"Call me anyway."
She called, Nick thought, as he slipped into the auditorium and stood in the shadows at the back of the crowded room. He'd give her that much. But her call had come while he'd been on the plane. She'd left a message, her voice soft and awestruck, assuring him that everything had gone well.
Soon after that she'd left a second message, professional, though vaguely defensive and full of excuses, as she listed far too many reasons why they should delay meeting again for another two weeks. He wasn't having it, so he'd flown back to Sydney where she was presenting at this conference.
And so here he was, watching as she stood in the center of the stage, exuding passion and expertise. A microphone the size of a pinot noir grape was attached to the lapel of her tailored jacket. Her dark hair was pulled sleekly back from her face. Her fitting skirt skimmed her knees. Ostensibly, there was nothing provocative about her. A pair of ankles and a shapely calf should not make his thoughts go where they were heading. Back into the land of fantasy. But he knew how soft her skin was, knew the throaty sound of her laugh. And he wanted her. The reaction was instinctive. The logical side of him could and would deny it, but it was there.
He could scarcely reconcile this polished professional with the woman with paint smears on her face, or the woman standing frightened and uncertain in the moonlight. He had ached to wrap his arms around her then, too, and just hold her, but he couldn't trust himself, he was too willing to overlook logic and reason where she was concerned.
It was almost ironic. He was usually the one who stopped people from getting too close. He knew the hurt that led to. And now Callie was trying to keep him at arm's length. She had given him no idea of whether she would want too much or not enough.
From the front of the room she glanced his way and paused a beat, but he was confident she couldn't see him. She stood in the full glare of the lights, while he was in shadow.
He hadn't missed her assertion the other night, that aside from Jason, her then partner, he was the only other man she'd slept with. It didn't seem possible. A woman this vibrant, this attractive? But the implications of that fact ran deep. She took her relationships seriously.
He frowned as he noticed the bandage on her hand, realized also that she was wielding her pointer with her left hand with a hint of slowness. Her right hand passed in front of her abdomen, still flat.
She was carrying his baby.
Regardless of what she did or didn't want, he would be a part-an integral part-of his child's life.
As the door to her hotel room swung shut behind her, Callie slipped out of her shoes and wriggled her toes on the carpet. She shrugged out of her jacket and tossed it onto the first of the two beds. As she was peeling off the panty hose from beneath her skirt, the phone on her bedside table rang. Still pulling the last leg of the hose off, she hopped over to the phone and dropped onto the bed as she picked up the handset. "Callie speaking."
"You made it to your room at last."
She knew that deep voice too well. "Nick?" Her pulse quickened, as it always did around him.
"You were expecting someone else?"
She stood as though that could give her the strength she needed to deal with this man. "I wasn't expecting anyone." She'd known she'd hear from him again sooner or later-she'd valiantly hoped for later.
"Even though we agreed we'd talk this week?" His voice sounded almost pleasant. Callie didn't trust it for a moment. He'd be annoyed that she'd put him off, knew that his gentleness when she'd spoken to him outside the doctor's had been a passing illusion. Not something she could, or would, want to rely on.
"I called and left you a message explaining."
"It was a cop-out, Callie. We both know that."
"It wasn't a cop-out. I didn't have my personal organizer when we agreed on this week, and you'll appreciate my thoughts were in turmoil that evening. I have it with me now-give me a second and I'll get it from my briefcase." She dropped the phone on the bed and retrieved her organizer, then switched it on as she was picking up the phone again. "I've got it in front of me, and next week is looking more flexible. Name your day."
"I don't want to leave it till next week to talk to you."
She knew better than to think that meant he wanted to see her for her own sake. "I can't see you any sooner than that. I'm tied up at a conference this week and I won't be back in the office till next week."
"You didn't mention in the message you left where the conference was."
She hesitated. The omission had been deliberate. And given that she was now on the phone to him, he obviously knew where she was. "Sydney," she said on a sigh. Sydney, where the head office of Brunicadi Investments was located.
"Then I think we should meet sooner than next week."
"Nick, I don't-" A knock sounded on her door. "Hang on a second, someone's here."
"I'll talk to you soon then." The dial tone sounded in her ear.
As she crossed to the door Callie knew he'd gone too easily. Duh. The unexpected knock suddenly made depressing sense. She looked through the peephole, saw him waiting in the corridor. And even through the distortion of the glass she saw that mix of careless elegance and intensity that was Nick's alone. His dark jacket hung open, revealing the white shirt beneath. She opened the door and for a second they looked at each other. Again, Callie felt the awareness that invariably rolled through her like a deep tremor whenever she saw him. Green eyes searched her face. Then, breaking that contact, he strolled in.
"I have a sponsor's dinner to go to shortly." She spoke to the back of his dark head and broad shoulders.
Nick surveyed the room. Too late, she remembered the clothes scattered around and the panty hose discarded on the floor by the phone. She also remembered that one other time she'd been in a hotel room with him. Clothes discarded then with even less thought. Her face heating, she strode past him, picked up the scattered items and dropped them into her suitcase, pushing down the lid that stood open.
"If there's such a rush, why weren't you up here earlier?" He turned and suddenly his river-green gaze held hers-dark, unreadable.
Her heart quickened, and again memories surged of that other hotel room, the penthouse suite. A gaze darkened with desire then. Callie spoke slowly, tried to make her voice sound even. "I was in the salon trying to get a hair appointment." The parameters had been set-they were business partners and accidental parents to be, nothing more. She reached behind her head and removed the clasp that held her hair in place. Unruly curls cascaded around her face. "But there's a celebrity auction for breast cancer here tonight, and they can't fit me in. And neither can any of the other nearby salons." She ran her fingers through her hair. "It needs a wash and I can't do it because I can't get this stupid hand wet." She lifted her right arm. "For which, rightly or wrongly, I hold you in part responsible."
"Why is it still like that? The stitches should have been out by now." The concern in his voice surprised her.
"It got infected." She shrugged. "It should be okay in a few more days."
His gaze shifted from her hand back to her face. "I saw your presentation this afternoon."
"That was you standing at the back of the room?"
He nodded.
She'd had a feeling that he was there, had looked for him in the audience once it was over, then decided she'd been imagining things.
Idly, he picked up her organizer from the bedside table, flipped it over to look at the back, and then replaced it before Callie could protest. He turned the full force of his attention on her. "We need to talk about your pregnancy, about our child. About what we're going to do."
Our child.
Hearing the words out loud made it so very real. She was pregnant by her client's brother, her ex-boyfriend's brother-in-law and her new business partner. She couldn't have made this any messier if she'd tried.