“Morning sickness!” she shouted without warning, interrupting his long list of not-very-likely communicable diseases. “It’s morning sickness, okay?” And then she yanked a pillow from its spot near the headboard and buried herself beneath it.
* * *
Pregnant. She was pregnant.
Reid had been shell-shocked a few times in his life—once even literally while in combat—but never before had he been struck deaf, dumb and blind as a bat all in one fell swoop.
Maybe Juliet really did have something contagious, because he was suddenly dizzy, sweaty, clammy and nauseated. It had taken every ounce of strength he could muster just to stand up and drunkenly make his way out of the master bedroom, down the hall to the great room and outside onto the porch.
He’d stood there for he didn’t know how long, the sturdy wooden railing the only thing keeping him upright as his knees did some sort of gelatinous jiggle that threatened to dump him flat on his ass and he dragged giant gulps of fresh air into his lungs in an attempt to avoid doing something totally embarrassing like passing out or throwing up.
Damn it, he shouldn’t be this worked up by Juliet’s news. After all, it was none of his business, was it? If she wanted to get herself knocked up by her jerk of a fiancé then run away from her wedding before the bastard could make an honest woman of her, that was no concern of his.
He was only upset—and physically ill—at the thought of her having another man’s baby. Especially that man’s. Reid might never have met the guy in person, but he knew a lot more about Paul and Juliet’s relationship than he would have liked. Worse, he knew how the so-called groom had treated his bride-to-be, and it was enough to make Reid see red.
And now she was tied to that son of a bitch. Forever.
Pulling himself together as best he could, he went back into the house. Juliet was nowhere to be seen, so he assumed she was still in her room. To kill time and burn off some of the angry energy prickling like needles just under his skin, he prowled the kitchen, opening and closing cupboard doors, looking for nothing in particular. He sure could use a drink, though, he thought, and wondered where her father kept the good, hard liquor.
A few minutes later, still sadly lacking the buzz of aged scotch in his bloodstream, he heard a click followed by soft footsteps coming down the hall. Turning in that direction, he straightened, taking a deep breath and steeling his spine for whatever was to come.
The first thing he noticed when Juliet came into view was that she looked a hell of a lot better than she had a little while ago. She was dressed, her face freshly washed and her hair freshly brushed, though still pulled back in a sexy, bouncy ponytail.
No, not sexy. He shouldn’t—couldn’t—be thinking stuff like that about her any longer. She looked better, that was all. Less like death warmed over.
Acting nervous and uncomfortable, she stuffed her hands into the front pockets of her tan slacks and slowly approached the marble island.
“Hey,” she said, so low he barely heard her.
“Hey,” he greeted in return. “Feeling better?” he asked, even though he could already tell she was.
A flush of pink washed over her high cheekbones. “Yes, thank you.”
And then a thick, awkward silence fell over the room. They stood there, on opposite sides of the central countertop, and neither of them knew what the hell to say.
What Reid did know, however, was that he had to put this situation back on solid ground. He, especially, needed his professional footing beneath him.
No more kid gloves. No more taking it easy on her because of their history. Time to remind himself that he was on the job. She was a job. Just get it done and get back to the office.
“Look,” he said, pushing away from the counter but keeping his hands safely curled around the edge. “I’m sorry you were sick this morning, but it’s clear you’re all right now. Generally speaking. I’ll go back to New York and reassure your sisters that you’re okay. I won’t tell them where you are, just that you need a bit of time to yourself and will come home or call when you’re ready.”
Licking her lips, she lowered her gaze for a moment, then raised it again, her blue eyes sharp but wary.
“Aren’t you going to ask me about...earlier?”
His chest hitched, and for a second he held his breath. Then he forced himself to relax, forced himself to breathe evenly.
“None of my business,” he said as much for her benefit as for his own. “I assume you had your reasons for skipping out on your wedding in your condition, even though most women would be running toward the father of their child, not away from him.”