by Heidi Rice
‘Of course I will. A deal’s a deal.’
After watching her brother-in-law stalk out of the room, Ali walked over to the crib. Leaning down, she stroked an unsteady hand down her newborn son’s downy cheek.
‘I hope your auntie doesn’t kill me for this, when your uncle turns up on her doorstep.’
CHAPTER TWENTY
JESSIE stepped out of the glass-fronted art gallery onto the bustling Prince Street sidewalk. She’d done it. She’d got the job. She should be overjoyed.
The assistant sales position was low-paying but Cullen’s was a well-respected Manhattan gallery and the job had prospects with a capital P.
This was the sort of opportunity she wouldn’t even have dreamt of when she’d left London to join Ali and her family in the Hamptons.
She ducked into the tiny coffee shop to get out of the sweltering hustle and bustle of lunchtime SoHo, ordered a herbal tea at the counter and then sat down at the only available booth. She needed to get in touch with Ali, who had been leaving messages demanding that she call her for the last few days. But she dumped her bag on the table and left the phone inside. Staring blankly out at the busy street through the café window, she absently rested her hand on her still-flat belly. She took the peppermint teabag out of the earthenware mug and sipped the steamy brew.
The joy wouldn’t come.
Had Monroe destroyed this for her, too?
She couldn’t stop the anger, the resentment and misery from welling up inside her. With this new job, she was beginning the brilliant career she had always dreamed of. But after what had happened with Monroe, she wondered how long it would be before she’d find joy in anything again.
She finished the last of the tea, grateful that the usual nausea didn’t come. Her hand rested again on her stomach and she glanced down.
When would she feel the baby kick for the first time?
The errant thought made her smile. Maybe it wouldn’t be so long before she felt joy again after all. Despite the horror of what had happened with the baby’s father, every time she thought about the baby her pulse jumped with excitement and anticipation.
She sighed. As usual she was getting ahead of herself. At the moment, the only sign of her pregnancy was incredibly tender breasts and the fact that for the last few days she’d been hideously sick every morning.
She blinked furiously as her eyes began to glaze over again. Grabbing her bag, she pulled out her tissues. It must be the pregnancy hormones. Her emotions were all over the place. Yes, she was ecstatic about the baby, but she was also dreading having to deal with its father.
Ali had called her two days ago to tell her Monroe had been tested and now knew the truth. He was the father.
Jessie blew her nose and stuffed her tissues back in her bag. All right, sooner or later she’d have to deal with him. As much as she hated to admit it, she knew he would want to have a part in the baby’s life.
But that didn’t mean he had to have a part in hers, she thought bitterly. She wasn’t the romantic fool she’d been just a week ago—blinded by her optimism, her immaturity and her love from seeing him for what he really was. A hard man who’d been forced to make hard choices in his life. A man who would never trust and appreciate her, had probably never really trusted or appreciated anybody. Over the last few days, she had accepted the fact that a part of her heart would always be lost to him, but she couldn’t risk her happiness—or her child’s happiness—on a man who could never love her back.
Here she was thinking about him again when she should be out celebrating her new job, the new life she was about to embark on.
Reaching into her bag, Jessie pulled out her cell phone and started keying in a text message to Ali. Her eyes jerked up when someone slid into the booth opposite.
‘Hello, Red.’
The phone slid out of her hand and thudded onto the Formica table.
Monroe had been following Jessie since she left Cullen’s.
He’d caught the first train out of the Hamptons that morning, as soon as he’d gotten the call from Carole Jackson. He still couldn’t quite believe the lady was planning a major debut show of his work in her ritzy uptown gallery.
He had checked into the room Jackson had booked him at the Waldorf that morning, feeling like a vagrant in his ragged denims and faded T-shirt. He’d put off the meeting with Carole and her staff until tomorrow, though. He had more important business to conduct in New York and it couldn’t wait any longer.
He’d tracked down Jessie’s whereabouts and raced down to SoHo, the nerves over what lay ahead nearly making him miss his stop on the subway.
He’d spotted Jessie leaving Cullen’s. Seeing her again had made his heart pound like a jackhammer. But he hadn’t had the guts to go up to her on the street. When she’d walked into the nearby coffee shop, it had seemed perfect. He could confront her there. But when she’d slipped into the booth, still he’d held back. Even after seven long days of going over everything in his head, he didn’t know what the hell to say to her to make it right. The creeping feeling in the back of his mind, that she might have had an abortion, wouldn’t go away. He couldn’t let that cloud things, but it did. He’d hate himself even more if she had, because that would be his fault, too.
He tried to plaster a smile on his face. Look easy, don’t look desperate, was the only thing that kept going through his head as he sat down opposite her.
‘You look great, Red.’
The ice in Jessie’s chest turned to fire.
‘You bastard.’ Grabbing her phone, she turned. She had to get out of here.
He leant over and took her arm.
‘Let go of me,’ she snarled, trying to yank her arm free.
He didn’t let go, but got up and slid onto the seat beside her. ‘Calm down, Red.’
She glared at him. Boxed in. ‘Don’t you tell me to calm down, you…you…’ she couldn’t think of a word bad enough ‘…you bastard.’
‘All right, fine. Letting go.’ Monroe lifted his hands, looking defeated.
‘Get out of my way.’ She tried to push past him.
He didn’t budge. ‘Jess, we need to talk.’
‘We do not need to talk,’ she snapped. ‘There is absolutely nothing I want to say to you.’
‘I figured that,’ he said as he ploughed his fingers through his hair. ‘But there’s something I’ve gotta say to you.’
She tried to push past him again. He held firm.
‘I’m sorry, Red,’ he said, touching her arm. ‘You don’t know how sorry I am for what I said. About you, and about the baby.’
She felt herself weaken. Just for a moment. She could hear the torment in his voice, see the misery in his eyes. She could imagine how much he had suffered all those years, thinking he couldn’t have a child. But then he reached up and ran his finger down her cheek. She jerked her head away, the gesture bringing back a rush of memories.
‘Don’t touch me.’ She slapped his hand away. ‘I don’t want to hear that you’re sorry,’ she cried. ‘I don’t care that you’re sorry.’ A thought struck her and she felt as if she might break apart. ‘You’re only sorry now because you found out the baby’s yours.’
He flinched.
‘I’m right, aren’t I?’ she said. ‘That’s the reason you’re here?’
‘It’s not the only reason.’ He paused, seemed to think about it for a moment. ‘But it is one of them.’
‘I knew it.’ Jessie’s voice shook on the words.
‘Is there still a baby, Jessie?’
Jessie could hear the anguish in his voice, see the fear in his eyes and the urge to hurt him as badly as he had hurt her overwhelmed her.
‘No, there isn’t.’ The lie lay like lead on her tongue the minute she’d said it.
He cursed, closed his eyes and let his head fall back onto the high leatherette seat of the booth.
I don’t care, Jessie told herself silently. I don’t care if I’ve hurt him.
But then he tur
ned and studied her. Instead of the bitterness, the anger she had expected, there was just a terrible sadness in his gaze. ‘Jess. I’m sorry for that, too, then,’ he said softly.
She would have told him the truth then, would have done anything to take the self-loathing out of his eyes, but the wave of nausea hit without warning.
‘Oh, get out of my way.’
‘What is it?’ he said, lifting his head off the seat.
‘Mo-o-ove!’
He jumped back. Jessie rushed past him, her hands clasped over her mouth.
She managed to make it to the kerb outside before her stomach heaved.
When the vomiting finally stopped, her legs started to wobble. She was about to collapse in a heap when strong arms wrapped around her waist and held her upright.
‘I’ve got you, Red.’
He handed her some napkins. The shrill whistle in her ear made her jerk. A yellow cab screeched to a stop in front of her and she was lifted against his chest.
‘What are you doing?’ she said weakly. ‘Leave me alone.’
‘Not a chance.’
Monroe settled her on the cab seat before giving the driver quick instructions. Jessie wanted to rise, to get away, but her legs simply wouldn’t do what she told them. He lifted her effortlessly into his lap as the car sped off into the midday traffic.
‘I can sit on my own, thanks.’
She struggled, but he held her in place.
His lips curved slightly. ‘Forget it, Red. We’re going to have that talk.’
She stared at him in astonishment. ‘What the heck are you smiling about?’
‘So there’s not still a baby, huh?’ The light dancing in his deep blue eyes made it clear it was a rhetorical question.
‘Well…’ She’d made a fool of herself.
Okay, so she was glad he didn’t look stricken any more. But he didn’t have to look quite so ecstatic. That was just plain annoying.
‘All right, there is still a baby. I lied.’ She sounded huffy. She didn’t care. ‘I said that because I wanted you to suffer.’
Despite the catty remark, he grinned. ‘Yeah, I figured that out while I was watching you decorate the sidewalk.’
Parting the jacket of her linen trouser suit, he stroked his palms over her midriff, stared down at it. She could see the fierce pride and joy in his face, struggled hard not to be moved by it.
‘How big is he in there—d’ you know?’ he said.
‘Who says it’s a he?’
‘You think it’s a girl?’ It was as if he hadn’t heard the sneer in her words. ‘That’d be so cool.’ His gaze stayed on her belly; his hands felt warm through the thin fabric of the pink silk camisole.
Without saying anything, she pushed his hands away and wriggled off his lap. He didn’t stop her as she shifted as far away from him as she could get. Turning her back to him, she stared out of the cab window.
She didn’t want to see the joy in his face, didn’t want to see his intense happiness at the baby. It might make her forget what he was really like. It might make her forget what he’d put her through.
Monroe let her go, his euphoria fading. Yeah, there was still a baby, the best gift anyone had ever given him, could ever give him. But he wanted so much more. He wanted Jessie, too. And the problems between them were far from solved.
‘Jess, I can say I’m sorry for the rest of my life. But it won’t ever undo what I said. It can’t ever take away the wrong I did you. I know that.’
When she turned, he saw the sheen of tears in her eyes and felt his heart clutch at the sight.
‘Just tell me one thing,’ she whispered. ‘Did you really think I’d slept with someone else?’
He shook his head. ‘No.’ About that he could be honest. ‘Not when I thought it through. I just…’ He stopped. How could he make her understand? ‘I never thought I could have kids, Jess. I’d spent my whole life convincing myself I didn’t want them. When you told me, I wanted so bad for it to be true.’
‘Why didn’t you believe me, then?’
What did he say to that?
The cab came to a stop and the driver opened his grill. ‘We’re here, buddy.’ Monroe slapped a twenty into his palm and guided Jessie out.
‘Why have you brought me here?’ Jessie said, gaping at the ornate art-deco frontage on the landmark hotel.
‘I’m staying here.’
‘You are?’ She looked stunned.
He shrugged. ‘Yeah, the gallery’s paying for it.’
‘What gallery?’
He didn’t want to go into all that now. This was more important.
‘It’s a long story.’ He took her elbow, guided her towards the stairs. ‘I’ve got a suite. I can order in room service. If you want, you know. If you’re hungry now. We can talk.’
She pulled back, looking confused and wary. ‘You don’t have to explain anything to me, Monroe. Not really.’
Monroe didn’t like that look of resignation, or the note of finality in her voice.
‘Yeah, I do.’ Of that he was certain, but how to do it was a whole other question.
She clutched her hands together, stared down at them. ‘I won’t keep the baby from you,’ she said, and looked up. ‘You can still be a part of its life. I wouldn’t keep your child from you. I know how much it means to you.’
He let her run down before he spoke.
‘Hell, Red. I know that. But the baby’s not what this is about.’
‘Of course it is, Monroe,’ she said reasonably. ‘But the point is, now you know you can have kids, this won’t be the only baby. You can have other kids, they don’t have to be with me.’
Looking at her on the steps of the Waldorf, wringing her hands and trying to be fair to a man that had as good as flayed her alive, Monroe knew he would never want anything again the way he wanted her.
‘We can talk about visitation rights once the baby’s born,’ she continued in a murmur, ‘but until then, I don’t want to—’
‘Jessie, stop being so damn noble for a minute and let me say what I need to say.’
Okay, so that wasn’t exactly diplomatic, he thought as he saw her stiffen. But he was feeling raw at the prospect of what he was going to have to do next. Grovelling, he realised, didn’t even come close.
‘Don’t you dare shout at me,’ she shouted back at him.
He wanted to grab her and carry her into the hotel, but figured that wasn’t going to work either. ‘Jess,’ he sighed. ‘Will you please just come upstairs?’
She stared at him for what seemed like forever. When she spoke her voice was quiet, her eyes wary. ‘I’ll come on one condition.’
‘Sure. What is it?’
‘You promise not to touch me.’
He felt the sharp stab of pain and regret, but nodded.
Silence suited her fine, Jessie thought as Monroe picked up his key card at the reception desk and directed her to one of the dark-panelled lifts in the foyer. He was careful not to put his hand on the small of her back as he had always done before, she noticed, and was grateful. Seeing him again had been enough of a jolt to her system without him touching her. The fact that her hormones had responded as they always did to his hard, leanly muscled frame and that magnificent face just made her feel twice as vulnerable.
Why did he have to look so flipping gorgeous?
She tried hard to recall the cruel things he had said to her, the sneer on his face when he’d told her the baby wasn’t his, but as the lift glided smoothly up to his floor she could see no trace of it on his face. He looked tense and nervous, tapping the key card against his thigh as he studied the elevator’s indicator lights. He hadn’t so much as glanced at her since she’d agreed to come to his room. That cool, confident charm that had always been a part of him was gone.
He led her down to the end of the wide hallway and slipped the key card into ornately carved double doors with a panel on them that read ‘The Ambassador Suite.’
Jessie gaped as she steppe
d into a huge, lushly carpeted sitting area ahead of him. Three long mullioned windows across the room showcased the New York skyline in all its glory.
Monroe dumped the card on a small table next to one of the two large leather sofas that dominated the room. ‘Have a seat.’ He gestured to the sofa. ‘You want a drink?’
‘Water’s fine.’ She sat down stiffly and tried to quell her curiosity. Where had he got the money for this place, and what was that he’d said about a gallery?
None of your business, she thought ruthlessly as he turned from the minibar with a pricey bottle of Scottish mineral water and a glass in his hand.
Passing the drink to her, he sat down on the sofa opposite. He watched as she gulped the water down. She drank in silence, determined not to be the first one to speak. But when she slapped the glass down on the coffee table and he still hadn’t spoken she’d had about enough of the tension snapping in the air. ‘I thought you had something to say. If you don’t, I’ll go.’
She went to get up, but stopped when he shook his head and held up a hand.
‘Don’t go, Jess. I…’ He stood up, paced to the window and back. He didn’t just look nervous, she realised as he sat back down. He looked scared.
‘I have stuff I need to tell you. But it’s stuff I never told anyone before and I don’t know how to say it.’ He sounded like an idiot, Monroe thought grimly. ‘I wanted to explain, about what happened. You know, when you told me about the baby. Why I lost it.’
‘You already explained that, Monroe.’ Her voice was curt, dismissive. Frightening him even more.
‘No, I didn’t, not properly.’
Her eyes widened, but she didn’t reply.
He wanted to touch her, to pull her into his arms and bury his face in her hair. He wanted to make the horrible memory of what he’d said and done just go away. But he knew he couldn’t. Seeing the anguish in her eyes only made him remember the ugly scene more clearly. She was probably remembering it, too. He had to make it right, even if it meant exposing himself to the kind of heartache he’d struggled so hard his whole life to avoid.
