"I didn't," he said. "And I didn't get a chance to ask before you fell asleep. But just in case, I had Chay drop off some things for me on his way home from work."
"Oh." Wow. His thoughtfulness was … nice. And at total odds with the Ice Man routine she'd nearly gotten hypothermia from. "Have you been through this before?"
He didn't immediately reply, and she glanced over at him.
He appeared the same-hair a dark tangle around his face and shoulders, slouched in the chair, legs stretched out in a loose, wide vee. The same except for the cooling of his eyes, the firming of his mouth, the slight stiffening of his shoulders, and fingers that clenched so tight the knuckles paled. That quickly, the Ice Man had returned.
"I have two older sisters who've been pregnant two times each and a mother who believes in natural remedies. I picked up on a couple of tricks."
She nodded and stared down into the cup, because it meant she wasn't looking at him. "You seem to be making a habit of running to my rescue," she murmured. Her heart beat a steady, loud tattoo as she lifted her head. "About what happened in the police station-"
"Forget it." He dipped his chin in her direction. "That happen often?"
She swallowed, the abrupt dismissal of her apology stinging. Parting her lips, she almost surrendered to the urge to push the subject. Make him listen. But the cold, hard expression warned her to leave it alone. Instead, she went with the obvious change of subject.
"The morning sickness?" she asked. When he gave a grunt of assent, she rubbed a hand over her midsection. "Yes. Usually first thing in the morning when I wake up and at night around the time I go to bed. I guess because I fell asleep so early, it was just waiting on me to roll over to make an appearance."
"Is it usually as bad as tonight?"
"Pretty much." She scrunched her face. "Plus throw in the fact that I hate throwing up-always have since I was little. The doctor said it should pass after the first trimester, but as of Friday I'm officially in my second, and it shows no sign of letting up."
A beat of silence passed. Then he spoke again, almost grudgingly.
"My older sister was sick the entire time."
She groaned, holding a hand up to him, palm out. "Please don't tell me that," she pleaded.
The corner of his mouth lifted in a faint half smile. "Anything you crave or can't stand the smell of yet? My other sister couldn't stand the smell of chicken. Fried, baked, boiled-it sent her running to the bathroom. It was hell, because for the duration of her pregnancy our family dinners were confined to pork chops, pot roast, or meat loaf. Which is cool at first, but after six months of the same thing week after week, it gets old real quick. The week after she had my nephew, we all celebrated with a mountain of fried chicken."
She chuckled softly, entertained and charmed by this unexpected glimpse into his life, especially his family life. His sounded close. She couldn't imagine her father sacrificing anything, even something as small as a favorite food, for her. Ethan Granger II demanded and received what he wanted, when he wanted, and everyone else-his wife, daughter, son, employees-served him. Not the other way around.
With a subdued sigh, she sipped her tea. What would it be like to have a boisterous family dinner filled with laughter, teasing, and … love? She'd never had it, had never known it. But maybe her baby would. She would make sure she-or he-would.
"I haven't had an increase in appetite or craving yet. It's only been two weeks since I realized the drowsiness and queasiness might be something more than the stress of the past few months. I think you could call me oblivious." Between Gavin's death, being questioned, accused, and ultimately cleared by the police, and the letters, she'd relegated the lethargy and nausea to stress. Her period had never been regular, so a couple of months had flown by before she realized something might not be right. Two weeks ago, the regular, relentless occurrence of the weariness and vomiting had planted suspicions in her head. And a week later she'd confirmed it-fifteen weeks pregnant. Now seventeen.
"Two weeks?" He straightened, then leaned forward, bracing his arms on his thighs. He studied her for several silent moments. His steady gaze gave away nothing of his thoughts. "Why didn't you call me or come by the office then? Why wait?"
She inhaled. Held the breath. How to explain that she was afraid? Afraid he wouldn't want to see her again. Afraid he would reject her. Afraid he would take one look at her in the bright light of day and wonder what the hell he'd been thinking to be with her. Especially since she was bringing news of an unexpected pregnancy along with her.
Well, part of her fear had come to fruition. He hadn't kicked her to the curb or told her to get the hell out of his office-on the contrary, he'd insisted on protecting her. But he had rejected their child. And though logically, she couldn't blame him for having doubts, emotionally his disbelief was like a knife slicing thin cuts into her heart every time it came up.
"It took me a week before I came out of denial and visited the doctor. I'd always planned on telling you; I just had to deal with it myself. The car vandalism and the doll just pushed the timetable forward."
He didn't say anything, just studied her with an inscrutable regard that she evaded by sipping from the cup of tea. By the time she finished, her stomach muscles were relaxed.
"When is your next doctor's appointment?"
She glanced at him, and almost as if he waited for her to look at him again, she became ensnared by the navy blue of his gaze. Like tumbling into a dark pool headfirst, but instead of swimming toward the surface, she wanted to sink, to drown. The intensity of the need forced her to jerk her eyes away.
"I was supposed to have one this morning, but I have to call tomorrow and reschedule it," she murmured.
"Good." He stood, stretched, and she snapped her attention to the coffee table, the dormant fireplace, the dark wall of glass-anything, anywhere but him. With the wild vibrancy of the tattoos stretching up from his wrists, over his tautly muscled arms and shoulders, he should've seemed garish, over-the-top, crude. Instead he was … beautiful. Like a walking, breathing piece of art. Her fingers itched to draw the swirls and geometric shapes, to re-create them on her sketch pad. God, she could stare at him for hours.
So she kept her gaze trained on the wood grain of the table in front of her.
"Let me know the date and time you set the appointment for. If the morning sickness is still bad, we can ask the doctor if he can prescribe something for it since you're in the second trimester." He lifted her cup.
She stared at him. "We?" she asked. Her heart thumped in her chest. "You want to go to the doctor's office with me even though you're not … "
He slowly straightened. His face could've been carved from the granite that paved his sidewalk. "I meant what I said about protecting you and the baby. That includes escorting you to the doctor's or wherever you need to go until we catch this bastard."
"Of course," she murmured. Stupid. Stupid to hope. Loneliness yawned wide and empty under her feet, and she plummeted into the black chasm. For a few brief moments in the bathroom, he'd beaten the darkness back. But she should've known better than to cling to the momentary display of gentleness and affection. He'd made it clear he didn't believe her-didn't want her or the baby. He was a protector; defending people was his business, and she was a client. Better she keep that reminder and the image of his inscrutable, distant expression uppermost in her mind.
Then when the time arrived for her to walk away, she wouldn't leave shards of her heart behind.
Chapter Ten
Raphael stared at the computer monitor, not seeing the report regarding the deficiencies in a client's security system that needed to be emailed to Chay in a few hours in time for a meeting. Instead, he kept envisioning Greer's hurt, shut-down expression from the evening before. Kept hearing her subdued "of course." He drummed his fingers on top of his desk.
"Shit," he grumbled and wheeled his office chair around. Even the sight of the small woods that surrounded his house couldn't alleviate the dark mood plaguing him and making work an impossibility. Maybe bringing her home and installing her so close hadn't been such a bright idea. He'd like to blame his dick-all this trouble could be traced back to it anyway. But it hadn't been his johnson insisting on guarding her 24-7. If the deal had included fucking, then yeah. But this purely platonic setup? Nope, the decision had been him and the damn side of him he'd believed permanently eradicated by a lying bitch seven years earlier.