“You could be waiting outside her apartment for days,” his brother had said over the phone as Alessandro sped toward the airport. “To think it wasn’t so long ago that you were the one telling me that I was not acting rational.”
“This is not the same,” he growled at his brother.
“Not at all,” Massimo had replied all too easily. “Because I was actually engaged to the woman I was pursuing. Whereas you are quite far from that.”
Somewhere over Europe, in the privacy of his jet, where he could think more rationally, Alessandro had reassured himself that she couldn’t be…rounder. Instead, he found himself planning to see her again. If his brother had been mistaken, and he found himself face-to-face with Ann-Sophie, close enough to touch, he would make an excuse for being in town and apologize for his unfortunate behavior. Naturally, she would forgive him. This would soothe both the unsettling memory of their last night together and, if all went as planned, satisfy the desire that had plagued him, and finally put it to rest.
And if his brother was right? Alessandro had turned to stare out at the clouds, trying not to think about that possibility.
But now, as he stood on this narrow street, under the tempestuous Stockholm sky, the evidence in front of him was irrefutable. Ann-Sophie was standing in front of him with a rolling suitcase in tow, and the wordrounddidn’t begin to capture her belly.Lush. Ripe. Those words continued to echo inside him, over and over, despite the fact that here on the street, he could only see a hint of this new development under her outer layers. Seven months of repressing her voice, her laugh, the way her body seemed to be made especially for him—everything came back so viscerally. The hints of new curves under her shawl made his hands clench with the need to touch her in all the ways he shouldn’t. Because the hunger that gnawed inside him was mixed with the jumble of emotions he had spent his adulthood shutting off.
He glared at her belly incredulously, focusing on the fact that she hadn’t said a word about this situation to him.
“You are pregnant.” The words were an accusation that he flung at her, and for a moment she looked as if he had slapped her. Hurt and betrayal flashed across her face, and he hated the way it wrenched at him. Then her eyes narrowed.
“How very observant of you.” She tilted her head a little. “You know, I remember you as significantly more charming. Funnier. At least until those last moments on the dance floor.”
And he remembered her as easygoing. The last seven months of being pregnant on her own appeared to have given her teeth. Or maybe just the desire to use them on him.
“Is it my child?”
She rolled her eyes, as if this much was obvious.
“How did this happen?”
“My grade four teacher was pretty clear about the process, but maybe your fancy boarding schools left these details vague?”
He glared at her. “We used condoms.”
“Most of the time. I’ve had seven months to go back over our week. It’s definitely possible.”
Alessandro’s anger and lust flared, intertwining into something far more dangerous as he pictured a few choice moments of carelessness. He had spent the last seven months intentionallynotgoing over that week. Now, flashes of their nights came back, feeding the storm clouds gathering in his mind. Building, threatening to unleash their power and envelop everything around him. He narrowed his eyes. “You didn’t tell me.”
“Did you think that email I sent about ‘something important’ was a plea for more sex?” She huffed out a sigh. “Never mind. I don’t want to know how truly impressive your ego is.”
He bit back a snappier response because he had, in fact, thought something quite similar. Instead, he made an attempt to soften his voice. “We need to talk.”
She glared at him. He waited. Finally, she broke the silent war with a sigh and a shake of her head.
“Let’s go inside,” she said, and she didn’t wait for his answer.
Alessandro followed her through the front door and into the lobby, with its marble floors and brass letter boxes, as frustrations welled inside him—frustrations he didn’t know where to aim. She bypassed the elevator and headed for the stairs, despite the fact that she was pulling a suitcase behind her.
“Why are you walking up?” he demanded. “Shouldn’t you be…”
He gestured vaguely to her body as he tried to remember what common wisdom said about what a pregnant woman should do. He was sure it included being careful about, well, everything.
“I’m perfectly capable of walking up stairs.” Ann-Sophie gestured to the sign taped next to the brass call button, written in unintelligible Swedish. “Also, the elevator is broken. They’re ordering a part, but…”
She shrugged, as if she had long ago accepted this fact and moved on. Again, his frustration bubbled to the surface, pushing aside those dangerous poisons of betrayal and lust.
“I will make sure it is fixed today.” At least one problem in this mess had a concrete solution.
The dry humor he remembered flashed across her face. “Of all the problems I have right now, that one doesn’t even rank in the top one hundred.”
The reference to all her problems raked through him uncomfortably.
“Let me carry your suitcase,” he said, just barely holding on to his calm facade. His temper must have shown on his face because her expression softened a little.
