About That Night by Beth Andrews Page A

were in the neighborhood and thought you’d look me up?” he asked, wanting badly for that to be true.
    She strolled over to the glass doors leading to the balcony. “Houston isn’t exactly one of my regular hangouts. But for this view,” she said with a nod at the twelve-acre park his suite overlooked, the city of Houston behind it, “I might have to change that.”
    “How did you find me?” he asked.
    “I did some digging. You’d be amazed what a woman can find out with a Wi-Fi connection, a name and a few clicks of a mouse.”
    “What are you? Nancy Drew?”
    “Not quite that innocent. As you well know.” She looked around. “Not going to offer me a drink?”
    This entire experience was so surreal, he almost did. “No. What are you doing here?”
    “It seems I have something of yours.”
    He hadn’t noticed anything missing from his wallet that night. He had his watch. His phone. All the personal belongings he’d brought with him to Shady Grove four months ago. “Still playing games, I see.”
    “Oh, but you know how much I enjoy those games,” she purred, walking toward him, all sex appeal and artifice. She touched his chest, the warmth of her fingers burning him through the material of his shirt. “You didn’t mind when you took me to bed.”
    He caged her wrists, wished her skin wasn’t so soft. “I should call security. Have them toss you out.”
    “Do you often have women thrown out of your apartment?”
    “You’d be the first. You said you had something of mine?”
    She swallowed. Tugged herself free. “You could say that.”
    He waited, but she just stood there looking almost...nervous. Scared.
    What was that about? Had she stolen from him without him noticing? He wouldn’t have thought she was a petty thief—even if a flash of conscience had brought her here to make amends. “Just return whatever it is, and I won’t call the authorities.”
    Now she frowned. “Excuse me?”
    “Whatever you stole from me that night.”
    She bristled. “I didn’t steal anything from you.”
    He rubbed his chin, totally confused. “Okay.”
    “I didn’t steal anything from you,” she repeated, pacing in front of him with short, agitated strides. “But I do have something of yours.” Stopping in front of him, she inhaled deeply and met his eyes. “I’m pregnant.”

CHAPTER SIX
    I VY WISHED SHE could take back that deep inhale. She’d gotten a nose full of Clinton’s aftershave with it. Her stomach turned. The back of her neck grew cold and clammy.
    Well, wouldn’t throwing up on his feet take this moment from plain old bad to freaking horrible?
    She breathed shallowly. Airplane travel and pregnancy didn’t mix—at least not in her case. She’d battled morning sickness for more than two months but hadn’t had a bout of it for the past two weeks. Until she’d been strapped in her seat, taking off from Pittsburgh.
    Plus, yes, okay, she was nervous. She was dropping a bombshell on him. The night they’d spent together was supposed to be a one-time thing. Now, the child growing inside of her bound them for the rest of their lives.
    But as bad as she felt, Clinton looked worse. The color had drained from his face, and he stood there, glassy-eyed, as if he was seconds from passing out, just...bam! Falling flat on his handsome face.
    If that big, solid body started tipping, she wasn’t going to try to catch him. She was getting out of the way.
    The last time she’d been underneath him, things hadn’t quite worked out the way she’d planned.
    His mouth hanging open like a six-foot-plus blond guppy, he blinked. Shook his head slowly, as if coming out of an intense dream.
    “What?”
    His voice was low. Calm. And very, very cold.
    Good thing she wasn’t intimidated by anyone, or else she’d be shaking in her sandals right now. As it was, she had to force her gaze to remain steady, herself not to back up to...oh...somewhere in Kentucky would suffice. “I’m pregnant.”
    “Am I to