Little Secrets:Unexpectedly Pregnant(11)

It was raining outside; he could hear the ping of droplets on her roof.  Soft light bathed her apartment in pinks and cream and made Sage look  younger and softer. They were alone; he could feel his heart pounding  against his rib cage, heated blood pumping through his veins. The hair  on the back of his neck and his arms stood up as all that warm blood  headed south.

God, he wanted her. He always did, would... Tyce looked at her and  clocked the exact time when her mind moved from Lachlyn to the  attraction arcing between them. Her cheeks turned pink, her mouth  softened and he could see her pulse beating in that delicate vee at the  bottom of her throat. She stroked the arm of the couch, her fingers  gliding over the fabric as they'd once glided over his erection. She had  no idea that she'd subconsciously lifted her chest, that her nipples  were pushing through the fabric of her bra and T-shirt.

One look and they were both jittery with need. He had to kiss her again, he couldn't resist...

Tyce moved across the floor quickly, stopping in front of her and  placing his hands on the back of the sofa, on either side of her head.

Sage lifted her chin and shook her head. "Not happening, Latimore."

She didn't sound very convincing, Tyce thought. Besides he'd seen the  flash of interest in her eyes, the smoky blues that suggested she was  remembering how he made her feel. His junk immediately tightened and the  hot, hard thump of his heart reminded him that it had been months since  he'd had sex. Sage was the last woman he'd had in his bed and she was  still, damn her, the only woman he wanted.

"I'd rather walk through cut glass without shoes than sleep with you,"  Sage defiantly muttered, dropping her eyes to stare at her hot-pink  toes. Sexy toes with the middle toe sporting a delicate toe ring.

The saying about ladies and protesting too much dropped into his head  but Tyce was smart enough not to verbalize that thought. He ran the back  of his knuckles over her cheekbone and down the line of her jaw.

"You might not like me at the moment. You're angry and confused and  feeling a bit overwhelmed by the fact you are pregnant and that my  sister might be a Ballantyne but you still want me and I still want  you."

Even though he knew it was a bad idea, Tyce leaned down. Their earlier  kiss hadn't been nearly enough. He just needed to taste her again, once,  maybe twice, and he'd be satisfied. He covered her mouth with his and  sighed at the perfection of her silky lips. He swallowed a moan when  those lips opened and his tongue slid into the hot, spicy space that was  all Sage. He pulled her bottom lip between his teeth, nipped it and  slid his tongue over the bite to soothe its sting. Sage's hand on the  back of his neck held his head in place, her tongue dancing with his as  her other hand pulled his shirt up to find his bare skin.

He had to stop this now, but he couldn't, didn't want to. He wasn't  satisfied; he wanted more. When it came to Sage he always wanted more:  one kiss, one bout of sex, was never enough. She was like the most  addictive drug in the world. He doubted that there would ever be a time  when he wouldn't want Sage Ballantyne and that complicated the hell out  of this situation. He had to stop...

Tyce pulled away, lifted his mouth from hers and leaned backward,  raising his hands in the air. Sage's mesmerizing eyes slowly refocused  and when she was fully in the present, she shook her head and let out a  whimper. "What the hell is wrong with us?" she whispered.         

     



 

"An inability to talk, a desire to avoid anything that smacks of  intimacy combined with white-hot heat," Tyce retorted, pushing his hands  through his hair. He stood up, willed his junk to subside and walked  over to the large windows, staring out at the wet street below him.  Night was falling and he and Sage hadn't progressed one inch.

"We need a new way of dealing with each other," he muttered, jamming his  hands into the pockets of his jeans. In the reflection of the glass he  could see her pulling her long hair off her face, raising her knees to  her chest and wrapping her arms around her legs. "I'd say that we should  try to be friends but that's ridiculous, since we both know that  friends don't generally want to rip each other's clothes off."

"I'm not very good at being a friend."

Tyce, intrigued by that odd statement, turned around to look at her. "What do you mean by that?"

Sage made a production of looking at her watch. She gasped, wrinkled her  nose and jumped to her feet. "I'm so late! I have to go to The Den and  break the news that I am pregnant to Jo-"

"Jo?"

"Linc's mom. Connor employed her as a housekeeper when he adopted us and  she became our second mom. And my brother's wives are going to be  pissed that my siblings heard the news first."

Tyce lifted his eyebrows. "You avoided my question."

Sage handed him a snotty look but her eyes begged him not to pursue the  topic. "I really do need to get to The Den and I really am late," she  said, walking to the door.

And you really don't want to explain why you think that you are a bad  friend. Tyce walked across the room to pick up his leather jacket and  scarf. Making a quick decision, based purely on the fact that he wasn't  ready to walk away from Sage just yet-something he'd worry about  later-he tossed the suggestion out. "What if I go with you and help you  drop the news?"

Sage, holding her shoe, stared at him with panic-filled eyes. "You  can't! They aren't ready for you, for us... I need to tell them on my  own."

Tyce shook his head. "The sooner they get used to the idea that I am  going to be hanging around, the easier this situation will become." And  really, irritating her brothers would be an added bonus.

"Tyce..." Sage's eyes slammed into his. "Please, I need some time. Your  revelations today, the pregnancy, my family... You've known about your  sister for years and...we've only just learned about her. We need time  to catch up, to process all of this."

Tyce considered her statement, impatience and a need to move forward  warring with her words. She did have a point, he reluctantly conceded.  They were playing catch-up and he needed to give her, and her family,  time to do that.

Tyce opened her front door and held it open. "Okay, I hear you. But we still have more to discuss, a lot more."

"I know...we didn't get very far tonight," Sage said, pulling on a long  navy coat and winding a cashmere scarf around her neck. "But I need some  time, Tyce, and some space. I'll call you."

He wanted to argue, to have a firm date and time in mind but he also  knew that, if he pushed her, she'd retreat back inside her shell. It  was, after all, exactly what he would do.

"You'd better. And soon," Tyce told her, bending to drop a kiss on her  temple. He stepped away and touched her stomach with the tips of his  fingers. His kid, growing inside her. God, what a concept. "Take care of  yourself, Sage. Call me if you need me."

Sage sent him a puzzled look, her expression stating that she couldn't  imagine a situation in which she might need him. She had three brothers,  three new sisters and more money than God. She didn't need him for  anything except, possibly, sex and that wasn't on the table. Tyce ran  his hand through his hair and followed her into the elevator opposite  her front door.

He looked at their reflection in the mirror finish of the lift. Sage's  hands were in her hair-where his really wanted to be-and twenty seconds  later she'd, somehow, secured all those waves into a messy knot at the  back of her neck. She pulled a tube of lipstick from the side pocket of  her bag and swiped the color across her lips, turning her mouth from  sweet to luscious. The lipstick was returned to the bag and a  multicolored scarf appeared in her hand. She twisted it around her neck,  tied it into a complicated knot and she was, once again, Sage  Ballantyne, heiress, ready to face the world.

Tyce glanced at his outfit, old jeans, hiking boots, a black sweater  over a black shirt and a leather bomber jacket that he'd had for too  many years to count. Sage was an heiress from a family whose blood ran  blue; he was an artist who genuinely thought that the art world would  one day wake up from their stupor and realize that he wasn't half as  good as they'd proclaimed him to be and definitely not worth the  ridiculous money the collectors paid for his work. He plowed the bulk of  the money he earned from his art into buying those Ballantyne  International shares so he was, well, not broke but he wasn't flush with  cash either. He didn't have a college degree and his only asset was a  battered warehouse on the edge of an industrial park.         

     



 

He was her former lover, the father of her child...the man who'd given  her the bare bones of a very complicated story involving both their  families, too scared to open up and make even the smallest emotional  connection. He was also the man who wanted her more than he wanted to  keep breathing, existing. His raging need to strip her naked and sink  inside was part of the problem, he reluctantly admitted, but it went  deeper than that.