that doesn’t mean we have to do anything crazy. I understand that this is your gut reaction. But why don’t you take a few days and really think about it. Make sure being involved is what you really want—”

“It is what I want. I’m not the kind of guy who runs from his responsibilities, Desi.”

“But see, that shouldn’t be why you decide to stick around. Only because the baby is your responsibility. You should be a part of his life because you want to be, not because you feel like you have to be.”

“Now you’re twisting my words. Of course I want to be a part of his life—”

“Just listen to me for a minute, okay?” It was her turn to reach across the table and put her hand on his. “You need to seriously think about this before you do anything rash. Because if you want out, it would be better if you walked away now rather than in four months or four years, when you decide you’re bored.”

“Why are you so sure I’m going to walk away?” he asked.

“Why are you so sure you’re not?”

“And we’re back to trading questions.” He couldn’t quite keep the frustration out of his voice.

“We are,” she agreed with a small smile. “But they’re important questions. And you didn’t answer mine.”

“Neither did you.” He caught her gaze, held it, then refused to look away.