Fortune's Unexpected Groom (Harlequin Special Edition)

by Nancy Robards Thompson

  “Actually, I was thinking we could go grab some lunch.”

  Her lips puckered with annoyance. “Are you listening to me?”

  The elevator stopped on the first floor and the doors slid open, revealing the marble-and-brass lobby. A fountain in the center cascaded soft ambient noise. They stepped out of the car and Jordana stopped right outside the elevator doors. “I’m going home, Tanner. Alone. If you’d like to tell me what you and my father talked about, this is your chance. If not, frankly, I guess it doesn’t matter. I don’t have the energy to play guessing games with you.”

  Tanner glanced around the professional building’s lobby. A handful of people walked with a purpose toward the exit. Others, talking on cell phones and carrying briefcases, entered the building, branching off in various directions. About three yards to the left of where they stood, two men lingered by the elevator banks, deep in conversation.

  “You really want to do this here?” he asked.

  “It’s up to you,” she said, an edge to her voice. “Speak now or forever hold your peace.”

  “Funny you should say that.” He chuckled, hoping some levity would lighten her mood. “Because I just asked your father for your hand in marriage. I told him I was here in Atlanta to propose to you. He told me he thought it was the best idea he’d heard in ages.”

  * * *

  For the first time in her life, Jordana knew what it was like to see stars after being verbally sucker punched. It was the strangest sensation, and once she got her bearings, she wanted to kick Tanner Redmond. She wanted to scream at him until he admitted that everything he’d just told her was a cruel joke, that he’d never play so dirty he would force her into marriage by going over her head to her father.

  But when she opened her mouth to tell him this, all that came out was a giant sob. Because despite the fact that she was twenty-nine years old, financially secure and fiercely independent, her father’s word was still law. It was that way for all her brothers and sisters, too. No matter how old the Fortune siblings got, John Michael Fortune still ruled the clan with an iron fist.

  “Aww, no, Jordana. No, please don’t cry,” Tanner pleaded.

  His words made everything worse.

  “How dare you—” She choked on another sob and turned toward the exit, walking as fast as she could to get away from him. Breathe, she reminded herself. She drew in a few gulps of air, trying to stop the deluge of tears.

  Just because her father thought it was the best idea he’d heard in ages didn’t mean the marriage was inevitable.

  Yeah, keep telling yourself that.

  “Please, wait,” Tanner called, trailing after her.

  When he caught up to her, she hissed, “How could you? Going to my father behind my back was just…dirty pool.”

  He matched her step for step. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t tell him everything. You know…” He gestured toward her belly.

  “You didn’t? Why not? Were you afraid that he might tell you exactly what I’ve been saying all along—that a loveless marriage is doomed from the start? That it’s the worst possible thing to do to a child? You know he would never support such a farce.” Jordana stopped suddenly in front of the exit. “So, what did you say to him? Did you lie and tell him you were in love with me?”

  The words spilled out of Jordana’s mouth before she could stop them. Along with them was the most peculiar sense of…hope. For a split second she wanted him to say…yes. She wanted to hear him profess his love because maybe then, just maybe, there would be a chance for them. The moment seemed to be isolated in a bubble where she saw her life flash before her eyes: he loved her, she loved him, they were a happy couple…a family. And for a millisecond she wanted nothing more.

  But then Tanner shrugged and the bubble burst, revealing what Jordana thought was a hint of panic in his dark eyes.

  “Not exactly.” A note of defensiveness colored his voice.

  She felt her cheeks flame with resentment and humiliation. Her guard slammed back into place like a steel door.

  What had she expected him to say? That he’d fallen madly, deeply in love with her over the months they hadn’t even spoken? Of course not, hence the loveless marriage part to which she objected so vehemently. The very odd thing she found almost as unsettling as his rejection was the fact that during that perfect bubble moment, she’d hoped he would say he loved her.

  How ridiculous was that?

  They were back to square one.

  “Goodbye, Tanner.”

  She stepped into the vestibule of the rotating glass door, and Tanner grabbed her hand as he entered the carousel, and despite how she tried to shake him off, he stuck close behind her. That’s when Jordana noticed two women who worked on the same floor as her entering the building on the other side of the revolving door. She tried to keep her head down, but not before she saw them look at her, then at each other, concerned, as if they were trying to decide whether or not she needed help.

  Great. Just what she needed. She didn’t know them by name; but since they had offices on the same floor, they were all three on friendly greeting terms.

  She’d better get out of here fast before she made an even bigger spectacle of herself. Still, even if they did call security, she didn’t plan to stick around in the parking lot long enough for the guard to come to her rescue…as if he could help her. No one could save her from this situation. No, she would walk this path alone.

  Tears streamed down Jordana’s face as she beelined for her car. It was the sort of ugly cry that racked her whole body with sobs. She didn’t know how to make it stop. It was as if she were possessed by an alien that had taken control of her emotions.

  Tanner walked beside her, strangely quiet. The only sound was the distant whirr of traffic on Peachtree Street, on the opposite side of the building from where they were. As they made their way toward her car, Tanner offered her a crisp white handkerchief, which she ignored.

  Instead, she went for her purse to pull out a tissue and her car keys. That’s when she realized her purse was in her office.

  * * *

  Jordana made another herky-jerky stop in the middle of the parking lot. The woman was more unpredictable than a bucking bronco.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked tentatively, bracing himself for another verbal lashing, which he probably deserved. She was right, going to her father had been dirty pool. But when it came down to his child and whether or not he would be allowed to be a part of the baby’s life, no moves were off-limits.

  “My car keys are upstairs in the office.”

  Jordana bit her bottom lip. Her nose was red and her makeup had created dark, streaky smudges on her cheeks, but the tears glistening in her eyes highlighted gorgeous gold and amber flecks. She looked vulnerable in a way that made him want to gather her in his arms and protect her from the world.

  But he didn’t dare touch her, for fear that she would lash out again. All this emotion couldn’t be good for the baby. He needed to help her calm down.

  Again, he offered her the handkerchief, a white flag, a peace offering…of sorts. To his great relief, this time she accepted it. She swiped the linen cloth over her face, then wiped her nose.

  “I must look a mess,” she said.

  “You’re beautiful,” he answered, and he meant it.

  She shook her head, and he thought he glimpsed the tortured dullness of defeat in her dark eyes.

  “Come on,” he said. “I’m parked over here. Let’s get out of here.”

  She didn’t protest. In fact, she took the arm he offered and allowed him to lead her to the rental car, which was parked a few feet away.

  He helped her into the front seat on the passenger’s side of the car and then walked around and situated himself behind the wheel.

 
“What kind of food are you in the mood for?” he asked.

  “None. I’m not hungry. My stomach is upset.”

  “It’s been an emotional morning. I’m sorry about that.”

  She looked at him for the first time since they’d gotten into the car. “You’re sorry about what? That you went over my head to my father to get your way?”

  He weighed his words, determined to tell the truth, but not wanting to say anything to make the situation worse. “I’m really sorry that my meeting with your father upset you. That wasn’t my intention. I just felt like you’d already made up your mind, that you weren’t going to give me a choice about whether I would be a part of my child’s life. I didn’t know how else to make you see how important that is to me.”

  He heard her quick intake of breath.

  “Jordana, this is my child…our child. I want to be there for the baby and for you. Will you please give me a chance? Can we please go have some lunch and talk about it?”

  She wasn’t looking at him now. She was staring out the window, her right arm propped on the window ledge, her chin resting on her fist. But he sensed that she was calmer. At least she wasn’t threatening to leave the car.

  “Go ahead,” she said, “talk. Frankly, I don’t have the energy to fight with you right now.”

  “How long is the morning sickness supposed to last?”

  She straightened in the seat, facing forward now. “It was supposed to end with the first trimester, but it looks like I’ve gotten an extra helping.”

  He tensed. “Is that normal? I mean, have you talked to the doctor about it? To make sure the baby is okay?”

  “Yes, I’ve been getting good prenatal care. The doctor says everything is fine. I’ve lived with morning sickness for the past three months. So it’s sort of becoming a way of life, but it zaps me. In fact, that was my first clue that something was…different.”

  “Maybe it’s what you’re eating. Or what you’re not eating. What have you had to eat today?”

  She pulled down the car’s sun visor and cringed at herself in the mirror. “Tea and saltine crackers,” she said, as she used her fingers to fix her makeup. “It’s the only thing I can keep down.”

  “No wonder you’re so weak. You need to get something in your stomach. That might make you feel better.”

  He started the car, half waiting for her to protest, but, again to his surprise, she didn’t.

  “Well, yeah, there’s that compounded by the nerves of having just told off my father. I hate this. I am a mess of hormones and I really don’t know what to do.”

  “Your dad will be fine,” he said.

  She frowned at him. “Obviously, you don’t know him very well. No one talks to him that way and gets away with it. He might seem fine right now, but there will be hell to pay later.”

  “Not if you stick with me,” Tanner insisted.

  Out of his peripheral vision, he felt her watching him. “You seem pretty sure of yourself.”

  “Yeah, well, I guess the formidable John Michael Fortune doesn’t scare me because he has no power over me.”

  “You say that now,” said Jordana. “Just wait until he finds out you knocked up his daughter.”

  Tanner bit back the temptation to ask her if the reason she was so afraid of her father was because she knew he would believe keeping the baby from his—or her—father would be wrong. But he didn’t want to stir the pot. Instead, he stole a sidelong glance at her. She’d wiped away the dark smudges, leaving her face nearly as fresh and makeup-free as she’d been this morning. But the light on her face exposed the depth of her exhaustion. He tightened his grip on the wheel to resist the urge to reach out a protective arm and pull her close to him.

  “Yeah, well, I didn’t tell him, so we will deal with that when we decide the time is right. I’m guessing it should be sooner rather than later because pretty soon your body will tell the truth for us. It’s going to become pretty obvious real soon.”

  “Oh, so now it’s we? Today you were so eager to take matters into your own hands, but when it comes down to dropping the bomb, then it’s a we. I see.”

  Was that a sense of humor he detected?

  “I’m perfectly happy to tell him myself, if that’s what you want. I didn’t do it today because I thought you’d want to be there when he found out.”

  She shrugged, a gesture that he took as a sheepish yes. “To be honest, until right now, I wasn’t completely sure you hadn’t told him. I’m glad you didn’t. It’s a catch-22. On one hand, I’m petrified to tell him, but on the other, I know it will be far worse if I don’t.”

  “How old are you?” Tanner asked.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jordana flinch. “That’s a rude question.”

  “Well, if you’re going to be my wife, I’ll find out eventually. So how old?”

  She shook her head again. This time, he could’ve sworn he’d heard her chuckle.

  “Good grief, you’re pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

  He smiled. The fact that she’d quit screaming “No!” the minute he mentioned the word marriage was major progress.

  “Actually, maybe it’s more apt to say that you’re full of yourself.”

  “Why? Because I’m not scared of your father?”

  “No… Well, maybe.”

  “Okay, see, that’s where I was going with the age thing. I wasn’t trying to be rude when I asked how old you are—which, by the way, you never answered. The point I was trying to make was your dad is an alpha dog. He can sense when people are afraid of him and he plays it to his full advantage. He knows I’m not intimidated. So, the way he responds will be based on how you present the pregnancy to him.”

  “You’re obviously not his daughter.”

  “Obviously. What I mean is—if we’re happy and present a unified front when we tell him and your mother the news, he will handle it a lot better than if we walk in asking for his forgiveness.”

  As Tanner turned on his signal and prepared to make a right turn into the parking lot of a strip-mall shopping center, he caught Jordana’s dubious look. But as their gazes locked, he saw something shift. Was it trust…or solidarity? It was too soon to tell, but he was getting there.

  “So, where are we going?” she asked.

  He pulled into a parking spot in front of Germain’s Deli.

  “If you’re talking about right now, I’m going into the deli to get us some food for a picnic. But if you’re referring to the future, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about over lunch.”

  * * *

  Seven minutes later Tanner and Jordana walked out of Germain’s Deli with a feast in a bag. Included on the menu for their picnic was what Tanner promised to be the very best homemade chicken noodle soup, a loaf of fresh bread and a two-liter bottle of ginger ale. He swore the meal would zap Jordana’s queasiness. To which she quipped, “My morning sickness hasn’t let up in three months. If you can cure it, I will definitely marry you.”

  She could say that because there was no way it would happen. She’d tried every home remedy—including chicken noodle soup—and nothing had given her relief. For the sake of her child, she refused to take anything that might harm the baby. She’d simply set her mind to riding it out. It was mind over matter, really. She wasn’t going to let this get the best of her. She was well aware that motherhood was not going to be easy—especially single motherhood. A little queasiness was not going to beat her.

  It was in that spirit that she’d agreed to give Tanner’s miracle soup a try. One bite and she would see how it settled on her stomach.

  “You’re originally from Texas, right?” she asked as they headed toward a small park near her condo.

  “Yep. Born and bred.”

 
“So, how do you know about this Germain’s Deli and this chicken soup? I’ve never even heard about it.”

  Tanner laughed.

  “That’s not surprising,” he said. “It doesn’t exactly strike me as the type of establishment you would frequent. The only reason I know of it is because a friend who lived here told me about it.”

  Jordana shrugged. He was probably right about it not being the type of place where she’d be a regular. The deli was just a little hole in the wall that had been in the same location longer than she’d been alive. The outside of the place looked worn and dated, but the inside had been clean and functional. She’d probably passed by it hundreds of times without giving it a second glance. It struck a chord in her that Tanner was adventurous enough to brave the unknown. It made her wonder how many other opportunities in life she’d overlooked or lost out on because she was stuck in her “quest for the ideal” rut.

  Once they got to the park and got settled on a bench, Tanner poured ginger ale into the plastic cups the deli had supplied. He lifted his glass to hers.

  “To what lies ahead. Cheers.”

  She touched her cup to his and took a small sip. What did lie ahead? The only thing Jordana knew for certain was that her baby would be born in September. But where would she and Tanner be this time next year? She hadn’t realized until now that she’d already unconsciously conceded that Tanner would be part of the baby’s life.

  There was no doubt that he was a good man, and anyone who would go to the lengths he’d gone to claim his child would be a devoted father.

  As he took the container of soup out of the brown paper bag and spooned up a bite for her, she felt a little ashamed for automatically assuming he would be a deadbeat who would see an illegitimate child as nothing but a burden.

  He held the spoon up to her lips and she accepted the soup—the fresh-tasting broth with just the right amount of seasoning, big chunks of carrots, celery and chicken. And the noodles…to die for. They were definitely homemade; almost like dumplings.

  “Wow,” she said, licking drops of broth from her lips. “This is really good.”