His Pregnancy Bargain (10 page)

Luc's brows knitted in a dark frown as he looked at her.

‘Look, we always seem to be yelling at each other! Megan said, noticing just how tired she was feeling.

‘You were the only one yelling.'

‘I had reason to yell. You lied and cheated your way into my life. Looked down your nose at my family and friends and then accused me of falling in love with you!' A flush of mortification washed over her skin as she recalled their parting.

She might have been able to forgive him if she hadn't realised that his diagnosis had been spot on. She had been in love with him.

‘Anyway you had plenty to say then,' she reminded him grimly. ‘And now it's my turn, and I didn't drive all this way to go back without saying it. And if you think for one second that I'm going to turn around just because you say so, then you're wrong.'

She was aware that Luc was watching her as she got out of the car. His silent scrutiny was partially responsible for her inelegant exit; the rest was down to the intense exhaustion that had hit her like a brick wall. Her brain felt even less nimble than her feet, which was not a good thing considering the importance of what she had come here to tell him.

She lost her balance and almost fell as she stepped away from the car. Saving herself without making use of the steadying hand Luc shot out, Megan tilted her gaze up to his and saw his lips twist in a wry smile as his hand dropped to his side.

He didn't say anything; he didn't do anything, except look enigmatic and gorgeous enough to make the average woman weep.

She took a deep breath.

‘I have been driving for hours; my back hurts.' She grimaced as she pressed her hand to the base of her spine. ‘I need a cup of tea and I need a bathroom, the latter fairly urgently.'

‘I suppose you'd better come in.'

The grudging invitation brought a twisted smile to Megan's pale lips. ‘How can I resist when you ask so nicely?' Not resisting Luc was what had got her in this position to begin with.

M
EGAN
followed Luc inside the cottage, her low-heeled shoes clicking on the flagged floor. The interior layout was a surprise to Megan. The internal dividing walls were gone, creating one large open-plan living area that used up the entire ground-floor space. The original flagged floor had been retained, as had the vast inglenook, but the modern kitchen appliances and stylish Swedish wood burner were very sleek and state-of-the-art.

The heat being thrown out by the wood burner made Megan reach for the scarf that was wrapped around her throat.

‘Bathroom…?'

‘Up there,' he said, a beat behind.

Megan followed the direction of his nod and walked towards the wrought-iron spiral staircase. It wasn't until she reached the upper floor that she realised that the stairs opened directly into a room. The faint scent of the male fragrance Luc used hung in the air; it made her nostrils flare and sensitive stomach muscles tighten.

So this, she thought, releasing a long sigh, was Luc's bedroom, her pulse rate suddenly going through the roof.

Luc's bedroom was a place she had dreamed about a lot lately but she hadn't expected to find herself there. Furnished in a minimal style she recognised immediately from downstairs. Again the internal walls had been knocked out to make a space that was almost as large as the room below. The roof though was open to the rafters and light flooded in through the window.

Either Luc had just had a spring-clean or he was very neat; there wasn't a dirty sock or crumpled shirt in sight. In
fact there was nothing much in sight beyond a couple of vibrant rugs on the oiled oak floor, a chair, a set of bookshelves and a bed—a large bed.

Megan swallowed. A
very
large bed, she thought, staring at the smooth sheets and simple throw.

She was looking around for the bathroom when she saw the wall.

‘Oh, my God!'

Up to this point her back had been turned to it, but now she could see that the wall was covered,
entirely
covered from ceiling to floor in photos. Black-and-white prints that overlaid each other in a gigantic collage.

Even to her uneducated eye it was obvious that she wasn't looking at snapshots. The subject matter was diverse. They ranged from stormy seascapes and wild mountain scenery to pictures of old wrinkled men sitting around a chessboard, pipes in hands, and women with babies on their backs and water-pots on their heads, to children with even older faces searching rubbish dumps for food.

Faces frozen in time or starkly beautiful places, the pictures all had a quality, not just great lighting or inspired subject matter, but an indefinable
something
that made the observer stand and stare. Megan did. Despite the urgency of her errand she stood for a long time just looking.

If Luc had taken these himself he was not only very well travelled, but incredibly talented.

She finally managed to tear herself away, her mind still filled with the images she had seen and Megan had to open several doors before discovering the bathroom. Was Luc's mind as organised as his storage space? Unlike his bedroom, the bathroom was neither spartan nor rustic.

Megan looked around curiously and liked what she saw. It was tiled in pale cream stone tiles, which reflected the light flooding in through the roof windows. The bath, a free-standing decadent French slipper job that could have held
half a football team. The bathroom in her flat could have fitted into the state-of-the-art shower cubicle.

‘So this hasn't started well,' she admitted to her reflection in the mirror. ‘That means things can only get better.' With the best will in the world Megan couldn't inject an authentic note of optimism into her voice.

When she went back downstairs Luc was in the kitchen area at the opposite end of the room. He had taken off his outdoor clothes, including the heavy sweater he had been wearing. He stood there in the dark moleskins that clung to the long line of his well-developed thighs. The rolled up sleeves of his pale blue shirt revealed the subtle sinewed strength of his forearms and the even tone of his dark skin.

Would there ever come a day when she would be able to look at him and not be paralysed with lust? Megan forced herself to release the air trapped in her tight chest.

He didn't look up even though he must have heard her come down.

Perhaps he was hoping that she'd go away if he pretended she wasn't there?

She watched as, very much at home in the kitchen, he rattled around in a competent manner in a cupboard, then walked over to a sink and filled a kettle. Even doing something mundane he was always a pleasure to watch and she was glad of anything that delayed the moment she would have to reveal why she was here.

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and her elbow caught against the wall. She winced as pain shot up her arm. She rubbed it and realised that Luc was watching her.

‘Find what you needed?'

She nodded and he returned to his task. ‘Did you take the photos upstairs?' She did feel a need to break the lengthening silence, but she was also genuinely curious.

‘Yes, did you like them?'

She nodded and then realised he wasn't looking at her.

‘Very much, you're very talented.' Multi-talented, it would seem. ‘Did you train?' He could easily have made his living out of them. It must have been hard to make the choice between writing and becoming a professional photographer.

‘No, I've always taken photos. When I was making a living doing something that bored me rigid it was the only thing that kept me sane.'

‘Why were you doing it if you hated it?'

Luc, who was taking a carton of milk from the big American-style fridge, had his back to her.

‘I had my own business, and I was doing it for the same reason most people do jobs they don't like.' He turned, his mocking gaze sweeping across her face. ‘Money.'

‘And did you make a lot?'

‘Yes, I made a lot of money.' His long, curling lashes lifted from the slashing curve of his cheekbones. ‘And then,' he added, pinning her with a mocking stare, ‘I lost it.' He had sold everything he had to pay off the creditors and clients that his partner had stolen from. ‘All of it and then some.'

Aware that she wasn't supposed to know about his business, she said, ‘That must have been terrible.'

‘I thought so at the time.'

‘I don't think I could do that,' she mused.

‘Do what? Lose money?'

‘Do something I hated just for money.' The look she directed towards him was tinged with reproach. ‘Especially if I was as talented as you are.' With no talent for anything artistic, she had always envied people who were.

His expressive mouth twisted in a derisive smile. ‘You could, believe me you could. Job satisfaction is nice, but so,' he added drily, ‘is eating. I like to eat, most people do, and relatively few have the luxury of being able to pick and choose what they do. It's easy to turn up your aristocratic little nose when you've never had to worry about money. You've always had the cushion of Daddy's millions.'

A mortified flush travelled over Megan's fair skin. She swallowed hard. His scalding derision was well deserved. She was deeply ashamed that she had sounded like a spoilt little rich girl.

Actually her strict parents had never overindulged her. They had gone out of their way to teach her the value of money, but Luc was right, she reflected with a repentant shake of her head—she didn't know what it was to worry about money. Compared to many, her life had been easy.

‘You're right, that was a really stupid thing to say.' She heaved a sigh. How many women who had found themselves in her present situation had not had the luxury of choice?

It was a sobering thought. Sadly money did make a difference. ‘I do appreciate that I'm incredibly lucky, you know,' she told him huskily.

The cynical sneer faded from Luc's face as he stood there for a moment, recognising the unmistakable glow of genuine penitence shining in her blue eyes. The line above the bridge of his masterful nose deepened.

Megan got the impression that for some reason her response had surprised him…disappointed him even…as though he
wanted
her to do something he could disapprove of. She almost instantly dismissed this fanciful idea.

‘The photos really are very good, you know. Have you ever though of exhibiting any?' she wanted to know.

‘Have you been talking to Malcolm?'

Megan froze guiltily. ‘No, yes…well, he didn't want to tell me you were here. Why do you ask?'

‘Oh, I thought maybe he had sent you here as his advocate.'

She shook her head. Her instincts told her to drop the subject but her curiosity wouldn't let her. ‘Advocate for what?' she asked.

‘Oh…' he shrugged carelessly… ‘his latest money-making
project. Ever since Malcolm saw my gallery upstairs he's been nagging me to publish a book of them.'

‘And you don't want to?' It sounded like a great idea to her. ‘If Uncle Malcolm says there's a market for that sort of thing, I'm sure he's right,' she ventured tentatively.

Her earnest defence of her uncle brought an amused, ‘Are you
sure
he hasn't got to you?'

‘No, he hasn't, but if he had I'd have told him the best way to get you to agree was to let you think it was your brilliant idea to begin with.'

He looked at her, startled for a moment, then the stern lines of his face melted into a grin.

Megan grinned back. ‘I did a psychology module in my first year at uni,' she explained.

Her laughing eyes meshed with his, the moment of harmony didn't last long. At almost the exact moment that Megan recognised the atmosphere had changed, that the air between them throbbed with unspoken and dangerous things, Luc stopped laughing. Megan touched her tongue to the perspiration beading her upper lip and the pupils of Luc's eyes dramatically dilated. She saw him swallow before his dark head angled away from her.

‘Tea or a beer?' he asked, not looking up.

‘Tea.' If he could act as though nothing had happened so could she. Maybe she was the one who had started reading sex into everything because she was obsessed—not Luc.

‘Do you mind if I sit down?' She didn't wait for his response; if she didn't sit down soon she would fall. Her knees were shaking. She presumed it was a reaction to the confrontation—she hated confrontations. It couldn't be good for the baby for her to feel this terrible. In an unconsciously protective gesture her hands went to her still-flat belly.

She sank into the soft chair and tried to think calm thoughts…it was an ambitious plan. Her brain was firing off questions one after the other in rapid succession; there was no let-up from the anxiety-inducing bombardment. How
would Luc react? Was he going to be angry? Shocked, obviously—heaven knew she had been! Was he even going to believe her?

When Luc approached, mugs of tea in hand, Megan saw his bare feet. Her stomach muscles fluttered. How could she, how could
anybody
find bare feet erotic? Now hands, yes. Luc had the most beautiful hands, expressive hands with long, sensitive fingers… This time the tightening of her stomach muscles was vicious.

Catching the direction of her fixed gaze, Luc offered a curt explanation of, ‘Under-floor heating,' before he nudged an open laptop to one side and set a mug of hot tea on the rustic oak coffee table.

Megan ran her fingers across the oiled surface of the wood. The cottage was filled with natural materials and textures and it was all very tactile and sensual. But nothing she had seen in the cottage made her want to reach out and touch more than the man who took a seat opposite her.

Megan nodded her thanks as her fingers closed around the hot, steaming mug, and pretended she was looking at the flickering images of the screen saver while she was actually greedily observing him fold his long length with fluid grace into a Kelim-covered sofa opposite her. Something in her stomach twisted painfully as she looked at him.

The feeling didn't go away when she stopped looking.

Luc glanced at his watch.

The pointed gesture brought a resentful sparkle to her eyes. This was about the single most momentous moment in her life and he didn't even bother disguising he couldn't wait to see the back of her. Deep down she knew it was irrational to feel angry. Luc didn't have the faintest idea why she was here—not that anything excused this boorish display of bad manners.

‘I'm so sorry if I'm keeping you from something more important,' she drawled sarcastically.

‘Only a couple of thousand words.' Luc, who hadn't been
able to write a word since he'd arrived at the cottage, lied. He leaned forward and rested his chin on the platform of his interlocked fingers.

Megan shivered as his silvered appraisal moved over her.

‘You've lost weight,' he judged with a disapproving frown.

‘A little,' she admitted.

‘It doesn't suit you.'

Megan let the brutal observation pass; she recognised a perfect opening when she heard it. Then again, he wasn't in the best of moods—perhaps she should wait. Wait until when you give birth…? Tell him, Megan,
now
…
now
…the voice in her head prompted urgently.

As she opened her mouth her heart was beating so fast she could hardly breathe.

‘Don't worry, I'll be putting the pounds on again soon,' she said, fixing her eyes firmly on her hands clasped neatly in her lap.

There was a silence, which got longer until, frustrated to the point of screaming, Megan lifted her gaze to his.

‘You were supposed to ask
why
!'

‘Why what?'

‘Why will I be putting on weight…?' she prompted.

A flicker of amusement momentarily lightened the wariness in his eyes. ‘Why will you be putting on weight, Megan?' he asked obligingly.