The Millionaire's Pregnant Bride

by Dixie Browning

  “We had an agreement. I don’t go back on my word.” He leveled a piercing stare at her and asked, “Do you?”

  By then they were at the door. She thought fleetingly of what she had sacrificed for her mother. Her self-respect, for one thing. There was no real sacrifice involved in entering into a business arrangement, as long as both parties agreed in advance on the rules. For no real reason other than her woman’s intuition, she trusted Will Bradford. He was the kind of man who looked you directly in the eye and spoke his mind, like it or not.

  One who looked entirely too masculine, entirely too sexy, entirely too attractive…

  But that was neither here nor there.

  By that time they had reached the judge’s office. Several men were already there. “Sebastian,” she greeted, marveling all over again that he would be her baby’s half brother. By looking at him now, she might even have a glimpse of the future—of what her own son would look like years from now. Unless he turned out to be a daughter.

  Introductions were made, and Diana managed to hang on to her composure by a thread. Having Will’s steadying hand under her elbow helped. These were Will’s friends. Under other circumstances, if this marriage had been more than a business arrangement, they might have become her friends.

  “How do you do?” she murmured calmly, trying to fix each man’s face and name in her mind.

  Someone made a joke about Will’s going to great lengths to keep from picking out a charity. She hadn’t the least idea what that was all about and was far too nervous even to wonder. Standing there in her tea-colored silk suit and her only decent pair of heels, she clutched the bouquet Will had handed her when she’d arrived. It had struck her as odd, but a sweet gesture. Fighting panic, she clutched her purse in one hand and the flowers in the other and thought, Business arrangement. Happens every day. Mergers—takeovers.

  It wasn’t going to be a takeover, not in any sense of the word. She had made that clear from the first. She was doing it to give her baby a name, and Will was doing it because…well, probably because Jack had been his friend, and for all she knew, they could have had an agreement. If anything happened to either of them, the other would look after the survivor’s interests.

  “Watch it, Danny, you’re hyperventilating,” Will whispered as Judge Shirley entered in a swirl of black robes and Georgio perfume.

  “No’m not,” she whispered back and even managed a stiff-lipped smile. “Don’t call me Danny.”

  For some reason, she recalled stories her mother used to tell her about the early days when a young Lila Smothers had first met the man she had later married. Liam Foster, long-haired, bearded and ponytailed, had played guitar with a group that never quite made it. He’d written poetry that no one who wasn’t stoned, drunk or high could appreciate. According to Lila, he had once gone without eating meat products for an entire year protesting cruelty to animals and had been jailed more than once for protesting against the capitalistic establishment.

  Funny, the way things had turned out, Diana thought, gripping the stems of her flowers with damp, trembling hands. It was the so-called establishment that had given her mother a job after Liam had wrapped his delivery van around a telephone pole one icy night back in Pennsylvania. It was the establishment that had fought to save her mother’s life against insurmountable odds.

  And it was the establishment his daughter was marrying into at this very moment.

  “Miss Foster?”

  “Diana?”

  “What?” she snapped, whipping her head around to glare at the man she was about to tie herself to.

  “The judge wants to know if you do.”

  “If I do what?”

  Snickering sounded behind her. Someone touched her on the arm. It was Sebastian, who was grinning from ear to ear.

  Blinking herself back to the present, Diana said, “Of course I do. That’s why we’re here, isn’t it?”

  One of the men—Jason, she thought—chuckled softly. The others tried and failed to control their smiles. Even Will’s lips were twitching.

  “Well, I do—I said I would, but I still can’t imagine why you do,” she whispered fiercely.

  “Matter of fact, neither can I,” Will said dryly.

  It was all over then but the signing. When documents were placed in front of her, she signed her name, adding Bradford only when Will reminded her. They gathered at the door a few minutes later and Sebastian said, “We’ve set up a big spread at the club. Judge, you’re invited.”

  “Sorry—traffic court in half an hour. One speeder, two jaywalkers. We’re making a killing on crime around these parts.”

  Evidently, Diana told herself, justice in Royal, Texas, had a sense of humor. Once outside, she braced herself to go celebrate her marriage to a man she hardly knew, in the company of four other men she knew not at all. She might have been involved in more ludicrous situations at some point in her life, but at the moment she couldn’t think of a single one.

  “Seb, how about driving Diana’s car to the club? We’ll be right behind you,” Will said, taking Diana’s keys from her hand and tossing them to Sebastian.

  Before Diana could open her mouth to protest, Will took her bouquet and ushered her into a metallic gunmetal-gray luxury sedan. She tried to think of something to say, and decided her silence would probably be more appreciated than any inane remark she could make. Something told her that Will had a low tolerance for small talk.

  A low tolerance for women, as well, according to secretarial pool gossip. She remembered the sighs and groans he drew whenever he strode past on his way to purchasing. Her own, included.

  “What I wouldn’t give to see that man without his shirt on.”

  “Honey, don’t stop there. He can park those boots under my bed any old time.”

  “Hush, y’all, it’s him! He just got off the elevator!”

  Amazingly enough, she was now Mrs. Him!

  Did everyone at Wescott Oil know? What did they think—that she’d slept her way to the top?

  Well, in a way, she had, only that had never been her intention.

  “How do you think Sebastian will do as CEO?” Calmly discussing business on the way to her wedding reception should let him know she wasn’t expecting anything more than what he’d offered. His name. Protection for her baby in case anyone should put two and two together and come up with the truth.

  He glanced at her as he turned onto Main Street. “He’ll do fine.”

  So much for talking business.

  So much for talking anything. If she had her car right now, she’d go home, put on her sweats, jog a fast couple of miles and then get busy going through her mother’s things and packing them away. And then she’d tackle Jack’s boxes. It was time to sweep out the past in order to make room for the future.

  Hugging herself, Diana inhaled a provocative mixture of leather upholstery, wilted wedding bouquet and some subtle masculine cologne that reminded her of tall evergreen trees. Cool, dark and lofty.

  Just like the man, she thought, and shivered.

  “Did you eat breakfast?”

  “Of course.” A small portion of whole-grain cereal with two dried apricot halves and a cup of tea. She was eating for two now. No more skipped meals, even if she was feeling queasy—which she had been for the last three mornings in a row.

  “I don’t know what the menu is, but there’ll be champagne and wedding cake.”

  Great. Just what she needed. “I don’t drink much.”

  “Neither do I, but we can sip a few toasts.”

  She would sip, but having seen what alcohol—as well as a whole pharmacopoeia of drugs, could do to a body, she would settle for sipping a seltzer with a twist.

  Silence prevailed. Will thought, this is a hell of a note. Newlyweds who can’t think of a damned thing to say. Maybe he should have paid her off, transferred her to Houston and let it go at that, only his conscience wouldn’t have allowed it. The woman was pregnant and Jack probably wouldn’t have married
her even if he’d still been alive. He’d proved that much by his treatment of Dorian’s mother.

  Besides, dammit, something about her intrigued him. He might have forgotten how to love, but he hadn’t forgotten how to lust. This arrangement would benefit them both. She would have care and protection for her baby, while he would have…

  Nothing. Frustration, he thought, reminding himself of the specs he had laid out for their merger.

  Gripping the wheel of his late-model luxury sedan, he willed his body into submission. No use in inviting a lot of pointed looks and lewd remarks. The guys were curious enough as it was.

  Her car was already parked in the visitor’s section when they reached the club. He’d have to see to having it driven to his apartment. Slanting a quick look at her still face as he shut off ignition, Will felt himself growing aroused all over again.

  Deep breath. Think of an icy long-neck—think of an icy shower. This is strictly a business arrangement. No more, no less.

  She unclipped her seatbelt and shifted a pair of nylon-clad legs, and he added world-class ankles to a growing list of attributes he’d been trying hard to ignore. Things like large, slumberous eyes, a soft, vulnerable mouth, a straight, elegant nose and a long, graceful neck that invited exploration.

  She started to let herself out, and he hurried to open her door. It wasn’t a militant feminist thing—he’d never seen any signs of that. The best he could figure was that she wasn’t used to small courtesies. Jack might have been big on magnanimous gestures, but he’d seldom bothered with gentlemanly manners.

  She shivered. The rain that had pounded down for days had ended, bringing down a blast of Alaskan air. The jet stream was really doing a number on them.

  Will placed his hand on her back as they walked toward the side entrance. “I’ll show you where you can freshen up. Sure you’re feeling all right?”

  Be a hell of a note if she got sick and everyone guessed she was pregnant. He didn’t know how many, if any, of the guys knew about her affair with Jack. If they’d suspected, they’d have kept quiet about it out of consideration for Seb, who had probably guessed, even though he and Jack hadn’t been close in years.

  The celebration was held in one of the smallest rooms as if to make up for the lack of celebrants. Will had considered asking several other secretaries, but as he wouldn’t have known where to draw the line, he’d decided against it. It hadn’t occurred to him that she wouldn’t have invited a few friends of her own.

  He held the door and waited for her to enter. “I’m afraid it turned out to be a stag party. Sorry about that.”

  “I don’t know many people here. We’ve—that is, I’ve only been here for a few months, and I’ve been…busy.”

  Her mother, he thought. She’d lost her mother shortly after moving to Royal. Hell, she was still grieving for her mother, and he’d pushed her into a marriage she didn’t want. Talk about timing!

  Her lips were trembling. Acting purely on impulse, he leaned over and kissed her. “Bear up, Mrs. Bradford. Half an hour or so and we can go home, kick off our shoes and turn on T.V. You like old movies?”

  Blinking back tears after the fleeting kiss, Diana collected her wits enough to say, “Actually, I do. Is that your idea of a proper celebration?” And then she turned beet red. “I didn’t— What I meant was—”

  “Hush, honey, I know what you meant. Look, we’ll just play it by ear, shall we? We got along just fine clearing out Jack’s office. No reason why we can’t go on the same way.”

  Dammit, he hadn’t meant to drag Jack’s name into it. She needed to put the past behind her so that they could forge some kind of a workable relationship.

  A champagne cork popped. Someone had brought in a few balloons, strung a few streamers. Will thought it looked absurd in the masculine realm of the Texas Cattleman’s Club, but he supposed he appreciated the gesture.

  “I think they’re waiting on you to cut the cake.” He indicated the five-tier confection gracing the center of the round table. “You want to try a few of the nibbles first?”

  She nodded, looking warily at the dark paneled walls festooned with white ribbons and foil-covered bells draped over the heavy frames of paintings of several famous and obviously well-endowed bulls.

  Will glared at Sebastian, wondering if he’d done it deliberately. It was more in line with Jason’s puckish sense of humor, but it might have been a joint effort.

  Or purely unintentional.

  Dammit, he didn’t need any reminders. This was his wedding day, only there wasn’t going to be a wedding night. At least, not in the traditional sense. But, of course, the guys couldn’t have known that.

  “Are they all waiting for me to go first?” she whispered.

  “I think so. Otherwise, they’d be pigging out. These guys aren’t known for their reserve.” Wasn’t that the truth!

  He took a thin, gold-banded plate and loaded it with finger food. Diana eyed it warily. Her queasiness wasn’t restricted to mornings. The buffalo wings she’d pass on. The cheese and salsa on rye crackers was a possibility. The black bean dip looked good, so she helped herself to a spoonful and took half a dozen more crackers.

  “So, tell me, Di, what did you see in this guy? Did he tell you he was a hotshot cowboy? Bet he forgot to tell you his own horse threw him once and he was laid up for three weeks.” That was from Jason. She was getting to know them a bit better.

  “The horse was spooked by a rattlesnake while I was trying to talk on my cell phone, or it never would have happened,” Will grumbled.

  “Somehow, being an Easterner, I never pictured cowboys riding the range while they talked on cell phones.” Diana found herself relaxing enough to share the joke. “Some states have a law about using the phone while you’re driving.”

  And so it went—teasing, tall tales. At first the laughter was stiff, but soon it became more relaxed. They were all obviously trying to make her feel welcome, but she suspected they were curious as to why their friend would marry with no warning at all. Especially a woman he’d never even dated. What did they think the two of them had been doing up on the eleventh floor all those days when they’d worked together to clear out Jack’s things?

  “Cake time!” Sebastian announced. Diana was still a bit hazy on the others, but everyone at Wescott Oil knew Sebastian, the heir to his father’s empire.

  It was Keith—she thought—who said, “Let me move it closer so you can reach it.”

  White frosting, pure sugar. White cake, pure refined carbohydrate. In just the short time since she’d learned she was pregnant she’d become far more health conscious, but this was no time to be picky. “Hold your plates,” she said, and grimly attacked the fancy confection.

  There was some teasing after that about whose cake they’d be cutting next. Something about a bet, which she’d heard referred to before. Will edged closer. “You’re not eating. Nerves?”

  “Oh, no…it’s…it looks delicious!”

  “Diana? You want to level with me?” asked Will. “If you’re dieting, then don’t. You could carry ten more pounds, easy, and still look like a million bucks.”

  So she nibbled a cracker dipped in black beans and salsa, praying she wouldn’t get sick. He was standing close enough so that she could see the gold shards in his hazel eyes. Warily she said, “It’s not that—I mean, thank you. I think. But I don’t eat sweets very much.”

  “Not even your own wedding cake?” With his own fork he cut a bite of her cake and held it to her lips. “Come on, sweetheart—open up.”

  She let the endearment pass. He was obviously doing it for his friends’ benefit, and she appreciated it, she really did. Leaning forward, she bit off what he was offering. This was her wedding day, after all. She could afford to make a few allowances.

  Two of the men were discussing inducting someone or other into the club. Did grown men do that kind of thing? she wondered.

  Later she asked Will about it, and without telling her who the honoree was
to be, he admitted that, yeah, they did. “Frankly it strikes me as pretty juvenile, but tradition rules in an outfit like this. He’ll be asked to address the membership committee at a black-tie dinner on the ten most embarrassing moments of his life and the ten things of which he’s the proudest. That pretty well sizes a man up, don’t you think?”

  Come to think about it, she agreed it did. She wished she dared to ask those same questions of her new husband.

  The others had champagne. Will arranged for her to be served a sparkling cider. She wrinkled her nose, half expecting the bubbles to tickle. She’d read that in so many books—the bubbles always tickled the heroine’s nose. In her case they didn’t, but since she was pretending to be the heroine of this farce—not a princess, but close enough—she might as well play the part properly.

  “Ready to go home and kick back with a good video?”

  “You read my mind. Actually, I wouldn’t mind getting out of these shoes,” she whispered.

  He grinned, and she told herself that if he had truly read her mind, he’d know just how terrified she was of losing control of her life again. After growing up as she had in an abusive situation, she had vowed never to hand over control of her life to anyone. It had been her choice not to try for a college scholarship, but to take the secretarial course instead. Secretaries were always in demand, as she’d told her mother. It was a highly portable skill.

  It had been her choice to move all the way across the country when her mother had apparently lost all interest in everything, including her job. That was when Diana had learned that no one has complete control over their life. Shortly after they’d settled in, she’d had another choice to make. Whether or not to trade an affair with a man nearly twice her age for her mother’s health care. She hadn’t been at Wescott Oil long enough for her company insurance to kick in, and even then, preexisting conditions would have been excluded.

  She had made the decision.