For a minute, the whole world stood still while he soaked in the vision that was Camille. Her black hair was shorter and sassier than it had been when she’d left, but everything else was the same.
The flawless expanse of golden skin her halter dress showed off.
The wicked curve of her sexily uneven mouth.
The killer legs that had had him waking up hard and sweaty and frustrated as hell for weeks after she’d left.
She’d come back, he told himself as his traitorous body responded to her proximity. Even after everything she’d said, after ignoring his text messages and phone calls for months, she’d come back.
How pathetic did it make him that he was excited by that fact?
She stepped a little closer, leaned against the doorway, and her signature scent—lavender and brown sugar and sweet, ripe strawberries—wrapped itself around him. He went from semiaroused to rock hard in an instant.
Still, he didn’t say anything. Didn’t touch her, though every instinct he had demanded that he grab on to her before she pulled another vanishing act.
The thought had the same effect as a freezing shower, and the connection between them shattered. He couldn’t hold her tightly enough to keep her from leaving again—she was like the wind, blowing from one place to another with little thought to the destruction she left in her path.
He wasn’t going to be part of the fallout again.
“What are you doing here, Camille?” he demanded, forcing a calm into his voice that he was far from feeling. But she was an expert at power games and there was no way in hell he was revealing a weakness. Not when she was so good at drawing first blood.
“I was in the neighborhood.” Even the slow, honeyed drawl was the same. “Thought I’d drop by.”
“Long walk from Italy.”
She shrugged, unconcerned. “Yeah, well, Florence is overrated.”
“Really?”
“No. But you know me. I get bored if I stay in one place too long.”
“I remember.” He kept his voice cool, made sure none of the confusion—or desire—he was feeling leaked through.
“Can I come in?”
“Now’s not really a good time.”
Uncertainty flashed across her face—was there and gone so quickly that he told himself he’d imagined it. “It won’t take long. I just wanted to talk for a few minutes.”
“Talk?” This time he let her see his skepticism—and a little bit of the anger he thought had dissipated in the weeks since she’d walked out. “Since when do you want to talk about anything? I thought action was more your thing.”
As soon as the words were out, he wanted to call them back. Her smile had turned predatory, those amethyst-colored eyes running over him from head to toe. It was as if she was cataloging each one of his flaws and weaknesses, and he’d never felt more vulnerable. “Bitter much?”
“I wouldn’t call it bitter.”
“No? Then what would you call it?”
“Smart.” He grabbed the edge of the door, made as if to close it. “Now, if you will excuse me—”
“I really do need to talk to you.”
“Yeah, well, I really needed to talk to you all those times I called you.” Shit. He did sound bitter.
She sighed heavily, as if he was just too high maintenance for her. It was like setting a match to dry kindling and all the emotions that had been seething in him for the past few months came roaring out.
“Look, Camille, I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but count me out.”
“I thought you liked games—at least, that’s what you told me the night we met.”
“I did—until you kept changing the rules without warning.”
“I wasn’t the one who changed the rules, sweets. You were.”
He started to snap back, but how could he when she was right? She’d told him up front that she was only in town for a few weeks, that the thing between them couldn’t go anywhere. He was the one who hadn’t listened.
He was the one who’d gotten burned.
But at least he’d learned his lesson—he was done playing with fire.
“I’m tired, Camille, and I have company. Either say what you came here to say or leave—I really don’t care. But I don’t have the time or the inclination to stand out here all night shooting the breeze. I’m letting bugs in.”
Her smile drooped a little at the edges, and she didn’t answer for long seconds. Guilt slinked through him. Maybe he’d been too harsh. He could have said things more nicely, could have—
No! Damn it, no. She was the one who had walked out on him. The one who had come back here after ignoring all his attempts to reach out to her in the hopes of picking up where they’d left off. And now, just when he’d started to move on, here she was. So why exactly should he make it easy for her?
Why should he have anything to do with her at all?
“Matt?” Ariane’s voice drifted down the hall. “Can you bring my wine when you come in?”
“Aah.” The hint of vulnerability was long gone, replaced by the party-girl mask he’d learned to hate during their brief affair. “You’ve got that kind of company.”
He felt himself flush at her words, at the look in her eyes. But he didn’t have anything to feel sheepish about, he reminded himself. She was the one who’d broken things off.
“Sure, Ariane.” He raised his voice a little, so Ariane could hear him. “I’ll be there in a minute.” Then turned back to his most recent ex-lover.
“It was good seeing you, Camille. You look great. But, as you can see, I’m a little busy. So if you wouldn’t mind heading out—”
“I do mind.”
“Excuse me?”
“I should be in Florence right now, combing museums with a glorious man named Stefano and eating pasta on the patio of a little trattoria.”
Who the hell was Stefano? Matt bit back the instinctive spurt of jealousy that flared. It wasn’t his business what she did—or who she did it with. She’d made that abundantly clear when she’d walked out on him.
“So why aren’t you?”
“Because I’m three months pregnant.”
And just like that, his world imploded.
OH, GOD, HAD SHE REALLY just blurted it out like that? No finesse, no work-up? Just I’m pregnant, with you’re the father strongly implied?
No wonder Matt looked like he’d fall over if she breathed too hard.She’d planned on breaking it to him much more calmly. Had figured he’d invite her in for a cup of coffee and she could work her way around to it. But he hadn’t invited her in, hadn’t wanted anything to do with her.
His reaction had hurt her, made her angry—and careless. Of course, now that it was too late, she would do anything to take back her hasty words. Matt hadn’t deserved to find out about his impending fatherhood so callously.
“Three months?” he finally asked, his voice low and hoarse.
“Yes.”
“As in twelve weeks?”
“Yes.”
“As in…”
“Yes. I got pregnant that last week in Austin.” To his credit, he didn’t ask if she was sure. Of course, that could be more from the shock than from any consideration for her. But somehow, she doubted it.
“I know this isn’t what you were expecting,” she began nervously. “And I’m sorry to spring it on you—believe me, when I first found out I didn’t look any better than you do. And I thought about ending it—a baby doesn’t exactly fit into my lifestyle—but when it got to be crunch time, I just couldn’t do it. Maybe that’s not fair to you, I don’t know. All I know is that I’m having this baby and I figure you have the right to know about it.”
“Get rid of it?”
She thought that sounded like a question, but she wasn’t sure. Maybe it had been an order. Taking a deep breath, Camille flipped her hair out of her face—she wanted to make sure she had a good look at his face when they discussed this—and said, “I can’t. I know it would make things easier and
maybe it’s the best decision. But I just…can’t.”
“That wasn’t a suggestion. I was trying to decipher what you—” He swore, ran an unsteady hand over his face. “I wasn’t prepared for this, Camille.”
“Neither was I. Believe me. When I started throwing up in Florence I was sure I’d caught a bug—and not one of the nine-months variety.”
“Matt? Are you coming?” Once again, the female voice floated down the hallway and Camille was glad to realize she didn’t feel quite so sucker punched this second time. Not that she had any right to complain—and she wasn’t. But still, knowing Matt was with another woman was…disconcerting.
He swore again, a little more loudly. “Uh, yeah, Ariane. Give me a minute.”
He looked so flustered that she couldn’t help feeling contrite. Blurting it out like that had been a ridiculous thing to do, especially when Matt was obviously on a date. But she’d given herself a pep talk all the way over here and she hadn’t been able to hold the words in any longer. She’d wanted to say them—to somebody.
Saying them made the baby real, certainly more real than it had been since she’d stood in the middle of her small Italian flat and tried to decipher the pregnancy test directions, which had been written in Italian.
Despite the language barrier, the fact that the little window had turned blue had left her with little doubt as to whether or not she was pregnant. As she’d stared at the small, slender wand she’d been scared. Shocked. And more than a little horrified. But as the minutes and hours and finally days passed, she’d managed to wrap her mind around the concept of being pregnant. The baby was still a mystery—one she had no idea what to do with—but she figured she had six months to learn. After all, she had an entire pregnancy to get through before she had to worry about an actual baby. Thank God.
“Look, I’m sorry to just barge in here like this. I guess I didn’t think this thing through as well as I could have. I’ll come back later, when you’re not…entertaining.”
She started to turn away, but his hand snaked out and grabbed her wrist. “You’re not getting off that easily.”
“What does that mean?” She felt her own back go up.
“It means, you can’t just breeze in here and drop a bombshell like that and then turn around and walk back out.”
“I know that,” she snarled, trying to extricate herself from his painless but nevertheless firm grip. “But I figured you had other things to do right now. Call me on my cell when—”
“Yeah, because that works so well.” He thrust his free hand through his thick fall of auburn hair. “I’m not letting you out of here until we settle some things—”
“Matt?”
At the interruption, Camille glanced over Matt’s shoulder at his date. Her stomach sank at the first glimpse of the tiny but voluptuous blond woman. Exquisitely dressed and exceptionally beautiful, she was everything Camille wasn’t. Suddenly she felt like the tall, ungainly elephant in the room, even though she was still a couple of months from showing.
But still, how could she compete with Ariane? If this was Matt’s regular type, then Camille—with her normal attire of jeans and tank tops and paint-splattered skin—didn’t stand a chance.
The thought brought her up cold, had her backing out the front door without even bothering to glance behind her to see where she was going.
Not that she wanted a chance with Matt, she assured herself viciously as she teetered on the edge of the first step. He wasn’t her usual type any more than she was his. And she didn’t want to get tied down to any one man anyway. That was just asking for trouble.
Nothing had changed since she’d left here twelve weeks before. It just felt like everything had.
“Camille, look out!” Matt had followed her out onto the porch and now he reached for her a second time, stopping her from falling down the stairs. She wondered if she should feel grateful that he’d saved her from looking ridiculous as well as stupid. One thing was for certain—she was making one hell of a second impression.
Taking a deep breath, she met Matt’s warm, brown eyes for the third time that night. “Thanks. Another guy would have let me fall—at least then all your problems would be over.”
She watched as his face turned from concerned to angry, the little laugh lines at the corners of his eyes getting deeper as he frowned. “That’s an awful thing to say. I would never—”
“I know, I know.” She backed down the steps, this time keeping a hand on the railing and glancing behind her to make sure she didn’t stumble again. “That’s what I was trying to say. Not all guys are like you.
“Do you still have my cell number? If not, I can call you tomorrow sometime and we can get together for coffee and—” she darted a look at the petite blonde, who was looking more and more confused—and annoyed—by the minute “—talk about the project,” she improvised wildly, not wanting to ruin his evening any more than she already had. “I’m sorry for bothering you at home. This can definitely wait for a better time. I’ll just—”
“Camille, stop.”
Matt’s voice rang out and she froze, shocked at how quickly he’d gone from easygoing to authoritative.
“We need to talk.”
She swallowed nervously, wondered how on earth she’d managed to get herself into this predicament. “I know and we will. Later.” She was almost at her car, almost free.
“I know running is your favored modus operandi, but that’s not going to work with this. I want—”
“Matt, what’s going on here?” Ariane spoke for the first time since coming down the hall. Matt turned to her and it was all the distraction Camille needed. Her keys were already in her hand—she realized dazedly she’d never even put them away—and she dived toward her rental car like a desert wanderer toward an oasis.
Running away might be the coward’s way out, but right now she preferred to consider it a strategic retreat. There was no way she could talk to Matt about the baby with the perfect Ariane anywhere in the picture.
After fumbling the keys into the ignition, she pulled away from the curb. The last thing she saw as she drove away was Matt standing on the sidewalk, mouth drawn and narrowed as he watched her leave. Again.
CHAPTER TWO
AN HOUR LATER, CAMILLE SAT on her anonymous motel bed eating Cherry Garcia ice cream right out of the container—and not being the least bit dainty about it.
Now that she was away from Matt and his date, she felt ridiculous for running. Even more ridiculous for blurting things out the way she had. She, who had been known for her clear head and ballsy demeanor for most of her adult life, had totally choked. And now they were both paying the price for it.Still, what had she been thinking just showing up at Matt’s house like that? He was a great guy, with the typical sex drive of a thirty-five-year-old male. Was it any wonder, then, that he had a girlfriend? It had been twelve weeks since she’d walked away from him. What had she expected—that he’d wait around and pine for her forever?
She nearly laughed at the thought, the image of the gorgeous Ariane emblazoned forever in her brain. Camille had no delusions about her own attractiveness—she knew she was far from beautiful. Striking was how most people described her. Not easy to forget. Through the years she’d learned to play to her strengths, emphasizing her unusual coloring and irregular features instead of playing them down.
And usually she was okay with it. She shook her head, took another big mouthful of ice cream. Who was she kidding? She’d always been okay with it—right up until she’d come face-to-face with the woman who’d replaced her in Matt’s affections. Which was absurd. Just because he was the father of her baby didn’t mean he was going to be anything more to her. She didn’t want him to be anything more.
When her phone rang, she almost ignored it. After all, Matt was probably still tied up with the blonde wonder and she wasn’t exactly in the mood to talk to anyone else. But curiosity had her digging in her pocket for her cell.
Matt’s name scrolle
d across the small screen and her hands grew damp. She wasn’t ready for this, hadn’t recovered from the embarrassment of her less than graceful retreat. Besides, she’d figured he had more exciting plans than talking to her tonight. She hadn’t expected a call until sometime tomorrow.
Nerves on red alert, she answered with a soft “Hello.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m at my motel.”
“I figured that—which one?”
“Why?”
“Why do you think?” He sounded angry and frustrated and more than a little out of sorts. “I’m coming over.”
“It can wait until tomorrow—”
“Keep dreaming, Camille. And tell me where you are.”
She rattled off the name of the motel, along with its cross streets, her heart pounding like a rock song.
“What room?”
“Two-thirteen.”
“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Don’t go anywhere.”
He clicked off and she was left staring at a dead phone. And wishing that the next hour was already over. Anything was better than the sick curl of anticipation working its way through her pregnancy-churned stomach.
MATT POUNDED UP THE STAIRS that led to Camille’s motel room, his heart in his throat and his blood pressure through the roof.
Pregnant. Camille was pregnant. With his child.Just the thought boggled the brain.
He’d used a condom, hadn’t he? Every time? Then how was she— He yanked his thoughts back to the present, but it wasn’t easy. Nothing had been from the moment he’d opened his door and seen Camille standing there.
He didn’t even know what he’d said to get rid of Ariane. After Camille had driven away, he’d stood on the sidewalk looking after her car for God only knew how long as he tried to assimilate her words. He hadn’t succeeded.
Finally, a less than happy Ariane had come outside looking for him. She’d wanted to pick the date up where they’d left off, before Camille’s interruption, but he’d been too shocked to do more than utter the most banal of excuses as he showed her the door.
She hadn’t been impressed, but he hadn’t cared. He still didn’t care, as all his thoughts and energy were currently wrapped up in Camille’s bombshell.