Having Nathan's Baby (3 page)

“Are you kidding me? We just had sex!”

“Well, it’s not like you can get me pregnant again-”

“Are you kidding me?” His whole body seemed to be on alert. “You didn’t think to tell me before we had sex that you were pregnant?” His expression was stretched into
sheer astonishment. “Whose is it?”

Shock slackened
my jaw for a split second. “It’s yours!” I cried.

There
was a knock at the door, barely heard over the echo of Nathan’s enraged baritone. “Two minutes, Mr. Black,” a voice sounded. “The band’s waiting for you,” it said, and I realized I was wringing my hands.

He swore savagely. “I have to
go.” Tearing me apart with frantic eyes, he touched his hands to my shoulders. “Are you seriously telling me … this isn’t some hunch, right? You been tested?”

I
was trembling. “I’ve been tested.”

“You’re sure it’s mine?”

“Nathan, it’s yours!” I said, and I yanked myself out of his grip. “I wouldn’t bother coming here if it wasn’t! I’m not looking for you to marry me, for God’s sake. I haven’t even decided what to do yet-”

“Whoa!” He clasped
my shoulders. “Come again? What do you mean you haven’t decided what to do yet?”

My
heart hammered against my chest.

“Just like that?
” he asked. “You come here and tell me you’re pregnant with my baby and you’re not sure what to do with it?”

“I came
here because it’s your right to know,” I asserted, though my voice was quaking. “So I’m telling you I’m pregnant and that I’m taking care of it-”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He let go of me as though I were burning.

“I mean-”

The knock sounded on the door again. “Mr. Black,
the band needs to see you before they go on!”

He swore again. He looked like he could strangle
me. “You need to stay here. I need to talk to you about this.”

“That’s why I came
here.” Impatience jerked through me.

“No, you came
here to tell me you’ve made an executive decision to have an abortion, as far as I can tell,” he said.

The word, so neatly avoided until now, collided with
my consciousness with all the grace of a car crash. I felt my expression collapse.

As if sensing
my anguish, his expression fell, too. “Your timing sucks.” He breathed carefully. “I have to go. Promise me you’ll wait here.”

I
swallowed. “I ... I have to get back to work.”

“Then I’ll pick you up at your office later
, when I’m done,” he said.

“Nathan-”

“No argument on this, Chloe.” He was suddenly rigid with control. “You’re coming to Vermont with me for the weekend. We need to talk about this. I am not okay with your making a decision about this without even discussing it with me first. I’m not going to force you to have a baby you don’t want to have – God knows I don’t even…” He seemed stunned for a moment. He recovered with a snap. “But you owe me a discussion.” He checked his watch again, swearing. “And not a fifteen minute chat over a drink somewhere; we need time to think about this.”

My
stomach felt like an agitated snow globe, but I aimed for reason. It was no mean feat considering he was pacing the room, picking up papers and headsets as he went. “Nathan, I get that you want to talk this through,” I said. I took a deep breath to calm myself; I had to get control of the situation. “But I don’t think that spending the weekend in Vermont together is going to help. Why don’t we just take a couple of days apart to think about it? Then we can come back next week-”

He had stopped by the door. His expression even, he cut through
my placid reasoning with a patient tone. “I’ll pick you up from your office at eight.” With that, he opened the door and left, shutting me in with the ensuing silence.

Chapter Three

The house in Vermont was
neither sprawling nor ostentatious. It sat in what Nathan told me was sixteen acres of rolling grassland and tree-lined hills, but the homestead was neat and contained. It was a plain wooden structure on three levels. Balconies wound around the first two floors. Even in the dark I could see it had recently been painted a warm buttermilk color. The white trims gleamed against the car headlights. The front door was cherry red, and someone had hung a stunning autumn wreath there as a welcome. Despite everything, I felt a childish sense of excitement as I got out of the car. I reveled for a moment in the crisp scent of the night air. It felt clean. I wanted to head out to the nearby lake and shake off the bad feeling from the journey. Nathan had been ominously quiet. I’d felt the tension in every precise gear change. At one point I’d thought I might actually start yelling at him, anything to shatter his stiff reserve.

His
boots crunched on the gravel as he rounded the car to the trunk. Keys jangled as he gestured towards me. “Go on in,” he said, and his voice was a low rumble. “I’ll get the bags.”

I
approached him cautiously and took the keys. Some of my optimism was quashed by his forbidding expression. As I had during the five hour-long journey, I remained quiet, deciding it was best not to inadvertently meddle with his emotions while they were so opaque. He had to be shocked. Nathan was only this silent when he was seriously upset about something. I forced myself to focus on the house instead; anything to take my mind off the charged connection between us.

I
turned and gave the surroundings a thorough study. There was what looked like a converted outbuilding to the right; perhaps a guest cottage? I could see a red barn far to the left, only just lit by the car headlights. As I took the steps to the front door, the ground crackled under my feet. The smoky scent of burnt leaves and moist earth enveloped me. Newly varnished wood joined the mix when I opened the front door and stepped into the dark foyer. Was that cinnamon I could smell, too? Whatever it was, it made the empty house seem incongruously lived in.

Nathan
pushed past me and dropped the bags on the floor. He switched the lights on. “I need a drink,” was all he said.

I
surveyed the hallway. A set of stairs led upstairs to the right. Two open rooms flanked the foyer, each with comfortable-looking seating areas. Nathan was already making his way through a set of swing doors to the back of the house. I followed him, my eyes soaking up the neutral decor. Given that the house had so much character outside, I was deflated to see how lacking it was inside. It had clearly been done with no expense spared, but it did nothing to enhance the charm of the building. I’d expected something rustic and homely. It was instead, elegant and cold.

The swing doors opened in
to a large, square kitchen. It was done mainly in white and granite, with the odd touches of chrome. Nathan was peering into a large refrigerator. “There’s beer,” he said. “Do you want one?”

Beer?
I glanced at him and felt a spurt of anger. A horrible sense of desolation chased it. Why was he bothering with this charade when I knew he had no intention of having a family? He’d never once given me any indication that it was on his wish list to have kids. I tossed my gaze towards the pitch black view. “I’ll just have tea,” I said simply.

“Oh, yeah.”
In his reflection, his brow puckered as he considered me. “I forgot.”

Amazing …
I wandered over to the counter where I spied a kettle. Lucky him, to be able to forget this for a blessed few minutes. My footsteps echoed against the stark decor. Everything was brand new and gleamed proudly, and I felt unreasonably irritated by this.

Nathan shut the fridge door.
I heard him pop the lid off a bottle of beer and fold himself into one of the chairs at the island in the centre of the room. He took a sip, watched me for a moment. “How are you feeling?”

“Okay.”

“How-” He searched for words. “How pregnant are you?” he asked eventually.

My
shoulders tightened as a long, shaky breath gripped me involuntarily. I considered a glib remark but dismissed it, my humor tank empty. “Nine weeks,” I said. “Ten, now.”

“Right.” He frowned. “Of course
... the charity thing.” I heard him tapping the bottle while I busied myself with filling the kettle and switching it on. “When did you find out?” he asked.

I
searched for mugs, pulling open perfectly ordered cupboards. My mind was like a pile of raked leaves; every time I tried to sift through for information, it became even more of a mess. “I guess a week ago, properly. I took a test a few days before that,” I said, unable to advance beyond monotone.

“What would you have done if I hadn’t been in New York?”

I stopped searching. His tone was light but I heard the accusation in it. My expression tensed. “I know how to book a plane ticket,” I said.

His gaze narrow
ed, he averted it to the bottle for a moment. He looked handsome, but tired under the sharp overhead lights, his bone structure jutting harshly against his skin. He blew air out of his mouth. “It’s unbelievable, if you think about it. We were together for six years, and we weren’t always careful. Then one stupid night...” He shook his head.

“Are you seeing anyone?”
I blurted the words, belatedly glad that the rising sound from the kettle went some way to covering the tremor in my voice.

“Not really.”

I stared at him, careful to keep my expression even. Not really? What in God’s name did ‘not really’ mean?

His expression was equally bland. “Are you?”

I turned back to my search for mugs. “No, not really.”

“What does that mean?”
he asked immediately.

Pique assailed
me. “What did it mean when you said it?” I finally found a cupboard full of white porcelain mugs. They sat in a uniform line. I pulled one out, left a gaping hole like a missing tooth.

“I’m saying I’ve been on
tour and I haven’t been a saint,” he said, and his tone was so low it rasped. “Is there any chance this kid isn’t mine?”

I
exhaled harshly. The cup scraped against the counter. “That’s not what I said.” God, why had I even tried to bait him? It had been a stupid impulse. Water sloshed over the counter as I filled the empty mug. “Do you have any tea bags?”

“How would I know?”

I turned, the drink forgotten. “Why would I bother telling you if it was someone else’s? I’m not exactly expecting you to step up and marry me, or-”

“Then why b
other telling me at all if you don’t need my help?” he asked.

“Because-”
I paused. Why was I telling him again? “I didn’t say that. Besides, you have a right to know-”

“You’re damn
ed right I have a right to know,” he cut in. He got up and stalked over to the sink. The remainder of the beer in the bottle glugged as he poured it into the sink. The sound echoed around the room. Once it was empty, he leaned on the counter and stared outside at the inky black nothingness.

He remained still for a tense beat. “What are you going to do?” he
asked finally, and turned to me.

“
About what?” I snapped.

He
leaned back, searching for words. “About everything,” he said eventually. “This baby; your job…”

What was I going to do about everything? I stared at him in shock for a moment.
Was he trying to tell me, in his own emotionally retarded way, that this pregnancy was my problem? What the hell was I doing in Vermont, then?

I
watched him for a second until it became apparent he wasn’t going to embellish his question. Anger swirled in my stomach. I turned and poured more hot water into the mug, my eyes still darting around fruitlessly for something to make tea with. He was acting as if I’d made this goddamn baby without involving him. I was here, wasn’t I? Stuck in Vermont for two days just because he’d decreed it! The first thing I’d done when I’d discovered I was pregnant was try to track him down, even if I hadn’t wanted to.

My
mind swirled with arguments; this was my body, my life, and ultimately my decision – but it wasn’t my problem alone! I should have waited, I thought feverishly; decided what to do on my own before contacting him. Yet I’d approached him first, and now he was holding it over me as though I were responsible for this entire mess!

I
felt tearful suddenly, persecuted. I opened a few other cupboards, blindly searching for tea. My hands shook a little and I frowned in an effort to keep my emotions under wraps. These hormones ... and I was so tired. I stopped searching, deciding I needed to lie down.

“Let’s just go to bed.”

I glanced at him over my shoulder. It was as if he’d read my mind. He was leaning back against the counter, his arms folded across his front. The frown was heavier but the accusation in his eyes was gone. He gave no visual indication of being particularly receptive to my mood.

“We can talk a
bout all of this in the morning,” he said, and he exhaled slowly, rubbing his face. “Come on. It’s after one. Let’s go upstairs.”

I
took his cue, leading the way towards the hallway and stairs. It would have eased the tension if I’d spoken, but I felt too emotional to say a word, too out of control. I hated it.

“I’ll get the bags.” He skirted around
me before I could finish leaning down to retrieve mine. “Go on up. Third door to the right. I’m going to check that everything’s locked up.”

Tiredness was trying to pull
me under. I murmured a quick sound of thanks and then took the stairs, holding on to the banister with each step. I felt as though I were moving through molasses as I progressed down the long, dark hallway. My only guide was the moonlight against the carved wooden doors. When I came to the third, a set of double doors, I pushed them open. The sound of lush carpet brushing against the wood was soothing.

Inside t
here was a large, white bed. There was also a loveseat, a television on the wall, and some pieces of dressing furniture that my tired eyes skirted across. Then I focused on the bed. The moonlight cast impressions across the soft and inviting covers. I unzipped my jeans and my jacket one after the other, tossing them on to the loveseat. I’d shower in the morning. Right now I needed to sleep so badly I thought I might pass out. I couldn’t even wait for Nathan to come up with my bag. I pulled my jumper and t-shirt across my head, and then walked to the bed in my underwear. Pulling back the covers, I slid inside the cool, crisp sheets with a groan.

Today had been far too long.
I’d be able to deal with it all tomorrow. Right at this moment I was looking forward to a badly needed lie-in. My head spun as I closed my eyes, and I had the sensation that I might slip into unconsciousness immediately. Breathing carefully, I listened to the silence, feeling very at peace.

The muffled sound of feet at the doorway entered
my consciousness some time later. Too tired to open my eyes, I guessed it was Nathan dropping off my bag. When I heard him approach the bed, my eyes fluttered open of their own accord. He was taking off his jumper, his t-shirt riding up across his flat stomach. I watched in silent appreciation for a moment, my mind blank.

When his face emerged again, he was smiling at
me. “Still awake?”

“Just about,” I said groggily.
I smiled weakly back. “I’m so tired…”

“I bet.” He took off the t-shirt, giving
me a very pleasurable view of his torso. Despite everything, I wanted him to come over and hold me. It tore through me like a forest fire, the yearning.

He padded back over to the doorway and
I closed my eyes again. The fire subsided almost as quickly as it had flashed. Seconds went by and I was aware of a light in the bathroom before the door was pushed ajar. I heard him brushing his teeth. I hadn’t gone to bed without brushing my teeth in twenty years. How could I have forgotten? I thought about dragging myself up but the weight of exhaustion rendered me motionless.

The light clicked off some time later as
I hovered dangerously around the abyss of sleep. I heard him padding towards the bed. A spark of hope flickered; would he caress me before he left, even kiss me? Disappointment filled me as his movements passed again. I shut my eyes more tightly, frowning, and prepared for the silence to return. It wasn’t until I heard the covers moving and the bed shift that I realized he was getting in beside me.

Some of the calm
I’d been feeling froze over. It made me alert. “Are you sleeping in here?” I whispered.

I
heard him unzipping his jeans and sliding them off. “Of course I am,” he said, making no effort to lower his voice. The clothing thudded against furniture as he tossed them away. The bed shifted again under his full weight. He slid over towards me, one arm stealing around my waist and pulling my back towards him. “Where else am I going to sleep?”

He was naked. He was also aroused, but
I was too tired to make anything of that. Instead, welcome warmth, warmth that I was usually so afraid to want, filled every available part of my body. His clean scent enveloped me, making me burrow my back and my behind more snugly against him. I slid my hand across his arm, reveling in the feel of the hair against my smooth skin.