Falling for the Pregnant Heiress

by Susan Meier

His heart clenched. She might not be hurt but something was wrong.

  “I just wanted to get this over with.”

  He nodded at her cell phone. “Google his website. Let’s see where he is in Italy. We’ll hop on the plane and be there in a few hours. Once you’ve spoken to him, I know a fabulous out-of-the-way restaurant. Family-owned. Mamma Isabella is still the main cook.”

  She started typing into her cell phone. “I love Italian food.”

  And he could share that with her. She couldn’t drink, so he couldn’t open a whole new world of wines to her. But she could eat. Mamma Isabella’s spaghetti Bolognese was to-die-for. He paused. Mamma’s spaghetti might be awe-inspiring but just the thought of her lasagna made his mouth water.

  They’d eat outside on the restaurant patio so they could hear the night sounds and smell the earthy scents of the Tuscan air as the sun went down and the world quieted.

  Then, tomorrow, if she’d let him, he’d fly her to Venice to show her the beauty of that city and take her for a ride on a gondola.

  Excitement filled his chest. He’d taken a few of his female friends to Italy, Barcelona, Paris, but he’d never had this primal urge to experience one of those cities with them. Sabrina was hungry for experiences. Hungry for someone to see her. And he saw her. He knew who she was, what she wanted—

  If she hadn’t been in the car with him, he would have cursed. There would be nothing between himself and Sabrina. Even if SpongePierre CheapPants flat-out rejected her and their child, she didn’t want a man in her life. For good reason. And he had his fears about being a stepfather, hurting her child the way his stepdad had unwittingly hurt him. It was crazy to long to show her the world he’d discovered because they couldn’t share it.

  “I’ve got his website.”

  His chest hollowed out. The thought of showing his world to her was the first personal excitement he’d felt in decades. And he’d talked himself out of it.

  He took a quiet breath. Worked to put some excitement in his voice when he said, “Good.”

  “Clicking upcoming events.”

  He waited as her phone processed.

  She frowned. “His announcement about Italy is in red.”

  He glanced over. “Red?”

  Her fingers moved over her phone. “Oh. Italy is canceled.”

  “Oh.”

  Then why did he leave Spain?

  Trent didn’t ask the question aloud. Sabrina’s emotions had been on enough of a roller coaster for one morning. But all kinds of things popped into his head. Like Pierre’s Paris neighbor might have called him and warned him Sabrina was coming so he could hide from her.

  The thought of it set his blood on fire. She might not have wanted anything permanent or serious with Pierre, but from everything Trent had seen of the guy, he was a louse.

  “Here’s something interesting.”

  He sure as hell hoped it explained Pierre’s behavior, or when they finally did catch up with him, Trent wasn’t sure he could be responsible for what he said or did to him.

  “What?”

  “There’s a personal note from him explaining that his manager had overbooked him.”

  One of Trent’s eyebrows rose. The guy was just full of excuses.

  “There’s an event in Ireland he does every year. A charity thing. It’s not the same week every year so when his manager presented him with the opportunity for the Italy exhibit, he agreed, not knowing it coincided with the fund-raiser in Ireland. Something he’s committed to supporting.”

  Trent tried not to give the guy credit for a soft heart toward the charity, but fairness forced him to.

  Sabrina stopped reading.

  He waited for her to say something. When thirty seconds went by with no response, he said, “So, Skippy, does this mean we’re going to Ireland?”

  “I guess.”

  Her lackluster response could have meant she was disappointed, or tired, or simply tired of chasing after SpongePierre.

  “You know, you could send him an email.”

  She gaped at him. “To let him know he’s going to be a father?”

  “Yeah. I guess that is a little cold.”

  “He might not be the best person in the world, but I was raised better.”

  She certainly was.

  She retrieved the information about the Ireland exhibit and he instructed her to forward it to his pilot.

  * * *

  It was dark before they landed at a private airstrip near Dublin. His assistant had contacted a rental car agency and a representative waited with the keys to a shiny black SUV. The man grinned and Trent smiled. His staff had been instructed to tip the man handsomely. Obviously, they’d listened.

  After the copilot loaded their bags into the back of the SUV, Sabrina and Trent climbed in. They buckled up, Trent spoke the address of the hotel into his phone’s GPS and the screen lit up with directions.

  Sabrina gaped at the message. “We’re an hour away from the hotel?”

  He turned on the ignition and started the engine. “At least.”

  “Why do you use airstrips so far out of a city?”

  He chuckled at the impatience in her voice. “Well, your brother Seth taught me that’s the easiest way to sneak into town.”

  She crossed her arms on her chest, settled into her seat. “Sounds like Seth.”

  “Your brother Jake taught me that if you get a limo and a driver, you’ll have an extra hour to work in the car as you are driven to the hotel.”

  “That’s Jake.”

  “But I think it’s the best way to see a country.”

  She turned to him, her face scrunched in confusion.

  “Your entire family is on fast time. That’s the part of the rat race I opted out of when I decided to go into business for myself.”

  “This has nothing to do with the rat race.” She pointed outside her window. “It’s dark.”

  She said the words as if he was daft.

  He laughed. “Just think of the fun we’ll have seeing Ireland on our return trip.”

  The moon suddenly appeared from behind a cloud. It didn’t exactly bathe the area in golden light, but there was enough to see hills and trees.

  The GPS gave him directions and they headed toward Dublin. When they finally arrived at their hotel, they stumbled in, exhausted and ready for bed. They registered for the rooms his assistant had booked, and each went their separate ways, agreeing to meet in the lobby for breakfast.

  After a good night’s sleep, he showered, dressed and took the elevator downstairs where a freshly scrubbed Sabrina—her long yellow hair in a ponytail—awaited him.

  A hostess led them to a table and when she left, Sabrina said, “The event tonight is formal.”

  “Not exactly a blue sparkly dress affair?”

  She busied herself unfolding her napkin. “No.”

  Okay. No joking around this morning. Not that he blamed her. This time they weren’t popping into Pierre’s apartment, arriving unannounced at his ranch or going to a city where he “might” have a showing. They’d seen the website. Tonight at eight o’clock, Pierre would be at a renovated castle in the countryside. He would show his art, donors would bid on the pieces, and the money would go to the charity sponsoring the event.

  She would see him tonight.

  So no jokes. No intrusion into her thoughts. This was her thing, not his. In fact, a smart escort might bow out, give her some time alone.

  They ate their eggs and pancakes in near silence. When breakfast was finished, they left the restaurant, but he paused in the lobby. “I actually have a little bit of work to do this morning.”

  Hope lit her blue eyes. “You do?”

  “Yes. But don’t worry. I’ll find a place to get a tux.”

  She glanced around the elegant lobby. “I should pr
obably get a gown.”

  She looked so forlorn, so tired of chasing Pierre, he knew he had to do something to lift her mood. “I don’t suppose you’d let me pick it out.”

  She laughed, then squeezed her eyes shut. “I think I better stick to my own style tonight.”

  He tucked his hands into his jeans pockets. “Okay.”

  She smiled slightly. He couldn’t tell if she was relieved to be getting rid of him or glad to have gown-shopping to keep her occupied, so she didn’t have to worry about what she’d say to Pierre.

  “Okay.”

  Either way it didn’t matter. She had things to do and despite the fact that he had to escort her to the showing that night, he didn’t want to be in the way.

  He especially didn’t want to sway any of her decisions about Pierre. Though part of him questioned his judgment on that. He liked her. He was ridiculously attracted to her, and the side of him that went after goals like a bulldog desperately wanted to be let loose.

  It wasn’t like him to want something so badly and not go after it.

  * * *

  Sabrina returned to her room, did a little research on the internet and found the perfect boutique to purchase a gown for that evening.

  She called for a taxi and was at the shop in forty minutes. Small, exclusive, the boutique had everything from the latest jeans to designer gowns. She had no desire to impress Pierre. She actually wanted to blend into the crowd, so she could ask for ten minutes alone with him, tell him he was about to be a dad, watch his face lose all its color and then tell him he could have as much or as little to do with his child as he decided.

  She could probably do all that in jeans, but she didn’t want to call any more attention to herself than she would draw when she asked for some private time with the star of the show.

  Which meant she should probably wear pale blue. Most blondes did. It would be the best color to wear for blending.

  A sales clerk came over, her smile light and pleasant. “How can I help you?”

  “I need a gown.” She winced. “For tonight.”

  “How close are you to a size?”

  “Very. In the United States I wear an eight. No alterations required. I’m not sure what that translates to here.”

  The clerk waggled her fingers to direct Sabrina to a small sitting area in front of a dressing room. “I have three things that are absolutely stunning. You wait right here, and I’ll bring them for you to try.”

  She returned five minutes later carrying the expected pale blue gown. Behind her was a younger woman holding a pink gown and a bright red one.

  A sparkly red one.

  She laughed. Then pressed her fingers to her lips.

  The clerk said, “Is everything okay?”

  “Yes. Fine. The red dress just reminded me of a friend of mine.”

  “We should try it first, then.”

  “No. We should try the blue one. It’s the one I’ll probably get. No sense wasting time.”

  The clerk helped her into the dressing room where she hung the pretty blue gown on a hook. Sabrina stepped out of her jeans and T-shirt and slid into the dress.

  She felt nothing. She’d been wearing pale blue to please her dad since she was two and her hair had darkened from baby white to a soft yellow.

  Still, looking like herself wasn’t a bad thing. It was just a thing—

  Or maybe she could try on the pink one?

  She slipped out of the dressing room to tell the clerk she’d like to try the pink one. The clerk wasn’t around but the pink and red gowns she’d chosen for Sabrina hung on a rack a discreet distance from the door. She could scoot over and grab another dress to try.

  At the rack, she reached for the pink one but removing it from the hook revealed the sparkly red one.

  It was so fun. So pretty. So open and honest. The construction indicated it would cling to her curves...but so what? In a few months she’d have a basketball for a stomach. Maybe she should take advantage of this opportunity to show off her still-flat tummy?

  She slid the pink dress back to the hook and took the red one into the dressing room.

  She swore she heard the sparkly dress laugh at her.

  Okay. All right. It wasn’t her usual style, but she’d had such fun in the blue clingy dress in Barcelona.

  Was she saying Trent was right?

  Hell, if she knew. She was pregnant and about to tell the father of her child he was going to be a dad. If she wanted to be a little—idiosyncratic—then she should let herself. She’d been in four countries in three days. If she wanted to wear red sparkles, so be it.

  She slid the dress off the hanger and discovered it was backless. Devilishness slid through her. She stepped into the dress, slipping her arms into the long sleeves and then straightening the slim portion on her shoulders before facing the mirror.

  Wow.

  She grabbed her ponytail and twisted it into a knot at the top of her head, accenting her long neck, but also showing off her entire back.

  Her entire back.

  She looked like somebody else. Not like the little dress-up doll she’d been as a child. Not like the pulled-together businesswoman. Not like Sabrina McCallan, society woman, benefactor. Or even like Sabrina McCallan, aunt to Abby and Crystal and soon-to-be aunt to Jake and Avery’s next baby.

  She looked like...

  She hesitated to say it...

  But...

  She looked like herself. Maybe for the first time ever, her real self. The self she knew she was deep down inside.

  Studying her reflection, she swallowed hard.

  Not because she was confused. Because she was overwhelmed. Had she really let other people rule her life so much that she wasn’t herself?

  Hadn’t ever been herself?

  She imagined walking up to Trent at the lobby of their elegant hotel, the red dress molded to her curves, her hair a waterfall of yellow curls caught so high that they barely reached her shoulders.

  Would he be mesmerized?

  Would he whistle?

  She laughed. The jokester would whistle, and her face would redden, but she’d laugh. He always made her laugh. That was why she liked—

  She snatched the dress off her shoulders, slid the sleeves down her arms and stepped out of the dress.

  That was ridiculous.

  She didn’t like him. Well, she liked him as Seth’s friend. And yes, she was noticing for the first time that he was so much more than what she’d thought. But the timing was all wrong.

  And even if it wasn’t...

  Ultimately, he would hurt her or she would hurt him. He needed a wife like Avery or Harper. He needed a woman who didn’t mistrust and fear emotions. He’d never said it. But she’d seen the magic the right woman worked with Jake and Seth and she was no one’s right woman.

  She took a breath, told herself to stop thinking about Trent as she put the red dress on the hanger again, shimmied her T-shirt over her head, wiggled into her jeans and stepped out of the dressing room.

  The clerk raced in to meet her. “I’m so sorry! We got a customer, then another, then another.”

  Sabrina smiled. “It’s okay.”

  “I see you tried the red one!”

  “Yes, and it’s lovely.” Perfect. “But I’m going with the blue one.”

  She would have called herself a coward, but there was no point. In a way she was chickening out. But for good reason. This event wasn’t about her and Trent. It was about her telling Pierre about their baby. She’d be crazy to muddy the waters with other emotions. Stupid emotions. Emotions she did not like or trust. Emotions she wasn’t even sure she knew how to express or handle. She’d already shocked herself enough with seeing her real self in the red dress. She couldn’t be throwing those other emotions into the mix.

  In fact, for fifty ce
nts she’d tell Trent to go home.

  She should tell Trent to go home. She knew the place of the event, had something to wear, could get dinner on her own...and then face Pierre and catch a commercial flight home.

  That was exactly what she should do.

  Exactly what she would do.

  She found a quick lunch and spent a few minutes idly walking the streets of Dublin, in love with the quaint shops and deciding to come back after she had her baby so she could visit a pub. She had a friend or two who would be happy to travel to Ireland with her, and she’d also decided to have a full-time nanny...that is if her mom didn’t insist on coming along to help her with the baby. Her mom had turned out to be the most amazing grandmother. She wouldn’t hesitate to allow her the opportunity to be a huge part of her baby’s life.

  Walking back to the hotel, seeing the shops, watching the tourists, picking out residents from the tourists, she suddenly understood why Trent liked to travel an hour through the countryside from the private airstrips he chose.

  She would bet he was probably having a high time, walking Dublin’s streets—that is if he wasn’t in a tavern, convincing the locals he knew as much about soccer as they did.

  The thought made her laugh, then pinched her chest with a longing so sharp she almost stopped walking. She would love to tour this city with him.

  But she couldn’t give him what he needed, and she wouldn’t cheat him. What would have happened to her brothers if they’d settled for a woman who didn’t know how to love?

  She quickened her steps, got herself to the hotel and out of the temptation to see herself with Trent as quickly as she could. In her room she picked up her phone and tapped the contacts button to call him to let him out of his commitment to her, but also to get herself back to normal.

  He didn’t answer. She left a detailed message, explaining she had her gown, she’d eaten lunch, she was ready to face Pierre...

  And he could fly back to New York now, rather than tagging along. She would check into commercial flights the very second she hung up from calling him. There wasn’t even a reason to call her back.

  She bit her lower lip. “And thanks. Not only do I appreciate the use of your plane, but you were a big help.”