Falling for the Pregnant Heiress

by Susan Meier

  His expression shifted but he said nothing.

  “I think it’s just a little too much like tempting fate for us to be that close.”

  One of his eyebrows rose. “Afraid you’ll ravage me?”

  “Don’t belittle what I feel.”

  “Okay.” His voice grew soft, serious. “I won’t. Let’s go upstairs and look for another room.”

  Her breathing stopped. She couldn’t tell if it was from disappointment that he hadn’t argued or relief that he hadn’t argued. Anytime her mom disagreed with her dad he’d exploded—

  But she’d already decided Trent wasn’t like her father. Maybe his reaction to finding a second room was the true test of that?

  They found a back stairway and ambled up. At the top were two large guest rooms, each with a private bath.

  “Whoever owns this place, he was smart when he remodeled.”

  “Everything is rather convenient.”

  He strolled around the room and she watched for signs that he was angry and not letting it show.

  “They probably cut out a bedroom or two to make the extra baths.”

  His genuine interest in the castle took away her concern about his anger. If he’d been angry, he’d pushed it aside. But she didn’t think he’d been angry. He might not have liked her suggestion that they sleep in separate rooms, but he’d accepted it.

  It wasn’t as if she hadn’t dealt with an even-tempered man before. She met lots of them at her nonprofit. She’d simply never been in a relationship with one.

  Of course, Pierre had been her longstanding adult boyfriend. There’d been no reason to think of dating in years.

  The final guest room was like the first two, but the third-floor master suite was enormous.

  Trent peered around. “I’m guessing this is at least half the floor. I’m also guessing we’re going to find a super-huge bathroom and walk-in closet.”

  “I’m thinking dressing room.”

  The master closet was a combination closet and dressing room. Everything was old, worn. But that didn’t take away from the beauty of the space. She could almost see a husband and wife dressing, laughing and chatting with each other.

  She shook her head to clear it of the image. “This is lovely.” But the mood of the vision stayed with her. This was a house made with love. She could feel the happiness that even the dust and time couldn’t bury.

  Damn it. She loved this house. And she didn’t understand her unexpected connection to something so far out of the realm of possibility. She wasn’t a woman who spun fantasies, wished for fanciful things.

  She was honest, sincere, hardworking...normal.

  Or maybe not so normal if she couldn’t even fathom being in a relationship with someone she didn’t have to manage.

  She turned to Trent, who was examining the craftsmanship of the dressing room built-ins.

  “I think I’ll take one of the smaller bedrooms. You can have the one our luggage is in.”

  He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to me. I can just as easily bring my suitcase to another room like yours.”

  There was that easygoing nature again. A guy who didn’t have to compromise because he wasn’t overly sensitive or demanding.

  “Okay. Either way.”

  “I’ll move my stuff later, after we eat.” He paused. “Unless you’re hungry now?”

  “No. I’m fine.” A thought hit her, and she politely said, “Unless you’re hungry now?”

  “Nope. I’m good for a few hours.”

  Silence spun out between them until she realized he was waiting for her to make a move. She strode out into the empty corridor. This is what she got for being honest: a stiff, formal atmosphere that seemed to suck the life out of everything. She shouldn’t have told him why she didn’t want to sleep with him. She should have let him draw his own conclusions...

  But that didn’t sit right, either. He’d been open, honest with her all along and she’d been open with him. It was only when sleeping in the same bed came into the picture that her reactions got muddled.

  Not wanting this weird politeness to be the rest of their afternoon, she said, “Want to explore some more?”

  He sniffed a laugh. “Dust phobia leaving?”

  “It must be, because I’m suddenly curious to see if there’s a dungeon or a tower where an old lord held women captive.”

  He hooted with laughter. “You have one hell of an imagination.”

  She almost told him about the Irish aristocracy she envisioned getting ready for a ball in the dressing room, but he’d only call her a romantic again. Just thinking about it made her heart hurt. Had she missed out because she wasn’t a romantic? Did she not know how to deal with a normal man because she hadn’t spun fantasies?

  She couldn’t even speculate. She simply knew she wanted her mind on something that didn’t confuse her so much.

  She pointed down a hall that veered off to the left. “I’ll bet that leads to the back of the house and a stairway to a tower.”

  He snorted and motioned for her to go down the corridor.

  They found four more bedrooms and a stairway that only led to a tower. She twirled around in a circle. Rain beat against a glass door, but she could see it led to a balcony.

  “Well, what do you know? You don’t just get your tower...you also get a balcony.” He rubbed his elbow against the glass to clear it. “I’ll bet you can see for miles up here.”

  “I’ll bet this would make a great master bedroom.”

  He glanced around. “Why give up the perfect master suite that’s already downstairs?”

  “Then maybe I’d make this a reading room.”

  “Why not just let it be a tower?”

  “Because it should be something special.”

  “A tower is pretty special.”

  She winced. “Sorry. I’m probably seeing this place in terms of remodeling because I have to do some remodeling in my condo and that’s where my brain is focused. Everywhere I look I see a project.”

  He peered across the space at her. “Your ideas aren’t bad.”

  “My ideas are spot-on.” She turned in a circle again, taking in the space. “It’s weird. I’m seeing the rooms, then seeing how I think they should be.”

  “Your brain is even busier than mine.”

  She shrugged. “Maybe. I never thought of it that way.”

  “Do you ever take a break?”

  “That’s what my paintings are about.”

  “Ah.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means that you paint to relax, but then you monetize it.”

  She frowned. “I guess I do.”

  “Where do you vacation?”

  She winced. “France.”

  “Oh, to see Pierre.”

  “You are really making me feel like a dull workaholic.”

  “Maybe you are a dull workaholic.”

  She gaped at him. “Seriously?”

  His eyes fixed on the rain beyond the balcony, he said, “I’m not making fun or trying to tell you what to do with your life, but I’m noticing a serious lack of fun in everything you tell me.”

  “And I suppose your life’s a real barrel of chuckles.”

  He faced her. “I fish. I travel. You met only four of my Barcelona friends. I have a whole network of friends in Spain. I also take my staff on corporate retreats to places like Fiji.”

  “I do fun things.”

  He snickered. “Okay. Name some.”

  “Well, doing art showings is fun.”

  “We already established that that’s an extension of your work.”

  She tossed her hands. “Stop! I’m starting to feel boring.”

  “You’re not boring. Your job alone sounds incredibly interesting. You just don’t know
how to stop working.” He took a few steps toward her. “I understand that you don’t want to tempt fate while we’re here.”

  She held back a grimace, realizing he’d barely reacted when she’d told him she didn’t want to sleep with him because he’d been thinking it through.

  “But there’s a part of me that wonders why fate threw us together like this. Since we can’t have a relationship, the only possible reason for it is that fate wants me to show you how to have fun.”

  She considered that and couldn’t quite figure out what he was suggesting. “Here? In a tropical storm?”

  “The end of a tropical storm. We’re not stranded forever. The rain’s got to stop sometime. We could be out of here tomorrow morning.” He met her gaze. “Not enough time to do something we’d regret, but enough time to enjoy each other’s company.”

  When he put it like that it sounded innocent...and maybe even a little bit wonderful. “How would we have this fun?”

  “Well, we could dress for dinner.”

  “Dress for dinner?” She thought of the Irish people in the bedroom again. When she pictured them, they were always laughing. Happy with each other. Her heart pinched. She couldn’t even imagine those kinds of feelings...

  The squeeze of her heart intensified into longing. But longing was so untrustworthy. Not a feeling she’d indulged the few times it had appeared. “Put on our good clothes just because we can?”

  “Shower, put on our good clothes, fix our hair and use up an hour or two of all the time we have on our hands. Then pretend to be lord and lady of the manor having dinner in the great hall.”

  Now he was going overboard. “Eat our warmed-up beans in the great hall? Seriously?” The vision in her head morphed again. She saw them sitting at the long table, eating beans, laughing...

  Nothing sexy, nothing foolish. Just two people getting to know each other. Maybe appreciating each other?

  Temptation sent tingles up her spine. Before she and Trent had headed to Paris to find Pierre, she’d scoffed at the concept of real relationships. She would have made fun of his idea of dressing up and being silly with each other. Now she didn’t merely believe real relationships existed; she wanted a taste. Just a taste. One night of being herself, enjoying herself with a man she genuinely liked. A man she found so attractive she sometimes caught her breath just looking at him.

  “All right. Fine.” She headed out of the tower. “If I’m going to waste time, I might as well see if I can’t do something Marie Antoinette-ish with my hair.”

  “Not Marie Antoinette. She’s French. Think Irish lass.”

  * * *

  She laughed and walked down the three flights of stairs and Trent followed her. He fully intended not to tempt fate. No sleeping together. But now that he’d taken romance out of the equation, when that longing he kept seeing flitted through her eyes, he just wanted to make her happy.

  Stupid. Since in her own little McCallan way she was happy. Content. Wealthy, with a fulfilling career.

  And he was Trent Sigmund. Newly rich. Sometimes crass. Friend of her brother.

  When she made the turn to go to her bedroom, he kept going down the stairs, on his way to the kitchen. At the very least, he was not letting her eat beans out of a can.

  He walked into the pantry and found a treasure trove of interesting food. Spam, something his mother liked to cook, and which could be good if prepared correctly. The ever-popular beans. The soup Sabrina had found. Canned corn. Canned beans. Canned peas. Some boxes of pasta that weren’t past their use-by date.

  He could make a really good goulash out of this.

  He grinned and walked to the butler’s pantry, looking for a stash of alcohol. There was none. But after searching through rooms, opening doors that might hide a bar, he finally found one. It contained nothing fancy like tequila for margaritas, but there was wine.

  Wine and goulash.

  It wasn’t posh or classy, but it would be delicious.

  He pulled two bottles of the wine from behind the bar and took them to the refrigerator, which he plugged in.

  Because he only had to shave, shower and slip into his tux, he did some cleaning in the great room while the wine chilled and Sabrina took her time doing whatever it was that caused women to need two or three hours to dress.

  The wind and rain that had been pounding the house slowed, indicating the storm was moving on. They probably would be leaving the next morning. He walked up the stairs to take a shower and put on his tux, thinking his plan was a good one. They’d have fun eating and dancing in the great room, then go to separate rooms, sleep for a few hours and leave in the morning.

  Actually, her suggestion that they sleep in different rooms had made the plan perfect. He could satisfy the need to erase the longing from her pretty blue eyes without worry that he’d hurt her.

  What could possibly go wrong?

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  TRENT TOOK OFF his tux jacket to make the goulash and set the table in the great room. But when everything was ready, he slipped it on again and stood at the bottom of the stairway, just about to go up and check on Sabrina, when she suddenly appeared at the top. Wearing the pretty blue gown she’d worn to Pierre’s showing, with her long hair wild and free, she walked down the steps.

  “I thought about what you said about the Irish lass.” She pointed at her head. “So, I washed my hair and let it dry naturally.”

  “It’s perfect.” She was perfect. “You look like you could be running in a glen.”

  She laughed. “So that’s how this is going to be? We’re getting in character and staying there?”

  “Sure.” He stuffed his hands in his trouser pockets, so he couldn’t indulge the need to touch her. “If you’re going to be stranded, it’s best to be stranded somewhere entertaining.” He smiled when she reached the bottom of the steps. “I found wine.”

  She grinned. “I’m pregnant. Can’t drink wine, remember?”

  He winced. “Sorry. I’ll look for juice or we can drink water. I also found pasta and canned veggies and made goulash with macaroni, beans and corn.”

  “Sounds interesting.”

  He motioned for her to go to the great hall. “Oh, I forgot there’s Spam, too.”

  She stopped walking, turned and frowned at him. “What the hell is Spam?”

  “Canned meat that’s pretty tasty if you ignore the fact that it’s probably a zillion calories and loaded with cholesterol.”

  “I’m starving so I’d be willing to overlook that.”

  Temptation overwhelmed common sense and he took her hand and tucked it in the crook of his elbow to escort her to their dinner. “I was hoping you would. Sometimes Spam can be delicious.”

  “I’m going to take your word on that.”

  They entered the great room and she gasped. “Oh, my gosh! This is fabulous.”

  He’d dusted the table and chairs, swept the floor, set out good china and found glasses and candles, giving her the luxury she was accustomed to...even if the dinner was a sort of poor man’s feast.

  He pulled out the chair catty-cornered from his, and she sat, arranging her dress around her.

  “Give me one minute. I’m pretty sure I saw a bottle of sparkling apple juice in the bar.”

  He raced off and sure enough there were two bottles. He grabbed one and headed back to the great room.

  As he took the seat at the head of the table, an odd sense of rightness enveloped him. A peace he’d never felt.

  He blamed that on the discomfort he’d always experienced as a child. Any time the family did anything fancy, he was the fifth wheel. Sabrina made him feel part of things.

  Not wanting to examine that too deeply, he opened the apple juice and poured two glasses. “Sorry it’s warm.”

  “I’m sure it’s fine.” She took hers and sipped delicately then closed her eyes. �
�It’s excellent.”

  “The owner of this house has weird tastes. The wine I’d found was excellent, but he also had canned veggies and Spam.”

  “Maybe he has kids.” She glanced around. “I can picture this house filled with kids.”

  So could he. “It would be the perfect weekend house if it had a pool.”

  “There might be a pool behind the gardens, something we couldn’t see because of the overgrowth.” She smiled. “My family has a house in Montauk. Our pool is pretty far back. Actually, it’s a hike to the pool. If it rained hard enough, you wouldn’t be able to see it from the kitchen.” She laughed. “The ocean’s such a long walk from the house that Avery wouldn’t stay there.”

  He frowned. “Really? She doesn’t like a good walk?”

  “She wasn’t married to Jake at the time she was supposed to stay there. In fact, they were sort of fighting. McCallan Inc. was the biggest client of the law firm where Avery worked, and Jake was about to sue her to let him have a part in their baby’s life. So the firm had to let her go because of conflict of interest.”

  He shook his head. “Your family does have its scandals.”

  “Without her job, she had to sell her condo and Jake suggested she live at our house in Montauk. But it was too big for her, too much house, too much furniture, too much everything and—” she changed her voice to mimic Avery “—too far from the ocean. So Jake made arrangements with Seth to let her stay in Seth’s little cottage that was right on the beach.” She smiled dreamily. “I think that’s why she fell in love with him. He never forced our lifestyle on her. He found ways to make her happy.”

  Trent stared at her, seeing the romantic in her that she thought she kept hidden. He almost mentioned it again, but before he could, he saw her point about Jake and Avery. Jake didn’t try to change the woman he loved because he loved her—exactly as she was.

  In the same way Avery had stolen Jake’s heart just as she was, Sabrina was stealing his. He wanted to please her, not change her. They might not have forever but he wanted to leave her with good memories.

  This dinner was his one shot.