Claimed: The Pregnant Heiress (7 page)

Emma shook hands and smiled in return, taking a seat across from the reporter. “You should see me when I'm wearing my tiara and practicing my Sleeping Beauty pose. You'd really be impressed then.”

Gillian chuckled. “Actually, my sources tell me that you spend a lot of your spare time working down at the local women's shelter. Have a soft spot for battered women and children, do you?”

Emma hesitated. It took every ounce of self-possession to keep herself from launching into an impassioned commentary on her charity work. Instead, she limited herself to a simple “Yes.”

For an instant a look of concern flashed across Gillian's face. “I hope to God it's not from personal experience,” she said gently.

Emma took a moment to gather up the bits and pieces of her self-possession. Too bad Chase had left it in tatters. “Fortunately not.”

“That's a relief.” Gillian signaled the waitress. “What would you like for lunch?”

“A menu might be a nice start.”

Gillian grinned, totally transforming her appearance, deepening the natural warmth and friendliness. “Let me guess.
I suppose you're going to want a drink, too.” She released a gusty sigh. “Some people…”

“…are never satisfied.” Emma returned Gillian's smile. “You're right. If you want to get to know me better, I won't settle for anything less than a full glass of iced tea. And maybe even a refill.”

The next half hour flew by and Emma discovered that she sincerely liked Gillian Mitchell. The reporter was sharp, yet kind. And she totally opened up when discussing her two-year-old son, Ethan, and the challenges facing a single mother. They were challenges Emma took to heart since she'd soon be facing the same ones.

“That's why I'm such a huge proponent of It's Time, the local women's shelter,” Emma confessed. “Not only does it give women, especially single mothers, a place to go, but it offers them the opportunity to get back on their feet and provide for their families. It gives them back their dignity.”

“Exactly,” Gillian agreed.

The waitress came, cleared away their luncheon dishes and topped off their drinks. Emma was suddenly aware that they'd spent the entire lunch discussing issues of interest, which she doubted had anything to do with the reason for Gillian's luncheon invitation. “So, why am I really here? I doubt it's to discuss It's Time, although I think the women's shelter would make a great article for the local paper.”

“Yes, it would and I promise it's one I'll write. But, no, that's not why I invited you to lunch.” Gillian took a deep breath. “I'd like to ask some questions about the sale of Worth Industries to Rafe Cameron.”

“On or off the record?”

Gillian pulled out a notepad and pen. “On.”

Emma took a moment to consider. Maybe if this meeting hadn't come on the heels of her discussion at Busted Bluff with Chase, she'd have blown off Gillian. But she had concerns about the sale. The whole town did. And maybe if those concerns
were raised in the
Seaside Gazette,
Rafe and her father would be forced to address them.

“Okay,” Emma said. “Let's start with item one, since it's the most important in my opinion. The status of our employees after the sale goes through…”

T
wo days later, Chase punched a button on his BlackBerry and waited for his brother to answer his phone. “We need to talk,” he stated abruptly. “Can you meet me at the condo I'm renting in say—” he checked his watch “—twenty minutes.”

“Sure. On my way.”

Rafe arrived just after Chase, sweeping through the gates in the plush white Mercedes-Benz G-Class he used to drive to work each day. Chase knew it was all part of the image his brother had cultivated over the years to prove that he wasn't that wild, troublemaking Cameron thug, as the good folks of Vista del Mar had considered Rafe during his formative years. That along with his astounding wealth had come sophistication and refinement, even if it was still edged with a hint of Bad Boy. Of course, the bad boy came out in Rafe's black Porsche Panamera Turbo which had been tagged more than once tearing up the back roads around town. But since Chase had also been on the bad boy side of Officer Garcia's ticket book, there wasn't much he could say.

“So who is she?” Rafe asked the moment they entered the condo. “And don't act like you don't know who I'm talking about. A woman answered your cell the other day. Who was it?”

“Emma Worth.”

“Son of a bitch, Larson.” Rafe spun around and gave Chase a not-so brotherly shove. “Have you lost your damn mind? You know what she is. And you know what I'm trying to accomplish here. What
we're
trying to accomplish. I don't need any added complications because you can't keep your pistol holstered.”

“She's pregnant with my baby.” Chase hadn't meant to spill the news quite so abruptly. But he wouldn't allow Rafe to say anything that would cause future friction between them.

Unfortunately, Rafe didn't take the hint. He drew himself up to his full six foot one, a Nordic god at his most intimidating. “And you believe her?”

“Yes.” Chase said the word with great care and precision. “I believe her.”

“Then you're a fool. She's nothing more than a high-class whore. She'll screw anything that walks. The only difference between her and your average streetwalker is that she doesn't get paid for it.”

Chase didn't even remember moving, let alone decking his brother. It was the second time since the two men had met that his lightning speed and agility had gotten past his brother's brawn. One minute Rafe stood confronting him and the next he went flying over the back of the couch and slamming into one of the end tables. A lamp crashed to the floor, narrowly missing his head. Chase vaulted over the couch and planted himself above his brother, his hands balled into fists, ready to take Rafe down again if he so much as breathed wrong.

“Let me make this real clear,” Chase bit out. “Clear enough to get through that fog of vengeance you've been living in since your mother died. Emma isn't part of this. She's pregnant with my child and I intend to marry her. You got that?”

Rafe stared up at him, his light blue eyes simmering. “I got it. If I stand up will you knock me down again?”

“Only if you call Emma a whore again. You do that and I'll knock your ass straight through the glass slider and halfway to Hawaii.”

Rafe waggled his jaw back and forth experimentally. Relieved it still worked, he said, “Fine, fine. Since you put me down here, help me up.” Chase took the hand his brother held up and hauled Rafe to his feet. “You haven't hit me since our parents got engaged.”

“Haven't needed to. But as I recall, you ran your mouth about my mother on that particular occasion. Didn't think she was good enough for your precious father.”

Rafe rolled some of the tension from his shoulders. “You have a real complex when it comes to women, you know that?”

“You're a fine one to talk. Or do I need to mention your mother, Hannah?”

Temper flared anew in Rafe's expression. “Better not or I won't be the only one going out that plate glass door. And I guarantee if I hit you, you'll end up a hell of a lot farther than Hawaii.”

“I gather we understand each other.”

Rafe reluctantly nodded. “Yeah, we understand each other.” He shot Chase a speculative look. “Is it that serious between you?”

“I'm not sure yet.” He crossed to the kitchen and jerked open the refrigerator door. Snagging a couple of long-necks, he tossed one to Rafe, followed by a bottle opener. “We're still circling each other, discussing our options.”

“Huh.” Rafe popped the cap and took a long swallow. “Maybe we can use this.”

“Aw, hell.”

Rafe waved the bottle in Chase's direction. “No, no. Hear me out. I think this could work. Worth has more pride than common sense. If you hold off on the marriage proposal, we can use that as a chip in our negotiations.”

“Have you lost your damn mind? I mean, seriously.”

“Think about it,” Rafe urged. “He's already making noises about protecting the local workforce. I can't have him put something like that in the contract. Not if I'm going to gut Worth Industries. We tell him you're willing to legitimize his grandbaby in exchange for excluding that clause from the sale and I'll bet he doesn't even blink. Bye-bye, clause.”

Chase tipped back his head and took a long, slow drink, hoping the beer would chill his irritation. From the moment he opened the doors of Larson Investments, he'd always prided himself on the quality of the deals he'd helped put together. Until now. This Worth deal felt vaguely sordid. Okay, definitely sordid. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before once again dropping another option onto the table, hoping this time Rafe would listen to reason.

“Or,” Chase suggested, “you can realize that Worth Industries is a valuable commodity and instead of the scorch-and-burn vendetta you have going, you can update the company and make it even more profitable than it is now, something Worth is too old-fashioned to pull off. You still take him down a notch by proving you're the better businessman.”

Rafe's gaze turned bitterly cold. “Worth fired my parents because they had the unmitigated gall to fall in love. Mom was pregnant with me at the time. Helpless. You know how broke we were over the years, how we could barely scrape enough money together to put food on the table. And when Mom was diagnosed with COPD, there wasn't any insurance to pay for her treatment. Dad went to Worth, begged for his help. And he turned his back on us.” Rafe heaved his bottle toward the trash. It hit its mark with a crash. “He let my mother die by inches when all along he knew that damned factory was responsible for her illness.”

Chase had heard the story. Had heard Rafe describe those months in hideous detail. “Tearing apart the factory won't bring her back. But it will hurt a lot more people than just Ronald Worth.”

Rafe's jaw assumed a stubborn slant. “I don't care. They all turned their backs on us. It's time they know how it feels.” He regarded his brother for a long moment, frustration eating at him. “Okay, Chase. I'll give you Emma. Protect her from what's about to happen if you can. But Worth is going down. And so is the rest of Vista del Mar, even if I have to pull it apart with my bare hands.”

“For God's sake—”

“Enough,” Rafe interrupted him. “Listen to me, Chase, because I'm dead serious here. I've been hearing rumors about your pregnant heiress. She's not happy about this sale and she doesn't hesitate to say so. I won't have her causing any trouble. Either you rein her in or I will.”

“Rein her in?” Chase snorted. “You have met Emma, right?”

A brief smile touched Rafe's mouth before vanishing again. “I suggest you find a way to control your woman. And soon.”

The front door closed behind Rafe. Chase set his empty bottle on the counter with exquisite care. Hell. He'd spent most of his life learning how to dance through minefields. But this… What a mess.

Exhaustion settled over him like a blanket and he scrubbed his face while he considered his options. He could practically hear the clock ticking, narrowing those options with each passing minute. In fact, he could come up with exactly one that would protect Emma, and that was with his name. Somehow, he needed to convince his pregnant heiress, as Rafe had described her, to marry him. It was his best shot at removing her from the playing field. To keep her from becoming a pawn in this hideous game. And there was only one way to convince her to marry him.

The time had come to seduce Emma into compliance.

 

After the way they'd last parted two days ago, Emma couldn't believe that Chase managed to persuade her to join him for dinner with such ease. But he had. Sometime between
the start of the phone conversation and the end, he'd convinced her that they should talk again and that the perfect venue for that conversation was Jacques', one of the most exclusive restaurants in Vista del Mar.

The instant she heard Chase pull up, she grabbed her wrap and headed downstairs. Even so, by the time she reached the foyer, he'd already been escorted into her father's study, where the two men spoke in low voices. It didn't occur to her until just then that she hadn't warned Chase not to mention her pregnancy. If he unwittingly dropped that particular bombshell…

She darted toward the study and flung open the door without knocking. The two men glanced up from a set of blueprints they were examining and eyed her with identical expressions of surprise.

“Oh, there you are,” she offered lamely.

Chase studied her through narrowed eyes, noting the rapid give and take of her breath. “You didn't have to run. Henri will hold the table.”

“But we wouldn't want to annoy Chef Moreau,” she replied. Okay, so judging by her father's expression, the comment sounded totally inane. She smiled brightly at the two men. “Shall we go?”

Ronald gave Chase a proud nudge. “She takes after me. Always on time, that girl. Not one to make you wait around while she changes her dress for the twentieth time or fusses because she didn't get her face drawn on quite straight.”

“Good to know.” Chase and her father shook hands.

To Emma's profound relief, the men didn't waste any further time on idle chitchat. She and Chase exited the room, crossed the three-story foyer of the Spanish-style stucco mansion and exited out the front door to where Chase had parked his car.

The instant they were enclosed in the privacy of his Ferrari, he shot her a grim look. “You haven't told him yet, have you?”

Emma fastened her seat belt, all the while striving for a calm and casual tone. Instead, she managed to hit somewhere
in the vicinity of nervous as hell. “No. And I appreciate your not dropping it on him by mistake during your discussion earlier.”

“He's going to have to know, and soon.”

Emma closed her eyes. “I'm well aware of that fact, Chase. Please trust me to find the right time.”

“I'm not pushing.” He started the car with a muffled roar. “Okay, I am pushing. I'm just concerned that word will get out. This is a small town. People gossip.”

“But I haven't mentioned it. Other than to you, that is.” She swiveled in her seat, allowing a hint of suspicion to show. “Have you told anyone I'm pregnant?”

“You're forgetting Dr. Hastings,” he said, which didn't exactly answer her question.

She waved that aside. “Not a chance. He's my doctor. He's bound by rules of confidentiality.”

“And are the nurses on his staff bound by those same rules? What about the person who performed the ultrasound? Or the office workers? You don't think that they occasionally talk, especially when it's someone as high profile as the Worth Princess?”

She stiffened. She'd been tagged with that name all her life and had learned to turn it aside with a joke the way she had with the Seaside Gazette reporter, Gillian Mitchell, or to ignore it with icy politeness. But with Chase… For some reason it cut deeper to hear him refer to her that way. “Please don't call me that. Not you, Chase.”

He spared her a swift, penetrating glance. “Normally I wouldn't, sweetheart. I don't even think of you that way. I was just making a point.” He reached over and brushed her cheek with the knuckles of his hand, a simple stroke of understanding. “I know you well enough to see how far from the truth it is. In fact, I'm one of the few people who gets it. Who's lived beneath the shadow of an uncomfortable label, just like you.”

Her hands tightened in her lap. Twisted. “I've never under
stood why they can't look at me and see the truth. Even your brother has me pegged as a shallow party girl.”

“Others don't know you as well as I do.” His voice softened, filled with compassion. “They see the outer gloss and think the gloss goes all the way to the bone. They look at me and see a bastard and they don't bother to look any further, either. It's what I am, therefore it must be who I am. You tell me whether being called a princess is better or worse than being called a bastard.”

Emma released a sigh. “I haven't lived through what you have, so you know I can't.” But their child would if she didn't marry Chase, which was undoubtedly his point.

“Exactly. Any more than I can fully understand your life unless you choose to open the door and let me in.”

He stopped at a red light and rested his forearms on the steering wheel. His dark suit blended into the darkness while the slashing line created by his crisp, snow-white cuffs drew attention to his hands. They were powerful hands, capable and long-fingered, gripping the wheel with casual strength. And yet, she'd seen them demonstrate unbelievable gentleness when they'd tripped across her body.

He turned his head to look at her. “You're a Worth, Emma. Add to that the fact that you're pregnant and unmarried. When you put all of those pieces together it creates serious fodder for gossip.” He allowed that to sink in before adding, “You don't want your father hearing about this from anyone other than you.”