One Night, So Pregnant!. Heidi Rice
sweet, Tess, but you have no idea how many mistakes Nick and I have made with Carmine. Luckily for us, he’s surprisingly forgiving of all our faults. All you can really promise a child is that you’ll love them. And that you’ll do the best you can. You’ll figure out the rest. You’re not stupid.’ Her pure blue eyes brightened with enthusiasm. ‘And we’ll help. You have friends. A support network and there’s always the possibility the father will want to help when he’s got used to the—’
‘He won’t,’ Tess interrupted. And no way would she ask him again.
Whatever silly fantasies she might have had about Graystone sharing some of the burden had been knocked out of her this morning. And she wasn’t going to resurrect them, not now she knew that the man lurking beneath that sexy and charismatic exterior was as cold and judgemental as her own father. She hardly needed another one of those in her life.
If she was going to have this baby, she would be doing it solo.
‘Okay, let’s put the question of the father aside for now,’ Eva said, carefully. ‘The important thing is that you do what feels right, or you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.’
A lone tear trickled down Tess’s cheek, her palm settling again on the belly she jogged eight miles every morning to keep flat and toned.
She let her head drop back and blinked at Eva’s newly painted ceiling, realising that her flat belly would be history soon. And it didn’t bother her a bit. Tears leaked out of the corners of her eyes as the giddy swell of excitement thumped at her chest. ‘I’m actually going to be a mummy,’ she whispered.
Eva covered Tess’s hand and laughed. ‘Welcome to the grand adventure, Mummy.’
CHAPTER THREE
‘ZANE, thanks for coming.’ Nate got up from the booth and pressed his hand to his best friend’s shoulder. ‘How was the drive up?’
‘Sweet.’ Zane Montoya flashed his trademark grin and Nate was immediately thrown back in time to their childhood, when that grin had only ever meant one thing—trouble. ‘I opened the Sixty-Seven up on 101 and she took those curves like a pro.’ Zane relaxed into the booth, his long legs stretching under the table.
Nate signalled the waitress to bring two Mexican beers before joining his friend in the comforting darkness. He’d wanted privacy for this chat, and luckily Murphy’s, the small neighbourhood bar a block from his offices, offered just that.
‘The Sixty-Seven?’
‘My latest acquisition,’ Zane replied, the face that had seduced a thousand women taking on a boyish glow of enthusiasm. ‘Sixty-Seven Mustang, soft top, Cobra Jet V8 engine, reconditioned gearbox and white-wall tyres.’
Nate gave a low whistle. ‘Where did you pick that up?’
‘Little old lady in Pasadena.’ Settling into the booth, Zane rested one arm across the back of it. ‘Who drove a mighty hard bargain. It needed a heck of a lot of work after spending forty years gathering dust in her garage.’
Nate doubted Zane minded a bit, as fooling around with cars and engines had been his passion since high school. That and chasing women—of every size, age, shape and religious persuasion.
The waitress arrived and placed their order on the table, gazing dreamily at Zane, then letting out a flirtatious giggle when he saluted her with his bottle.
Nate took a slow lug of the icy beer as the girl sauntered off, swinging her hips for all she was worth, and remembered that Zane had never had to chase any woman very far, because they all wanted to be caught. Usually sooner rather than later.
‘So what’s on your mind, Kemosabe?’ Zane asked, his gaze finally leaving the waitress’s butt as she disappeared into the crowd round the bar.
Nate cleared his throat and placed his beer bottle back on the table. ‘Remember that hook-up I told you about? A month or so ago?’
‘The British girl?’ Zane supplied. ‘Who you did in a janitor’s closet.’ Zane gave a rough laugh as Nate felt the flush burn the back of his neck.
‘Yeah, that girl.’ What had he been thinking mentioning it to Zane? His friend would be getting mileage out of it for the rest of their natural days. But at the time he’d been feeling raw and confused at the way she’d disappeared so abruptly—and he’d covered up the need for his friend’s input by boasting about it. Right now, though, he needed a lot more than just Zane’s advice.
‘She came to see me, last week.’ He paused, the niggling suspicion that had been digging away at the back of his mind ever since their meeting making him feel uneasy. ‘She says she’s pregnant.’
Zane’s eyebrows rose a fraction and his smile died. ‘That’s a complication.’
‘It’s not mine,’ Nate replied flatly, but the certainty he’d had a week ago failed to materialise. Why couldn’t he get that look of anguish in her face out of his head? Why hadn’t she argued? Why hadn’t she even attempted to persuade him? It didn’t add up.
‘You sure about that?’ Zane asked.
Nate thrust a hand through his hair, not liking the flat note in Zane’s voice. ‘I used a condom.’
‘Condoms fail,’ Zane replied, placing his beer down on the table with steely calm. ‘If a woman I slept with got knocked up, I’d want to know for sure it wasn’t mine.’
Nate realised he should have expected this response. Had probably wanted it on some level. The circumstances of Zane’s birth and his childhood meant that he took a hard line when it came to fathering children without taking responsibility. And who could blame him?
‘Which is where you come in,’ Nate replied. ‘I want you to get one of your guys to check it out. Find out if she’s actually pregnant. And whether I’m the father or not. I’ll pay the going rate.’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘What? Why not?’ Nate growled, annoyed. He might have expected this reaction, but getting Zane involved was the obvious solution.
Zane owned and ran the most prestigious private detective agency on the West Coast. Based in a huge glass office overlooking Big Sur, Montoya Investigations had a well-earned reputation for being classy, efficient, discreet and painstakingly thorough. And Graystone Enterprises had helped with the start-up finance four years ago, right after Zane had quit the LAPD. They were friends. Surely that should stand for something?
He and Zane had a history. They had grown up together in the huge coastal mansion his great-grandfather had built. They were as good as brothers. The familiar agony flickered through his consciousness as he ruthlessly cut off the wayward thought. Right now, he needed a friend, damn it, not another critic.
Zane scowled, not looking very friendly. ‘Montoya doesn’t take that kind of domestic work if we can help it. And getting your girlfriend investigated is a bit cold, don’t you think?’
Nate felt the headache that had been brewing most of the week pound against his temple. ‘She’s not my girlfriend,’ he clarified. But the accusation still stung.
He wasn’t cold. He was cautious. He’d been burned once before. No way in hell was he going to get burned again.
‘And this isn’t just dirty laundry,’ he snapped back. ‘This is about whether Tess Tremaine is telling the truth or not.’
He wanted a conclusive answer. Proof that she had been lying to him. Then he could stop thinking about the reproach in her eyes. What was so wrong about that?
‘Damn it, Nate, if you want to know the truth, you need to get out of your ivory tower and go have a conversation with the woman, like any regular guy.’
Nate flinched, the accusation slicing right through his composure and his control. ‘I’m not my father.’ He rubbed a clammy palm on the