The Pregnancy Test (6 page)

“What makes you think they would envy you an affair with Demon Sharpton?” He’d overheard that moniker one afternoon when he’d stepped into the break room for a cup of coffee. It had mildly irritated him then, but now he didn’t care what anyone else called him—he just wanted to know what Mandy thought of him.

She laughed a soft, rich, tinkling sound. Her head tilted toward him, the blanket slipping down to the swell of her breasts. “Oh, come on, Damien, you have to know that they call you Demon Sharpton because you’re tough, yes, but also because you don’t pay attention to any of the women. It frustrates them.”

He liked the way she said his name, her accent giving it a sophistication it had never had before. “Actually I think they call me Demon because asshole doesn’t rhyme with Damien.”

A startled laugh flew out of her mouth, her lips splitting in a wide, genuine grin. “I don’t think that’s it at all.” Then she studied him, curious, fingers gripping the fuzzy blue edge of the polyester blanket. “Why do you let them think that about you? I don’t think you really deserve either appellation.”

How could he tell this woman, with her honest and direct eyes, that it was easier to let people think he was an asshole? That it kept people away from him, who would infringe on his time, his friendship, his emotions, drawing him back into entanglements that he no longer had the strength to deal with. There was no way to describe how he’d crawled back out of a raw agony, and the only means to keep the crushing fear at bay, to protect his sanity, was to prevent anyone from getting close to him.

When Jessica had been murdered, he had retreated into a carefully constructed house of cards. If he let people start flicking their fingers at the shaky walls, it was possible it would all fall around him.

So he shrugged. “I don’t care what people think.”

Two months ago he would have said that and meant it. But now it felt like he was skirting the edge of truth. He definitely cared what the woman next to him thought.

“Well, bully for you,” Mandy said softly with a smile, resting her head on the back of the seat. “If we should all be so mature.”

He shifted, turned more fully toward her, disturbing her blanket in the process. Damien twitched it back into place, careful not to touch Mandy’s bare arm. “Maybe it’s not maturity. Maybe it’s arrogance. I’m just a jerk, like everyone says.”

If she believed it, she would retreat, leave him alone, stay outside the bitter bubble he lived in. Because if Mandy started to look at him with softness in her eyes, he wasn’t sure he was going to be able to resist.

And he had nothing of value inside his soul to offer a woman like her.

But she already was gracing him with a lazy smile and a sweet understanding shining in her eyes. “I don’t believe that, Damien Sharpton. I think there’s much more to you than meets the eye.”

Then hers drifted closed, and in a minute, her breath evened out as she dozed.

His attraction, that interest in her, grew exponentially.

Damien bent over and got out his laptop, careful not to disturb her. Determined to work and push her out of his mind, he reread a report he was working on, proofreading it for errors.

But every few minutes, his gaze scuttled over to Mandy, sleeping peacefully, her pink lips parted on a sigh, her bangs tumbling down over her eyebrows.

Damn it. Damien slammed the lid closed on his computer. It was impossible to type when the thing was rocking back and forth, destabilized by his massive erection.

He let down his tray table and set the laptop on it, but he didn’t accomplish a whole lot.

Except give himself whiplash checking Mandy out every five seconds.

This trip had been a huge ass mistake, and if he had to see her in a bikini he was screwed.

The thought sent his tray table bouncing up enthusiastically as his cock swelled.

M
andy lay in a chaise lounge and flipped through the parenting magazine she had subscribed to eight weeks earlier when she had thought educating herself about pregnancy would actually alleviate stress.

The weightier
Everything Guide to Pregnancy
was collecting dust in her beach bag. She had brought it, knowing she had to read the thing sooner or later so she didn’t miss the early signs of labor, or make an ill-informed circumcision decision. But she had discovered something about herself—she was a wimp. She just wanted to sit back and enjoy anticipating her baby—not memorize terms like VBAC and effacement, or create her Delivery Advocacy Plan to take to the hospital like Jamie kept insisting she needed to do.

There was just too much information flooding her brain cells, and she had decided to take a month-by-month approach to things. She would read up to the point she had reached in the baby’s gestation and no farther so she didn’t collapse under information overload. But she had thought glancing through the magazine wouldn’t hurt, since it had cute pictures of chubby babies and funny little essays on parenting.

Besides, she was bored.

Punta Cana was beautiful, a breezy eighty-five degrees and blue sunny skies, not a raindrop in sight. But Damien had been avoiding her, or at least it seemed that way to her. She hadn’t seen him since they’d arrived at the hotel forty-eight hours earlier. On her own, she had taken all her meals with total strangers, having been adopted by a nice British couple in their sixties who clearly felt sorry for her.

While they were a couple of dears, and she had gluttoned herself at the amazing buffets the hotel offered—not the least bit worried about unwashed fruit—it wasn’t the same as being on holiday with family or friends.

She wasn’t comfortable parasailing, speed boating, snorkeling, or scuba diving since she was pregnant. Though she had swum in the ocean a few times, played three games of water volleyball, and one round of shuffleboard. She’d entered an egg race on the beach with other hotel guests and had petted a monkey, perched a parrot on her shoulder, and sat on a donkey.

All of which were delightful, but she was used to being surrounded by friends and coworkers. People to talk to. And as much as she’d tried, the parrot hadn’t said a peep. Mandy sipped her virgin daiquiri and wondered for the hundredth time why Damien had brought her on this trip. He didn’t need her here, clearly.

Which left her to read an article on the risks of pregnancy when using condoms.

Many pregnancies result from the condom breaking or a hole in the latex, but just as many pregnancies are the result of improper use.

How did one use a condom incorrectly? Stick it on their ear?

Many men try to put the condom on inside out, realize their mistake, and flip it over, thereby inserting the condom with seminal fluid already present directly in the vagina.

Oh, my God.

Ben had been notorious for doing that.

“Well, that explains a thing or two,” she said out loud, tempted to fax the article to Ben. At his office.

“Explains what?” Damien asked from right behind her shoulder.

Damn
. Mandy jumped in the chair and slapped the magazine closed. Hell, there was a cue-ball-headed baby on the cover, grinning for all he was worth. She flipped it to the back cover, which was a teary-eyed toddler gazing at the mess he’d made on the floor.

She shoved it in her bag. Which left her stomach completely exposed to his view.

Her bare, pregnant stomach, popping up above her bikini bottoms. She raised her knees to de-emphasize the bubble below her belly button.

“Nothing, just muttering to myself.” Mandy shielded her eyes from the sun and turned to look back at him. “So you decided to actually leave your room?”

Complex and mysterious woman that she was, she found herself equal parts thrilled and horrified to see him. Or maybe she was just idiotic.

Damien dropped into the chair next to her and kicked his sandals off in the sand. “I figured the guys back at work would give me a hard time if I came home as white as when I left.”

“That’s true.” Mandy tried to command herself not to look at his body, but it was hopeless. Already she was raking up and down him like a starving woman at a feast. Or like a horny pregnant woman having sexual dreams about her boss.

He was sickeningly flawless. Broad chest, a smattering of hair across his well-defined pectorals, a ripped washboard stomach. When he sat back on the lounger, he brought his arms up to cup his head, and Mandy sighed.

Those were the kind of arms a woman just wanted to sink into.

If she weren’t pregnant and hiding the fact from her boss.

“Make sure you put on your sunscreen. This sun is extremely powerful. I slathered it on, and I still got burned on my back and shoulders where I couldn’t reach.” The sun was so hot Mandy had wondered if she were actually cooking her baby in utero.

She had shifted the chair to the shade of a tiki hut and made sure she drank lots of water and took breaks back in her room, so she thought she was safe, but maybe she ought to look it up in
The Everything Guide
. After Damien went away.

“Do you have your sunscreen?” Damien held out his hand. “I’ll get your back.”

Oh, he did not just say that. Mandy bit her lip. There was just no way she was letting him rub lotion all over her bare back. “Oh, well! I’m in the shade, so I think I’m fine, thanks.”

“We don’t want your British skin burning.” Damien leaned over and started rooting in her beach bag. “Is your sunscreen in here?”

How very like a successful businessman to just take over and stick his fingers where they didn’t belong. “No, really…” She trailed off when he pulled out her issue of
Baby Talk
.

“What’s this?” He glanced curiously at it.

She ripped it from his hands. “Oh, just something I picked up by accident.”

Because it was so easy to confuse a big, bald baby face on the cover with the half-naked women always on
Cosmo
.

But she couldn’t worry about how ridiculous her lie sounded when he was bound to encounter
The Everything Guide to Pregnancy
in another three seconds. Mandy reached out and snagged her beach bag from him.

“Let me get the sunscreen. You’ll never find it, I have tons of crap just rattling around in here.” Hand deep in the bag, Mandy felt her cheeks heat. Damien’s eyes were shielded behind dark sunglasses, but he looked perplexed. Suspicious.

Palm closing around it, she pulled the tube of sunscreen out and slapped it into his hand. With a brilliant smile, she tried to distract him. “So, have you been to the buffet for dinner yet? It’s absolutely divine.”

Damien frowned, and even with the sunglasses shielding his expression, she could tell his gaze had landed on her stomach. Was he putting two and two together—her belly, the magazine…Mandy’s heart started racing, her palms sweating, her cheeks burning from more than the Caribbean sun.

“I haven’t made it to the buffet, but I’m glad you’re enjoying it. Lots of desserts?” His words were polite, casual, as he tossed the sunscreen from hand to hand.

Mandy realized with dawning horror just what his words implied. Oh, that was just lovely. He thought she was fat! Two and two in his head hadn’t equaled pregnancy. He thought she’d been hitting the dessert table too hard. Allison was right—men didn’t notice
anything.

Except hard nipples.

“Turn around,” he said, clearly no idea he had offended her.

Bloody idiot.

She gave him her back. “Yes, the desserts are marvelous. You’re going to have to roll me onto the plane.”

A breeze kicked her hair across her lip, and she pried the strand off as she heard lotion squirt into Damien’s hand.

His chair squeaked as he scooted forward on it. “That’s good. You look better than when I first met you. I guess it was the flu, but you looked kind of thin. You seem healthier now.”

Fatter. That’s what he meant.

Mandy rolled her eyes behind her sunglasses. Then tensed when his hands landed on her shoulders, smooth and cool with lotion. Big hands, confident hands, that glided across her skin with strong strokes, his thumbs skimming along behind his fingers.

Damien had leaned over closer—she could hear his breathing, smell toothpaste and the coconut scent of the sunscreen. “And people think I’m tense. Relax, Mandy.”

He had no idea what he was asking of her. If she relaxed, really and truly relaxed, she’d sink in to his touch, sigh and moan and revel in the feeling of a man’s strong but gentle hands caressing her.

It was hell being stoic all the time, and she wasn’t even doing a very good job of it. And Damien was so gorgeous and competent and broad-shouldered, with those delectable baby blues.

He skimmed her spine, sending a shiver rolling through her and setting her inner thighs burning with desire.

She groaned, a long, low sound of abandonment.

Damien knew he was pushing into dangerous territory. Hell, he’d jumped into a fucking volcano.

His plan to avoid Mandy had just failed. And then some.

After shutting himself in his hotel room for two straight days, working like a fiend, and intermittently wondering what Mandy was doing, and what she was wearing, he’d needed some fresh air. It had been a happy coincidence that ten steps on the beach and he’d found Mandy lying in a chaise lounge, reading a magazine.

Except he supposed it didn’t count as a coincidence at all since he had the funny feeling he would have paced up and down the beach like an expectant father until he’d found her.

Even so, he hadn’t meant to put his hands on her. That had been an impulse. A stupid one. A head-up-his-ass impulse.

But she had looked so good.

Every imagining he’d had of Mandy wearing a bikini hadn’t prepared him for the sight of her stretched out in an army green scrap of nothing bathing suit. He had always pictured Mandy as thin and fragile, probably because she’d had the flu when they first met.

But she wasn’t thin and bony and untouchable. She was curvy and lush and delicious, with full breasts straining the tiny triangles and making his mouth water. So he’d pressed an excuse on her to rub his hands all over her back and shoulders.

And she was groaning.

He felt like doing the same.

Instead, he said, “Do you want to go to the buffet together tonight? The room service is really slow, and I need to get out a little anyway.”

Her head fell forward. “I’d love to. I’m sure the older couple I’ve been shadowing would like some time alone. Though they did say I remind them of their daughter Annie, who’s off at university. The one they told me in the next breath is something of a screw-up.”

Damien chuckled and refilled his hands with lotion. “Lift your hair and I’ll get your neck.” He leaned forward until his mouth was near her ear, his fingers tracing her clavicle bones. “I owe you an apology. I asked you on this trip impulsively and never considered the inconvenience to you.”

That was probably the first time ever that he had admitted a wrong to one of his assistants. But he knew it was true. He was harsh and inflexible sometimes, and thought only of himself.

Mandy’s elbows were out as she piled hair in a bundle on her head, and he spoke right over her shoulder. A little push forward and he could skim his lips along her jaw, kiss that dimple in her cheek that appeared when she smiled.

“While I accept your apology, I have to say it’s very relaxing, actually, which is something I really needed. I’ve been under a bit of stress lately.”

He paused. “I heard your boss is an ogre.”

She laughed. “That’s not what I meant. I like working for you, believe it or not. There’s just been some personal…issues I’m dealing with.”

Lord knew he could understand that. But she’d said she didn’t have a boyfriend or a husband, so before rational thought could intrude, he tugged on the tie that held her bikini top in place.

She grabbed the front of the top to hold it against her and made a sound of distress. “What are you doing?”

Taking a dip in that volcano. “I can’t get under the strings with the sunscreen.” Which was true. But he also wanted to see her bare back, touch all of her, imagine what it would be like to take Mandy as a lover, to undress her like this in heightened anticipation, both of them breathing hard and wound tight with sexual interest.

Sort of like he was right now. He moved his hands over the whole of her back, kneading her muscles with his thumbs.

“Oh, okay,” she said, sounding a little unnerved. “But be careful. I don’t have the sangfroid of some of these women strolling around topless. I’d prefer to keep my breasts an alluring secret.”

That they were.

With no excuse to linger, he retied her strings with sticky fingers. “There, all set to fry.”

Mandy turned to him and held her hand out. “Your turn.”

He settled back in his chair. “Turn for what?”