But he'd been in big business long enough to know that when someone gave up something too easily, it was usually because they were trying to get or retain something even more important to them. His best guess was that Vanessa was trying to retain distance.
She'd wasted no time moving to Summerville the minute their divorce was final, and as far as he could tell, she'd been perfectly happy settling in with her aunt and making her mark on the small town through The Sugar Shack.
If Fate hadn't somehow intervened to bring him here himself, he never would have known where she'd relocated to or that she had a child. His child.
Oh, yes, she'd wanted distance then, and she wanted it now. And if she pissed him off-or kept him pissed off-then he'd be less likely to stick around for any length of time, wouldn't he?
Which only made him want to stick around more. He was contrary like that sometimes, a fact Vanessa was well aware of. She should have known that if he caught on to her little plan, he'd make a point of doing pretty much the exact opposite of what she wanted, just to vex her.
Of course, there was a good chance she didn't even realize she had a little plan. That she was running heavily on instinct, her current thoughts and actions more subconscious than anything else.
But it still intrigued him, and if he hadn't wanted to stick around before just to be close to the child he hadn't known existed, he certainly did now. He was even looking forward to it, considering the entertaining side benefits he'd recently discovered could be added to his stay.
Tossing back the covers, he moved to the edge of the bed and sat up. "Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I don't hate you."
He pushed to his feet and walked toward her stark naked. Where she'd fought so hard to protect her modesty and stay covered, he didn't bother and wasn't the least bit self-conscious about his nudity.
When she saw him coming, she took a jerky step back, away from him, but he wasn't really after her. Bending at the waist, he scooped up the tangled ball of his pants and underwear.
"I'm not happy about what you did," he clarified, climbing into his clothes with slow, deliberate movements, "and I can't say that I don't harbor a bit of anger and resentment over it. Or that there won't be moments when that anger and resentment flare hotter than anything else."
He leaned down for his wrinkled shirt and shrugged it on, but didn't bother buttoning it, leaving his chest bare down the middle. "But we've covered that ground already. Keeping Danny from me-or the pregnancy to begin with-was wrong. That's time and an experience I can't get back. Now that I know I have a son, however, things are going to change. I am going to be involved in his life-and therefore in yours."
She was standing only about three feet from him, clutching that red dress to her brea**sts to cover as much of her front as she could. It was silly and useless, a bit like locking the barn door after the bull had already escaped, but Marc found her false sense of modesty oddly endearing.
"You should probably come to terms with that," he told her matter-of-factly. "The sooner, the better."
She simply stood there, staring at him. Her eyes sparkled like polished sapphires, but whether with fear or rage or mere confusion, he couldn't quite tell.
While he had her off balance-which was a nice switch, frankly, since she'd pretty much had him off balance from the moment he'd driven into town-he tossed another can of gasoline on the bonfire that just seemed to continue blazing between them.
"Here's something else you should probably take into consideration," he said quietly, widening his stance and crossing his arms determinedly in front of him.
Vanessa didn't reply. Instead, she cocked her head, the tendons at the sides of her throat convulsing as she swallowed, waiting nervously for him to elaborate.
"We didn't use a condom, which means that you may even now get pregnant with our second child."
Nine
Oh, God.
Marc's words slammed into Vanessa's chest like a bullet, knocking the air from her lungs and making her literally stagger on her feet.
What had she been thinking? Bad enough she'd fallen into bed with her ex-husband faster than a star falls from the sky, but she'd completely forgotten about protection of any kind. It had never occurred to her to insist he use a condom, and since she was a new mother, still breast-feeding and with absolutely zero romantic prospects on the horizon, it hadn't been necessary for her to be on birth control.
She tried to do the math in her head, to figure out when her last period had been and when she was due again, but panic kept her thoughts in a tailspin.
And what about the breast-feeding? Wasn't it supposed to be harder to get pregnant while still nursing?
Dear God, please let that be true, because she couldn't even fathom the idea that she might actually be pregnant again, unexpectedly, unplanned and by her former husband. It was almost too horrifying to contemplate.
"I'm not," she said, as though saying it firmly and decisively enough would make it true.
Marc raised a dark, sardonic brow. "How can you be so sure."
"I'm just not," she insisted, tearing frantically at her dress until she got her feet inside and could yank it up. Never mind that it was open all the way to her bottom in the back because she couldn't raise the zipper without help. She would walk home with it hanging loose, if she had to, rather than ask him for one iota of assistance.
"And what were you thinking?" she charged, stamping a foot as she slipped it into a strappy red heel. "How could you do that-let me do that-without taking precautions?" She cast him an angry, accusatory glare. "I've never known you to be so irresponsible."
He shrugged, looking exponentially more casual and unconcerned than she was feeling at that particular moment. "What can I say? I was swept away by your beauty and passion, and the exhilaration of being with you again after such a long absence."
Pausing in the act of shoving on her other shoe, she tilted her head in his direction and gave a loud, unladylike snort. "Please," she scoffed.
"Is that so hard to believe?" he asked, still wearing the blank mask that gave her no clue of his true emotions.
Was he upset that they'd forgotten to use protection? Happy? Angry? Excited? Confused? Nauseous?
Because she was nauseous. And upset and angry and confused. There was no happiness or excitement anywhere on her radar.
If it turned out she really was pregnant … oh, God, please don't let her be pregnant again-not by Marc, and not so soon after Danny's birth … she would of course love the baby. Unconditionally and without question. But the difference between loving an existing child and loving the notion of carrying an as-yet imaginary one-especially under these circumstances-was like the difference between black and white, hot and cold, thirsty and drowning.
She loved Danny with all her heart and soul. She wouldn't trade him for anything, or even go back and undo the events that had led to his birth.
But she sure as hell wouldn't choose to be pregnant again. Not so soon after having one child, not without benefit of marriage, and not with a man she'd so recently divorced.
She was already linked too closely to Marc, thanks to his discovery of Danny's existence. But the thought of being even more closely connected to him through a second child would be a nightmare come to life.
He was almost foaming-at-the-mouth rabid about staying close to her now that he knew about Danny. Having him know from the very beginning that he was going to be a father a second time would turn him into near-stalker material. She would never get rid of him, not even for short amounts of time while he commuted back and forth between Pittsburgh and Summerville.
Oh, no, knowing Marc, he would do something ridiculous like move to Summerville himself, or insist they get remarried and then drag her back to the city where she would be trapped and miserable all over again.
No, no, no, no, no. Vanessa's head was shaking like a tambourine as she ran her gaze around the room, looking for anything she might have forgotten. Her purse, her watch, an earring …
"I think you underestimate your appeal," Marc remarked, apparently missing the nuclear meltdown taking place inside her.