The Pregnancy Proposal

by Helen Bianchin

  ‘Sorry, I got carried away.’ Wasn’t that the truth!

  ‘Where are you?’

  There was no time like the present. ‘Settling furniture into my apartment.’

  The silence was so deafening it would have been possible to hear a pin drop.

  ‘Would you care to run that by me again?’ Jared queried in a tone that was silky smooth and dangerous.

  ‘I don’t believe you possess defective hearing.’

  ‘Tasha,’ he growled in warning.

  ‘What part of “I’m moving out” didn’t you understand?’

  His silence was palpable, and she could sense the effort he made to retain control. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘I’ll write down the address and give it to you tomorrow when I collect my clothes.’ Cool, calm, polite. ‘Goodnight.’

  ‘You’re not coming home?’

  The decision was made, and she didn’t intend to renege. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’ She ended the call before he had a chance to say another word.

  She looked at the cell-phone as if it had suddenly become an alien object. Then slowly her gaze lifted and trailed the room. Dear heaven, what had she done?

  Her stomach rumbled, a reminder she hadn’t eaten since lunch, and she crossed to her briefcase, extracted a banana she’d bought earlier in the day, then she peeled and ate it.

  Followed by a long glass of water, and she felt measurably better. She’d take a shower, make up the bed, then crawl into it and hopefully sleep.

  The fact she did owed much to the events of the day, and she woke late, rose and dressed in the same clothes she’d worn the day before, then she took the lift down to basement-level and drove to a nearby bakery where she ordered croissants and tea.

  The nerves inside her stomach moved from a slow waltz to a heated tango as she used her key to enter Jared’s apartment.

  Part of her hoped he’d be out, but hope wasn’t on her side, for he was there, waiting, looming large and faintly ominous, attired in black fitted jeans and a black polo top.

  ‘If you don’t mind, I’ll go pack my clothes,’ Tasha inclined politely, watching warily as if she expected him to pounce.

  ‘And if I do mind?’

  Her chin lifted fractionally, and she took a deep breath, then slowly released it. ‘We already did this last night.’ She moved towards the hallway, only to come to an abrupt halt as he moved to bar her way.

  ‘You may have, but I’m far from done.’

  ‘There’s no point in repeating what has already been said,’ she inclined politely, stepping around him as she moved a few paces to a storage cupboard and pulled down one suitcase and followed it with another, then she carried them down to the main bedroom.

  Jared followed her and stood just inside the room, watching as she opened drawers and emptied their contents without any pretence at neatness.

  He resembled a dark angel, tall, broad shoulders, lean hips, long legs, and the face of a brooding warrior. Control, he had it…but for how long?

  She’d never had reason to test it before, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to begin now.

  ‘There’s nothing I can do or say to change your mind?’

  The words held a dangerous edge she chose to ignore. ‘No.’ It sounded final…too final. Pain shafted through her body, and her breath caught at its intensity.

  Get a grip, she mentally chastised. You’ve made your decision, so just…get on with it.

  She crossed to the walk-in wardrobe and began sliding clothes from hangers. Two suitcases weren’t going to do it, she perceived. If she piled her work suits on the back seat of the car and stowed the suitcases in the boot she should be able to make one trip.

  ‘You perceive our relationship as being over?’

  The silkiness in his voice slithered like ice down the length of her spine, and each word pierced her emotional heart.

  Tasha carried out an armful of garments and placed them carefully on the bed, then she turned to look at him…and almost wished she hadn’t.

  There was something evident in his features she’d never seen before. A hardness, a distancing that tore at her in a way that made her want to retract her words.

  ‘I think we both need to take some time out,’ she said carefully.

  ‘And you moving to another apartment will work?’

  She held his gaze. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You’re carrying my child.’

  Dear heaven, what was she doing? ‘Please,’ she begged, aware of the ache of unshed tears. ‘Don’t make this more difficult than it is.’

  He could verbally tear her to shreds, and it said much he resisted the temptation to do so. ‘You expect me to stand here and not fight to keep you?’

  Her eyes filled, and she barely held on to her composure. ‘I’m not walking out of your life.’

  ‘Just out of my apartment.’

  She wasn’t able to utter a word for the lump that had risen in her throat. ‘Yes,’ she managed at last.

  ‘The object of the exercise is to acquire independence and some space?’ He didn’t like the idea, but he could handle it.

  She stood motionless for a few seconds. ‘Yes.’ Civility, politeness, even gratitude. She could do that. Without a further word she turned and walked back to the walk-in wardrobe to collect the remaining clothes.

  When it was done, Jared collected his keys and carried the cases out to the lift.

  ‘I can manage them.’

  He swept her a brief, hard look. ‘I’ll follow you in my car.’

  ‘That’s not—’

  ‘Shut up.’ The command was silk-soft and deadly, and her mouth thinned as the lift doors swept open.

  She didn’t offer a word during the descent, nor did she comment when he slung her luggage into the boot of his car.

  Instead she slid behind the wheel of her BMW and drove to street-level, then took the route to her apartment, all too aware of Jared’s Jaguar following close behind.

  Would he approve where she’d chosen to live? She told herself she didn’t care. It was her choice, her decision, and she’d be damned if she’d seek his comment.

  Which was just as well, as he refrained from offering any as he followed her in and deposited the cases in the main bedroom…easy to find, as it was the only one.

  Jared emerged into the lounge. ‘Thanks.’ Oh, hell, this was awkward.

  At that moment the doorbell pealed, and Jared opened the door.

  ‘Hi,’ a pleasant male voice greeted. ‘I’m Damian, from across the hall. And you are?’

  ‘Tasha’s partner,’ Jared drawled, which drew raised eyebrows in response.

  ‘Yet she’s moving in alone.’

  ‘Not by my choice.’

  Tasha drew level with the doorway and incurred a soft, appreciative whistle from a young man who resembled a graduate fresh out of university, tall, lean and…well, fresh, she perceived as she offered a musing smile. ‘Tasha.’

  ‘Ah. So I can look, but not touch?’ Damian’s grin was infectious. ‘Pity.’ He offered Tasha a devilish wink. ‘Anything you need, just call.’ He turned and sauntered back to his own apartment.

  Jared closed the door and swung round to face her. ‘Interesting character.’

  ‘Yes, isn’t he?’ She moved back a step and spared him a level look. ‘Thanks for your help with the luggage. I’d offer you tea or coffee, but I haven’t had a chance to get to the supermarket.’

  He wanted to say something, but he bit back the words. Instead, he leant forward and laid his mouth over hers in a brief, hard kiss, then he straightened. ‘Any problems, call me.’

  She wasn’t capable of uttering a sound, and she watched as he opened the door, then closed it quietly behind him.

  She was alone. That was what she wanted…wasn’t it?

  Oh, dammit, this wasn’t the time to stand around brooding. She needed to go shopping, she needed to unpack.

  Tasha spent the weekend getting everything straight.

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nbsp; Jared rang each evening, and they both resorted to conversation that was courteous, but brief.

  There was something to be said for having her own space, Tasha reflected as she consigned fresh fruit and milk to the refrigerator. The only person she had to please was herself. No one she was obligated to phone and say she’d be late, or unable to make dinner.

  Living alone was her own decision. So why the slight twist in her stomach each time she entered her empty apartment? After three days in residence, it wasn’t getting any easier.

  Stop it, she silently admonished. You wanted this, you’ve got it…so live with it.

  The alternative…let’s not go there.

  She moved through to the bedroom, caught up fresh underwear and made for the bathroom, where she discarded her clothes, then stepped beneath the shower.

  A dinner invitation, Jared had reminded when he rang, issued by the Haight-Smythes a fortnight ago and one he felt obliged to keep.

  Tasha’s first thought was to refuse. Any soirée hosted by Jonathon and Emily Haight-Smythe was an occasion attended by the cream of the city’s social echelon.

  It meant dressing to kill, air-kisses and indulging in scintillating conversation. None of which particularly appealed.

  A challenge, she assured as she applied make-up and styled her hair. Her first choice was a black figure-hugging gown, all but strapless except for tiny lace cap sleeves. Except even with blusher and a deep rose lip-colour she looked far too pale and wan.

  Red, she decided, with its bias-cut panels, clever frills and side-split.

  Matching shoes and evening bag made it a heart-stopping ensemble, and she swept her hair high, added ear-studs, a pendant.

  She entered the lounge as the intercom buzzed. Jared, right on time.

  ‘I’m on my way down.’

  He was waiting in the lobby, a tall, dark angel whose height and breadth of shoulder were emphasised by an immaculate dinner suit, dark blue shirt and matching silk tie.

  His facial features were achingly familiar, and all her sensory impulses came alive in primitive recognition.

  How was it possible for one man to invade her senses to this degree? To be so attuned to him, mentally, emotionally, spiritually, it seemed as if her heart, her soul meshed with his to become one.

  Even now, she had to physically restrain herself from seeking his embrace, linking her hands together at his nape as she pulled his head down to hers.

  She wanted, needed his touch, his taste as his tongue mated with her own in a sensuous dance that was a prelude to how the evening would end.

  Anticipation. The light teasing, a musing smile, a tantalising promise.

  ‘Hi.’ As a greeting it was carelessly casual, as she meant it to be.

  ‘Tasha,’ Jared acknowledged. ‘How are you?’ He moved forward and brushed his lips to her temple.

  It wasn’t enough, and it left her feeling more disturbed than she was prepared to admit.

  ‘Fine.’ And she was, physically. In fact she felt disgustingly healthy. ‘Shall we leave?’

  The Haight-Smythe residence nestled across the river against the curve of a hill in suburban Ascot, where stately homes merged with imposing modern structures. Old and new money meshed with graceful style, the streets rimmed by leafy trees and neat grass verges.

  Emily and Jonathon’s home had been built at the beginning of the twentieth century, and faithfully renovated, restored and maintained to closely resemble the original. Ornate pressed ceilings with elaborately designed cornices, highly polished parquet floors covered in part with lush oriental rugs. Expensive curtains, antique furniture, magnificent original works of art graced the walls.

  Elegance personified, Tasha accorded as she accepted orange juice from a proffered tray and allowed her gaze to drift idly around the room.

  Most of their fellow guests were known to her, and it was remarkably easy to mingle at Jared’s side, exchange a few pleasantries, smile and converse as if everything in her world was exactly the same as it had been a week ago.

  Except it wasn’t, and she was supremely aware of the difference.

  Body language could be more revealing than one expected, and, although she failed to detect any artificiality in Jared’s attitude towards her, she felt as if her body was a tightly coiled spring.

  Was her smile a little too bright? Her tone tinged with something indefinable? Did her usual warmth and spontaneity seem too contrived?

  ‘Relax,’ Jared drawled, watchful of the slightest change in her expression. Did she know he could define the direction of her thoughts?

  Right now she’d prefer to be anywhere else but here. It would have been easy for her to opt out of tonight’s invitation, plead a headache or any minor ailment as a suitable excuse. Except she hadn’t. Sheer stubborn-mindedness, or the challenge of playing the social game?

  ‘What makes you think I’m not?’

  He picked up her hand and lightly traced the veins inside her wrist. The pulse beat fast there, and he soothed it, stilling her effort to pull free.

  ‘Jared.’

  The well-modulated feminine voice was familiar, and Tasha turned slightly to face Soleil Emile, the daughter and third-generation Emile of the prestigious legal firm, Emile and Associates.

  Tall, slender, with long, lustrous auburn hair, Soleil resembled a model playing at the legal role of solicitor. Her mode of attire was European designer label, her footwear hand-tooled from the finest shoemakers in Italy and France.

  It irked that Soleil excelled at her job, and proved a minor irritation when the glamorous Soleil frequently managed to be the solicitor at Jared’s side in the courtroom.

  Had they enjoyed an affair? Jared, when Tasha asked, had uttered an amused denial. Soleil, however, liked to infer the friendship was something more than professional.

  Why query it now? Tasha demanded silently. Because if Soleil caught so much as a whisper Jared and Tasha were no longer an item, Soleil would zoom in for the kill.

  The mere thought acted like an arrow piercing her heart. ‘Soleil,’ she managed with admirable politeness.

  It was all terribly civil, Tasha reflected as they indulged in social pleasantries. Talking ‘shop’ in general terms was permissible. Openly discussing a case or a client was not.

  ‘You won’t mind if I steal Jared for a short while later in the evening?’ Soleil didn’t wait for an answer as she turned towards Jared. ‘I’ll confirm the information via email, but I’d like the opportunity to put you in the picture.’

  Who did she think she was kidding? The only picture Soleil was interested in had everything to do with Jared North, the man.

  How could Jared be so blind to imagine Soleil had only his current legal brief in mind?

  Or was he aware of Soleil’s guise, and skilfully kept the relationship on a strictly professional basis?

  For heaven’s sake, get a grip, Tasha chided silently. Soleil has been a part of Jared’s professional life for as long as you’ve known him. Why choose to agonise about it now?

  ‘If you’ll excuse me?’

  Tasha detected the sensual purr beneath the polite veneer, and barely restrained a retaliatory feline growl as Soleil glided gracefully away.

  Dinner was announced a short while later, and it proved to be a culinary triumph served with sophisticated flair.

  Jared was attentive, more so than usual, and at one stage she leaned in close, offered him a sweet smile and said quietly, ‘You’re verging close to overkill.’

  ‘Think so?’

  His voice was low, husky, and far too intimate for her peace of mind. Did he have any idea of the effect he had on her?

  Without doubt. They shared a history together, the memory of which was hauntingly vivid. His mouth, the touch of his hands, the way he used both to drive her wild. Beyond reason, where intense passion ruled, transcending anything she’d known or imagined possible.

  And you’re giving this up? a tiny voice taunted mercilessly. Are you mad?


  Was it expecting too much to want it all? Were her expectations too high, too impossible to achieve?

  In all honesty she had to admit she’d considered marriage to Jared a possibility…correction, probability. She’d been reasonably positive their relationship held a relative permanency when they chose to live together.

  Yet he hadn’t mentioned marriage, and she mentally questioned if he observed the axiom ‘if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it’?

  ‘Want to share?’

  Tasha returned to the present in a second, and she managed a faint smile. ‘Not particularly.’ At least, not now, not here.

  She glimpsed something in his dark gaze, fleeting and indefinable, then it was gone. Surprise widened her eyes as he caught her hand and lifted it to his lips, and for a few seconds she became lost in the evocative warmth his gesture generated.

  How could she do that when she was at odds with him? It irked unbearably the pull of the senses was stronger than her capacity to control them…even briefly.

  Was he aware of it? Deliberately instigating a public gesture as a reminder?

  He lowered their hands to rest on his thigh, and his fingers tightened as she made a furtive effort to pull free.

  Dessert was a delightful concoction, and Tasha used a dessert fork in one hand whilst conducting a silent battle with the other.

  Did anyone notice? Somehow she doubted it, for the conversation flowed, as did the wine, and there was a sense of relief as the dessert plates were removed and guests were invited to sample a variety of cheeses from a well-stocked platter.

  Eventually the meal came to a close and Emily encouraged her guests to adjourn to the lounge for coffee.

  Tasha was aware of Jared’s hand against the small of her back as they vacated the dining-room. ‘Must you?’ she demanded quietly beneath the veneer of a soft smile, and met his hooded appraisal.

  She was behaving out of character, and it didn’t sit well. An apology hovered on her lips, yet it remained unuttered as a fellow guest claimed his attention.

  She requested tea, accepted the delicate china cup and saucer from their hostess, and moved a few paces to join Jonathan Haight-Smythe.

  A supreme-court judge, he’d witnessed every aspect of human nature, mediated, adjudicated, and directed the course of justice. Inside the courtroom he was known to be a stickler for protocol, intolerant of grandstanding, and unsympathetic to anyone who attempted to pervert judicial action.