Pursued(23)

But she was done with that, she told herself as she rattled off her  phone number. Done with opening herself up to someone only to watch the  person walk away. So she'd give Nic a chance, she'd let him into this  baby's life, but that was it. There was no way she would let herself  depend on him. No way she would let him hurt her when he finally decided  to walk away.

It had taken him eight weeks to erase her from his phone when she  didn't answer his texts. Once the baby was born and everything got  harder, how long would it take him to leave them both?

Not very long was her bet. Not very long, at all.

"Get some sleep," he told her after saving her number. "I'll call you  tomorrow and we'll talk about the logistics of me moving in. I want to  do it as soon as possible."

"How soon is that?" she asked warily.

"This coming weekend, if that's okay with you. I'd do it sooner, but I  know you have work and the last thing I want to do is rock the boat for  you at the paper."

She snorted. "Yeah, well, I think that boat has already been rocked  pretty hard today." The memory made her wince even as it brought the  guilt back. She'd almost ruined Nic and his brother, almost brought down  their entire company, and yet here he was, telling her that he didn't  want to disrupt her job. If things had been reversed, she'd probably be  calling for his head on a silver platter, baby or no baby.

"I'm sorry," she told him. "An apology is not close to being enough  when my carelessness nearly cost you and your family everything, but I  don't know what else to say."

"Clean slate, remember?" He leaned over then and pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead. "We're starting over."                       
       
           



       

Were they? His gentle, platonic kiss somehow managed to send heat  sizzling along her nerve endings. Because from where she stood, it felt  as if they were picking up right where they'd left off eighteen weeks  before.

It was an alarming idea, considering the close quarters they would be  living in. And the no-sex rule she was serious about enforcing.  Chemistry between them had never been a problem, and she knew if she let  him back in her bed, getting rid of him would take a hell of a lot  longer than it would otherwise. After all, how would they find out how  incompatible they were in real life if they never actually got out of  bed?

She knew this, understood it, even believed it wholeheartedly. And  still her body swayed toward him, still she tilted her face up for a  kiss that shouldn't happen. Still she longed to feel his hard, calloused  hands brushing over her skin.

Nic's eyes darkened as she stared up into them. They turned the same  green as the storm-tossed Atlantic, and she felt more of her resistance  give way. If he kissed her right now … if he touched her, she wasn't sure  she'd have the strength to say no.

But in the end, he did neither. Instead, he took a couple of steps  back, until he was no longer in touching distance. He gave her a sweet  smile-sweeter than anything she thought a guy like him was capable  of-and said, "Go get some sleep. I'll call you in the morning and we'll  get the details of my move worked out. We'll both feel better then."

She was glad he sounded certain, because suddenly she was anything but.  Still, she nodded, gave him the best smile she could muster. "Yeah.  We'll talk tomorrow."

They stood there for several long seconds more, neither of them taking  the first move to break the new and tenuous connection between them. All  she had to do was step back and close the door. All he had to do was  turn and walk away. And still they silently watched each other. Silently  imagined what might be coming next … for both of them.

Despite her best intentions, she felt herself softening toward him.  Felt herself wondering if maybe he would stick around for a while-for  the baby, of course, not for her.

But after everything she'd been through, after all the people she'd had  to tell goodbye over the years, even thinking he might stay for the  baby felt like a weakness. More, it felt like a betrayal.

And so she found the will to step back.

Found the will to whisper a soft good-night.

And somehow she even found the will to close the door in Nic's very handsome, very sexy, very sweet face.



By Sunday, Desi still wasn't over her moment of weakness. In fact,  she'd spent the better part of the week berating herself for it even as  she felt herself falling a little more under Nic's spell with each day  that passed.

He'd called her twice a day, every day, just to check on her. He had a  small basket of fresh fruit delivered to her doorstep each morning and a  healthy, delicious dinner delivered each night. He even drove up from  San Diego one day to meet her for lunch so he could check on her and the  baby. And through it all, he had never voiced a word of dissension at  the increasingly ridiculous rules she'd insisted on making up for their  living arrangement.

The guy definitely had his eye on the endgame, and that wasn't going to  do. Not when he was being so nice about it. And not when she felt as if  she was one small step away from getting sucked into a vortex of need  and want and emotional attachment.

Wasn't going to happen.

Which was why, on this fine Sunday morning in July, she stood in the  middle of her very small kitchen watching her neighbor Serena direct her  burly boyfriend and brother, telling them where in Desi's apartment  they should put the French provincial sofa they were currently carrying.  Not that it really mattered. The thing would dominate the room wherever  they put it.

How could it not? It was huge and ugly and the most atrocious shade of  hot pink she had ever seen. It was also curved and hard as a rock and  would be absolutely miserable for Nic to sleep on. One night on the  thing and his back would never be the same.

At another time, she might feel badly about conspiring to torture Nic  while he was being so determinedly supportive, but desperate times  called for desperate measures. He was moving in later that afternoon,  and with the way her stupid pregnancy hormones were all out of whack,  she didn't trust herself not to jump him. Or much worse, fall for him.

Which was why she'd begged Serena to let her borrow her friend's most  prized piece of furniture. It would cost Desi a couple of hundred bucks  and an entire day spent at the spa, but at this point, that seemed a  small price to pay. Nic had to go and he had to go fast.                       
       
           



       

She would make those words her mantra and use them every time she felt  her resolve weakening. Which lately seemed to be every time she saw Nic  or heard his voice on the phone or even thought about him-which she was  doing more and more lately.

Stupid pregnancy hormones.

By the time Nic showed up at her door with two suitcases and a laptop  case filled with electronics, she was a wreck. Especially since she  hadn't had anything to do but sit around and wait for him to appear.

Normally she spent Sunday mornings cleaning her apartment, but a  cleaning service had shown up before she'd left for work on Thursday.  When she'd tried to turn them away, thinking they'd gotten the apartment  number wrong, they'd assured her that Nic had sent them. And that  they'd be back every week to make sure her apartment was  "spick-and-span." Their words, not hers.

When she'd tried to talk to Nic about it, to tell him she didn't need  or want him to pay for a cleaning service, he'd told her it wasn't for  her, it was for him. He was a total pig, he claimed, and he needed  someone to clean up after him.

The fact that she could hear the laughter in his voice as he said  it-and called him on it-didn't make him change his story. That was when  she'd figured out what she'd only suspected when she'd gone home with  him all those weeks ago-that she really had met her match.

"I cleared out half the closet for you," she told him as he made his  way into the apartment. "I figured you could use that chest for stuff  you didn't want to hang up." She pointed at the arts and crafts – style  highboy she had found at a garage sale right out of college. She'd  brought it home, stripped it and painted it a bright sunshiny yellow  that she loved-and that, it turned out, clashed horribly with the hot  pink French provincial sofa that now dominated her living area.

Normally she used the chest to hold her books, but for now they were in  boxes under her bed. If she played her cards right, the books would be  back where they belonged by Wednesday. Maybe sooner, if that couch was  as uncomfortable to stretch out on as she imagined it would be.

"Thanks," he said with a smile that was way too sexy for her peace of mind. "I really appreciate that."