Bombshell For The Black Sheep (Southern Secrets Book 3)

by Janice Maynard

  He leaned over her on one elbow, his expression dead sober. “You always have a choice, Fee.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said quickly, feeling small. “I know that. I wasn’t accusing you of anything. Well, except for being far too hard to resist.”

  A smile cracked his stoic expression. “A compliment? Wow, Fee, I don’t know what to say.”

  She curled a hand behind his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. “You could say you’ll give me a few days to think about this living together thing.” Maybe the morning sickness would subside soon, and Hartley’s presence in her house wouldn’t be such an issue.

  His tongue mated with hers, stealing her breath. “Fair enough.”

  * * *

  Hartley didn’t want to leave this woman or this bed at all. But he knew when to back off. If he couldn’t win her over with cogent arguments, then he had to play to his strengths.

  Though he couldn’t take credit for whatever animal attraction had bewitched them, he’d be happy to use it to advance his cause.

  It had alarmed him to wake up this morning and realize he was in bed alone. Fiona had seemed twitchy or something when he’d found her in the kitchen. As if he were indeed intruding on her personal space. Gradually, though, she had relaxed.

  Now she was warm and affectionate and very clearly inclined to get the day off to a good start. He sifted his fingers through her rumpled curls. “Have I told you how much I love your hair?”

  She grimaced. “I hated it for most of my life. I wasn’t allowed to go the movies very often, but one of my foster moms had a huge DVD collection. I adored watching Gwyneth Paltrow in Emma. Kate Hudson in How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days. I envied their blond beauty, because I was the antithesis of that. Skinny and freckled and bashful.”

  “Neither of them can hold a candle to the woman you are now.” He could see that little girl in his mind’s eye. She had grown into a stunning human being. “You have a fire in you—maybe it’s the creativity, I don’t know. The moment we met each other at that damned wedding, I could no more have walked away from you than cut off my own arm. I wanted you desperately. Beyond all reason. Why do you think that is?”

  She toyed with the shell of his ear. “Is that a serious question?”

  Her touch sent little tingles of fire down his spine to his sex. “I think it is. I’ve always been suspicious of things I don’t understand.”

  “But...?”

  He slid his hand inside her pajama bottoms and found her center. She was warm and wet. He shook with the need to take and take and take until he blacked out from the pleasure. “But I’m learning to live with not knowing.”

  “Wow. What a sacrifice.”

  “Has anyone ever told you you’ve got a mean streak?”

  “Most people think I’m adorable.” She turned up her nose at him, clearly inclined to make fun of herself.

  He chuckled. “Can’t argue with that.”

  Sex with Fiona was never what he expected. In the midst of aching arousal, he still wanted to play endlessly. Her body was soft and supple. Small and yet powerfully feminine, strong enough to make him weak.

  He hadn’t entirely grown accustomed to the power she wielded. And he was pretty damned sure she had no idea the power was even there. Perhaps for now it was best she didn’t. Because he didn’t know what he was going to do about the situation.

  Before climbing into bed, he had shucked his pants and boxers. Fiona wrapped her hand around his erection. His vision blurred. He was breathing like he had run a mile, and they had barely started.

  He held his hand over hers. “Easy now. Let me unwrap you first.”

  “I’ll help,” she said. “You’re being kind of slow.”

  His laugh was little more than a wheeze.

  Between them they ripped off her pjs and clutched each other, naked skin to naked skin. It was enough to make him forget his name and every last one of his troubles.

  His world narrowed to this bed. This woman.

  Crap. Condoms. Did he have any left? He reached for the floor and his mangled clothing and found one more. Thank God.

  His hands shook as he rolled it over his erection. “Foreplay?” he croaked.

  She grabbed handfuls of his hair. “Not a chance. Get over here.”

  He filled her with one wild thrust. It was heaven and hell and every level of torment in between. Burying his face in her neck, he tried to count her heartbeats, to memorize the taste of her skin right below her ear.

  Her body welcomed him, drew him in, held him captive. He had never been more glad to be a man. Whatever his sins—and there were many—he must have done something right. “I can’t stop wanting you,” he groaned.

  Fiona sucked his bottom lip, sinking her teeth in just enough to sting. “Works both ways. But we can’t stay in bed all day,” she said, panting. “We’re mature adults. We have to set boundaries.”

  He braced his weight on his hands for a minute and studied her face. Her cheeks were flushed, her throat abraded by the stubble on his chin. The red hair that was silky and soft fluffed out around her heart-shaped face. Before today, he hadn’t noticed how that sweet pointed chin could be so stubborn.

  “I never met a boundary I didn’t want to smash.”

  Her eyes widened. The flush deepened. “I always thought of myself as a good girl.”

  “Just think of me as your black sheep lover. Ready to do any naughty thing your heart desires.”

  She squeezed his sex with her inner muscles, drawing a ragged groan from his dry throat.

  “Make love to me, Hartley,” she said. “Now.”

  It was a demand he was happy to oblige.

  The feelings racketing around in his chest were foreign to him, dangerously so. He shoved them away, choosing to concentrate on the physical. When he knew Fiona was at the edge, he reached between their linked bodies and stroked her intimately.

  She arched against him and climaxed, whispering his name over and over, making him feel like a king. Seconds later, he lost the fight with his own galloping need and came so hard he actually saw yellow spots dancing behind his closed eyelids.

  Without meaning to, he slept again. But when he awoke fifteen minutes later, this time he wasn’t alone.

  He watched Fiona breathe, her breasts rising and falling almost imperceptibly. Gently, he twisted a curl around his finger, a game that was rapidly becoming one of his favorites.

  The springy red-gold strands clung to his skin, alive with the passion he felt in her. In one blinding instant of clarity he understood that he couldn’t be the man to break her heart. Not with the disappointments and challenges she had faced in her young life so far.

  Fiona was a fighter, yes. Fiercely independent. Generous and brave. The right man could spend a lifetime making her happy...making up for all she had lost.

  The big-ass problem was, Hartley didn’t know if he was good enough or smart enough or deserving enough to be that guy. He’d been plowing ahead with his laundry list of wants and needs, determined to find his way into her life. But what or who did Fiona need?

  When he stroked her cheek with the tip of his finger, her eyelashes fluttered open. Her gaze was dreamy. “Wow.”

  He couldn’t stop his smug grin. “Ditto.”

  She stretched, causing all sorts of interesting reactions beneath the sheet. “I have to work, Hartley. Really, I do.”

  He rolled to a seated position and held up both hands. “I know, I know. I’m gone. But before I leave, one more thing.”

  Her hand settled on his thigh, perilously close to his semi-erect sex. “You never give up, do you?”

  The temptation was almost overwhelming. Instead of giving in, he tried to be the better man. Lurching to his feet, he dressed clumsily, conscious of her gaze on his naked body. “No, no,” he said. “I want to take you out on a date Friday night. I
t’s a charity gala, black-tie. My father is receiving a posthumous award. Apparently, despite everything, my family wants me to be there.”

  Fiona raised up on her elbows. “Well, of course they do. That’s lovely, Hartley.”

  “I want you to come with me, Fiona. Dinner, dancing. The formalities will be brief.”

  “I’d love to,” she said simply.

  “Really?” His disappointment at having to leave her bed was appeased. “I thought we might stay overnight at a small hotel near the event site. So we can indulge in champagne and stroll through the summer night back to our love nest.”

  His teasing hyperbole made her smile. “That sounds delightful. What time will you pick me up?”

  “Well, if I were already staying here...” He trailed off, gauging her mood.

  She pulled a robe out of her closet, slipped it on and belted it with a double knot. “You are incorrigible. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not this week. After the gala, we’ll talk.”

  He pretended to scowl. “You’re a hard woman.”

  She rounded the bed and slid her arms around his waist. “Patience, Hartley. That new house of yours will take weeks of work. We have all the time in the world.”

  Eleven

  As it turned out, it was Fiona who was pressed for time. Not in regard to her work. She’d actually had bursts of energy in the late afternoons and was finding herself wildly productive in those moments. Although her workday had shifted and morphed from her usual pattern, she was not as far behind as she had feared.

  The real problem was her clothes. When she dressed Wednesday morning, the jeans that had fit her only the day before were suddenly and mysteriously too tight. She stared in the mirror and ran a hand over her belly.

  There was no denying it. Even if the convex shape of her tummy was barely perceptible to the naked eye, her body was changing. Blossoming with new life. The barrage of feelings that knowledge evoked made her feel completely out of her element.

  She’d never had a mother, not really. What did she know about giving birth or breastfeeding or how many times was too many to read Goodnight Moon? Scarier still was wondering how her baby’s father was going to react to the news. Would Friday night or perhaps Saturday morning be the right time to tell him? In the midst of her panic ran a deep, mysterious vein of intense joy.

  Though this was a situation she had never anticipated or imagined she wanted, now that her baby was becoming a reality, she was fiercely glad. No matter what happened with Hartley, this child was hers. Hers. A family of her own.

  In the end, she left her jeans unbuttoned at the waist and chose a loose cotton tunic in navy and orange that would hide any telltale signs. The appointment with her ob-gyn would confirm what she already knew.

  Now she understood how Mazie felt the other day...slinking around, hoping no one would see. It was as if she had a giant sign on her back shouting, “I’m pregnant.”

  An hour later when a no-nonsense nurse called her name, Fiona rose to her feet and followed the woman through a maze of hallways to an exam room. The obstetrician was a female, only two or three years older than Fiona herself. Dr. Anderson was thorough, kind and reassuring. “You’re in excellent health, Ms. James. You shouldn’t have problems, but of course, you know to call our office immediately if you have any concerns.”

  The doc handed over a prescription for vitamins and a handful of educational pamphlets, and soon Fiona was out on the street again. She had been certain she was pregnant, but hearing the confirmation from a professional made everything so much more real.

  As she stood on the sidewalk, her limbs were shaky, and her emotions pinballed. It was impossible to decide which response was the correct one. Jubilation and trepidation seemed equally appropriate.

  Since she had already broken up her workday, she decided to consolidate errands. Before leaving the house that morning, she had looked online for maternity shops. There was one nearby, so she stopped in...just to take a look.

  She had several tops at home that would probably work for three or four months. What she needed were some stretchy pants on the dressier side. Sometimes she met with prospective clients, so she had to look professional, even if she was an artist.

  The clothing in this particular shop was wildly expensive, particularly considering she would be wearing maternity pieces for only part of a year. She found one sleeveless shift that she could wear over short-sleeve T-shirts. It didn’t look like a tent, so that was a plus. A couple of pairs of pants and she was done for the moment.

  It was hard to imagine her body getting big and round. Maybe it would be smarter to wait for the rest.

  A more pressing priority than maternity clothes was finding something to wear for Friday night. She owned three relatively formal dresses, but none of them were really exciting. One was a hand-me-down from a friend. Another was the dress she’d worn at the wedding where she and Hartley met, and the third was a heavy winter velvet.

  She wanted to look like she was comfortable in his world, even if she wasn’t. Since this was definitely a special occasion, she sought out a little boutique where, normally, she only window-shopped. Today, she marched right in and started perusing the racks.

  Sequins weren’t really her thing. Color was another challenge. Black tended to overwhelm her because of her extremely fair skin and her stature. She wanted something floaty and romantic...the kind of gown a woman wore when going out with the man she loved.

  The random thought stopped her dead in her tracks. She didn’t love Hartley. She couldn’t. Sexual attraction was a powerful force, but it wasn’t the same as love.

  Her stomach churned with nausea, though the baby wasn’t to blame. For the first time, she honestly tried to imagine how Hartley was going to react when she told him the truth. She couldn’t bear the thought that he would decide to care for her and the baby because he had no choice.

  After being taken in by a string of well-meaning foster parents over the years of her childhood and adolescence, she’d had her fill of being someone else’s obligation. She didn’t need Hartley’s money, and she didn’t need his reluctant parenting.

  He was worried about his mother’s genetic legacy. Even more than that, his father had created such a mishmash of lies and deceit, Hartley was disgusted by the idea of parenthood. Hartley was determined not to recreate his unorthodox childhood. It made sense. It did. But there was absolutely nothing Fiona could do to alter the present situation. The only option would be to terminate the pregnancy, and that was out of the question.

  This baby had already stolen her heart. Making plans for the future was scary and exciting at the same time. After the gala, she told herself. After the gala she would work up the courage to let Hartley know about her pregnancy. Who knows? Maybe the reality of her situation would change his mind.

  “May I help you, miss?” A tall, statuesque saleswoman with exquisitely coiffed white hair interrupted Fiona’s spate of worrying and gave her a warm smile.

  “Yes, thank you. I have a function Friday night. Black-tie. Nothing I have at home will work. Can you point me in the right direction? I don’t like anything too fussy, and I’d prefer the more casual side of formal. Am I asking the impossible? My hair clashes with some colors, obviously.”

  The woman took a step back and surveyed Fiona from head to toe, as if studying a mannequin. “White,” she pronounced. “Possibly ivory, but I think white is the shade for you.”

  “Really? Isn’t that a bit too bridal?”

  “You must be attending the Chamber Awards Gala Friday, correct?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” It was hard not to feel like a little kid playing dress up when faced with this paragon of elegance.

  “Come with me, young lady. The dressing rooms are this way. You may call me Clarisse.”

  Fiona trailed in her wake, wondering if she had started something she would regret. Even the cha
nging area was fancier than her bedroom at home. A small antique chandelier. Tall cheval mirrors edged in gilt. Thick, lush carpet underfoot.

  Clarisse indicated a small cushioned chair. “Wait here,” she said. “Help yourself to fruit water and biscotti.”

  When the other woman disappeared through plum satin curtains into the bowels of the store, Fiona sat down and pulled out her phone. She was increasingly worried about Hartley. After that first day, he had never again spoken about what he discovered in Switzerland.

  Fiona was certain that if he simply told Jonathan the truth about why he had been gone and what he’d learned, his brother would no longer have a reason to be angry. Well, maybe because of the money, but Hartley had put it all back. That shouldn’t be a problem in the end.

  Clarisse returned with an armful of gowns, effectively ending Fiona’s fretting, at least for the moment. The older woman ushered Fiona to a changing room. “Here are the first three,” she said. “We can move on quickly if none of these suit your taste.”

  Fiona stripped down to her undies and surveyed the haul. One of the ivory dresses caught her eye instantly. It was strapless and fitted from the breasts to the knees, where it flared in a cloud of tulle. The satin had a faux antique patina that appealed to her artistic sensibilities.

  But the fit was so tight...

  She tried it on, holding her breath.

  Clarisse rapped at the door. “Shall I zip you up?”

  “Yes, please.” Fiona couldn’t tell anything at all with the dress open down the back. She clutched it to her chest and waited for the imperious salesclerk to help her.

  When everything was tucked and fastened, both women surveyed Fiona’s reflection in the glass. The woman looking back at them was wide-eyed and flushed.

  Clarisse pursed her lips. “What do you think?”

  Fiona touched her hair. Perhaps she could wear it up. “I love it,” she said slowly, stunned that a single item of clothing could make her feel so wonderful. Already, she was imagining Hartley’s face when he saw her in soft satin and bare skin. The dress made her feel sexy and sophisticated.