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“Then it’s my job to cheer you up!” She smiled, flashing dimples, and reached for his hand.

This and chaste kisses. In the last month, he’d managed no more contact with her than that. How could he get through a wedding night when he couldn’t imagine ever having sex with her? Worse, what would he do when the need he still felt for Alyssa clawed through his skin, demanding something only she could give? Would his resolve to leave her in peace waver then? Would he disregard his marriage vows? Or would he endure in silence until he grew to resent Emily?

“You don’t have to.” He gathered his utensils, notebook, and pens, then took a long time arranging them in his backpack—giving himself more time to school his features and erase his hunger for Alyssa.

“Luc.” She touched his shoulder. “I wanted to wait until we were alone, but . . . You haven’t been the same since you returned from Louisiana. I didn’t want to push, but—”

“Then don’t,” he said quietly. “There’s nothing you can do.”

The perpetual smile finally slipped from her face. “I’m a good listener.”

“I know you are, Emily. I have to work this out alone.”

“If you’re no longer interested in me and the sort of future we discussed, just tell me.”

He closed his eyes. Cling to the past or force out the lie?

“Luc.”

He heard another female call his name, this one farther away. But her familiar voice zipped across his senses like an electric charge through his body, spreading chills across his skin. Had he missed her so much he’d dreamed her?

He whirled around, hope spiking inside him. And across the room
she
stood.

“Alyssa?” Shock sucker-punched him. Luc nearly couldn’t breathe.

The last time he’d seen her, she’d thrown him out of her club. Out of her life. Why was she here now? Was she okay? Had she missed him, even a bit?

He drank in the sight of her. Despite six weeks passing, Alyssa still took his breath away as she cautiously drew closer. She’d fastened half of her long platinum hair at her nape and let the remaining strands trail down, stopping low on her back. Worn jeans clung to her small figure, looser than he remembered. Somehow the black stilettos made her look more fragile. She wore a tight Sexy Sirens T-shirt with red lettering that invited
Come Live Your Fantasy
right across her breasts. She wore almost no makeup. Even so, her eyes were hauntingly blue. And she looked exhausted.

When she stood a few feet away, Alyssa glanced at Emily, then looked back at him. “Your girlfriend?”

“Yes,” Emily answered quickly.

With a raised brow, Alyssa sent him a cold stare. “I’ll contact you at a better time.”

She turned and walked out the archway, into the main space of the department store. Luc didn’t think twice. He dodged around the demonstration table and charged after her.

Just before his approach, she whirled to him, frustration all over her face. Luc stopped in his tracks. He wanted to touch her so badly . . . but she’d told him never to touch her again. Even now, her expression warned him away.

“Don’t leave.” He heard the pleading in his voice.

God, he’d missed her so much. He’d say anything—do anything—just to spend five more minutes with her. In that moment, Luc feared he knew why.

He’d fallen in love.

She cut a glance over to Emily across the room. Luc didn’t have to look at the other woman to feel her confusion and hurt. Some foolish side of him rejoiced. Emily must be seeing where his heart was. So much easier than sitting her down over a civilized dinner to crush her picket fence.

“Your girlfriend doesn’t want me here,” Alyssa pointed out

“
I
want you here. Don’t go.” He fastened a desperate gaze on her and willed her to understand.

“Is there someplace we can talk? I won’t take up too much of your time.”

“Take all you want.”

Alyssa bit that lush lower lip, then looked up at him through the veil of her dark lashes. It was a nervous gesture—sexy as hell. But he worried . . . She looked thinner, paler, more vulnerable.

“Are you all right?” He barely stopped himself from wrapping a light hand around her shoulder.

She bit her lip harder. “Not here.”

Someplace private. Right
. “Wait just a moment.”

Luc jogged back to the demonstration room, trying to think of something to say to Emily. He came up blank. “I have to go.”

“What about your birthday dinner?” she screeched.

What about it?
He opened his mouth, but no words came out. Finally, he shook his head.

Emily examined his face with intelligent hazel eyes. “She’s what happened to you in Louisiana.”

Perceptive
. He sucked in a breath and took the plunge. “Yes.”

The woman glanced over at Alyssa. “She’s incredibly beautiful.”

“Inside and out.”

“I never stood a chance.” Emily tried to cover her shock and disappointment with a tight smile, but she choked on her words.

Damn, lately it seemed that he hurt people wherever he went, but he had to start being honest with Emily. It was unkind of him to continue this charade with her. He would not make her a good husband. And though Luc didn’t know why Alyssa was here, it didn’t matter. If she was entering his life again, even for a moment, as long as he had the possibility of being with her, he would grab it with both hands. Maybe the hot flame of their passion would burn out, but he didn’t think so. Either way, they weren’t done. If she let him in her life again and came to trust him, he’d tell her about his sterility—and let the chips fall.

“You love her,” Emily said softly.

It wasn’t a question, and Luc refused to insult her with a lie. “Yes.”

Her face crumpled. “You’re not going to call me again, are you?”

Luc took her hands in his. “Would you really want me to?”

Sighing as a fat tear rolled down her face, she shook her head and pulled her hands free. “I know it’s best if you don’t. For what it’s worth . . . I liked you very much.”

Damn, he felt like such a prick. “You’re a wonderful woman, and someday, someone will make you very happy because he loves
you
, not the idea of you.”

He bent and kissed her cheek. Then with a tight nod, she raced out of the little room, spearing Alyssa with a glance as she exited the department store and out to the crisp autumn afternoon.

The moment she was gone, Luc returned to Alyssa’s side. She stepped back as he approached, looking distressed.

“I didn’t hear anything she said except . . . it’s your birthday?”

Luc smiled encouragingly. “Having you here is a gift I didn’t expect.”

“I ruined your evening.”

No, she’d saved it. “Not at all. Let’s grab a bite, and we can talk.”

Luc expected her to refuse. Alyssa hesitated, then sent him a nervous nod.

Pleasantly surprised at her agreement, he led her to his waiting car, a new Jaguar he’d purchased after signing the cable TV agreement two weeks ago.

As they approached the vehicle, a photographer race-walked across the sidewalk to reach him, camera flashing. Luc tried to shield Alyssa with his body, thankful that she’d donned sunglasses that hid half her face.

“Emily Adams left alone in tears. Is this your new girlfriend?” the photographer shouted, snapping pictures all the while.

Ouch!
“No comment. Please stop.”

As they neared the car, the photographer followed, and Luc cursed and ran, urging Alyssa along.

“I should follow you so you don’t have to drive me back here . . . after,” she suggested, keeping pace with him.

“I don’t mind,” he insisted.

She sent him a brittle smile. “You will.”

What did that mean? Had Peter started misbehaving now that he was out on bail and awaiting his trial? Jack hadn’t said a word, damn it! He’d talked to Deke’s business partner nearly every day.

“If we want to make a quick exit, it would be best if you just hopped in the car,” he pressed, unlocking it with his key fob.

“I insist.”

Stubborn to a fault. “Okay . . . Two blocks east there’s a quiet little Italian place. I don’t think the photographer will follow us there if we’re quick.”

“They hound you like that a lot now?”

He winced. “Just since I started doing the talk shows. I keep hoping they’ll go away. Does Italian sound good?”

“Sure.” The word itself was enthusiastic, but the tone was very
whatever
.

Luc gnashed his teeth. The suspense was killing him. Now he added worry to the mix. Something was definitely wrong here.

After she agreed to follow him to the restaurant, he waited for her to pull around. The photographer ran after him until he couldn’t jog fast enough to chase their cars anymore.

The drive to Georgio’s was the longest five minutes of Luc’s life. Why did Alyssa assume that he would mind being with her after dinner? What the hell was going on? Why did she look so thin and tired? Was Bonheur weighing on her? Had she come to him for advice?

Finally, he pulled into a parking spot in the restaurant’s lot. The one beside him was empty, but she parked farther down the row. Damn. If Alyssa wanted distance between them, why was she here?

She remained silent until they were seated in a quiet corner. It was early on Saturday afternoon, long past the lunch rush, but well before dinner.

“How is Bonheur?” he asked, hoping to entice her to lift her nose out of the menu and talk to him.

“Fine. I was pleased with the first month’s tally. This month is looking even better. Thank you for your help.”

Luc smiled for her, though the mystery of her visit chafed at him. “The hard work was yours. I just provided a little name recognition opening week.”

“And then some. I saw you on
Ellen
last week.”

He winced. “Still getting used to the TV thing.”

“You did well.”

“Thanks. The network has arranged a lot of these appearances. They want maximum exposure before the show actually launches in January.”

The waiter came by and took their drink orders. He ordered a cabernet sauvignon. She asked for water and refused a cocktail. He frowned, and asked the waiter to return later for their dinner selections.

“Let’s order now.”

This instant?
Was she hungry . . . or just didn’t want to be in the same room with him any longer than necessary?

Of course the latter. You treated her like a whore
.

Reluctantly, Luc agreed, and they placed their orders. The waiter finally left them alone.

Luc turned to Alyssa, willing her to say something. He wanted to touch her so badly, but not against her wishes. He owed her at least that much. She sat in silence for long moments, fidgeting nervously.

“Is this about Peter?” he prompted gently. “Jack told me he didn’t rape you. I know he’s free and awaiting trial. The DA has a solid assault and attempted rape charge.”

She nodded. “Peter still insists he didn’t write the notes. I don’t think we’ll ever know the truth. But that’s not why I’m here.”

He leaned forward, getting a closer view of just how pale and shaky she was. His worry deepened. “What is it? You can tell me anything.”

“Hell of a birthday present . . .” Her eyes closed. Her face tightened as she pressed her lips together, as if looking for strength. Then she stared at him with the deepest regret. “I’m pregnant.”

Luc recoiled, blinked, stared. “Pregnant?”

Why tell him? Was she trying to claim the baby was . . . his?

“Are you sure?”

Slowly, she nodded. “I missed my period a few weeks ago and thought maybe it was stress. But days went on, and I noticed changes in my body.”

“Like?” He barked the question at her. Maybe she’d made a mistake.

Even if she hadn’t, this child wasn’t his.

After a horrific teenage illness with a decimating fever, Luc had learned from his doctors that he’d been left with a very low sperm count that made the likelihood of him impregnating someone statistically insignificant. He’d been seventeen then, and his reaction to the news had been mixed, a vague sadness with a whooping cheer that he and his girlfriend of the moment would never have an “oops.”

The green light to sex in his late teens and early twenties had given way eventually. He’d returned to his doctor to have a physical for insurance purposes at twenty-seven, and he’d asked to be tested again. Despite having been involved in ménages with Deke for a few years, he’d begun wondering if, maybe, he could find the right woman and have a family of his own. His doctor had quickly squashed that possibility. Luc had even taken a prescription drug, clomiphene citrate, for a few months to see if his sperm count might improve. Further testing revealed his chances of fathering children were slightly better . . . but still virtually impossible.

He hadn’t been tested since. Why bother repeating something so humiliating? So devastating?

But Alyssa either thought the child was his or wanted him to believe so. He drummed his fingers against the table, a surge of jealous anger jolting him. Without knowing Luc’s secret, she probably thought there was a fifty/fifty chance he had fathered her child. But apparently, that honor was Tyler’s. So why track Luc down in Texas to give him the news, rather than name her bouncer the expectant father? Because he’d been on
Ellen
? Because he’d signed a sweet cable deal? That didn’t sound like stubbornly independent Alyssa, but he couldn’t think of another reason.

Damn her! As lies went, this one hurt so bad, his insides were about to implode. The pain of her rejection six weeks ago had hurt like hell, and she was paying him back in spades.

“My . . . breasts became tender,” she continued into the silence. “I—I felt like I had the flu. All of a sudden, I couldn’t eat spicy foods. I was—am—tired a lot. I saw my doctor yesterday. I’m pregnant.”