One-Night Pregnancy

by Lindsay Armstrong

  ‘So long as it’s not too far away.’

  Bridget temporized, but he took her in his arms and lay back with her, fitting the curves of her body into the lean planes and angles of his. ‘How right does that feel?’ he queried, with a wicked little glint in his eyes as he cupped her breast.

  ‘That feels like pure blackmail,’ she replied, but a little breathlessly.

  ‘It is,’ he agreed. ‘You seem to have brought out a pirate-like streak in me, Mrs Smith. Is that the right word?’ he mused.

  ‘Pirate-like? Well, devious also springs to mind.’

  He kissed the tip of her nose.

  ‘I give up,’ she said on a gurgle of laughter. ‘You’re a hard man to say no to, Mr Beaumont.’

  A little later, far from feeling drowsy, Adam got energetically out of bed and announced that he was starving.

  ‘Ah,’ she said, curling up in his space. ‘Yesterday I experimented with black tea and dry toast, and I didn’t have any morning sickness, so I think I may stick to that. I don’t think I should even think about cooking breakfast.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it all—including the black tea.’ He headed for the shower.

  ‘You cook?’ Bridget asked with a tinge of surprise.

  He turned back to her. ‘In a limited sort of way. I spent a year after school jackerooing on a cattle station in the Northern Territory. Bacon and eggs is one of my strengths. Damper is another, but I’ll make do with bread this morning. Do you have any plum jam?’

  ‘Er—no. Do you like it?’

  ‘I became addicted to it on damper. We used to get it in big tins and, apart from sugar, it was just about the only sweet thing we got.’

  ‘How about strawberry jam?’ she asked gravely.

  He grinned. ‘That’ll do.’

  ‘So that’s where you got your expertise with ropes and axes and so on? Jackerooing?’ she hazarded.

  ‘Yes.’ He grimaced. ‘Such as it is.’

  On his way to the shower he stopped and studied a painting on the wall—one of hers. A delicate study of some coral-pink ixora blooms on a velvety midnight background.

  He turned back to her. ‘I thought you said you weren’t any good?’

  ‘I’m average,’ she answered.

  ‘I disagree. In fact, I would be surprised if your new career isn’t based on art. Have you started painting yet?’

  She shook her head. ‘I haven’t had time.’

  He squinted at the tiny initials in the corner—B T-S—then went to take his shower.

  Bridget stayed cuddled up in bed and listened to him singing snatches of a sea shanty in a pleasant, husky voice.

  It brought her a feeling of real contentment, although she smiled to herself to think of him as a closet shower singer. But he must be feeling contented, at least, she reasoned, even if she wasn’t the love of his life…

  She saw his doctor later in the day, and had her pregnancy officially confirmed. She also saw a number of houses, and fell in love with one of them.

  It was on the Nerang River, behind Surfers Paradise, so it was peaceful but central. It had a lovely garden and a jetty, but it needed some TLC—mostly only cosmetic, so it wouldn’t be a time-consuming exercise. She specifically asked not to be told how much it cost, although she knew that its position alone would guarantee a hefty price tag.

  Inwardly, she discerned that she was a little uneasy about this house—to the extent that she did say to Adam that they had months up their sleeve and didn’t need to rush into anything.

  He simply shrugged—and told her the next day that it was signed and sealed.

  The next evidence she got of his determination to get his own way was over her job. She still had nearly two weeks’ leave in front of her, but happened casually to mention when she’d be going back to work.

  Why not quit now and get it over with? had been his response. Why not start painting now?

  She’d hesitated, and he’d reminded her that she’d been having second thoughts about it anyway. He’d also let drop that Julia had moved overseas.

  ‘Did you have anything to do with that?’

  They were dining out at a chic Italian café. The tablecloths were red, with green over-cloths, the glassware sparkled, the air was redolent with tantalising aromas, and the menu offered a delicious variety of pasta. It all faded into the background, though, as Bridget was unable to mask her surprise at this news.

  He toyed with his wine glass. ‘Yes.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘I managed to get her a job in Singapore.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me? Did you coerce her?’

  He rubbed his jaw. ‘To a certain extent. I pointed out to her that spreading unsubstantiated rumours was not something to be viewed lightly.’

  ‘They were true,’ Bridget said.

  ‘Not at the time, they weren’t,’ he said flatly.

  ‘Your brother—’ Bridget began, but he broke in.

  ‘Look, Bridget, Henry is a married man with two children.’ He gestured. ‘I’m not making excuses for him, but Julia was always on shaky ground there. Don’t you agree?’ And he raised an eyebrow at her.

  ‘I suppose so,’ she said slowly. ‘Is she all right? You must have threatened her with—something.’

  ‘We did a deal. Materially, she drove a fairly hard bargain. But it’s actually a much more challenging job there than doing the social rounds here.’

  Bridget digested this for a long moment. They were both casually dressed, she in jeans and a blouse that matched her eyes, he in jeans and a sports jacket over a round-necked T-shirt. But it crossed her mind to think that whatever he wore these days, and even if his hair was wind-ruffled from their earlier stroll on the beach, there was no disguising that he was a powerful man. Capable of a lot more than railroading Julia Nixon out of town—and he had railroaded her, even if he had got her a better job.

  And not only powerful, she thought, as something Julia had once said about him popped into her mind—he was as sexy as hell. She’d been so right. Apart from her own intimate knowledge of him, Bridget couldn’t fail to by struck by the reaction of women who came in contact with him—or were simply sitting a few tables away from him, as one was now. She couldn’t keep her eyes off him…

  And it all caused her unease to surface again. What chance did she have of fighting him if he ever became minded to use his power against her?

  ‘Did she mention me?’

  ‘Yes.’ He paused, looking completely unamused. ‘She told me to get out of your life. It was advice I declined.’

  ‘Do you still want to gain control of Beaumonts?’ Bridget said slowly.

  ‘Oh, yes.’ He twirled some pasta round his fork. ‘But not thanks to Julia Nixon.’

  ‘So—so you’ve done nothing to take advantage of these rumours she spread?’

  He smiled lethally. ‘I’ve been sitting on my hands, you could say, other than persuading her to leave town. But the right moment will come.’

  Bridget said no more on the subject, but it occurred to her that Beaumont Minerals was a factor she shouldn’t discount in her relationship with Adam Beaumont, for the simple reason that it might mean more to him than anything.

  The next day she sat down and wrote a long e-mail to her mother, who still had not returned from her ‘few days’ little break. She didn’t send it, though.

  She was aware that her mother had a rather vague concept of time. She remembered that both her mother and her new husband were keen amateur archaeologists, and she could imagine them on some dig, miles from anywhere, quite oblivious of the passage of time.

  But, although she wanted particularly to speak to her mother, in some ways it was easier to lay the facts out in an e-mail, and she filed it in her ‘drafts’ folder, so as to have it on hand when she did speak to her. At the same time, seeing those facts laid out did make her stop and ponder her new life. And ponder, specifically, the speed with which it was all happening to her. Not only that,
she was still unsure what to do about her job.

  From a couple of remarks he’d let fall she knew Adam was getting more and more impatient about setting a wedding date. In fact, indirectly, they would have their first serious falling-out over it…

  He rang her one morning and invited her to a dinner that night…

  ‘What kind of dinner?’

  ‘Formal, black tie,’ he said down the line, and named a five-star restaurant she’d heard of but never been to, which happened to be in the hotel where he was staying. ‘It’s a business dinner, and most of the other guests will be Korean. I’m working with a Korean consortium at the moment on a construction project.’

  ‘That doesn’t give me a lot of time,’ she said slowly.

  ‘Doing anything else today?’

  She bit her lip. ‘No. When you say formal, do you mean long dress?’

  ‘Yes. Is that a problem?’

  Bridget came to the decision that she wouldn’t be bested by a wardrobe deficiency. ‘Not at all.’

  ‘That’s my girl. Look, if I don’t get there myself, Trent will pick you up at seven and deliver you to me. See you!’ And he rang off.

  So, she thought, that’s how high-flying businessmen do things. I wonder who he would have taken if it wasn’t me? I wonder if it’s some kind of test to see how I stack up against his high-flying business associates?

  She stopped as this thought crossed her mind, and shortly took herself shopping.

  It was Trent who was standing outside her door when the bell rang at seven, and he did the most gratifying double-take.

  ‘Oh, do forgive me, Miss Tully-Smith,’ he said ruefully, ‘but you look absolutely stunning!’

  Bridget looked down at herself. Rather than an evening dress, she wore fitted slim-line ivory taffeta pants, very high latest-fashion silver shoes and a silver spangled loose top over an ivory camisole. Her coppery hair was styled and bouffant, her nails were painted to match her glossy lips—she’d toyed with the idea of black nail varnish but decided against it—and the only jewellery she wore was her engagement ring. Her eyes were a clear, sparkling green.

  ‘Thank you, Trent,’ she said. ‘But will it be appropriate, do you think? I wasn’t quite sure.’

  ‘Ma’am, you’ll blow them away,’ Trent assured her.

  It was a view Adam seemed to share when she arrived at his suite. He was wearing black trousers, a white dress shirt and an undone black bow tie, and his dinner jacket was hanging over the back of a chair. His dark hair was tamed and tidy.

  He put the phone down as she came in, and whistled softly.

  ‘Oh, thank you!’ She beamed at him. ‘Every dress I tried on seemed to make me look—portly.’

  His eyebrows shot up. ‘Portly?’

  She nodded gravely. ‘I can’t see any difference in my figure, but there must be some because that’s how they made me feel.’

  ‘I could give you my considered opinion,’ he offered, ‘but that would involve a minute inspection—and, of course, undressing you.’

  A tide of pink rose into Bridget’s cheeks as his blue gaze wandered up and down her. ‘Er—thank you, but I don’t think I’ll…need that.’

  He glanced at his watch. ‘We have half an hour.’

  Her colour deepened. ‘You’re not serious?’

  ‘I couldn’t think of anything I’d rather do at this moment in time.’

  Their gazes clashed, and Bridget was assailed by a vivid image of his hands on her body as he undressed her item by item; by a breathtaking image of the tall, lean length of him also unclothed and intent on reducing her to a quivering state of desire. Not playfully, as he sometimes did it, but silently, and with all the erotic force he could bring to it.

  ‘Adam…’ She took a shaky little breath. ‘If you mean what I think you mean, that—that—’ she looked down at herself and gestured eloquently with both hands ‘—that would wreck me!’

  There was a suspended moment when she felt she might almost cut the tide of suspense laced with longing that flowed between.

  Then he grinned wickedly and held out his hand. ‘Come here.’

  She went reluctantly, unsure of what to expect.

  ‘May I make a date to…if not wreck you, definitely undress you and make love to you after this dinner, Mrs Smith?’

  She laughed in relief and leant against him. ‘You may, Mr Beaumont.’

  The dinner was a success.

  Bridget held her own amongst the fifty or so guests, and was much complimented on her appearance—often in broken English, but the sentiments were obviously genuine. Any surprise that Adam Beaumont had acquired a fiancée was well hidden, but many of the guests were only business acquaintances and came from the other side of the world anyway. They might not even have understood the situation.

  When they returned to his suite she was happy with the way things had gone, and a little surprised to realise how nervous she’d been about this event.

  He poured himself a nightcap, and she had a cup of black tea and then yawned prodigiously. ‘I should think about going home.’

  He looked at her askance. ‘What’s wrong with staying here?’

  She hesitated. ‘I don’t think I’d feel right about that.’

  ‘Bridget.’ He put his glass down and pulled off his bow tie. ‘We are engaged.’

  ‘I know, but—well, I didn’t bring anything with me.’

  ‘What does that matter? There are enough toiletries, shampoos, robes, and heaven knows what here for six people, let alone two.’

  Bridget mulled over this. ‘But you see,’ she said at last, ‘I would have to go home tomorrow wearing this.’ She looked down at herself, at her spangled evening top, taffeta pants and high-heeled shoes. ‘That would look—funny.’

  ‘Nonsense. No one would give two hoots.’

  She tilted her chin at him. ‘I would.’

  His lips twitched, then a tinge of impatience came to his eyes. ‘You could get into the lift and go straight down to the car park.’

  ‘Who knows who else could get into the lift?’

  His nostrils flared as he took an irritated breath.

  ‘Then I could send out for some clothes for you tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Send who? Trent? No, thank you.’

  He made a gruff little sound in his throat. ‘Bridget, if you’d agree to move in with me—come to that, if you’d stop fluffing around and marry me—none of this would happen. Besides which, you promised.’ He looked her up and down significantly.

  She turned pink. ‘You could come home with me,’ she suggested.

  ‘It is one o’clock in the morning. We’re halfway across town.’ He looked at her derisively.

  Bridget rose and picked up her silver-beaded purse. ‘Then I’ll go alone. Incidentally, I’m not fluffing around, and I’m not even that sure that I will marry you, Adam!’

  And she marched towards the door.

  He caught her before she reached it, and detained her with his hands around her waist. ‘I had no idea you were such a puritan,’ he murmured. ‘Although I should have known you had a temper.’

  ‘Not only that,’ she responded, her eyes flashing, ‘but I’ve lost the mood—so please let me go.’

  ‘I haven’t. Lost the mood,’ he elucidated. ‘But here’s a suggestion. What say that tomorrow morning I call down to the boutique in the foyer and get them to send up a selection of clothes for you? They don’t even need to see you—you can leave here dressed as you see fit. I really don’t understand what difference it makes, leaving in daytime clothes, but since it’s so dear to your heart—’

  He stopped and caught her wrist as she went to slap his face.

  ‘Don’t, Bridget,’ he warned, on a cool, dangerous note.

  ‘I’ll tell you what difference it makes,’ she said through her teeth. ‘I wouldn’t look so highly conspicuous. I wouldn’t look like some good-time girl after a one-night stand. I’d look ordinary and un-noteworthy.’

  He shru
gged. ‘Then we’re agreed on this course of action?’

  ‘Yes. No! I really don’t like you for not understanding, and—’

  But he pulled her into his arms and started to kiss her. She fought him briefly but it was a losing battle, especially when he lifted his head briefly to say, ‘I’m sorry. I should have understood. I will try to be more understanding in the future.’

  Despite the little glint of sheer devilry in his eyes, she felt herself melting…

  ‘Was I silly?’

  Bridget asked the question about an hour later, when she was lying beside him on the bed in a pool of golden lamplight, having been exquisitely made love to.

  ‘Don’t answer,’ she went on, and smoothed her fingers through his hair. ‘I’m talking to myself. I’m just trying to judge how legitimate my reaction was. In light of the fact that I will still be leaving here tomorrow morning—this morning—having spent the night with you.’

  He kissed the bare curve of her shoulder. ‘I wouldn’t worry about it.’

  ‘But I do. I mean, I like to have things clear in my own mind. It just…’ She paused and thought for a moment. ‘It just occurred to me that it could be really embarrassing—especially if I met anyone I know.’

  ‘I can see that. Now,’ he said gravely.

  ‘Is it going to be any less embarrassing wearing jeans and a jumper, though?’ she mused.

  ‘Bridget.’ He sat up, and couldn’t go on for a moment because he was laughing. Then, ‘If we make it a respectable time of the day, if you hold on to the thought that we are engaged, it should be a breeze. And I agree with you—you would have looked rather conspicuous in evening dress. Happy now?’

  She snuggled up to him. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Now, I still have something to do—an inspection to make,’ he reminded her. ‘Although you don’t feel at all portly to me.’

  She bore his ‘inspection’ with equanimity at first. But when he announced that there was only one change he could see, and his fingers stilled on her nipples, she had to draw several breaths to maintain her composure.

  ‘These are different,’ he said, stroking and plucking. ‘Darker. But it’s a very fine difference.’

  ‘It’s a very short time. Out of nine months, I mean,’ she said with an effort.