Pursued(20)

And it would have been all her fault.

Yet Nic had still wanted to talk to her, had still wanted to listen to  her. And in her utter and complete arrogance, she'd driven him away.  Worse, she'd backed him into a corner where he thought that the only  choice he had was to fight her-for his company and for their baby.

Nice job, Desi. Somehow she'd managed to mess her life up so royally,  so completely, that she could not even begin to imagine how to fix it.  She didn't even know if fixing it was possible.

But she also knew she had to try. She'd made this mess, and while  Malcolm was helping her clean it up on the professional level, she owed  it to Nic, and their baby, to try to fix it on the personal front, as  well.                       
       
           



       

Which meant she would have to call him. And explain the situation. And  grovel-a lot. God. She closed her eyes, lowered her head to the desk.  She hated groveling. She really, really, really hated  groveling-especially when she was the one in the wrong.

But she was smart enough-and woman enough-to admit that she had brought  it on herself. She was the one who hadn't listened to Nic and she was  the one who was so wrapped up in her investigation, and the kind of man  she'd thought he was, that she'd left one voice mail for him and then  given up. Even though she was carrying his baby. And even though she'd  known-though she would deny it to her dying day-that there was a good  chance that after she'd ignored him for weeks that he wouldn't listen to  any message she left.

Just because she knew what she needed to do didn't mean it was easy.  Desi gave herself five minutes to sulk and then did what she had to do.  She put on her big-girl panties and called Nic.





Ten

He brought her to one of his favorite restaurants in LA, a little  trattoria in the heart of Beverly Hills. He liked it because the food  was great and the owner's brother had worked for Bijoux for years, but  he could tell the moment they walked into the place that he had  definitely chosen wrong.

Though Desi didn't say anything, it was obvious that she was  uncomfortable. He thought about ignoring her discomfort so as not to  make it any worse, but they already had a lot of strikes against them.  This dinner was supposed to be about finding some common ground, and if  it would make her feel better to go someplace else, then he was more  than willing to do that for her.

But when he asked if she'd feel more comfortable at one of the other  restaurants on the street, she just shrugged and said, "This is fine."

"Are you sure? Because if you don't like Italian-"

"Everyone likes Italian food," she told him with a slightly exasperated roll of her eyes. "That's not the problem."

"Then what is?"

"This place is expensive."

"Don't worry about that. I asked you out-"

"I don't want your money. That's not why I called you tonight. And it's  definitely not why I'm keeping the baby. I just want to say that up  front and you need to believe me. I don't need or want you to take me to  fancy restaurants and spend a lot on me."

"Believe me," he answered with a smirk, "I am well aware that you don't  want my money, Desi. Otherwise you wouldn't have written an article  guaranteed to cost me billions."

She flushed, and for the first time since they sat down, she refused to  look him in the eye. "I know I already said it, but I'm really sorry  about that. I wasn't out to get you. I just believed the wrong person  and … " Her voice trailed off as she ducked her head.

He didn't like this new, humble version of her. Yes, ten hours ago he'd  pretty much been out for D. E. Maddox's blood. But that was before he  realized D. E. Maddox was also Desi. The woman he'd spent the most  sensual, sexy, satisfying night of his life with. The woman who met him  point for point with strength and attitude. The woman who, he now knew,  was carrying his child.

"Look, why don't we just start over?" he told her, reaching across the table and resting his hand on top of hers.

"Start over?" She looked incredulous. "I'm nearly five months pregnant  with your son. I think it's a little late to try starting over."

He laughed. "I don't mean that I want to walk up to you in a bar and  introduce myself to you while we pretend we don't know each other. I  just mean, let's have a clean slate. Leave whatever's in the past in the  past and deal with where we are now without any of the junk from before  messing it up."

"You want us to just forget everything?"

"Why not?"

"Do you think we can do that?"

"Do you not?"

She laughed then. "Are we seriously back to this? Answering each other's questions with more questions?"

"Hey. I asked the first question-you've just been piling question on question after that."

"I'm pretty sure that's not how it happened." She eyed him skeptically.  "But I'm willing to take the blame this time, as a peace offering."

He felt himself relax, really relax, for the first time in days. Desi  was here with him, they were having a conversation that didn't involve  sniping at each other-and that he hoped would, soon enough, also include  real communication. Plus, his company was safe. At this exact moment in  time, what else could he ask for?                       
       
           



       

After giving their order to the waiter-chicken picatta for him and  angel-hair pasta for her-the two of them made small talk. About LA,  about the weather, about a band they had both recently seen in concert.  But as the meal went on, Nic grew increasingly frustrated. Not because  he minded talking to Desi about that stuff-she was smart and funny and  interesting, and if things were normal he'd be happy to spend the  evening laughing and flirting with her over their dimly lit table.

But things weren't normal, and while he tended to be pretty easygoing  about most things that didn't involve Bijoux, he wasn't okay with being  easygoing about this. Not when she was carrying his child. And not when  they had so much to figure out.

By the time their meal had been cleared and he had ordered dessert-she  had passed, but he hoped to tempt her with some lemon marscapone  cheesecake-he was more than ready to talk about their son and what  arrangements they were going to make for him.

Desi seemed to sense his mood, because she stopped right in the middle of the story she was telling and looked at him.

He didn't like the apprehension in her eyes, or the way her body tensed  as if she was waiting for a blow. He'd spent his whole life charming  women. The last thing he wanted was for the mother of his child-for  Desi-to be afraid of him.

Reaching across the table, he slid his hand down her hair. She startled  at his touch, but he didn't move his hand away. Instead he pushed an  errant lock behind her ear. Then he skimmed a finger down the soft curve  of her cheek.

Her eyes drifted shut at the first touch of his skin on hers and she  swayed a little. Leaned her cheek into his hand. And, just that easily,  the fire that had burned so hotly on the night they met reignited.

It had been eighteen weeks since he'd held her, eighteen weeks since  he'd kissed his way across her shoulders and down the delicate curve of  her spine. But he still remembered what she felt like against him,  around him. Still remembered the way she moaned when he slipped inside  her and the way she raked her fingers down his back when she came.

"Let me take you back to your place," he said, his voice hoarse with a  desire he didn't even try to hide. "Let me make you feel good."

Her eyes flew open at his words, and in their depths he saw the same  arousal he was feeling, the same need. But there was a reluctance there,  too, that spoke of confusion and conflict, and he knew-no matter how  much he wanted her-he couldn't have her. Not now. Not when things were  still so unsettled between them.

So he pulled back, let his hand fall away from her cheek.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I've made such a mess of things."

She had, but he wasn't going to blame her for it. Not when he'd made  his share of mistakes, too. He was the one who had erased her number  from his phone. He was the one who hadn't been diligent about listening  to his messages and had ended up missing the most important voice mail  of his life.

"That's why we're starting over. No more messes to clean up, from  either of us." Because his head was still a little cloudy with  desire-and it wasn't the only part of his anatomy to feel that way-he  leaned back in his chair and took a long sip of water while he tried to  get his thoughts together.

"Look, I know you want to talk about the baby, but I'm not sure what to  say about that yet. I've spent the last three months thinking I'm going  to be doing this alone and now you're here and you want to be involved.  That's great, but I need time to adjust."