Music up, roll credits.
Except this wasn’t a film, he wasn’t Tom Hanks and she wasn’t Meg Ryan.
This was real life, they hardly knew each other except in the biblical sense of the word—and that was what had gotten him into this situation in the first place.
A rush of ice water seemed to pour through his veins.
He wasn’t interested in marrying anybody, not for a long, long time. And when he did, it wouldn’t be to a woman who was, basically, a total stranger.
So, it wasn’t a proposal that came out of his mouth. It was something far more basic.
“You said you were on the pill.”
“I was.” Her words were clipped. “And it’s 99.9 percent effective, says the little brochure that comes with it.”
“Yeah. Okay. But—”
“But it turns out I’m that one percent. Sorry. That point-one percent.” She made a sound he suspected was supposed to be a laugh. “Terrific, right? A thing works virtually all the time … except when it doesn’t.” She looked at him, saw the expression on his face and her chin came up. “You know what? If you didn’t want to know, or if you don’t want to believe me, you shouldn’t have asked.”
She was right.
And the amazing thing, or maybe the not-so-amazing thing was, he believed her.
On a pragmatic level, why else would she have been fully prepared to take the CVS test?
And on a level that had nothing to do with pragmatism, Sage was the woman he’d held in his arms that fateful night. No matter what her “arrangement” with David Caldwell, Caleb knew she wouldn’t lie, especially about something like this.
“I believe you,” he said quietly. “It’s just—it’s a lot to take in.”
Sage wanted to say something clever and pithy, but remembering her own initial reaction to seeing those little test strips turn blue took the fight right out of her.
“I know.” Her voice was low. “I absolutely know.”
He nodded. “So, we have to talk.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“You’re pregnant,” he said flatly. “I’m responsible for that pregnancy. Seems to me we have a lot to talk about.”
She wasn’t surprised.
Caleb Wilde wasn’t only a man who’d just learned something shocking, he was a lawyer. He’d have a speech to make, probably papers for her to sign.
Out of the frying pan and into the fire. With one huge difference.
Thomas Caldwell wanted to force himself into her life.
Caleb Wilde would want to keep himself out of it.
And that was fine with her.
He suggested they go to his hotel.
She thought of the ugly suite with its pretensions of grandeur and shook her head.
“Forget that. There’s a coffee shop right next to the subway station.”
“Right,” he said calmly. “What better place to discuss the fact that you’re pregnant than a coffee shop? We can always elicit advice from the waitress.”
She wanted to tell him that she wasn’t pregnant, they were. But she knew that wasn’t true; men talked about being pregnant in TV sit-coms, where they were always thrilled to find out they were on their way to becoming fathers.
This was real life, and she knew, firsthand, how that went.
“I don’t like your hotel room.”
“You haven’t seen it.”
“Of course I saw it. Just yesterday.”
“Caldwell made those arrangements, not me. I’m staying at—”
“I don’t care where you’re staying. I don’t want to go there.”
Caleb raised an eyebrow. “What is this, a turf war?”
“Of course not,” she said quickly—except … it was.
No way was she going to give him any kind of psychological advantage.
“Fine,” he said grimly. “We’ll go to your place.”
The scene of the crime, she thought, and felt a rush of color flood her face.
“We can talk here. I mean, we don’t have much to talk about. I already told you, I’m not going to ask anything of you or—”
His hands closed on her elbows and he raised her to her toes. New Yorkers, whose day-to-day survival skills made them blind to almost everything, flowed around them like water around a boulder in a stream.
“This isn’t about you or me,” he said, each word clipped. “It’s about this—this situation we created.”
“It’s a baby,” she said, trying to keep her voice from quavering, “not a situation.”
“You know what I mean.”
“What I know,” she said, “is that I’ve already reached a decision.”
“You made that decision without consulting me.”
“You’re not part of this.”
He laughed, although the sound wasn’t pleasant.
“You’re carrying my kid. I intend to do the right thing about him. Her. It.”
Hell, he was getting lost in syntax, and what did syntax matter at a time like this?
“The right thing.” She looked at him. “What, exactly, does that mean?”
“You want an honest answer?” For the first time, he looked less than certain. “I don’t know. And that’s what we have to talk about.”
She nodded.
And, dammit, he thought, were those tears rising in her eyes?
A fist seemed to close around his heart. She looked so young, so lost, so vulnerable.
Without thinking, he bent his head and brushed his lips lightly over hers.
A mistake. He knew it instantly, even as her mouth softened under his.
Kissing her brought back unwanted memories. Her taste. Her feel. The rightness of having her in his arms …
Caleb turned away. A taxi was heading toward them. Perfect timing. He hailed it, then looked at Sage. Her face was pale. Her mouth was trembling. He wanted to kiss her again …
“Let’s go,” he said briskly.
A moment later, they were en route to Brooklyn.
Her neighborhood didn’t look any better than the last time.
In fact, it looked worse.
Half a dozen overflowing trash cans stood at the curb. One had fallen over and garbage lay strewn beside it.
A pack of boys, sixteen, maybe seventeen years old, were lounging in front of the building. Two of them elbowed each other as Sage stepped from the cab.
Caleb was right on her heels.
One look from him, the kids turned away.
He figured that what he was feeling—a growing anger to replace the foolish tenderness or whatever you wanted to call it that had overtaken him outside Fein’s office—was showing, loud and clear, on his face.
He grasped Sage’s elbow, marched her up the steps, into the misery of the entry hall, then up the dark, creaking stairs to her apartment.
“Keys,” he said, ignoring the roll of her eyes as she handed them over. Once inside the living room, he wasted no time on niceties and pointed to the sofa. “Sit.”
Sage folded her arms.
“Did you hear me? I said—”
“Do I look like a poodle to you?”
Dammit, as angry as he was, he wanted to laugh, but he wasn’t that foolish.
Instead, he bared his teeth in a cold smile.
“Very funny.”
“No,” she said, “it isn’t funny at all.” She strode past him to the kitchen, banged open cupboards, took out a mug and a box of tea bags, filled a kettle with water. Caleb, following after her, muttered something under his breath, snatched the kettle from her hand, slapped it onto the stove.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m making tea. Herbal tea.” She looked up into his eyes, fluttered her lashes, gave him a smile sweet enough to cause a sugar high. “Why? Did you want some?”
Was she deliberately trying to infuriate him? He wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake some sense into her …
Or maybe haul her agains
t him and kiss her until sense was the last thing either of them needed.
Hell.
Where did logic go when he was with her? It seemed to disappear like smoke on a breeze. He couldn’t let that happen. Again. Once was enough. More than enough. Just look where it had taken him …
Taken them.
He had to remember that.
“As a matter of fact,” he said, “I’d love some tea.”
He forced what he hoped was a bland smile. Then he took off his suit coat, undid the top button of his shirt, tugged at his tie, unbuttoned his cuffs, rolled up his sleeves …
“Why not make yourself at home?” Sage said in that same, sugar-laden voice.
He flashed another empty smile.
“Thanks,” he said, pulling a chair out from the table, “I will.”
She narrowed her eyes to slits as he sat down, stretched out his legs, crossed his feet at the ankles. When he folded his arms over his chest, she muttered something.
He wanted to laugh.
What she’d said was incredibly rude, especially coming from that soft-looking, sweet-tasting mouth, but he couldn’t blame her.
He agreed with the sentiment.
Talk about things being all fouled up …
The kettle screamed. Sage dumped tea bags in a pair of mugs. He hated tea—tea was for sick people—and this wasn’t even tea, it was herbal goop.
His sisters would have approved—and if there was anything he didn’t want to think about right now, it was his sisters. Or his brothers. Or anybody in his family.
Anger was busy tying his gut into a knot. Why not add herbal tea and all its connotations so that the knot could tighten?
“This,” he said when she plunked the mugs on the table, “is not tea.”
“It’s what I drink.”
“Ridiculous,” he snorted.
She looked at him. “Honey?”
“What?”
Her smile would have shamed the Cheshire cat.
“Do you take honey in your tea?”
“How about sugar?”
“I’ve given up white sugar.”
“No sugar. No tea. What are you, a health nut?”
She pulled out a chair, sat down across from him.
“I’m pregnant.”
“So we’ve established.”
“Are you stupid or just out of touch with reality? Pregnant women aren’t supposed to have caffeine! They’re supposed to watch what they eat! Natural foods! Organic foods! Honey! Herbal tea! Get it?”
He could almost see each exclamation point in the air.
“Oh.”
“Oh? Oh? Is that all you can say about making a horse’s ass of yourself?”
“Hey. I didn’t—” He cleared his throat. “I didn’t know. I mean, I don’t know anything about—about being pregnant …”
“No,” she said and just that quickly, he saw her anger drain away. She put her elbows on the table, leaned her forehead against her fists. “No,” she said again, “neither do I.”
Tears rolled down her cheeks. Caleb rose, tore a paper towel from a roll that hung over the sink, and gave it to her.
“Sage,” he said softly, squatting down beside her, “I’m sorry.”
She took the towel from him, blew her nose loudly.
“No, it’s not your fault. I dropped this thing on you like a—like a brick. I know you’re—you’re trying to process it.”
Caleb pulled his chair next to hers, sat, reached for her hands and clasped them tightly in his.
“Look, we’re both new to this.”
“The understatement of the year,” she said with a watery laugh.
“But we’ll learn.” He smiled, leaned forward, let go of one of her hands so he could tuck a stray curl back from her temple. “Heck, look how much I just learned. No caffeine. Honey. Herbs. I mean, you’re looking at a guy who thinks that all you need in a kitchen is a coffeepot, a couple of stale bagels, some cream cheese that hasn’t gone green and a stack of takeout menus.”
She laughed. It was a real laugh this time, and he wanted to cheer. Instead, he moved her tea mug so it was in front of her.
“Come on. Take a sip. Good. And another. Excellent. Are you hungry? Shall I make you something to eat?”
“Caleb—”
“No? Okay. Just the tea, then—”
“Caleb.” She put down the mug down. “What you said. About us having to talk …”
“Yeah.” He sat back. “We do.”
Sage nodded. “I just want you to know—I mean, I truly don’t expect—”
“Listen,” he said, “we’re two adults. We have to deal with this.”
Another bob of her head. Okay. This was progress. They were both calmer. Much calmer. He certainly was.
All his anger …
It hadn’t been about her or even about him, it had been about not knowing the next logical steps to take, and that was rough. Law school. The Agency. His successful practice. Logical choices for a logical approach to life.
She pushed back her chair. “Just give me a minute.”
“No. We can’t keep putting this off.”
“Lesson two about pregnancy,” she said with a quick smile. “It makes you pee a lot.”
“Oh,” he said again. That seemed to be his word of the day.
He watched her walk out of the kitchen. She was so damned proud. So determined not to need him or anybody else.
Dammit, what was he supposed to do next?
He knew the legal choices. But what about feelings? Emotions? No way to tuck them into neat legal categories.
He heard the toilet flush. Heard water run in the sink. Heard the bathroom door open.
Sage walked into the kitchen.
She’d washed her face. Combed her hair.
He felt his heart do something—well, something weird. It turned over. Or maybe it lifted. Whatever, it was a strange sensation.
It had to be his gut, not his heart. He hadn’t eaten anything this morning. He hadn’t even had coffee.
He reached for his mug of tea. Drank some. Tried not to gag.
Sage laughed. He looked up.
“You look as if you’re eating worms.”
“Hey, worms aren’t so bad.” He grinned at the expression on her face. “Grow up with a couple of brothers who’re always ready for a dare, you end up doing a lot of things you don’t generally talk about in polite company.”
She sat down across from him. No laughter now.
“Like what to do when you find out the woman you—you were with is pregnant.”
“The woman I made love with,” Caleb said in a low voice.
Their eyes met. After a long few seconds, she looked away, caught her bottom lip between her teeth. He watched, and tried not to think about how soft and sweet her flesh was there.
“So,” she said, “so … I’ve been making plans. Well, I’ve been trying to but with Caldwell hounding me—”
“Forget Caldwell.” Hell, why did his voice sound so rough? “Forget him,” he repeated. “He’s not going to bother you again.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I’ll take care of it.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me,” he said, his voice even rougher. “It’s just the right thing to do.” He cleared his throat. “What plans have you been making?”
“The first, the one at the top of the list …” She sat forward, her hands wrapped around the mug of tea, her eyes bright. “I’m moving out of here.”
“Damned right you are.”
“I’m going to look for a place in—well, I’m still not sure. I thought maybe Queens. Or Long Island. Maybe even New—”
“A house,” Caleb said. “A kid needs a yard. A dog. Space to run in.”
“I thought about a house but renting is probably—”
“Renting isn’t a good idea. It might be now, considering the economy, but by the same token, there are houses on the market that are excellent va
lues.”
Sweet Jesus.
Travis would be proud of him. Or maybe not. He sounded more like a stuffed three-piece suit than a man who was about to become a—about to become a—
“Maybe,” Sage said, “but I have to be realistic.”
“Absolutely. Being realistic is my specialty.” Had he actually said that? “What I mean is, I’ll draw up some plans and—What?”
Sage’s eyes had narrowed. She was good at narrowing them; he’d noticed that about her, and it inevitably presaged an oncoming storm.
“I’ve been drawing up plans for almost three months.”
“I’m sure you have, but—”
“There is no but, Caleb. I’m the one who’s been dealing with this—what did you call it? This ‘situation.’”
“While I was oblivious to it.” He could feel a little curl of anger forming again. “Which brings me to a question. Why didn’t you contact me when you realized you were pregnant?”
“For starters, I didn’t know your last name. I didn’t know anything about you, except that you lived in Texas. What we did … what I did …” Color striped her cheeks. “I still can’t believe it. And believe me, I’m not proud of that.”
Images flashed through his head. Waking in the middle of the night, his body on fire for her. Trying to ignore what he felt and then the realization that she wanted him as much as he wanted her, and then her in his arms, hot and wild in his arms …
“I don’t regret that night,” he said, his voice husky. “Neither should you.”
She stared at him. Then she shot to her feet.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
Caleb rose, too. He stood beside her, too close, too masculine, too everything she had tried so hard to forget.
“That’s why we’re here,” he said. “To talk about it.”
“About—about the baby. Not about—”
“I never stopped thinking about you,” he said. “I couldn’t get you out of my mind.”
“Stop!” Sage closed her eyes, as if that might make this all go away. “I don’t want to—to—”
“Hell, no! Neither do I.” He put his hand in her hair, turned her face up to his; hair fell in a silk swirl over his fingers. “But I can’t stop it. Memories of you. How you tasted. How you felt. How it was, to be inside you …”
She slapped at his hand.
The Ruthless Caleb Wilde Page 9
