Expecting a Bolton Baby. Sarah M. Anderson

      Four

      Bobby drew her a bath. At first, Stella had scoffed when he’d offered to fill up the tub. But he’d done so, anyway, insisting that she should relax.

      So here she sat, nude, stretched out in a tub that had jets. The water covered her body, the warmth seeping into her bones. The whole time, she was thinking, What am I doing?

      Because taking a warm bath, sleeping in Bobby Bolton’s bed—even if he wasn’t in it with her—was not the plan. Although, with her stomach happily full and the bath doing an admirable job of making her sleepy, she was having trouble remembering what, exactly, the plan had been. Show up. Inform him of his contribution to her situation. Determine if he would be supportive of the child or not. Decide what she was going to do. Go home.

      Alone.

      But this? Soaking her toes in his bath? Sleeping in his very large bed? Eating the meal that he’d made for her? Seeing the photo of the two of them so prominently displayed on his table?

      Feeling as if he cared for her?

      No. How he made her feel—as if she was more than just an inconvenience to be dealt with, more than just a reminder of a painful mistake he’d made—this was a short-lived sensation and could not figure into her plans. It wouldn’t last. Aside from Mickey, bless his soul, no man had ever done a thing to take care of her. She had no reason to think that Bobby was any different. Not once the shock of the situation wore off, anyway.

      Stella cradled her belly with her hands. She couldn’t tell if her body had changed—not on the outside, anyway. Inside, she was something of a mess.

      Her world was carefully controlled to buffer her against the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. Because she couldn’t bear another arrow. Better to feel nothing than to feel the pain that had been her constant companion since her mum’s death.

      But Bobby...she felt things for Bobby. That was how she’d gotten into this fine mess in the first place—he made her feel things that she’d never felt before. Happy. Exuberant. Silly, even. She’d laughed with him in the club when he’d told a disparaging story about his brother breaking his jaw, and she’d giggled in his arms in the back of the car, and the orgasm she’d experienced brought forth a whole new range of feelings.

      Now she was feeling things, things that she didn’t want to feel, because feelings were messy and unclear and hard to control.

      She hadn’t lied to Bobby. She wouldn’t allow him to use the child as a pawn in negotiations with her father. Better that her baby never knew her father, if that’s how it was going to be. At least, that had been the plan. The life she had was not a life she wanted to pass on to another generation.