One-Night Pregnancy (9 page)

From a couple of remarks he’d let fall she knew Adam was getting more and more impatient about setting a wedding date. In fact, indirectly, they would have their first serious falling-out over it…

He rang her one morning and invited her to a dinner that night…

‘What kind of dinner?’

‘Formal, black tie,’ he said down the line, and named a five-star restaurant she’d heard of but never been to, which happened to be in the hotel where he was staying. ‘It’s a business dinner, and most of the other guests will be Korean. I’m working with a Korean consortium at the moment on a construction project.’

‘That doesn’t give me a lot of time,’ she said slowly.

‘Doing anything else today?’

She bit her lip. ‘No. When you say formal, do you mean long dress?’

‘Yes. Is that a problem?’

Bridget came to the decision that she wouldn’t be bested by a wardrobe deficiency. ‘Not at all.’

‘That’s my girl. Look, if I don’t get there myself, Trent will pick you up at seven and deliver you to me. See you!’ And he rang off.

So, she thought, that’s how high-flying businessmen do things. I wonder who he would have taken if it wasn’t
me? I wonder if it’s some kind of test to see how I stack up against his high-flying business associates?

She stopped as this thought crossed her mind, and shortly took herself shopping.

It was Trent who was standing outside her door when the bell rang at seven, and he did the most gratifying double-take.

‘Oh, do forgive me, Miss Tully-Smith,’ he said ruefully, ‘but you look absolutely stunning!’

Bridget looked down at herself. Rather than an evening dress, she wore fitted slim-line ivory taffeta pants, very high latest-fashion silver shoes and a silver spangled loose top over an ivory camisole. Her coppery hair was styled and bouffant, her nails were painted to match her glossy lips—she’d toyed with the idea of black nail varnish but decided against it—and the only jewellery she wore was her engagement ring. Her eyes were a clear, sparkling green.

‘Thank you, Trent,’ she said. ‘But will it be appropriate, do you think? I wasn’t quite sure.’

‘Ma’am, you’ll blow them away,’ Trent assured her.

It was a view Adam seemed to share when she arrived at his suite. He was wearing black trousers, a white dress shirt and an undone black bow tie, and his dinner jacket was hanging over the back of a chair. His dark hair was tamed and tidy.

He put the phone down as she came in, and whistled softly.

‘Oh, thank you!’ She beamed at him. ‘Every dress I tried on seemed to make me look—portly.’

His eyebrows shot up. ‘Portly?’

She nodded gravely. ‘I can’t see any difference in my figure, but there must be some because that’s how they made me feel.’

‘I could give you my considered opinion,’ he offered, ‘but that would involve a minute inspection—and, of course, undressing you.’

A tide of pink rose into Bridget’s cheeks as his blue gaze wandered up and down her. ‘Er—thank you, but I don’t think I’ll…need that.’

He glanced at his watch. ‘We have half an hour.’

Her colour deepened. ‘You’re not serious?’

‘I couldn’t think of anything I’d rather do at this moment in time.’

Their gazes clashed, and Bridget was assailed by a vivid image of his hands on her body as he undressed her item by item; by a breathtaking image of the tall, lean length of him also unclothed and intent on reducing her to a quivering state of desire. Not playfully, as he sometimes did it, but silently, and with all the erotic force he could bring to it.

‘Adam…’ She took a shaky little breath. ‘If you mean what I think you mean, that—that—’ she looked down at herself and gestured eloquently with both hands ‘—that would
wreck
me!’

There was a suspended moment when she felt she might almost cut the tide of suspense laced with longing that flowed between.

Then he grinned wickedly and held out his hand. ‘Come here.’

She went reluctantly, unsure of what to expect.

‘May I make a date to…if not wreck you, definitely undress you and make love to you after this dinner, Mrs Smith?’

She laughed in relief and leant against him. ‘You may, Mr Beaumont.’

The dinner was a success.

Bridget held her own amongst the fifty or so guests, and was much complimented on her appearance—often in broken English, but the sentiments were obviously genuine. Any surprise that Adam Beaumont had acquired a fiancée was well hidden, but many of the guests were only business acquaintances and came from the other side of the world anyway. They might not even have understood the situation.

When they returned to his suite she was happy with the way things had gone, and a little surprised to realise how nervous she’d been about this event.

He poured himself a nightcap, and she had a cup of black tea and then yawned prodigiously. ‘I should think about going home.’

He looked at her askance. ‘What’s wrong with staying here?’

She hesitated. ‘I don’t think I’d feel right about that.’

‘Bridget.’ He put his glass down and pulled off his bow tie. ‘We are engaged.’

‘I know, but—well, I didn’t bring anything with me.’

‘What does that matter? There are enough toiletries, shampoos, robes, and heaven knows what here for six people, let alone two.’

Bridget mulled over this. ‘But you see,’ she said at last, ‘I would have to go home tomorrow wearing this.’ She looked down at herself, at her spangled evening top, taffeta pants and high-heeled shoes. ‘That would look—funny.’

‘Nonsense. No one would give two hoots.’

She tilted her chin at him. ‘I would.’

His lips twitched, then a tinge of impatience came to his eyes. ‘You could get into the lift and go straight down to the car park.’

‘Who knows who else could get into the lift?’

His nostrils flared as he took an irritated breath.

‘Then I could send out for some clothes for you tomorrow morning.’

‘Send who? Trent? No, thank you.’

He made a gruff little sound in his throat. ‘Bridget, if you’d agree to move in with me—come to that, if you’d stop fluffing around and marry me—none of this would happen. Besides which, you promised.’ He looked her up and down significantly.

She turned pink. ‘You could come home with me,’ she suggested.

‘It is one o’clock in the morning. We’re halfway across town.’ He looked at her derisively.

Bridget rose and picked up her silver-beaded purse. ‘Then I’ll go alone. Incidentally, I’m not
fluffing
around, and I’m not even that sure that I
will
marry you, Adam!’

And she marched towards the door.

He caught her before she reached it, and detained her with his hands around her waist. ‘I had no idea you were such a puritan,’ he murmured. ‘Although I should have known you had a temper.’

‘Not only that,’ she responded, her eyes flashing, ‘but I’ve lost the mood—so please let me go.’

‘I haven’t. Lost the mood,’ he elucidated. ‘But here’s a suggestion. What say that tomorrow morning I call down to the boutique in the foyer and get them to send up a selection of clothes for you? They don’t even need to see you—you can leave here dressed as you see fit. I really don’t understand what difference it makes, leaving in daytime clothes, but since it’s so dear to your heart—’

He stopped and caught her wrist as she went to slap his face.

‘Don’t, Bridget,’ he warned, on a cool, dangerous note.

‘I’ll tell you what difference it makes,’ she said through her teeth. ‘I wouldn’t look so highly conspicuous. I wouldn’t look like some good-time girl after a one-night stand. I’d look ordinary and un-noteworthy.’

He shrugged. ‘Then we’re agreed on this course of action?’

‘Yes. No! I
really
don’t like you for not understanding, and—’

But he pulled her into his arms and started to kiss her. She fought him briefly but it was a losing battle, especially when he lifted his head briefly to say, ‘I’m sorry. I should have understood. I will try to be more understanding in the future.’

Despite the little glint of sheer devilry in his eyes, she felt herself melting…

‘Was I silly?’

Bridget asked the question about an hour later, when she was lying beside him on the bed in a pool of golden lamplight, having been exquisitely made love to.

‘Don’t answer,’ she went on, and smoothed her fingers through his hair. ‘I’m talking to myself. I’m just trying to judge how legitimate my reaction was. In light of the fact that I will
still
be leaving here tomorrow morning—this morning—having spent the night with you.’

He kissed the bare curve of her shoulder. ‘I wouldn’t worry about it.’

‘But I do. I mean, I like to have things clear in my own mind. It just…’ She paused and thought for a moment. ‘It just occurred to me that it could be really embarrassing—especially if I met anyone I know.’

‘I can see that. Now,’ he said gravely.

‘Is it going to be any less embarrassing wearing jeans and a jumper, though?’ she mused.

‘Bridget.’ He sat up, and couldn’t go on for a moment because he was laughing. Then, ‘If we make it a respectable time of the day, if you hold on to the thought that we
are
engaged, it should be a breeze. And I agree with you—you would have looked rather conspicuous in evening dress. Happy now?’

She snuggled up to him. ‘Yes.’

‘Now, I still have something to do—an inspection to
make,’ he reminded her. ‘Although you don’t feel at all portly to me.’

She bore his ‘inspection’ with equanimity at first. But when he announced that there was only one change he could see, and his fingers stilled on her nipples, she had to draw several breaths to maintain her composure.

‘These are different,’ he said, stroking and plucking. ‘Darker. But it’s a very fine difference.’

‘It’s a very short time. Out of nine months, I mean,’ she said with an effort.

‘Still, time marches on,’ he murmured, and she held her breath this time, quite sure he was going to make some remark about them getting married.

He didn’t. He drew her close to him and kissed the top of her head, and started to make love to her again. She responded to the warmth and security of his arms and his body, to the pleasure he brought her, with a warmth and a bestowing of pleasure of her own. And she wondered, at the same time, why she didn’t just marry him as soon as he wanted?

It is the one thing I can hold out about, she answered herself. It is the one thing—even although I’ve agreed to it—I can choose to do when I feel ready. And I know I don’t want to keel over like a pack of cards over everything.

The next few days seemed to fly by.

They ate out a lot—once even going up to Mount Tamborine for lunch, in a fabulous garden restaurant. He also took her, wearing a hard hat and a fluorescent green
overshirt, up one of his buildings in progress, via the outside construction lift. She gasped at the view from the top, and stopped to think about how highly successful he was.

She hadn’t reversed her decision to not move into his hotel—another small holding-out against Adam Beaumont—so he’d moved some of his clothes and gear to her flat, although he still occasionally spent the night at his hotel.

When he did stay with her she discovered that he never went to bed before midnight, yet was always up by six. And he always went for a body surf or, if there was no surf, swam or jogged. And if she thought he was beautiful dressed in a tailored suit, he was even more so when he came back from those early-morning excursions, with his hair all ruffled, his jaw blue with stubble and his body cold and fresh.

‘That’s my axeman,’ she said to him one morning, when he sat down on the side of the bed and pulled her into his arms hungrily.

‘That’s my essential Mrs Smith,’ he replied. ‘Not soaked to the skin, but with no make up, et cetera, and quite
au naturel
.’

One morning he came home with a dog.

‘What’s this?’ she enquired, as the woolly, curly, cream and quite large dog followed him into the flat and sat down composedly.

‘This is Rupert, according to his collar, although there’s no other information. I found him on the beach,
alone and possibly lost. I have not been able to detach him from my side since then.’

‘But—well—’ Bridget started to laugh. ‘What are you going to do with him?’

‘I was hoping you would offer to ring up the RSPCA and ask them to come and deal with him. He could be micro-chipped. Unfortunately—’ he consulted his watch ‘—I’m running really late for a meeting now, so I won’t be able to be of much assistance.’

Rupert had other ideas, however. He positioned himself outside the bathroom door while Adam showered, and Bridget tried to get hold of the RSPCA. But it was too early for them except in cases of dire emergency, as she told Adam.

He knotted his tie and scooped his keys into his pocket. ‘This could be an emergency,’ he said. ‘Would you be a darling and look after him until they can take over?’

Bridget eyed the dog, now sitting at Adam’s feet. ‘Yes, if he agrees.’

‘He’s only a dog.’

‘I know, but I just have a feeling he’s attached himself to you.’

In the event, Rupert had. Because when Adam left he sat beside the front door and emitted ear-piercing yowls of complete devastation.

Adam came back in.

‘What are we going to do?’ Bridget asked helplessly. ‘The neighbours…Anyway, I don’t think you’re allowed to have dogs in this building.’

Adam shrugged. ‘I’ll take him with me. Trent can look after him and sort things out.’

They left together, Adam and the dog, and Bridget was struck by a fit of giggles as she watched from the window as Adam loaded the dog into the passenger seat of his shiny BMW. Rupert accepted his status as number one passenger with aplomb and sat upright, staring ahead.

She was subject to similar fits of laughter on and off for the rest of the day. And never more so than when they returned, together, at about five o’clock.

‘What’s this?’ she asked, as another gust of laughter shook her.

Adam glanced at the dog. ‘Well may you ask—and it’s no laughing matter. He tried to bite Trent, and he refused to have anything to do with the RSPCA. I drew the line at a containment net and a tranquilising dart.’