About That Night Read online

  “I’d like a room with as much privacy as possible, a desk and internet access.”

  He could work with that.

  “All rooms in Bradford House have access to free Wi-Fi,” she murmured, her attention on the screen. Her desk was cluttered. Framed photos hung on the walls around it. The room itself was more homey than functional, with its brightly patterned sofa and pictures of two little boys in huge hockey jerseys. “You’d probably be most comfortable in the Back Suite. It has its own sitting room with a desk and the most privacy of all the rooms.”

  “I’ll take it.”

  “Unfortunately, it’s booked until tomorrow night. I can put you up in the Blue Room for now.”

  He nodded, and she handed him a form to fill out. He did so quickly, passed it back to her along with his driver’s license and credit card. While she typed in his information, he glanced around. It had taken him five days to tie up loose ends at work, delegate responsibilities and hand over two key projects before he’d been able to leave Houston. Five days of thinking about Ivy and how he’d mishandled things.

  And now that he’d temporarily put his life on hold and traveled more than one thousand miles to be here, he had no idea what his next step was. All he knew was that he needed to be in Shady Grove. He had to see Ivy again, talk to her.

  He had to get to the truth.

  He didn’t like being this...unsettled. An unplanned pregnancy would have that effect on anyone he supposed, but he wasn’t used to not having a plan. An idea of what to do next, which step to take.

  “You’re all set, Mr. Bartasavich,” Fay said as she stood. She turned, took down a key—an actual key, not a pass card—from a locked box behind her. “If you’ll follow me, we’ll get you settled. Breakfast is served from 7:00 a.m. to 10:00 a.m., Monday through Friday. Weekends from eight to eleven. We offer free coffee and snacks in the afternoon in the library. Wine and cheese in the evenings. I can also give you suggestions on places for lunch and dinner and tourist attractions.”

  “I appreciate it.” Though he wouldn’t have time to do any sightseeing.

  They stepped out into the hall. “Here,” she said, “let me take your bag.”

  He grinned at her. “And have them kick me out of the man club? No, ma’am.”

  She smiled back at him shyly. She was a pretty thing with her strawberry-blond hair and those light eyes.

  The door at the far end of the hall opened, and Ivy stepped out. C.J.’s heart nearly stopped—which was idiotic. He was a grown man, not some teenager in the throes of his first crush. But still, she took a man’s breath. Today she was wearing light green shorts that showed miles of her toned legs and a loose tank top. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she’d wrapped a floral scarf around her head like a headband. She froze when she saw him.

  He nodded. “Hello, Ivy.”

  For a moment he thought she was going to simply turn around and walk back into the kitchen, pretend he wasn’t here.

  If she really was pregnant with his baby, he wasn’t going to let her ignore him.

  Instead, she walked toward him, all attitude and sex appeal. “You’re a long way from home, cowboy.”

  Fay glanced between them. “Do you two know each other?”

  C.J. inclined his head. “You could say that.”

  “We met at Charlotte’s engagement party,” Ivy said quickly, shooting him a shut-it-or-die look. “What are you doing here?”

  He held up his key. “Just booked a room.”

  Her eyes narrowed, and she crossed her arms, which only lifted her breasts up, and damn if he didn’t notice. She smirked, knowing the effect she had on men. They probably dropped to their knees, either in prayer or to beg for a moment of her time, when she walked down the street.

  “Now, why would you do a thing like that?” she asked.

  “Because you’re here,” he said simply.

  “Oh, no,” Fay murmured, shifting to stand next to Ivy. “You’re not one of those guys, are you?”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

  She waved a hand at Ivy. “Men who book a room here just to get Ivy’s attention.”

  He couldn’t help it. He laughed. “Men actually do that?” he asked Ivy.

  “Legions,” she said so solemnly, he wasn’t sure if she was kidding or not.

  “I’m here,” he told Fay, “because I didn’t like how Ivy and I left things.”

  “Funny,” Ivy said, “but I liked how we left things just fine. Mostly the part about us never seeing each other again.”

  “We have unfinished business,” he told her.

  “There is no we, cowboy. Unless you’re talking about you and the little brain you have in your pants.”

  “I think it would be better if you found somewhere else to stay,” Fay said, now shifting to stand in front of Ivy, which was funny because she looked as if a stiff wind could blow her down. As if she were afraid of her own shadow.

  He held Ivy’s gaze. “You going to let her kick me out, Ivy? Because that won’t stop me from getting what I want. From what I came here for.”

  “Do you want me to call the police?” Fay asked Ivy, looking really worried now. As if C.J. was planning to add Ivy’s head to his collection in a basement.

  “No,” Ivy said. “He’s basically harmless.”

  But her look said she wasn’t so sure. Good. He wouldn’t hurt her, but no one thought he was harmless.

  She turned to Fay. “Why don’t I show Mr. Bartasavich to his room? Since we’re such good friends and all?”

  “Are you sure?” Fay asked. She lowered her voice, sent him a glance. “He seems sort of...dangerous. Possibly unstable.”

  “I’m standing right here, darlin’,” he drawled. “And dangerous or unstable, my hearing’s just fine.”

  They ignored him.

  “He won’t hurt me,” Ivy assured her. She turned to him. “Come on.”

  He winked at Fay to let her know he wasn’t some deranged madman with murder on his mind and followed Ivy up the stairs.

  CHAPTER NINE

  DAMN IT. DAMN IT! What was he doing here? Ivy thought as she stomped up the main staircase, her hand trailing over the glossy wood rail.

  She rolled her eyes. Okay, she knew what he was doing here. She just hadn’t expected him to actually follow her back to Shady Grove. Especially after he’d reacted the way she should have known he would, by blaming her, ditching his responsibility and going on his merry way, letting her and the baby go on theirs.

  She turned left at the top of the stairs, went to the second room and unlocked the door for him, shoving it open. “Come on.”

  “So gracious,” Clinton murmured, brushing past her, the scent of his cologne taking her back to their night together. And the day last week when she’d been at his apartment. “No wonder you’re the chef here and not hostess.”

  “I’m the chef here because I’m good at what I do,” she said, shutting the door behind them. “Played Nancy Drew yourself, did you? Tracked me down and all that?”

  “I didn’t actually do the tracking down myself.”

  He turned, his big body looking out of place in the feminine room with its soft blue walls and floral quilt. He put his suitcase on the bed. He wore a suit, much like the ones she’d already seen him in, but this one was slate gray.

  How many expensive suits did one man need?

  “What do you mean, you didn’t do it yourself?” she asked, her eyes narrowed.

  “I had someone else find you—though I’m sure I could have managed to do so myself. Shady Grove isn’t that big, after all.”

  No, it wasn’t, and Ivy was easy enough to find. Plus, she wasn’t hiding. She had no reason to hide. Nothing to be ashamed of.

  “Your coworker doesn’t know you’re pregnant?” he asked.

  “Fay is my boss and yes, she knows. She just doesn’t know who the sperm donor is.” As Ivy had hoped, his mouth flattened at that. “And don’t think I’m going to thank you f
or not spitting it out about our night together.”

  But she was grateful to him, and she didn’t want to be. If she owed him, he’d take advantage of that. Would use that against her in the future.

  “Any reason you don’t want her to know I’m possibly the father?”

  She strolled to the dresser. Picked up the antique hand mirror that was sitting there. “Such as this all being a big ruse meant to drain you of your piles and piles of gold?” She shook her head. “Nope.”

  “Then why not let her know?”

  “I hadn’t planned on telling anyone about our...connection. Why bother? I have your check, and you have my promise not to bother you again. Though why you’re here, I have no idea.” She set the mirror down. Linked her hands at her waist. “So...why are you here? Really?”

  “I didn’t handle things well,” he said, his voice gruff, his gaze steady, “when you came to Houston.”

  “You don’t say?” she asked so drily, she was surprised puffs of sand didn’t come out of her mouth.

  “I was shocked. Upset. I don’t think that makes me a bad guy. We don’t know each other, and it seemed as if you may have planned all of this.”

  “Well, I must be some freaking genius,” she said, sitting in the armchair next to the window and crossing her legs. “Imagine putting this plan together so flawlessly. Let’s see, first of all, I had to know you were going to be at that party and I had to know you’re not just some random, good-looking, smooth-talking cowboy but the heir apparent to some huge corporation. That you’re worth more money than God and you’d be alone that night and in the mood for company.”

  Clinton sat on the corner of the bed, his lips pursed. “I guess that might be a bit far-fetched. But you did know who I was before we slept together.”

  “I knew you were Charlotte’s future brother-in-law. Someone I found attractive. Someone I wanted to spend the night with. That was all it was supposed to be. And if I remember correctly, you were the one who came on to me first. You paid Gracie to come fetch me like some errant puppy.”

  He had the grace to look abashed. “I just wanted to talk to you.”

  She winked at him. “Well, you talked to me all right.”

  “I just... It’s dangerous sleeping with someone you don’t know.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Really? A lecture on morals? Not knowing me didn’t seem to bother you when we were in your room. If I recall, you were all for it. Don’t play that double standard with me. I was attracted to you. I enjoy sex. So I slept with you. Thought that would be the end of it. Instead, it’s not. Now we both have to deal with it.”

  He blew out a breath. “I’d like to talk to your doctor.”

  She couldn’t blame him for wanting proof of the pregnancy and of his paternity. What she blamed him for was wanting to know so he could be a part of the baby’s life. She knew the score here. She had nothing. Well, except their baby growing inside of her. While he had everything. Money. Power. Enough to make her life a living hell.

  Enough to take her child from her if he chose.

  “I have an appointment next week,” Ivy said. “But I’m not sure how far along I have to be for her to do a paternity test.”

  “You’d allow one?”

  “I would. But not so I can lay claim to your fortune. If you want to be a part of the baby’s life, I can’t stop you. But I’m not about to change my life to make that happen. You’ll have to play by my rules.”

  “If you don’t want money—”

  “Hey now, who said I don’t want money? I have your check for fifty grand, remember? Don’t think you’re getting that back.”

  He linked his hands between his knees. “Okay, if you’re not after more money, why did you tell me? We both know you could have easily kept this from me. As far as I know, no one knew we were together that night and the chances of us running into each other in the future were slim. You could have gone on your way, could have had the baby, and I never would have known.”

  “Because it was the right thing to do,” she said. But maybe she owed him more of an explanation. She wasn’t sure. She was so used to being on her own. Of not having to explain her actions or choices to anyone.

  She hadn’t wanted to seek him out. She would have preferred to raise the baby on her own—would still prefer that. But the thought of having the conversation she’d had with her own mother time after time made her sick. Of her child asking her who her father was, where he was and her not being able to answer.

  Whether Melba withheld the truth for her own selfish reasons or just to hurt Ivy, to punish her for being born, Ivy wasn’t sure. But not knowing where she’d come from haunted her. She wouldn’t do that to her child.

  “I never knew my dad,” she admitted slowly. “And I don’t think he ever knew about me. I always thought that was unfair. That maybe he wouldn’t have wanted anything to do with me, but he should have had the choice. So I’m giving you the choice.”

  He nodded. “I appreciate it.”

  Clinton seemed sincere, and she wondered if she’d been wrong about him. But then she remembered what he’d said about not doing the tracking down to find her. “How did you find me?” she asked. “How did you know I’m the chef here?”

  “I hired a private investigator.”

  She froze. Everything inside her seemed to still. “You hired someone to find me?”

  “Yes.”

  She wasn’t sure she wanted to ask the next question, let alone hear the answer. “What else did you hire this professional Nancy Drew to do?”

  “Actually, he’s more like Magnum PI, from what I understand. Right down to the mustache. And he found out where you lived. Worked.”

  She had a bad feeling about this. “You looked into my past.”

  He lifted a shoulder as if it was nothing, instead of a huge invasion of privacy. “He ran a background check on you, yes.”

  She slowly got to her feet. “I see. And what did you discover?”

  Now he shifted. He damn well should shift. He had no right—no freaking right—to investigate her that way. “He found out you’ve lived in Shady Grove your entire life—”

  “I believe I already told you that.”

  “You wouldn’t even tell me your last name that night,” he said, climbing to his feet, also. “You weren’t exactly forthcoming then or when you were in Houston. You drop a bombshell on me—oh, by the way, I’m pregnant with your child so just believe every word I say because I say it—then walk away. You didn’t leave me much of a choice.”

  Maybe she hadn’t, but a girl had a right to her secrets. To protect herself from someone she didn’t know. “You’re not the only one here who’s not thrilled with this situation.”

  “What are you saying?” he asked hoarsely. He stepped closer. “You’re not thinking of getting rid of the baby, are you?”

  “It’s too late for that. And no, I hadn’t considered it. But there are other options. Adoption, for one.”

  He made a move as if he were about to grab her arms but held himself back. “If this baby is mine, you are not giving it away.”

  She sighed. “Relax. I considered adoption but ultimately decided against it. I may not be wealthy, but I can support a child, and I plan on keeping my baby. I just don’t want you as part of the package.”

  “We’re going to have to figure out how to deal with each other.”

  “I can’t do anything with you if I don’t trust you. What else did your private investigator find out about me?”

  “Like I said, he found out where you live. That you’re the chef here. So far, that’s it. Can you really blame me for wondering if you’d set this whole thing up? If you’re not being completely truthful?” he asked so calmly, all rational and hard-assed, she wanted to scratch his eyes out. “You slept with me after just meeting me, and now you say you’re pregnant with my child. What the hell am I supposed to believe?”

  She jabbed his chest. “That’s the thing. What you believe is a choic
e. And you chose to believe I’m some manipulative gold digger who’d have a child just to get your money. How dare you toss the fact I slept with you that night in my face? You were there, too! You’re not innocent here—you wanted to get me into bed from the moment you saw me.”

  That was the problem. People saw her, and they made assumptions about her. No one took the time to get to know her. They were too busy judging her.

  “How is my hiring a PI any different from you looking me up on the internet?” he asked, seemingly clueless.

  “Because I didn’t do a background check, which I’m assuming means digging into my childhood. I didn’t look into your personal life. I found your address, where you worked. You’re looking into my history, digging up dirt on me so you can judge me and my past.” She jabbed him again. “Go. To. Hell.”

  He grabbed her hand, pulled her close to him. “Don’t poke me.”

  She wouldn’t resort to struggling to get free. “Let go of me. Now.”

  He hesitated but then opened his fingers. She stalked toward the door.

  “What the hell else could I do?” he asked. “You walked out on me. Twice.”

  She yanked the door open. “This makes us three for three. And if you’d wanted to know more about me, you could have asked.”

  “I tried that once. Didn’t work out too well.”

  “You accused me of getting pregnant on purpose,” she reminded him. “Of being some desperate gold digger. Did you really think I was going to sip tea and spill my life story after that?” But he had a point. One she wouldn’t pretend didn’t exist. “Look, maybe I handled things badly, but I was nervous about telling you. After I found out who you were, I was scared to death. This is my baby. My child. And you have the power to take him or her away from me. And then you acted like a complete asshole, tossing accusations my way left and right. You want me to tell all, to be truthful, but you don’t trust or believe one thing I say, so what’s the point? You’ve already made up your mind about me.” Her fingers tightened on the door handle. Her voice grew soft. “You’ve already made up your mind about me,” she repeated, knowing it was true. “Nothing I say will change a thing. And that, cowboy, is your loss.”