Claimed: The Pregnant Heiress (6 page)

He pointed to the far side of the page where Hannah and Bob Cameron were listed. “Hannah is Rafe's mother. When she became pregnant with Rafe, your father fired Hannah and Bob for breaking his no-fraternization rule.”

Emma paled. “That can't be right,” she insisted in a stilted voice. “My father never had such a ridiculous rule. Since practically everyone living in Vista del Mar is employed by Worth Industries, the only way it would work is if everyone in town were celibate.”

“I assure you, it was a rule at that time. Or perhaps the rule only applied to Hannah and Bob for some reason. At this point in the game it hardly matters. It's ancient history.” Chase tapped his pen against their names. “The two left Worth Industries, married and had Rafe. Unfortunately, Hannah died from COPD—chronic obstructive pulmonary disease—the year Rafe turned fifteen. A few years later my mother, Penny, and Rafe's father, Bob, married. I was in my first year of college, Rafe in his senior year of high school. After Rafe graduated, the Camerons, who by then included my mom, all relocated to Los Angeles. Bob and Mom still live there.”

Emma's brows tugged together. “That makes you and Rafe stepbrothers, not real brothers.”

Chase's mouth tightened. “When you introduced me to Ana Rodriguez, you said you were as close as sisters. Is she any less your sister because she isn't related to you by blood?”

“Okay, I get your point, but…” She nibbled at her lower lip. “I don't remember you growing up around here, only Rafe.”

Chase nodded. “That's because I didn't. When I turned ten I moved to New York to live with my father. I was known as Barron's Bastard from that point on.”

“Why did you stay in New York and put up with it?” she asked, appalled. “Why didn't you just move back home with your mother?”

A wintry coldness wrapped around him, filled with dark, painful memories. “Let's just say The Barron made me an offer I couldn't refuse and leave it at that, shall we?”

“But—”

He cut her off. “Which brings us to the issue of the baby. If it's mine, I refuse to have my son or daughter raised a bastard.”

“If,” Emma repeated. She lifted an eyebrow at his sharp glance. “You still have doubts, don't you? Even though you're the one who's hot to get married in order to spare our baby the humiliation of being called Worth's Bastard, some part of you wonders if I'm really pregnant with your child. I mean, isn't that what this is all about?”

“Yes.”

“So let's say we marry…” She stepped behind her Princess Worth facade, making her expression impossible to read. “That means you'll have to trust me when I say that the baby really is yours, because I'm not risking a miscarriage just to give you six-plus months' worth of peace of mind.”

He considered, weighed the odds for several long moments, then nodded. “Fair enough. I'm willing to accept the possibility of error and deal with the consequences if you're mistaken. It's more important to ensure the baby bears my name, even if we later establish that he isn't mine.”

“You're unbelievable, you know that?”

She jerked the car door open and jumped out, slamming it behind her. Wrapping her arms around her waist, she crossed to stand along the edge of the bluff. Chase joined her, pulling her back a few feet from the crumbling sandstone. The beach below was riddled with rocks and pebbles while white-capped waves crashed toward the shoreline. A short way out intrepid surfers in wetsuits looked like seals lounging on their boards, waiting for the perfect wave.

“Look, Emma, I know neither of us wants marriage. But we have to think of what's best for the child. At least let me give him the protection of my name. If you want a divorce after he's born, fine.”

She stiffened within his hold. “You think divorce is better than illegitimacy?”

“In my book, yes.”

She spun around to face him. “Well, not in mine. I've seen firsthand what an unhappy marriage can do to the children of that union. They're the ones who ultimately suffer, and I won't put any child of mine through that sort of trauma.”

“We're not talking about a real marriage, merely a temporary one.”

She lifted her chin in a proud gesture. “I don't need to marry to give my baby legitimacy. The Worth name will protect him or her.”

“The Barron name didn't protect me,” he shot back. “And it carries far more weight than your name does. Nor will I allow people to make snide comments about the bastard having a bastard. That's just not going to happen.”

“And how are you going to stop it?” she demanded. “You can't force me to marry you.”

“Everyone has their price, Emma. Even you.”

He couldn't have insulted her more if he'd slapped her. Bright color carved a path across her cheekbones. “You're wrong,” she retorted in a tight voice.

“Am I?”

He closed the distance between them. He could see her pulse rate kick up, heard the unevenness in her breathing. Beneath her anger and outrage, desire lurked. She might resist, but it was there all the same. He leaned in, watching the conflict build in her eyes. Just as she teetered on the edge of surrender, he pulled back.

“See? It's just a matter of finding the right price.”

“I think this conversation has gone on long enough.”

She gave him a wide berth on her return to the car. He wasn't the least surprised when she started the engine with a roar, and reversed in a plume of sand and dirt. The tinted driver's side window lowered. “Call someone to come and rescue you. I'm sure you won't have any trouble if you offer the right price.” And with that, she drove off.

That went well, Chase congratulated himself. Maybe for
his next career he should consider diplomacy. Clearly, he was a natural. He reached in his trouser pocket for his BlackBerry. It wasn't until he accessed it that he realized that at some point during their embrace in the car, they'd swapped phones again.

 

Damn it, damn it, damn it!

Emma deliberately slowed her descent from the bluff, giving careful focus to the curves of the road. How could she have allowed herself to fall into Chase's arms again? There wasn't one thing, not one single item, that the two of them shared in common other than their baby.

Well, and their sexual reaction to each other.

No. She refused to consider that something they had in common. Not any longer. She didn't care how gorgeous a body Chase possessed, or the fact that it rippled with lean, ropy muscles. Or how aesthetically appealing his hard, masculine features were. Or how attractive she found the sharp intelligence in those storm cloud-blue eyes. She tightened her grip on the steering wheel. Or how amazing that mouth of his felt against her lips. Against her skin. Against—

Her BlackBerry warbled from the backseat and with an exclamation of annoyance, she pulled over to the side of the road and threw the car in Park. She turned to check the backseat and realized that at some point her purse had been upended and all the various sundries she felt obliged to carry around were scattered across the plush carpeting.

She recovered the phone and took the call. “If this is you, Chase, you can just forget about it. I'm not coming back for you.” A long pause followed her outburst and she realized she really should have checked the caller ID before speaking. “Chase?”

“Actually, I'm trying to reach Chase.” The deep cool voice rumbled in her ear. “Who is this and why are you answering his phone?”

“This isn't his phone, it's—” She broke off. Oh, no. Please,
please, please don't let it have happened again. They couldn't have mixed up their phones. Not again. She retreated into the sort of unruffled formality that had been drummed into her from birth. “Who is this, please?”

“Rafe Cameron.”

It just figured. It truly did. “I don't suppose you called the wrong number?” she asked hopefully.

“Doubtful. I have Chase on both speed and voice dial. Mind telling me who this is?”

She didn't want to tell him. She really didn't. It would raise far too many questions, questions she wasn't prepared to answer at this point in time. “I'll give Chase your message,” she said abruptly and disconnected the call.

Then she lowered her head to the leather-padded steering wheel. It took every ounce of self-possession to keep from weeping. Hormones, no doubt. She'd heard about them affecting pregnant women. It would appear she was about to have firsthand experience.

As soon as she recovered her composure, she executed a cautious U-turn and returned to Busted Bluff. Chase stood in the shade beneath a eucalyptus tree, his arms folded across his chest, simply waiting. She pulled up next to him, refusing to so much as glance his way when he opened the door and slid into the seat beside her. She tossed his BlackBerry in his direction.

“Your brother called. I'm afraid you'll have some explaining to do when you get up with him.”

Chase winced. “He knows I was with you?”

She fought to control her blush. “I didn't give him my name.”

“That'll only make him all the more determined to find out who you are and why you answered my phone.” Chase dismissed the problem with a careless shrug, then reached in his pocket and pulled out her BlackBerry. He stuck it in the console between the two seats. “I'll get back to him later.”

Silence descended while she took the shoreline road into
town. “I'm sorry I drove off and left you,” she said at last. “It was rude.”

“That's all right. You're allowed to be rude every now and then. I promise not to allow it to affect my opinion of the Worth name.” He spared her a hard glance. “That doesn't change the fact that we're going to have to resolve our differences at some point.”

“Not today, Chase, okay? Give me a few days to think things through and discuss the situation with my father.”

“I assume he won't be happy.”

“To put it mildly.”

“Hmm.” Chase drummed his fingers on the armrest. “Should I wear a bulletproof vest when I come to see you?”

“That might be wise.” She pulled into the parking lot of the medical center where Chase had left his car. She still couldn't bring herself to look at him, not when her hold on her emotions remained so tenuous. “I'll call you.”

“I'll be waiting.” He captured her chin in his hand and turned her face to his. “Make it soon, Emma.”

And then he leaned in and stole a fast, devastating kiss, an uncompromising one that smashed through her defenses and warned that he wouldn't give her any quarter. She wished she could resist him, tried to resist. But something deep inside responded to him, rendering her utterly helpless to his touch. The instant she recognized the sensation, she pulled back.

No. Never. She would never allow a man to make her feel helpless. She'd never be dependent on a man for her happiness. She'd never risk falling in love with him to the extent that her world revolved around his. Nor would she give him control over her mind, body, or spirit.

She'd never make the same mistake her mother made with her father.

“I'll call when I'm darn good and ready to call,” she informed him tightly.

He snagged his jacket from the backseat and slung it over
his shoulder. “Make sure ‘darn good and ready' happens real damn soon.”

Without another word, she put the car in gear and drove away. Not that she got far. Her phone rang again and with a exclamation of irritation, Emma pulled over again. She didn't know why she didn't just let it go to voice mail. Maybe because of that last mix-up with Chase. Or more likely because she suspected it was Chase. Slipping into a convenient parking spot, she snatched her BlackBerry from the cubbyhole in the console between the seats. This time she checked the caller ID. Gillian Mitchell. Oops.

She punched the connect button. “Hi, Gillian.”

“Emma, glad I caught you. I just wanted to make sure we were still on for lunch today.”

“Absolutely. I haven't forgotten.” She'd totally forgotten. “At the club, right? Shall we say at the Tidal Pool in an hour?”

“Perfect. I'll see you there.”

That gave her an hour to get her head together. There definitely wasn't enough time to have the sort of conversation necessary to tell her father about her pregnancy. Besides, she had no intention of breaking the news to him at Worth Industries. Filling him in about his impending grandfatherhood would have to wait until tonight.

She caught her lower lip between her teeth, wondering if she dared stretch that time frame by a day or two. She glanced over her shoulder before pulling into traffic. Maybe she'd hold off on the big announcement until this weekend. That would give her time to make some basic decisions so her father couldn't steamroller over her with his opinion on the matter. It would also allow her to figure out how to break the news. A text message was one possibility. So was an email. Or both. From several states away.

Precisely an hour later, Emma entered the Tidal Pool and searched the restaurant for Gillian. She found the lanky brunette seated at one of the tables tucked in a corner, working her way through a cup of coffee. Gillian had only landed in Vista del
Mar six months ago and was already making a name for herself as an ace reporter for the
Seaside Gazette.
Emma had a feeling she knew what prompted this sudden urge for a friendly get-to-know-you luncheon meeting.

The sale of Worth Industries.

Gillian, a woman who hovered in that nebulous range between twenty-five and thirty, lounged back in her chair and studied Emma with intelligent green eyes that went well with her long chestnut-brown hair. “So you're the Worth Princess. You definitely look like one, I have to give you that.” She flashed a warm smile to show her greeting was meant in a humorous way. She stuck out her hand. “Gillian Mitchell.”