“Never mind,” he grumbled, feeling like an ass for exploding for no reason.
Claire didn’t know what she was doing to him. Or did she? His eyes narrowed. She returned her attention to her pasta, a little moan of pleasure sounding in her throat as she chewed another bite. She had to be doing it on purpose.
“You don’t have to act like you’re screwing the fettuccine alfredo.”
“If this is your idea of best behavior, then I’d hate to see your worst,” Claire said, her eyes snapping with anger.
He gave her a slow grin. “You’d love my worst behavior.”
“What happened to business only?”
“You’re the one who was moaning and sucking on your pasta like it was—”
“Logan.” She cast a worried glance toward the other restaurant patrons within hearing distance.
“I was going to say ‘really good’,” he lied, doing his best to sound innocent.
She gave him a look that clearly said she didn’t buy it and then raised her water glass to her lips. When he’d offered to order wine, she’d refused, something that he found odd, since he’d seen her toss back the martinis in New York.
“Why didn’t you want any wine?” he asked suddenly, curiosity getting the better of him.
He swore she seemed nervous. She set the water glass down so hard that a bit of it sloshed over the side and onto the white tablecloth.
“I don’t like alcohol,” she said, tucking a stray tendril of hair behind her ear.
“You forget I saw you going to town on martinis in New York,” he reminded her, now more curious than ever. She was lying to him. But why?
“I’ve decided to swear off alcohol, okay?” She frowned at him. “Look at where it got me the last time, in New York.”
Now that was a low blow and Logan felt it despite himself. He sent her a cool smile. “Point well taken, but as I recall, there wasn’t any alcohol involved the second time.”
But as Logan turned his attention to his mutilated lasagna once more, his mind began to drift. Claire had sworn off alcohol, and he swore her breasts were larger, and when she’d given him her profile as she waited to get into his car, he thought he’d seen the slightest hint of a rounded tummy. He had dismissed it as an optical illusion, or the fading sunlight, but now he began to wonder. She’d been ill too, several weeks ago, and she’d worked from home, claiming to have a virus. Was it possible that Claire was…pregnant?
She didn’t look pregnant. Her hands were still dainty, her arms still slim, her face still softly defined. Then again, the pregnancy could be early on, which would mean that she wouldn’t really be showing much. And it would also mean that there was a chance that Logan was the father. The condom had broken.
Holy shit.
For the second time during their dinner, his fork clattered to his plate. Claire looked up at him, her eyes questioning.
“Claire,” he said, “when you and I were together in New York, you were on some form of birth control, weren’t you?”
He held his breath as he awaited her answer.
“Of course I was.” She frowned at him again. “I’d rather not discuss that weekend anymore, if you don’t mind.”
Logan couldn’t drop the subject yet. He wasn’t quite convinced. He reached across the table and covered her left hand with his. “If you were pregnant, you’d tell me, wouldn’t you?”
She pulled her hand from beneath his, her frown growing until a small vee furrowed her smooth forehead. “You know I would. Don’t you think you’re overreacting? I mean, all this just because I didn’t want wine?”
She was right, of course. Logan pulled his hand away and relaxed in his seat. He cracked an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I guess you’re right. It’s just if there’s any chance…”
“No chance at all,” Claire assured him, looking at him, but not quite meeting his eyes.
A sense of unease unfurled in his gut. God, he didn’t want to relive the hell he’d been through all those years ago. He hated to even think of it now, because it was all still there, festering inside him, a wound that had never healed. He remembered the way the clinic had smelled, like antiseptic and something indefinably horrible, and how Abigail had looked at him, tears on her cheeks, telling him those three words that had nearly killed him.
You’re too late.
Christ no, he couldn’t go through that again. But he told himself that it was just the old memories swimming to the surface that made him so suspicious. He was being overly cautious about the situation, and all because of things that had nothing to do with Claire. He knew Claire. She wouldn’t lie to him. Not about something so significant.
