His Best Mistake Page 6

  And then there was Stella herself. Try as he might, and despite the guilt raging through him, he couldn’t regret sleeping with her when the experience itself had been so sensational. What he did regret was his manner of leaving. The relief he’d felt at having escaped had quickly turned into self-disgust and now, four weeks later, he still couldn’t believe he’d just left her like that after what they’d done. It might have been his first one-night stand and so he wasn’t up on the etiquette, but he was pretty sure a thanks and a goodbye were requisite.

  So what had he been thinking? Where the hell had his spine gone? Had he had some kind of mini breakdown, brought on by stress and the fear of upheaval she’d triggered in him? He hadn’t a clue. All he knew was that having marched out of the house, he’d got to the Land Rover, silenced the alarm and then fiddled around a bit. Without any expectation whatsoever, he’d shoved the key in the ignition and to his astonishment the engine fired, and then suddenly, heart-thumpingly, he’d realised that he had a way out of it all. It wasn’t right but the need for self-preservation had been drumming away inside him, obliterating manners and decency, building and spreading until it was the only thing he’d been able to focus on.

  Even accounting for the time of year he didn’t recognise the Jack of those twelve hours, he thought darkly, frowning blankly at the screens and twiddling a pen between his fingers. He didn’t much like him either. He couldn’t imagine what Stella thought of him, although he doubted it was anything good. Driving away like that had been a deplorable thing to do.

  So why hadn’t he done anything about rectifying it in the interim? He could easily have called her. Or emailed. He had her contact details. Yet shamefully, he’d done neither, and the hole it was burning in his conscience was growing too great to ignore.

  It was time to get over that weekend in the Highlands, he decided, sitting up straight and ignoring the niggling sensation that somehow Stella Grant could be more lethal than a rip tide. He’d spent way too much time dwelling on it. He’d even bloody dreamed about it. One quick phone call, and that would be it. Apology given. Conscience clear. Done. And then he could put it all behind him and get back to doing what he did best: surviving.

  Mind made up, Jack clicked on his in-box in search of the email from Lucas Hart, the friend he’d originally had track Stella down and, ah, there it was. He opened it, downloaded the attached document and scrolled through it, skimming the pages of the report and totally ignoring the temptation to stop and try to compare the dry words on the page with the vibrant, passionate woman he’d met. He found her number and entered it into his mobile, steeling himself for what was no doubt going to be an uncomfortable conversation, but then whose fault was that?

  He was just about to press the button that would connect the call when the phone on his desk buzzed, making him start and nearly drop his mobile.

  The phone on his desk buzzed again. “Yes,” he snapped after answering it, tension making his voice uncharacteristically sharp.

  “I have a Stella Grant here to see you,” came the disembodied voice of the receptionist and instantly Jack froze.

  Seriously?

  What the hell?

  If he’d been superstitious he’d have called her timing spooky, but he wasn’t. It was serendipitous, that was what it was, because, actually, now the opportunity had presented itself it occurred to him that it would be far better to conduct the conversation he wanted to have with her in person. After the way he’d treated her, she deserved that much. He’d broach it once they’d covered whatever she’d come to see him about, although why she was here, now, after all this time, he had no idea. She couldn’t be wanting a repeat performance, could she? No. That would be ridiculous. And very, very unwelcome.

  “She doesn’t have an appointment,” the receptionist was saying. “I told her it was unlikely you’d be able to see her but I’m afraid she’s being very…insistent.”

  “Thank you, Barbara,” said Jack, moderating his tone because none of this was Barbara’s fault. It was his, and therefore his to fix and it would be fine because here, now, he was in control. He wasn’t concerned about the effect that seeing Stella again might have on him. Weeks had passed. That crazy desire he’d felt for her had simply been a result of circumstances that had left him a million miles out of his comfort zone and way off kilter.

  Here, in his office, he was on his own ground. Very much inside his comfort zone and firmly in charge. Solidly back in the realm of the fifty-one weeks. That thing stabbing away in the pit of his stomach wasn’t anticipation. Or excitement. It was nearly lunchtime and he was hungry – that was all. “Send her up.”

  *

  Stella used the ride up in the lift to steady her nerves. They’d first started fluttering when she stepped out of her front door this morning. On the nine thirty train to London they’d doubled. Now, at the prospect of seeing Jack again, they were flapping around her insides like giant monster butterflies.

  Not that she was concerned she might not be able to control herself around him. Of course she would. There was no way he could be as attractive as she thought she remembered. No way at all. And even if he was, well, events had somewhat overtaken that. Once she’d achieved what she’d come here to do, she’d simply leave.

  Nevertheless, it was all a bit of a mess, especially with the added complication of his sister. She felt as if she was on Jerry Springer or something. She could see the tagline now. ‘I got pregnant after a one-night stand with my ex-boyfriend’s ex-fiancée’s brother and I’m having the baby!’ It wasn’t a scenario she was exactly proud of, but it was what it was, and regret seemed a little obsolete.

  As the lift slowed Stella pulled her shoulders back. She smoothed her skirt and tugged her jacket down, her fingers annoyingly shaky. She pressed her hand to her stomach and took a deep breath that she slowly released, and then the lift pinged. The doors opened with a soft swoosh and there he was, right there in front of her, looking so devastatingly gorgeous in a navy suit and open-necked white shirt that her mouth went dry and her heart sank, because, oh dear, he was just as attractive as she remembered. Possibly even more so.

  “Stella,” he said with the hint of a smile, and maybe it was hormones, maybe it was her nervy state, but his voice seemed to slide right through her, filling her entire body with prickly heat. “How are you?”

  Feverish, she thought dizzily, gazing at his mouth and instantly recalling the incredible things he could do with it before reality smacked her across the head and reminded her that, hello, this was not some romantic reunion.

  “I’m fine,” she said, giving herself a mental shake and pulling herself together. “How are you?”

  “Couldn’t be better.”

  “Great.”

  “Would you like to come with me?”

  “Sure.”

  He put a hand on the small of her back – which she didn’t feel one little bit – and led her down the luxuriously carpeted hall to his office, an office, which, she noted, was practically the size of her entire house. One whole wall was glass, and through it the panoramic view was staggering. From this high up, she could see London spread out to the south, the buildings sharp in the crisp light. The Houses of Parliament, the Eye, the bridges and the Thames winding through the city, glinting in the sunshine. If she worked here she’d never get anything done. She’d be too distracted by the ever-shifting view.

  At the far end of his office was an enormous, beautifully curved desk, upon which stood a dozen monitors, in two tiers of six. She could only see their backs, but she’d seen the films, and she was willing to bet that the screens would be flashing and blinking with rapidly changing columns of numbers and graphs. Between there and here were two facing tan leather sofas with a modern low table in the middle.

  “Coffee?” said Jack, and instantly her stomach churned, but she swallowed down the surge of nausea since it really wouldn’t do to throw up all over the thick cream carpet or the expensive furnishings. Instead she plastered a smi
le on her face. “No, thank you.”

  “Water?”

  “I’m fine.” What with the nerves as well she didn’t think she’d be able to keep anything down.

  “Then, please, do take a seat.”

  With a wave of a hand he indicated her to take one sofa and folded himself into the other. She took her time arranging herself, more time than was strictly necessary perhaps, but she needed to prepare.

  “So. Stella,” he said, and she looked up at him, her heart skipping a beat at the impact of meeting his gaze. “Why are you here?”

  “I didn’t have your home address.”

  “I didn’t give it to you.”

  “No. But then you didn’t really have time, did you, seeing as how you left Scotland in such a hurry.”

  A moment’s silence followed that and his brows snapped together in a frown, and even though perhaps it was slightly petty of her, she felt a stab of satisfaction that she’d unsettled him. Perhaps she minded about the way he’d skedaddled a fraction more than she’d thought.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

  “So why did you?”

  He sighed and rubbed a hand over his jaw. “It’s complicated.”

  Stella inwardly grimaced. If he thought that was complicated then she couldn’t wait to hear what he thought of her news. “Tell me about it,” she said, because despite trying not to, she had given it some consideration and maybe she did have some sympathy for his predicament. She might well be giving him the benefit of the doubt, but if he’d had an attack of guilt because of Stella’s relationship with his sister she could sort of understand that. Briefly, she’d felt a stab or two of the same.

  “You have every right to be angry.”

  “Oh, I’m not angry.”

  “You’re not?”

  “No. It’s fine. Seriously. I was glad you didn’t come back.”

  “You were?” he said, sounding even more taken aback.

  Stella nodded firmly. “Absolutely. There wasn’t anything left to say was there?”

  “No,” he said with a frown. “I suppose not.”

  Plenty now though…

  “So I’ve been wondering,” she began, thinking that the question she was about to ask wasn’t a stalling tactic at all. She really did want to know the answer, and who knew if she’d get the chance once she’d dropped her bombshell. “Did you tell your sister about our – er – conversation?”

  Jack nodded. “I did.”

  “How did she take it?”

  He didn’t say anything for a moment, although he frowned again and his jaw tightened a fraction. “She’ll get there,” he said, and Stella felt her heart sink because, damn, she’d been hoping for better. “She’s having trouble coming to terms with the fact that Brad isn’t the blameless knight in shining armour she’s always believed him to be.”

  “Does she know about – ah – us?”

  “No.”

  “Are you planning on telling her?”

  “No. Are you?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Good.”

  “Great.”

  Stella clasped her hands in her lap and bit her lip, her nerves twisting into knots, and for the briefest of seconds she considered just getting up and walking out, but she couldn’t. He was the lentil’s father. She had to tell him.

  “So was that it?” said Jack, after a moment, tilting his head and looking at her quizzically.

  “Not exactly.” Stella shifted on the sofa, as if that might ease the feeling that she was sitting on knives, and swallowed hard. “You might need a drink for this bit,” she said, her heart beginning to pound as the nerves wound tighter.

  His eyebrows rose. “That bad?”

  “Depends on your point of view.”

  “Go on.”

  “There’s no easy way do this, so I’ll just come out and say it.” She straightened her spine and took a deep breath. “Jack,” she said, feeling as if she was standing on the edge of a cliff and about to take a step right off it, “I’m pregnant.”

  Chapter Six

  For a moment Jack thought he must have misheard. He must have. It was the only explanation, and an entirely logical one as he hadn’t exactly been firing on all cylinders since Stella had arrived. She’d stepped out of that lift and he’d taken one look at her, felt an urgent need to haul her into his arms and kiss the daylights out of her, and all he’d been able to think was: who exactly had he been trying to kid when he’d thought she wouldn’t have any effect on him?

  It didn’t matter how brief the time they’d spent together had been, nor how much time had passed since. The memories that had cascaded into his head when he’d taken her arm and led her into his office were as clear and detailed as if it had been only yesterday, and the desire that had surged inside him was as strong as it had ever been. Maybe even stronger. With all that going on inside him he’d become rather distracted and so he could well have misunderstood.

  Except he hadn’t.

  Stella was now holding a hand to her abdomen and as realisation dawned, her words belatedly slammed into his head and suddenly he couldn’t move a muscle. The guilt and the desire fled. He went icily numb. The walls of his office seemed to be closing in on him. His head spun. He felt like he was suffocating. He couldn’t breathe.

  Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant.

  The word raced round his brain as if on an interminable loop, faster and faster until he thought he was going to black out. If he hadn’t been sitting down he would have.

  “Congratulations,” he heard himself say absurdly.

  “Thank you.”

  “Whose?”

  “Yours.”

  “Are you certain?”

  She nodded. “I checked the dates. It couldn’t be anyone else’s.”

  “Impossible.”

  “Apparently not. Condoms can fail. I’m six weeks along, the doctor said, give or take a day or two.”

  Six weeks. Six weeks.

  “Are you keeping it?” he asked, his mouth dry, his throat as rough as sandpaper.

  “I thought I would,” she replied, sounding so cool, so in control, whereas he could hardly be less in control. He was beginning to feel like he was drowning. His blood was pounding in his ears. He felt weak and sick with dread.

  “I realise the circumstances aren’t ideal,” she was continuing, “but I’ve always wanted children. I’m twenty-nine and financially stable. It’s not exactly the way I’d have chosen to go about it, but now it’s happened, well…” she shrugged “…it’s happened. I don’t expect anything from you, Jack. I truly don’t. I’m just telling you because it seemed like the right thing to do.”

  “I see,” he said, but he didn’t see anything at all. She sounded so blasé about it, but how had it happened? How? The first woman he’d slept with since Mia had died and this was his punishment? And the danger she was in… God, he couldn’t even think about that.

  “You can decide what kind of father you want to be,” she was saying. “You can be as involved as you wish. If you don’t want to be involved at all, if it’s all too complicated with Cora and things, then that’s fine too. The ball is entirely in your court.”

  She stopped, clearly waiting for him to respond with something, but he didn’t know how to. He couldn’t speak. His brain had collapsed and noise was rushing through his head. He could feel himself shutting down like a giant machine being switched off and slowly grinding to a halt and he couldn’t do a thing to stop it. He had to get her out of here before he lost it completely.

  Where he found the strength Jack had no idea but somehow he managed to stand up and thrust his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “Thank you for letting me know,” he said, and his voice sounded cold and distant, as if it was coming from a million miles away.

  “No problem,” said Stella, getting to her feet too and holding something out to him. “Here’s my card.” He took it dumbly and looked down at it but all the letters and n
umbers were jumping about and he just couldn’t make head or tail of any of it. “I realise this must have come as a huge shock, Jack, but when you’re ready to talk, if you want to talk, give me a call. In the meantime, I’ll see myself out.”

  *

  How long Jack stood there staring at the door through which Stella had left he couldn’t have said. Time meant nothing. It was like he was in a vacuum, frozen, unaware of the sounds of life beyond the four walls of his office, unaware of anything.

  Eventually, though, his knees gave way and he fell back down to the sofa. He buried his head in his hands and closed his eyes, and tried to keep the memories at bay, but his defences were weak and didn’t stand a chance. They smashed through the barriers he’d erected and flew into his head, memories of another woman, another pregnancy and heartbreaking, soul-wrenching tragedy.

  He steeled himself for the pain and grief he knew was going to come, and shook as a wave of it washed over him. Four years and it still robbed him of breath, still cleaved his heart in two. It still made him want to shake his fist to the skies and yell, why? Not all the time and not with nearly the same intensity as before, but the shadows of those dark, tortured few months still lurked at the back of his mind, rising up and swallowing him whole just when he thought he had them under control once and for all.

  And now it all could happen again. Different woman, different circumstances, but there remained the same danger. The same odds. The same potential outcome…

  His head pounded and his body shook as dread gripped him at the thought of it. His blood iced. His stomach rolled. It couldn’t happen again. It just couldn’t. He would tell Stella not to go through with the pregnancy. He’d make her see the risks and advise her that it was too dangerous. For her own sake, it would be for the best. He’d find the best place and the best doctor. He’d even book the appointment. Then the danger would be gone and the status quo would be restored and he’d never have sex again.