# Beginning with Their Baby

Tracy Wolff

Camille Arraby has a simple M.O. Have a great time, leave before the messy part. So when she meets Matt Jenkins, she intends to enjoy every moment…while this fling lasts. Sure, the connection is intense and exciting. And yes, Matt is probably the one guy who could convince her to stay. But she's not ready to do that yet.Weeks after she's moved on, however, she discovers an irresistible reason to return to Matt: she's pregnant. Suddenly, no longer is he the guy she had a wonderful, but temporary, time with–he's her baby's daddy. And that means they've got a future to work out…immediately!

## Matt yanked open the door

Then froze as he came face-to-face with the woman who had haunted his dreams for three long months.

Camille stepped a little closer, leaned against the doorway, and her signature scent—lavender and brown sugar and sweet, ripe strawberries—wrapped itself around him. Still, he didn’t say anything. Didn’t touch her, though every instinct he had demanded that he grab onto her before she pulled another vanishing act.

“It’s good seeing you, Camille. You look great. But I’m a little busy. So if you wouldn’t mind—”

“I do mind.”

“Excuse me?”

“I should be in Florence right now, combing museums with a glorious man named Stefano and eating pasta on the patio of a little trattoria.”

“So, why aren’t you?”

“Because I’m three months pregnant.”

And just like that, his world imploded.

Dear Reader,

I’ve always been a sucker for stories where opposites attract because I believe the differences keep the sparks alive and the sparks are what make everyday living an adventure.

In Beginning with Their Baby, I bring back Matt Jenkins, the best friend and business partner of Reece, my hero in From Friend to Father. Matt is a stand-up guy. He plays by the rules and does the right thing. Camille Arraby is his polar opposite in every way—she’s capricious, refuses to settle down and flits from one temporary job to another as she travels the world. She’s so commitment-phobic that the idea of signing a six-month lease on an apartment makes her hyperventilate. Yet from the second I put these two in a room together, sparks flew!

Writing their story reminded me of my own marriage. My husband is an electrical engineer and I’m a writer. He’s an introvert and I’m an extrovert. He’s all about making a plan and I love to fly by the seat of my pants—and these are just the superficial differences. There are many more that go so deep that when we got married, no one thought it would last. Yet here we are three kids and fourteen years later, still going strong—and still striking sparks off each other.

I hope you enjoy reading Beginning with Their Baby as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please, visit me at www.tracywolff.com or on my blog, tracywolff.blogspot.com and let me know what you think.

Happy reading!

Tracy Wolff

## Beginning with Their Baby. Tracy Wolff

www.millsandboon.co.uk

## ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Tracy Wolff collects books, English degrees and lipsticks, and has been known to forget where—and sometimes who—she is when immersed in a great novel. At six she wrote her first short story—something with a rainbow and a prince—and at seven she forayed into the wonderful world of girls’ lit with her first Judy Blume novel. By ten she’d read everything in the young adult and classics sections of her local bookstore, so in desperation her mom started her on romance novels. And from the first page of the first book, she knew she’d found her lifelong love. Now a writing professor at her local community college, Tracy is thrilled to be writing novels for Harlequin Superromance. She lives in Austin, Texas, with her husband and three young sons.

For the Pitts, the best group of women I know.

## Acknowledgments

Thank you to Wanda Ottewell, my wonderful and intrepid editor, for always knowing what my books need—even when I don’t.

And to my fabulous agent, Emily Sylvan Kim, who sticks by me no matter what.

You’re the best!

## CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

## PROLOGUE

“DO YOU HAVE TO GO?”

A twinge of uneasiness worked its way down Camille Arraby’s spine at the words, though she continued to load her overnight bag. “My flight leaves in two hours—I’ve got to get to the airport.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” Matt Jenkins climbed off the rumpled bed where they’d just spent another incredible night, and walked toward her.

She watched him prowl across the room, his long, lean, nearly naked form a truly beautiful sight this early in the morning. His dark auburn hair had fallen over his eyes and his too-full lips were curved in the sexy grin she loved.

The twinge got a little more pronounced and for the first time that she could remember, Camille regretted the fact that she had to go. She wasn’t nearly as ready to leave Austin—and Matt—as she’d expected to be.

But Brazil—and Carnaval—were in full swing and they wouldn’t wait forever. Besides, it was better to walk away now, on a high note, than wait for things to sour as they inevitably would.

“So what did you mean?” she asked lightly, as he circled her waist with his hands and pulled her close.

“I was asking you to stay.” He nuzzled her neck and she sighed, letting her head fall back as desire moved through her all over again.

“I can’t.”

His mouth moved lower, to the hollow of her throat, and she actually felt her knees tremble. “You can.”

“Matt. You knew all along I was leaving today.”

“I know.”

“So what’s the problem?” Her voice hitched as he flicked open the first two buttons of her shirt, ran his tongue over the curve of her breast.

“The problem is that when we made the deal, I didn’t expect that I’d want you to stay.”

“And now you do?”

He lifted his head so that his warm brown eyes met hers and Camille shuddered with unfulfilled desire. She’d never met a man like Matt, who could make her respond so effortlessly—and powerfully—to his lightest touch.

“Now I do.” He stroked the back of his hand down her cheek. “Stay, Camille. Please. I’ve never felt like this before and I want to see where it goes.”

“I’ve already given up my room and my job, already have my flights booked to Rio and then on to Italy.”

“You can stay with me for a while—and getting another one of those temp jobs of yours can’t be that difficult. You’ve been through three in the two months I’ve known you.”

For one long second, Camille let his words sweep over her. Let herself imagine staying here with Matt indefinitely—spending hours and days and weeks together, in bed and out.

Doing all those wonderful things couples did when they were falling in love.

The images that flashed through her mind didn’t send her running for the hills as they normally would have, and that—more than anything else could—had her taking a cautious step back.

Pulling free of Matt’s embrace, she turned back to her bag. Rearranged the items in it, once, twice. Made sure her favorite brushes and palette were safe from shifting during travel as she struggled for the right words to say. But nothing came and silent minutes dragged by as Matt waited patiently for her answer, not pushing her but not backing down, either.

As she slid her makeup case to the bottom of the bag, Camille wanted nothing more than to run—as fast and as far as she could.

Wanted nothing more than to fling herself into Matt’s arms and stay until this thing between them burned itself out.

But doing that was only asking for trouble, only asking for entanglements. Already Matt had sneaked through a crack in her defenses and taken up residence in an untouched spot in her heart. If she stayed, his presence inside her would grow until she was no longer complete without him. And that was something she would never, could never, allow.

When she finally looked up at him again, Camille made sure none of her doubts—none of her longing—showed on her face. “I can’t stay, Matt. I was perfectly clear about the fact that I was leaving when we hooked up.”

“I know. But plans can change.”

“Not mine.”

“Bull.” This time when he grabbed her, his hands weren’t quite as gentle as they had been. Somehow, the edginess was just as arousing as the care. “Your plans change all the time. They change with the wind, with your whims. Why can’t you change them now? For me?”

“My plane tickets are nonrefundable.” Her answer was flippant, but her heart was pounding hard and fast.

He cursed. “I’ll pay for the stupid tickets. I’ll pay for a hundred tickets if you’ll stay for just a little while longer.” His hands slid up her arms and neck until he was cupping her face. “Please, Camille.”

“Matt.” She shook her head, fought against the lump in her stomach that was growing with every word he said.

“Damn it, do you think this is easy for me? I’m not used to having to beg a woman to spend time with me.”

Of course he wasn’t used to begging—he was gorgeous and smart, and if not rich, certainly well-off from his partnership in one of the city’s leading architectural firms. He was a prime catch—just one more reason she was determined to throw him back before he could do the same to her.

Before she broke her own rules and forgot why she couldn’t settle down.

Before she was the one pleading with him to stay.

“I don’t want this.” The words came out sharp, stilted.

“So what do you want?”

“To see Carnaval. To dance in the plaza and run through the streets with the parades. To visit the art museums and hang glide through the hills. I want to stand on the beach at dawn and watch the tide roll in.”

“Okay. All right.” He closed his eyes, ran a hand over his face. “Give me a couple days, let me rearrange my schedule and I’ll go with you. You’ll still see plenty of Carnaval.”

The twinge turned into a full-blown panic attack as she slung her bag over her shoulder. “Come on, Matt. It’s been fun, but we both know it’s time to move on—before things get messy and predictable.”

“They don’t have to—”

“Sure they do, sweets.” With a sassy grin, Camille reached up and patted her soon-to-be ex-lover’s cheek. “That’s the way of relationships. Short and fun turns long and nasty, until both people wish they’d gotten out when the getting was good.”

He clenched his jaw. “Do you really believe that?”

“I do. And so do you—at least you did two months ago, when we first met.”

“That was different.”

“Baby, it’s always different.” She started to say more, but a car horn sounded from the street in front of his house. “I’ve got to go. My cab’s here.”

“I thought I was taking you to the airport.”

“It’s still early—go back to bed.” Standing on tiptoes, she brushed her lips against his once, twice. Then gasped as his mouth turned frenzied on hers.

He kissed her like no one ever had—hard and hot and with a desperation that nearly overwhelmed her.

That nearly had her dropping her bag and following him back into bed, where he was so sure they belonged.

That nearly had her saying to hell with Rio and Italy and the world—she was more than content to stay right here, in Austin, Texas.

But then the horn sounded again and she was pulling away. Smiling at him. Walking out the door and reminding herself, with every step, of all the reasons she was doing the right thing.

After all, there was a big, bright world out there, and in her thirty-two years she’d only managed to see about three-quarters of it. It was time—past time—to get started visiting the last quarter.

## CHAPTER ONE

MATT SMILED AS HE SLID his homemade lasagna onto the table, alongside the crusty loaf of garlic bread and fancy tossed salad that were already there.

“Would you like some wine?” He dropped the oven mitts and reached for the bottle of red he’d picked out to go with the meal. Like his dinner companion, it was rich and voluptuous and very easy on the tongue.

“I would love some.” Ariane smiled as she held up her glass.

He filled it to the halfway mark, then did the same for his own before settling into his seat. It had been a long time since he’d cooked dinner for a woman, but he’d planned tonight carefully. Ariane was the first woman he’d been interested in since Camille, and after four dates, he was pretty sure she was amenable to his anticipated ending for the evening.

And if he wasn’t nearly as excited as he should be about that ending, then he needed to get over it. Camille was gone, and after spending the first few weeks leaving messages on her cell phone and several more weeks moping around, he’d finally figured out that she wasn’t coming back.

Even then, after he’d accepted that Camille was out of his life for good, it had taken him a while to move on. But he’d finally done it. He’d found a woman who was interested in him—as both a person and a good time. And now he was convinced this was for the best. His time with Camille, while lovely, had been an aberration, a step outside his comfort zone into chaos and insanity.

It had been a bad move and one he had no desire to repeat. All he’d gotten from trying something different was a bruised heart, a battered ego and a headache the size of Texas.

No, it was better all around if he stuck to his regular, controlled agenda from now on. And tonight, that agenda included taking his relationship with Ariane to the next step.

“This was so sweet, Matt. It’s been a long time since a man cooked me dinner.”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve cooked a woman dinner. I hope I haven’t lost my touch.”

“I’m sure it will be delicious.” She smiled warmly at him.

As he dished up the lasagna, he asked, “How’s that case going? The one that was giving you such trouble?”

“It’s an absolute disaster. I’m defending this corporation and it’s obvious to everyone but them that they’re guilty as hell of violating state and federal sexual harassment laws. I start presenting my case on Monday and I can only hope I can pull some magic out of my hat to confuse the jury about what was really going on in that factory.”

A curl of unease started in Matt’s belly at her words, but he ignored it. It was her job to defend corporations against lawsuits like this, he reminded himself. Of course she would do whatever she could do help her client win—even if they were guilty.

“Mmm, this is wonderful.”

“Thanks.”

“So how about you? How’s that design going?”

“I finished it—and it is brilliant, if I do say so myself.” He grinned over his glass of wine. “The clients are flying in tomorrow to see it, so I’ll know for sure then. But Reece thinks we’ve knocked it out of the park.”

“That’s fabulous.” She took another bite. “And really, so is this lasagna. How did you learn to cook like this?”

“I grew up with three sisters and my mom always believed that I should learn whatever the girls learned, and vice versa. So when she taught them to cook a few recipes, she made sure I was in the kitchen right along with them—even if I would have preferred to be playing football or basketball.”

“I can just see you—a cute little boy with big eyes peering into his mother’s spaghetti-sauce pot.”

He snorted. “More like a surly preteen whining about how I’d never need to know how to cook because when I grew up I was going to live on pizza and hamburgers.”

“Well, I’m glad your mother didn’t listen.”

Their eyes met across the table. “So am I.”

Her smile turned soft, intimate. It was one of the things that had attracted him to her when they’d met a few weeks before—that and her softly rounded curves. Camille had been all angles and mile-long legs and it was nice to hold on to a woman who wasn’t so…sharp. Add in Ariane’s sense of order and dedication to the University of Texas’s football team—she was a Longhorn, too—and he’d been sold.

“You know, Matt, I really like you.”

“I like you, too, Ariane.” His heart beat a little faster in anticipation. “Very much.”

She pushed her plate away. “Then maybe we should skip dessert…”

There they were, the words he’d been waiting to hear for weeks. He’d expected his body to respond right away, but now that she’d extended the invitation, he wasn’t nearly as interested as he’d expected to be. Still, she was a beautiful, intelligent woman and would make a great girlfriend.

Without giving himself any more time to think, Matt slid his chair back and reached for her plate. “And what would you like to do in lieu of dessert?” he asked, making sure to keep his voice low and teasing.

She stood, as well. “Oh, I’m sure we can think of something.”

He reached for her hand, but a knock at his front door stopped him before he could pull her against him. “Why don’t you go into the family room? I’ll join you as soon as I answer that.”

“Don’t be long.”

“Believe me, I won’t be.” He strode to the door, pulled it open with a yank. Then froze as he came face-to-face with the woman who had haunted his dreams for nearly three long months.

For a minute, the whole world stood still while he soaked in the vision that was Camille. Her black hair was shorter and sassier than it had been when she’d left, but everything else was the same.

The flawless expanse of golden skin her halter dress showed off.

The wicked curve of her sexily uneven mouth.

The killer legs that had had him waking up hard and sweaty and frustrated as hell for weeks after she’d left.

She’d come back, he told himself as his traitorous body responded to her proximity. Even after everything she’d said, after ignoring his text messages and phone calls for months, she’d come back.

How pathetic did it make him that he was excited by that fact?

She stepped a little closer, leaned against the doorway, and her signature scent—lavender and brown sugar and sweet, ripe strawberries—wrapped itself around him. He went from semiaroused to rock hard in an instant.

Still, he didn’t say anything. Didn’t touch her, though every instinct he had demanded that he grab on to her before she pulled another vanishing act.

The thought had the same effect as a freezing shower, and the connection between them shattered. He couldn’t hold her tightly enough to keep her from leaving again—she was like the wind, blowing from one place to another with little thought to the destruction she left in her path.

He wasn’t going to be part of the fallout again.

“What are you doing here, Camille?” he demanded, forcing a calm into his voice that he was far from feeling. But she was an expert at power games and there was no way in hell he was revealing a weakness. Not when she was so good at drawing first blood.

“I was in the neighborhood.” Even the slow, honeyed drawl was the same. “Thought I’d drop by.”

“Long walk from Italy.”

She shrugged, unconcerned. “Yeah, well, Florence is overrated.”

“Really?”

“No. But you know me. I get bored if I stay in one place too long.”

“I remember.” He kept his voice cool, made sure none of the confusion—or desire—he was feeling leaked through.

“Can I come in?”

“Now’s not really a good time.”

Uncertainty flashed across her face—was there and gone so quickly that he told himself he’d imagined it. “It won’t take long. I just wanted to talk for a few minutes.”

“Talk?” This time he let her see his skepticism—and a little bit of the anger he thought had dissipated in the weeks since she’d walked out. “Since when do you want to talk about anything? I thought action was more your thing.”

As soon as the words were out, he wanted to call them back. Her smile had turned predatory, those amethyst-colored eyes running over him from head to toe. It was as if she was cataloging each one of his flaws and weaknesses, and he’d never felt more vulnerable. “Bitter much?”

“I wouldn’t call it bitter.”

“No? Then what would you call it?”

“Smart.” He grabbed the edge of the door, made as if to close it. “Now, if you will excuse me—”

“I really do need to talk to you.”

“Yeah, well, I really needed to talk to you all those times I called you.” Shit. He did sound bitter.

She sighed heavily, as if he was just too high maintenance for her. It was like setting a match to dry kindling and all the emotions that had been seething in him for the past few months came roaring out.

“Look, Camille, I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but count me out.”

“I thought you liked games—at least, that’s what you told me the night we met.”

“I did—until you kept changing the rules without warning.”

“I wasn’t the one who changed the rules, sweets. You were.”

He started to snap back, but how could he when she was right? She’d told him up front that she was only in town for a few weeks, that the thing between them couldn’t go anywhere. He was the one who hadn’t listened.

He was the one who’d gotten burned.

But at least he’d learned his lesson—he was done playing with fire.

“I’m tired, Camille, and I have company. Either say what you came here to say or leave—I really don’t care. But I don’t have the time or the inclination to stand out here all night shooting the breeze. I’m letting bugs in.”

Her smile drooped a little at the edges, and she didn’t answer for long seconds. Guilt slinked through him. Maybe he’d been too harsh. He could have said things more nicely, could have—

No! Damn it, no. She was the one who had walked out on him. The one who had come back here after ignoring all his attempts to reach out to her in the hopes of picking up where they’d left off. And now, just when he’d started to move on, here she was. So why exactly should he make it easy for her?

Why should he have anything to do with her at all?

“Matt?” Ariane’s voice drifted down the hall. “Can you bring my wine when you come in?”

“Aah.” The hint of vulnerability was long gone, replaced by the party-girl mask he’d learned to hate during their brief affair. “You’ve got that kind of company.”

He felt himself flush at her words, at the look in her eyes. But he didn’t have anything to feel sheepish about, he reminded himself. She was the one who’d broken things off.

“Sure, Ariane.” He raised his voice a little, so Ariane could hear him. “I’ll be there in a minute.” Then turned back to his most recent ex-lover.

“It was good seeing you, Camille. You look great. But, as you can see, I’m a little busy. So if you wouldn’t mind heading out—”

“I do mind.”

“Excuse me?”

“I should be in Florence right now, combing museums with a glorious man named Stefano and eating pasta on the patio of a little trattoria.”

Who the hell was Stefano? Matt bit back the instinctive spurt of jealousy that flared. It wasn’t his business what she did—or who she did it with. She’d made that abundantly clear when she’d walked out on him.

“So why aren’t you?”

“Because I’m three months pregnant.”

And just like that, his world imploded.

OH, GOD, HAD SHE REALLY just blurted it out like that? No finesse, no work-up? Just I’m pregnant, with you’re the father strongly implied?

No wonder Matt looked like he’d fall over if she breathed too hard.

She’d planned on breaking it to him much more calmly. Had figured he’d invite her in for a cup of coffee and she could work her way around to it. But he hadn’t invited her in, hadn’t wanted anything to do with her.

His reaction had hurt her, made her angry—and careless. Of course, now that it was too late, she would do anything to take back her hasty words. Matt hadn’t deserved to find out about his impending fatherhood so callously.

“Three months?” he finally asked, his voice low and hoarse.

“Yes.”

“As in twelve weeks?”

“Yes.”

“As in…”

“Yes. I got pregnant that last week in Austin.” To his credit, he didn’t ask if she was sure. Of course, that could be more from the shock than from any consideration for her. But somehow, she doubted it.

“I know this isn’t what you were expecting,” she began nervously. “And I’m sorry to spring it on you—believe me, when I first found out I didn’t look any better than you do. And I thought about ending it—a baby doesn’t exactly fit into my lifestyle—but when it got to be crunch time, I just couldn’t do it. Maybe that’s not fair to you, I don’t know. All I know is that I’m having this baby and I figure you have the right to know about it.”

“Get rid of it?”

She thought that sounded like a question, but she wasn’t sure. Maybe it had been an order. Taking a deep breath, Camille flipped her hair out of her face—she wanted to make sure she had a good look at his face when they discussed this—and said, “I can’t. I know it would make things easier and maybe it’s the best decision. But I just…can’t.”

“That wasn’t a suggestion. I was trying to decipher what you—” He swore, ran an unsteady hand over his face. “I wasn’t prepared for this, Camille.”

“Neither was I. Believe me. When I started throwing up in Florence I was sure I’d caught a bug—and not one of the nine-months variety.”

“Matt? Are you coming?” Once again, the female voice floated down the hallway and Camille was glad to realize she didn’t feel quite so sucker punched this second time. Not that she had any right to complain—and she wasn’t. But still, knowing Matt was with another woman was…disconcerting.

He swore again, a little more loudly. “Uh, yeah, Ariane. Give me a minute.”

He looked so flustered that she couldn’t help feeling contrite. Blurting it out like that had been a ridiculous thing to do, especially when Matt was obviously on a date. But she’d given herself a pep talk all the way over here and she hadn’t been able to hold the words in any longer. She’d wanted to say them—to somebody.

Saying them made the baby real, certainly more real than it had been since she’d stood in the middle of her small Italian flat and tried to decipher the pregnancy test directions, which had been written in Italian.

Despite the language barrier, the fact that the little window had turned blue had left her with little doubt as to whether or not she was pregnant. As she’d stared at the small, slender wand she’d been scared. Shocked. And more than a little horrified. But as the minutes and hours and finally days passed, she’d managed to wrap her mind around the concept of being pregnant. The baby was still a mystery—one she had no idea what to do with—but she figured she had six months to learn. After all, she had an entire pregnancy to get through before she had to worry about an actual baby. Thank God.

“Look, I’m sorry to just barge in here like this. I guess I didn’t think this thing through as well as I could have. I’ll come back later, when you’re not…entertaining.”

She started to turn away, but his hand snaked out and grabbed her wrist. “You’re not getting off that easily.”

“What does that mean?” She felt her own back go up.

“It means, you can’t just breeze in here and drop a bombshell like that and then turn around and walk back out.”

“I know that,” she snarled, trying to extricate herself from his painless but nevertheless firm grip. “But I figured you had other things to do right now. Call me on my cell when—”

“Yeah, because that works so well.” He thrust his free hand through his thick fall of auburn hair. “I’m not letting you out of here until we settle some things—”

“Matt?”

At the interruption, Camille glanced over Matt’s shoulder at his date. Her stomach sank at the first glimpse of the tiny but voluptuous blond woman. Exquisitely dressed and exceptionally beautiful, she was everything Camille wasn’t. Suddenly she felt like the tall, ungainly elephant in the room, even though she was still a couple of months from showing.

But still, how could she compete with Ariane? If this was Matt’s regular type, then Camille—with her normal attire of jeans and tank tops and paint-splattered skin—didn’t stand a chance.

The thought brought her up cold, had her backing out the front door without even bothering to glance behind her to see where she was going.

Not that she wanted a chance with Matt, she assured herself viciously as she teetered on the edge of the first step. He wasn’t her usual type any more than she was his. And she didn’t want to get tied down to any one man anyway. That was just asking for trouble.

Nothing had changed since she’d left here twelve weeks before. It just felt like everything had.

“Camille, look out!” Matt had followed her out onto the porch and now he reached for her a second time, stopping her from falling down the stairs. She wondered if she should feel grateful that he’d saved her from looking ridiculous as well as stupid. One thing was for certain—she was making one hell of a second impression.

Taking a deep breath, she met Matt’s warm, brown eyes for the third time that night. “Thanks. Another guy would have let me fall—at least then all your problems would be over.”

She watched as his face turned from concerned to angry, the little laugh lines at the corners of his eyes getting deeper as he frowned. “That’s an awful thing to say. I would never—”

“I know, I know.” She backed down the steps, this time keeping a hand on the railing and glancing behind her to make sure she didn’t stumble again. “That’s what I was trying to say. Not all guys are like you.

“Do you still have my cell number? If not, I can call you tomorrow sometime and we can get together for coffee and—” she darted a look at the petite blonde, who was looking more and more confused—and annoyed—by the minute “—talk about the project,” she improvised wildly, not wanting to ruin his evening any more than she already had. “I’m sorry for bothering you at home. This can definitely wait for a better time. I’ll just—”

“Camille, stop.”

Matt’s voice rang out and she froze, shocked at how quickly he’d gone from easygoing to authoritative.

“We need to talk.”

She swallowed nervously, wondered how on earth she’d managed to get herself into this predicament. “I know and we will. Later.” She was almost at her car, almost free.

“I know running is your favored modus operandi, but that’s not going to work with this. I want—”

“Matt, what’s going on here?” Ariane spoke for the first time since coming down the hall. Matt turned to her and it was all the distraction Camille needed. Her keys were already in her hand—she realized dazedly she’d never even put them away—and she dived toward her rental car like a desert wanderer toward an oasis.

Running away might be the coward’s way out, but right now she preferred to consider it a strategic retreat. There was no way she could talk to Matt about the baby with the perfect Ariane anywhere in the picture.

After fumbling the keys into the ignition, she pulled away from the curb. The last thing she saw as she drove away was Matt standing on the sidewalk, mouth drawn and narrowed as he watched her leave. Again.

## CHAPTER TWO

AN HOUR LATER, CAMILLE SAT on her anonymous motel bed eating Cherry Garcia ice cream right out of the container—and not being the least bit dainty about it.

Now that she was away from Matt and his date, she felt ridiculous for running. Even more ridiculous for blurting things out the way she had. She, who had been known for her clear head and ballsy demeanor for most of her adult life, had totally choked. And now they were both paying the price for it.

Still, what had she been thinking just showing up at Matt’s house like that? He was a great guy, with the typical sex drive of a thirty-five-year-old male. Was it any wonder, then, that he had a girlfriend? It had been twelve weeks since she’d walked away from him. What had she expected—that he’d wait around and pine for her forever?

She nearly laughed at the thought, the image of the gorgeous Ariane emblazoned forever in her brain. Camille had no delusions about her own attractiveness—she knew she was far from beautiful. Striking was how most people described her. Not easy to forget. Through the years she’d learned to play to her strengths, emphasizing her unusual coloring and irregular features instead of playing them down.

And usually she was okay with it. She shook her head, took another big mouthful of ice cream. Who was she kidding? She’d always been okay with it—right up until she’d come face-to-face with the woman who’d replaced her in Matt’s affections. Which was absurd. Just because he was the father of her baby didn’t mean he was going to be anything more to her. She didn’t want him to be anything more.

When her phone rang, she almost ignored it. After all, Matt was probably still tied up with the blonde wonder and she wasn’t exactly in the mood to talk to anyone else. But curiosity had her digging in her pocket for her cell.

Matt’s name scrolled across the small screen and her hands grew damp. She wasn’t ready for this, hadn’t recovered from the embarrassment of her less than graceful retreat. Besides, she’d figured he had more exciting plans than talking to her tonight. She hadn’t expected a call until sometime tomorrow.

Nerves on red alert, she answered with a soft “Hello.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m at my motel.”

“I figured that—which one?”

“Why?”

“Why do you think?” He sounded angry and frustrated and more than a little out of sorts. “I’m coming over.”

“It can wait until tomorrow—”

“Keep dreaming, Camille. And tell me where you are.”

She rattled off the name of the motel, along with its cross streets, her heart pounding like a rock song.

“What room?”

“Two-thirteen.”

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Don’t go anywhere.”

He clicked off and she was left staring at a dead phone. And wishing that the next hour was already over. Anything was better than the sick curl of anticipation working its way through her pregnancy-churned stomach.

MATT POUNDED UP THE STAIRS that led to Camille’s motel room, his heart in his throat and his blood pressure through the roof.

Pregnant. Camille was pregnant. With his child.

Just the thought boggled the brain.

He’d used a condom, hadn’t he? Every time? Then how was she— He yanked his thoughts back to the present, but it wasn’t easy. Nothing had been from the moment he’d opened his door and seen Camille standing there.

He didn’t even know what he’d said to get rid of Ariane. After Camille had driven away, he’d stood on the sidewalk looking after her car for God only knew how long as he tried to assimilate her words. He hadn’t succeeded.

Finally, a less than happy Ariane had come outside looking for him. She’d wanted to pick the date up where they’d left off, before Camille’s interruption, but he’d been too shocked to do more than utter the most banal of excuses as he showed her the door.

She hadn’t been impressed, but he hadn’t cared. He still didn’t care, as all his thoughts and energy were currently wrapped up in Camille’s bombshell.

Pregnant.

Camille was pregnant.

He kept hoping that repeating the words would make them seem more real—and him less clueless. But the truth was he didn’t even know where to start trying to figure this mess out.

When he got to room 213, he pounded on the door hard enough to let Camille know he wasn’t taking no for an answer. How she’d thought he’d want to wait until tomorrow to talk to her, he’d never know. But then again, he’d never been able to figure out what was going on in Camille’s brain. Case in point—the whole debacle three months ago when he’d begged her to stay. And she’d batted him away as if he were a pesky gnat.

Then Camille’s door was swinging open and any and all confused thoughts he’d been able to form between his house and here completely flew out of his head. Not that it was anything new—his first glimpse of her, even when they’d been dating, had always done that to him.

There was just something about her that knocked him stupid.

Trying to buy himself a few seconds, he glanced at the half-eaten container of ice cream in her hand, cataloged the lines of strain around her eyes and mouth.

“You look tired,” he finally said.

“I’m jet-lagged. I just got in from Italy today.”

“How long have you known?”

“About the baby?”

He nodded.

“Five days.”

Something cold melted in his chest. She’d just found out she was pregnant and had come straight back to Austin to tell him about the baby. At least she hadn’t been keeping it from him.

At least she’d been willing to trust him that much.

“Okay.” He glanced behind her, to her empty motel room. The television murmured quietly in the background. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah, sure.” She turned away, leaving him to follow.

When she sank onto the bed, he had a moment’s indecision. Should he sit next to her? Stand? For a man who always knew where he was going and what he was doing, it was a less than impressive feeling.

He glanced around. It was a typical motel room—a bed, a table and chair, a dresser. He crossed the worn beige carpet, pulled out the chair and sat down. He didn’t trust himself to get too close to her—the room smelled like her and he could feel his body responding, despite the numerous warnings he’d given himself on the way over.

Judging from the look on Camille’s face, he figured anything she viewed as an advance on his part would be met with solid resistance. Not to mention a kick in the ass.

Not that he wanted to put the moves on her, he assured himself and his unruly erection. He’d given up on that stupidity a few weeks before, when he’d finally figured out that she wasn’t going to come back. He’d resigned himself, then, to the fact that he would never be with her again.

Too bad his body didn’t feel the same way.

Silence seethed between them. With each second that passed he could see Camille getting more agitated, her eyes darting between him, the TV and the Ben & Jerry’s container in a pattern that would have been funny if he wasn’t so damned strung out himself.

Maybe he should have mercy on her—she looked as shell-shocked as he felt. But as he watched her, Matt realized he was still too raw to feel very merciful. Her abandonment had really done a number on him—more so than he’d ever expected.

So, instead of breaking the uncomfortable quiet, he just watched and waited. Finally, when her spoon scraped the bottom of the ice cream container—and she had nothing else to hold her attention—she murmured softly, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin your date.”

Who was this woman and what had she done with the Camille he’d known? That Camille had never apologized once in the time they were together. So what had changed?

The difference made him uncomfortable, as if the ground beneath him was shifting with each step he took. Because of it, his voice was harsher than he’d intended when he asked, “You think my date was more important than talking to the mother of my child? What the hell do you think of me?”

“I didn’t mean that.” She shoved up from the bed, then tossed the empty ice cream container in the trash before crossing to him. There was a shadow of anger in her own eyes and he couldn’t help being relieved. This was the Camille he knew—fiery and strong. He preferred her to the cold, fragile woman who’d opened the motel-room door.

“So what did you mean?”

“I know this is a shock—and my timing couldn’t have been worse.”

“It’s no big deal. Ariane understood.”

“Good.”

The silence was back, yawning between them like an underground cavern waiting to be explored. This time, he was the first to break it.

“So what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to keep it.”

“You said that earlier. I meant, what are you going to do when the baby comes?”

“I don’t know. I’m still trying to wrap my head around the idea that there is a baby.”

He glanced at her still-flat stomach, knowing exactly what she meant. He felt like he’d been pulled up short, run over by a steamroller. Pulled into a swirling abyss of emotions and decisions he was in no way ready for.

“I want to help.” The words came out stilted, cool, and she stiffened in response.

“Look, I didn’t come here to hit you up for money.”

“Still, I want to help. And I don’t just mean financially. That’s my kid, too.”

“Well, that wasn’t the reaction I’d anticipated.” The careless, mocking tone he knew so well was back, and he couldn’t help being relieved. He knew how to deal with this Camille.

“So what did you anticipate? You fly halfway around the world and show up on my doorstep with no warning—you must have been expecting something.”

“You didn’t even ask me if the baby was yours.”

His stomach churned acid at her words, until all he could think of was Camille in the arms of another man. Other men. How many had there been since she’d left him, anyway? He shoved the uncomfortable images away—regret wouldn’t change anything.

“I figured if you made the effort to tell me, you had to be pretty sure…”

“You’re the father.”

He released the breath he hadn’t known he was holding. “All right, then. So what do we do now?”

“What do you mean?”

“Have you seen a doctor? Figured out where you want to live? Thought about getting a job? You don’t have to work right now, if you don’t want to. I make enough money to—”

“Whoa, Matt.” It was the first time she’d said his name since she’d come back, and warmth curled through him. At least until her next words hit him. “I’ve barely begun to think things through. I came back because I figured I owed it to you to tell you about the baby face-to-face. But nothing says I’m going to stay here.”

“Excuse me?”

“Austin isn’t exactly my dream spot, you know.” She glanced around the generic motel room. “I never planned to settle here.”

“But my business is here. My life is here.”

“That doesn’t mean mine has to be.”

Ice skated down his spine. “What are you saying, Camille? That you don’t want me to be a part of this baby’s life?”

“Are you saying you really want to be a part of its life?” She looked him up and down skeptically. “You don’t exactly come across as a family man.”

Her words came at him from left field. Sure, when they’d been together, he hadn’t talked about wanting to get married and have a family. He hadn’t wanted to spook her. But he’d always anticipated having a wife and kids someday—just because his parents’ marriage hadn’t worked out didn’t mean he didn’t believe in the institution.

The thought gave him pause, made him wonder if this thing with Camille would ruin all his plans for the future. He’d always planned to do things the normal way—wife first, then kids. Having a kid first—with a woman who had no feelings for him and no plans to stick around—hadn’t been part of the agenda.

Would a woman like Ariane—smart, savvy, driven—accept his ties to another woman, accept the fact that he’d had a child out of wedlock? Or would his lack of formal relationship with Camille make her suspicious about his ability to commit?

With a sigh, he let the worries go—things were what they were and there was nothing he could do but to make new plans, plans that included his baby and its commitment-phobic mother.

“I find it hard to believe that you think you can criticize me on my lifestyle. When you can’t even hold a job for more than a month at a time.”

“I choose not to hold a job. There’s a huge difference.”

“Yeah—and the distinction’s not a particularly flattering one to you.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she drawled. “I think footloose and fancy-free is a lot better than buttoned-up and bitter as hell.”

“For the second time, I am not bitter.”

“Now, there’s a good defense.” Her eyes mocked him even more than her words. “Denial’s not just a river in Egypt, Matt.”

“Babies have a way of tying you down, Camille. They need things like security and stability.”

She clenched her hands into fists, and he stared at her long artist’s fingers, fascinated. They still bore traces of blue and green paint, as if she’d finished a painting and caught a plane to America all in the same hour.

Of course, she might have done just that—it was her way. Attacking her on it was going to get them nowhere.

“Look, Camille, it’s my turn to apologize. This whole baby thing came out of nowhere and it’s made me a little punchy.” He pushed out of the chair, strode over to where she was. “I can’t imagine what it’s done to you.”

“It’s freaked me out,” she admitted candidly. “Turned my whole life upside down—and the kid isn’t even here yet.”

“That’s kind of what I figured—and I’m not making this any easier for you.” He settled himself next to her on the bed, rested a soft hand on her knee. A jolt of electricity ripped between them, but he worked to ignore it. Chemistry—or a lack thereof—had never been their problem.

Too bad he couldn’t say the same thing about communication.

“Look, nothing has to be decided now. Right? So we can just take things slowly, see how they work out.”

“How do you think they’re going to work out?”

“I don’t know, but I’m sure we’ll think of something.”

She didn’t answer, just stared at him for so long that he began to feel like a bug under a microscope—and a dead one, at that.

Just when his nerves were at the breaking point, she whispered, “Okay.”

Relief swept through him, though he didn’t know why. This baby was a complication he didn’t need. Yet the idea of her taking off again, of never seeing the baby he’d helped create, left him cold.

Clearing away the sudden lump in his throat, he asked, “Have you seen a doctor yet?”

“I figured I’d do that here.”

“Do you have anyone in mind?”

She shook her head and he started to relax. This is what he was good at. Planning. Thinking things out. Getting things done. If she’d let him, he’d take care of everything. “I’ll figure something out. My friend Reece’s wife had a baby just a few weeks ago—maybe she knows someone.”

“Same old Matt, taking care of anyone who will let him.”

He forced himself not to take offense. “You’re not anyone. You’re the mother of my child.”

“Matt, I didn’t tell you about the baby because I wanted to guilt you into anything. I don’t work that way.”

“I realize that.” He studied her, with her wild black curls and bottomless gypsy eyes. He did know it—that was the kicker. But that didn’t mean he didn’t feel responsible. Hell, he was responsible.

“I just thought—” She blew out a breath, let her hand with its multicolored fingers rest on his. “I figured you should know.”

“Well.” He forced a smile. “Now I know.”

“Now you know.”

He reached into his pocket, pulled out his cell phone.

“What are you doing?”

“Texting Reece for the name and number of Sarah’s doctor. I want to get you in to see someone as soon as possible.”

“Why do tomorrow what you can do today, huh, Matt?”

He looked up from the message he was composing. “Why do today what you can put off until tomorrow, huh, Camille?”

She smiled at him, the first real smile he’d seen from her since she’d walked out his door all those weeks before. And just that easily, the knot in his stomach dissolved.

Everything was going to be fine. He’d get Camille to a doctor, get her set up in an apartment that had enough room—and light—for her to paint. After he’d checked with the doctor, of course, and made sure the fumes weren’t bad for the baby.

He’d take care of everything—like he always did. After all, how hard could caring for one pregnant woman be?

## CHAPTER THREE

CAMILLE JERKED INTO a sitting position, her foggy brain struggling to figure out what had woken her when it felt like she had just drifted to sleep. After rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, she glanced down at the clock on her bedside table and realized that she had only gotten two hours of sleep.

With a groan, she sank back under the covers and pulled her pillow over her ears—anything to get the incessant ringing to stop. A few moments later it did stop and she eased the pillow onto the bed beside her—only to scramble for it once the noise started up again.

What on earth was making—the motel phone. She squinted at the offending object, taking in the red message light blinking maniacally at the same time she reached the conclusion that her caller wasn’t going to just hang up and try again later. Besides, she’d been in town less than a day—only one person knew to call her here and he wasn’t known for his willingness to give up.

Fumbling for the phone, she dropped the receiver—twice—before managing to get it to her ear. “Hello.”

“It’s about time.” Matt’s voice came through the line, smooth and sexy and oh-so-efficient. It was more than enough to put her teeth on edge. “I was beginning to think you’d drowned in the shower.”

“I was asleep.”

“Well, get up. It’s nearly ten and we have an eleven o’clock appointment with an obstetrician.”

“What?” She struggled into a sitting position. “I told you I was pregnant twelve hours ago and you already have a doctor’s appointment?”

“You’re three months along—you need to be seen.”

“Yes, but—”

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. We can talk in the car. The doctor’s office is across town and we need to get there early to fill out paperwork.”

He hung up before she could say another word. Camille slid the receiver back into its cradle and then flopped back onto the bed. Since when had Matt turned into a general marshalling his troops for battle—and how had she been enlisted as one of those troops anyway?

As she stared at the ceiling, she couldn’t figure out if she should be angry at his presumptuousness—and at the orders he’d barked at her—or just grateful that he’d handled the details of finding a doctor for her. At three months along, she knew she needed to be checked over—and soon—and she hadn’t been relishing the thought of combing the yellow pages for a doctor. Still, it rankled that Matt hadn’t even asked for her input….

Deciding to go along with his plans for now—she’d never been one to cut her nose off to spite her face—Camille threw back the covers and climbed out of bed. She stumbled to the bathroom, where a quick glance in the mirror showed she looked as bad as she felt. Maybe even worse.

The day was off to a fantastic start.

One quick shower, manic tooth brushing and hit-and-miss application of lip gloss and mascara later, she was feeling almost human. At least, until the knock on her door had her jumping in surprise and knocking her shin against the motel room’s sharp-cornered dresser.

Her eyes darted to the clock. Had it really been fifteen minutes—yes, it had. Fourteen, to be exact. Not that she was surprised. In the time they’d been together, Matt had never once been late. As she was always running fifteen minutes behind, she’d admired that about him…then.

Slipping into her robe, she yanked open the door with a snarl. “How’d you get an OB appointment on such short notice?”

“He’s a friend of mine. I knew him when I was at grad school.” His eyes swept over her from head to toe and his mouth tightened. “He did me a favor, which is why I don’t want to be late. Go get dressed.”

“If you’d given me more warning—”

“I’ve been calling, off and on, since I got off the phone with him at 8:30. It’s not my fault you sleep like the dead.”

“I’m jet-lagged.” She tossed the comment flippantly over her shoulder as she yanked a pair of jeans and a tank top out of the suitcase she had yet to unpack. No need for him to know that she’d spent the night staring at the television while thoughts of the future spun through her mind like a Tilt-A-Whirl at high speed.

“I know. And the articles I read last night said that pregnant women are always exhausted in the first few months—we’ll go to the doctor and then I’ll bring you back here to sleep.”

“Why, thank you, Daddy. I really appreciate it.” She sauntered into the bathroom, closed the door with a snap.

“Don’t go there,” he called through the door. “I’m not trying to order you around—I just want to make sure you and the baby are okay.”

His concern warmed her, even as it made her heart hiccup a little in her chest. She’d been prepared for anger, annoyance, dismay—but his concern was unexpected. Not to mention disconcerting. She got dressed quickly, then took a couple of minutes to primp in the mirror—not because she thought she could do anything about the too-thin face with the dark circles that stared back at her, but because she didn’t want Matt to think he could rush her. It set a bad precedent.

Only when her heartbeat was back to normal and she’d drawn her emotional armor around herself did she head back into the bedroom. “There better be coffee in that cup and it better be for me.”

“It is.” He held the large white-and-green cup out to her. “It’s decaf. The Web sites said that caffeine—”

“Is bad for the baby. I get it.” She took a sip of the fragrant brew and figured it was a sign of her willingness to play nice that she didn’t whimper at the lack of kick.

“Are you ready to go?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” She hunted around for sandals, found them in a tangle under the desk. “We need to stop at a bank, though. I need money.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He held the door open for her, waiting as she preceded him through. “Matt.”

“No charge for the first appointment—I told you he was a friend of mine.”

“What happened to Sarah’s obstetrician?”

“He retired. But Rick’s a better bet, anyway. He’s the best at what he does—even if his practice is on the other side of town.”

“And he’s really willing to see me for free?”

“Yes. I swear.”

She turned and studied him suspiciously, but he seemed sincere. “Fine.” Her reply was less than gracious, but she wasn’t sure what to do with this man who took care of everything for her. She was used to taking care of herself and wasn’t sure how to feel now that Matt was taking over.

When they got to his car, Matt held her door open for her—a habit she remembered from when they’d been together. How had she managed to get herself hooked up with one of the last gentlemen on the planet? It boggled the mind, so she let it go—it was far too early to contemplate issues of that weight, especially when the benign dictator next to her was denying her caffeine.

Right before he pulled into traffic, Matt reached behind him and handed her a brown paper bag. She opened it and didn’t even bother to try and stifle her laugh.

“Trying to fatten me up?”

“I didn’t know what you’d be in the mood for. Besides, pregnant women need calcium and vitamins and—”

She clapped a hand over his mouth with a playful grin. “I get it. You spent the night reading every prenatal Web site you could find.”

He started to talk, but her hand was still over his lips. The motion of his jaw as he tried to speak had his lips brushing against her palm, and little shivers shot down her back at the sensation. She jerked her hand away. Maybe the baby wasn’t the only thing left of their previous relationship after all—yet one more thing she didn’t know how to feel about.

To give herself something to do, she reached into the bag and pulled out a fruit-and-yogurt parfait. “Thanks,” she murmured as she popped off the top. “This was really thoughtful of you.”

“No problem.” His voice sounded strained, but she was too busy digging into her breakfast to wonder why.

AS MATT PULLED UP TO a red light, he glanced at Camille out of the corner of his eye and nearly groaned. Her hair was a wild halo around her face, and the coffee and food had put a rosy tint in her pale cheeks, a tint that—combined with her hair—reminded him too much of what she looked like after a long session of lovemaking. His hands clenched the steering wheel as he felt himself harden, and he cursed the fact that she could arouse him so easily. But from the moment she’d opened the door to her motel room in her skimpy purple robe, he’d been remembering what it felt like to touch her.

To kiss her.

To make love to her.

In the few weeks they’d been together, he’d taken great delight in sliding his hands under that robe to caress her long, lean body. Seeing it again—on her—was like a slap in the face. Or a match to his libido.

Part of him had wanted nothing more than to grab her and lift her against him until her fabulous legs were wrapped around his waist and he was once again inside her. She was pregnant with his child, after all. It wasn’t like they wouldn’t have a future connection.

But at the same time, he didn’t want to go there. Or, at least, he told himself he didn’t. Camille had taken off without a backward glance once—what was to say she wouldn’t do it again? Especially if he pressured her for sex.

No, this situation was difficult and chaotic enough without adding extra stress into the mix. Better to just leave things alone for a while—no need to invite more chaos because he had a difficult time controlling himself around her.

The drive to the doctor’s office was made in almost complete silence—except for the soft murmurs of appreciation Camille gave every once in a while as she devoured the fruit-and-yogurt parfait he’d bought her. By the time they arrived at the tall glass-and-chrome building that housed his friend’s practice, a line of sweat was running down Matt’s back and he wanted nothing so much as to escape back to his simple, organized office.

Camille shot him an amused look as Matt pulled up to the circular driveway near the door. “I’m pregnant, not an invalid, you know.”

“I never said you were.

“Just go park—I’m perfectly capable of walking a few hundred feet. I spent the past few weeks doing just that in Italy.”

With Stefano. She didn’t say the words, but they echoed in Matt’s head anyway—a reminder of just how easy she’d found it to leave him—and replace him. Clenching his teeth against the thought, he murmured, “Humor me.”

“Look, Matt—”

“Camille, go sit on the bench. I’ll be back to get you in a minute.”

“But—”

“I know you’re a big girl. I know you can do this all by yourself. But the fact is, you’re not by yourself anymore. I’m a part of this baby’s life, too, so you might as well deal with it. Now, get out of the car.”

His tone must have been firmer than he’d intended, because her eyes widened in a very un-Camille-like fashion. But she didn’t say another word, just gathered up her purse and the trash from her breakfast and climbed from the car.

He was just thinking that perhaps he’d been a little too harsh when she slammed the door behind her so hard that his customized, lovingly restored ’68 Mustang shook from the impact. He grinned as he pulled away—had he really thought Camille could be so easily cowed?

After parking the car what felt like a mile away, he hustled toward the building—unsure what he would find when he got there. The Camille he knew was more than capable of taking off without him when she was annoyed—either heading up to the doctor’s office on her own or actually just taking off down the street. But when he got to the front of the building, she was sitting on the little stone bench near the front door, eyes closed and head resting against the wall behind her.

He paused for a moment, studied her. With her eyes closed and her face relaxed, she looked young and vulnerable—barely old enough to have a child, despite the fact that they’d celebrated her thirty-second birthday a few months ago, when they’d been together.

He didn’t make a sound, but she must have sensed him because her eyes opened and she sat up abruptly. He watched, fascinated, as her mask descended—the carefree, smiling face he’d grown to expect from her when they’d been dating. Why hadn’t he ever noticed before that she wrapped it around her like armor—just another way to keep the world outside from getting close to her? From seeing the real her.

A frisson of unease worked its way down Matt’s spine as he wondered, for the first time, if there really was more to Camille than he’d ever expected.

“I didn’t know the doctor’s name or suite number.”

And there she was, the woman who would as soon tell him to go to hell as look at him when he pissed her off, making sure he didn’t read too much into the fact that she’d waited for him. “Maybe I did that on purpose,” he answered.

“No doubt.” She stood and headed into the building, figuring—he was sure—that he would follow. Which he did.

“His name is Rick D’Amato—he’s in suite 370.” He punched the button for the elevator.

“And you went to grad school with him?”

“Not with him,” he said. “We were at Columbia at the same time—in different disciplines. Obviously.”

“Obviously.” She smirked. “You know, I just can’t see you in New York.”

“I like New York. There’s always something to do, something to see.”

“But it’s so chaotic.”

“There is that—but, hey, I have nothing against organized chaos.”

“Just unorganized chaos.”

“Exactly.”

The elevator dinged and he held the door for her with a smile. She had such a quick mind that it was easy to verbally spar with her—in the months she’d been gone, he’d forgotten how much he’d liked that about her. The fact that she never pulled her punches, and didn’t expect him to pull his.

“So, if you were in totally different disciplines—how did you meet Rick?”

“We played on the same intramural baseball team. He has a hell of a curve ball.”

“Something every obstetrician needs.”

“He’s a great doctor—graduated in the top ten his year at Columbia. Friend or not, I wouldn’t bring you here otherwise.” It was important that she knew that, that she understood how seriously he took her health—and the baby’s.

“Chill out, Matt. I was only teasing.” She headed up to the counter, pulling out her identification as she went.

He hung back, though it cost him. He wanted to take care of checking her in, wanted to take care of everything for her—for his baby—but as the receptionist handed her a clipboard full of forms, it struck home how little he really knew about Camille.

Oh, he knew that she was an incredible artist. That she was fun and exciting and had a sense of humor that could cut like a scalpel. But as he sat, watching her fill out forms on her family and personal history, he realized he didn’t have a clue about any aspect of her personal life. He didn’t know anything about what had made Camille the crazy gypsy he’d fallen for—hook, line and sinker.

The knowledge grated. He didn’t have much time to brood over it, however, because his old friend chose that moment to pop his head out of the door between the inner and outer offices. “Hey, Matt, come on back. I’ve been waiting for you two.”

“How are you?” he asked Rick, as the doctor escorted them back to his office.

“I’m good. Busy, but good. Can’t complain.” He extended a hand to Camille. “It’s nice to meet you, Camille. Congratulations on your pregnancy.”

Camille’s full lips twisted wryly. “Thanks.”

“So, Matt didn’t give me all the details on the phone.” He gestured for them to sit, then walked around to the business side of the desk and did the same. “What was the date of your last period?”

“January 27.”

He grabbed a little spinny wheel out of his desk drawer and Matt watched, fascinated, as Rick shifted it around. “You’re gunning for a November baby, then. Cool. You’re due on November 4.” He held the wheel out so they both could see the date.

Sheer astonishment rocketed up Matt’s spine as he stared at the little arrow pointing toward the beginning of November. November 4. He would be a father on November 4. God, he could barely wrap his mind around it. Sure, he’d been planning for the baby from the second the shock wore off last night, but still, knowing Camille was pregnant wasn’t the same as having an actual date when the baby would be born.

November 4 his whole world would change—and he had no idea how he felt about it.

“So, does that sound good, Matt?”

Rick’s voice brought him back to the present with a resounding thud. Glancing at his friend, he realized he had no idea what the man had just asked him. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I’m going to take Camille into one of the exam rooms, check her out, and then you can meet us in the ultrasound room.”

“Uh, sure.” Then the words sunk in. “Ultrasound, already? But she’s barely three months along yet.”

“It’s standard procedure, Matt. We do it at every first visit, just to ensure that the pregnancy is viable.”

“Viable. What does that mean?”

Rick smiled indulgently. “Nothing, man. Don’t worry about it, okay? I’ll talk you through it.”

“Do you think something’s wrong?”

“Not at all.”

“But you said—”

“Matt, come on.” Camille stood and starting pulling him toward the door. “It’s normal. Rick’s just being organized, making sure everything is going the way it should. Everything’s fine.”

He wasn’t convinced. “Then why can’t I be in the room when he examines you? I have questions—”

“Because, I don’t really think you need to see me with my feet in stirrups and Rick between my legs with a speculum, okay?”

He froze, could feel his face draining of color even as he admired her candor. “Oh. You mean that kind of examination.”

Rick didn’t even bother to hide his laughter. “Yes, that kind.” He pointed him toward the waiting room. “I’ll have a nurse come get you before we do the sonogram.” Then he headed down the hall with an amused Camille.

Matt made his way awkwardly back down to the waiting room, not liking the sudden feeling of being superfluous. Sure, he had no desire to sit in on Camille’s pelvic exam, but still, it felt strange to be relegated to the sidelines. He glanced around the empty room, wondered if all fathers were sent out here, or just the ones who weren’t an active part of the life of their baby’s mother?

Were all fathers really so unnecessary? He sank down onto one of the cushy waiting-room chairs and tried to come to grips with the fact that for the next few months, he really didn’t have an important role in the whole drama that was about to unfold. He’d done his job, and now he just needed to sit back and wait for the baby to come out. Everything that went on now, went on inside Camille’s body. She was the one in the driver’s seat. The one in control.

For a man who had always prided himself on his ability to make order from chaos and control any situation, the realization didn’t sit well. Any more than did the idea that Camille could—and probably would—get restless feet sometime in the next six months.

Because the idea of her taking off with his baby still inside of her made him feel vaguely ill, he tried to find something else to concentrate on. But the magazines were all geared toward women and he really wasn’t interested in garnering the latest fashion tips.

Picking up a baby magazine, he flipped it open to an article discussing sudden infant death syndrome—and dropped it so quickly that he gave himself a paper cut. How many things was he supposed to worry about at one time, anyway? Wasn’t there enough to focus on during a pregnancy without borrowing trouble from after the birth?

He ended up tapping his feet nervously, counting down the seconds until he could get back to Camille. Rick had laughed at his concern that something was wrong with the baby, but he was the one who’d used the word viable. How was a guy supposed to relax with that hanging over his head? He’d finally wrapped his mind around the idea that Camille was pregnant, and now suddenly, Rick was telling him that it might not last?

What kind of doctor did that? What kind of friend spooked him like that, and then left him cooling his jets in the waiting room? The next time he had Rick on a baseball field, he was going to make the man—

“Mr. Jenkins?” A nurse called his name from the doorway, and he shot out of his chair like a puppet on a very short string. “You can come back now.”

Thank God. If he’d had to wait much longer, he might have stroked out right in the middle of his good friend’s waiting room.

## CHAPTER FOUR

“DO YOU WANT TO GET SOME lunch?” Matt asked as they drove back toward her motel room.

“No, thanks. I’m not hungry.” Camille’s mind was going in circles, her head throbbing, and all she could think about was the image she had just seen on the sonogram screen. Tiny, so tiny that she’d had to squint to see it, but there all the same. A baby. A new life, snuggled into her uterus where it belonged, with its little heart beating up a storm. A completely viable pregnancy, Rick had announced with a wide grin. The baby looked perfect.

Her baby. Matt’s baby. She didn’t know what to think, how to feel. In twenty-eight weeks she was going to be a mother and she had no idea what that meant. It wasn’t as if she’d had a good example growing up—or any example really. Just— She slammed the door on the memories, refusing to bring them out right then, not when it was all she could do to just sit quietly in the car as Matt went over everything Rick had told them.

“You need to eat, Camille. You heard Rick—you’re healthy, but you need to gain a few pounds to help support the baby.”

“I heard him. But I had breakfast less than two hours ago—how much do you expect me to eat?”

“Well, at least let me pick you up something before I drop you back at the motel.” He glanced at the clock. “I have a meeting in a little over an hour, so I need to head back to work. But I’ve got your vitamin prescription—I’ll drop it off at the pharmacy on my way to the office and pick it up at the end of the day.”

“There’s no rush. Rick gave me enough samples to last for two months or so.”

“Still, it’s better to have them on hand for when you need them. Also, I thought maybe you’d like to go to an art store tonight or tomorrow? Maybe you could look around a little, find an alternative to the oil paints that won’t hurt the baby. Rick said—”

She gritted her teeth and tried not to scream, but it wasn’t easy—not when Matt seemed intent on taking over every aspect of her life. If she heard Rick said one more time, she was going to forget that she was a pacifist and take a swing at Matt. “It’s no big deal.”

“Of course it is. The fumes can—”

“It’s not like I’m planning on busting out the canvas today. The art supply store can wait a little while—as can lunch.”

“But, Camille, you need—”

“I know what I need! I’m a grown woman who’s been taking care of herself for most of her life. I have a rental car, I have a motel room. I have an ATM card and a relatively healthy checking account. When I’m hungry, I’ll eat. When I’m ready to paint, I’ll figure out what I want to use. And when I need more vitamins, I will go get them. So lay off, okay?”

Matt’s jaw snapped shut with an audible click and for a few minutes blessed silence reigned in the car. Laying her head back against the headrest, Camille closed her eyes and tried to drift off. She was so tired—she couldn’t remember ever being this tired. And Matt’s constant nagging about what she needed to do and eat and think was only making her more exhausted.

She knew he was a planner, knew he liked to map things out far in advance as opposed to flying by the seat of his pants, as she was wont to do. But this was too much, even for him. He was borrowing trouble where there wasn’t any, trying to fix something that wasn’t broken. And it was driving her insane.

Still, when he pulled up in front of her motel, she couldn’t help feeling a little bad for snapping at him. In his own way he was only trying to help—it wasn’t his fault that all his plans were slowly freaking her out. How could he know that all she wanted was blessed silence and a chance to assimilate all the ideas currently running rampant in her head? She’d never told him.

Turning to him with a sigh, Camille laid a light hand over his, where it rested on the steering wheel. “Look, Matt, I didn’t mean to bite your head off. I just—”

“It’s okay.”

“You were just trying to help and I totally blew up. I’m sorry.”

When he finally turned his head, it was with a contrite grin. “Nothing to be sorry about. I keep talking about this pregnancy, but forget the most basic stuff. Like how tired you’re supposed to be in the first trimester—even without the jet-lag. Go get some sleep and I’ll call to check on you in a few hours.”

She searched his face for a minute, but found no sign of upset—just a rueful resignation that all was not going to go according to his master plan. Of course, now that she’d gotten her way, she couldn’t help thinking that it was kind of sweet, how much interest Matt was taking in her and her pregnancy. A lot of guys would have been horrified to have an ex-girlfriend drop in, pregnant and unannounced. Matt had simply absorbed the news and then started making decisions that he thought would keep the baby healthy and safe.

He was a stand-up guy, and though she hadn’t planned this pregnancy, she could have done a lot worse for the father of her baby. Impulsively, she leaned over and kissed his cheek.

Matt froze for a second, then turned so that his lips brushed against hers. Once, twice, so softly that it felt like a feather whispering over her mouth. And yet his touch reawakened something inside of her, a need for him that she’d sublimated but that had never really gone away.

Reaching up, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, until his mouth fit fully over hers. Then she sucked his lower lip between her teeth and nibbled on it, in the way she knew he loved.

He groaned, yanked her across his gearshift, and pressed her against him so that her breasts were flush with his chest, her legs straddling his as the steering wheel bit into her back.

But she didn’t care, the pain barely registering as his lips raced across her cheek and down her neck to the pulse point at the hollow of her throat. She moaned, let her head fall back while he licked at her favorite erogenous zone. Heat raced up her spine, her fingers tangling in Matt’s hair as she started moving anxiously above him. Against him.

He felt so good, made her feel so good, that she couldn’t help wanting to forget the nearly three months that stretched between them. Couldn’t help wanting to take this attraction as far as she could and to say to hell with the consequences. They’d been good together once, they would be again. And if it complicated things, they would deal—they were grown-ups after all.

Twisting her fingers in his hair, she yanked Matt’s mouth back up to hers and devoured him. He tasted just as she remembered—like lemon and mint and the deepest, darkest chocolate. Familiar, comforting and yet so exciting she could swear she heard her brain begin to sizzle. Dipping into his mouth, she stroked his tongue with her own and—

Matt wrenched his mouth away with another groan. She whimpered, tried to drag him back, but he lifted her and set her back on the passenger seat.

“We can’t do this here,” he muttered, his voice dark and growly and so sexy that it took all her willpower not to climb back into his lap. He was breathing heavily—maybe even more heavily than she was. His dark auburn hair was tousled from her fingers and his dark eyes were burning with the same need licking its way through her. “People are everywhere.”

For the first time since Matt’s lips had met her own, Camille became truly aware of where they were—in Matt’s car, parked in front of the door to her motel room, and people were, indeed, everywhere.

“Do you—” She cleared her throat. “Do you want to come up to my room?”

He shook his head regretfully. “I’ve got a meeting in a little more than half an hour.”

“Right. Your meeting. I forgot.” She felt her cheeks blaze and for a moment wanted nothing more than for the ground to open and swallow her. She’d been the one to break up with Matt, yet now she was practically begging him to take her back. It was embarrassing, especially considering the fact that he’d been able to pull away when she was so far gone she would have let him take her in the front seat of his car. Not to mention the fact that he’d turned down an invitation into her bed because he had a meeting.

Maybe it was childish to expect him to drop every thing to be with her, but she didn’t understand how he could run so hot and cold. How he could be so controlled after he’d all but ripped her clothes off in the front of his car?

For a minute, she couldn’t help thinking of the cool blonde she’d run into at his house the night before, couldn’t help wondering how serious she and Matt were.

“Right, of course, I’m sorry.” She fumbled for the door handle. “I’m tired anyway.” She scrambled out of the car. “I guess I’ll see you…whenever.”

“I’ll call you later, Camille.”

“Sure. Later.” She started to slam the door, but stopped as Matt held out a hand to her.

“Make sure you get some lunch—and pick out a place for dinner. I’ll take you out.”

“You don’t have to do that, Matt.”

His eyes grew even darker, hotter, as he growled, “I want to. Now stop arguing and go get some rest. I’ll talk to you later.” He leaned across the seat, grabbed her hand. Squeezed. And suddenly she didn’t feel nearly so uncertain.

Stepping back, she slammed the car door and watched as he drove away. He waved right before he turned the corner and her hand lifted automatically in response, though he had already turned and couldn’t see her.

Then, refusing to think about what that kiss had or hadn’t done to their relationship, she headed up the stairs to her motel room, where she flopped onto the bed and promptly fell asleep, fully dressed.

FOR THE FIRST TIME THAT he could remember, Matt had a difficult time keeping his mind on his job. During the meeting with the new clients, he screwed up no less than four times—on minor stuff that any architectural grad student should have a strong grasp of.

Right around the fourth mess-up, he caught his best friend and partner, Reece Sandler, staring at him as if he’d lost his mind. And when, a few minutes later—after he’d screwed up again—Reece mouthed, “What the hell is wrong with you?” he didn’t even take offense.

How could he? He was so far off his game that it was a miracle the clients hadn’t given up and walked out. He wouldn’t blame them if they did—despite the copious amount of work he and Reece had put into designing the new Japanese skyscraper. The building was tall and monolithic, with incredible angles that let in an abundance of light and a roof that was different from anything else in the business. He and his partner considered it one of their best designs. What had started out as a brainstorming session a couple of years ago had turned into what they hoped would soon be the Makati Tower.

Which was why, when the meeting was over and the Makati Corporation representatives were on their way out, Matt didn’t object to letting Reece show them to the elevator on his own. From the time they had set out their shingle eleven years before, Reece had always been the deal-closer. Funny, polished and extroverted, he rarely failed to bring the client around to their way of thinking. He was a hell of an architect, too, but he was definitely the salesman in their partnership.

Matt was the detail guy, the one who took Reece’s sometimes fantastical ideas and made them work. He was the problem-solver, the number cruncher, the one who made the difficult easy and the impossible possible. Which was why it sucked that he’d been off his game today—when Hiro Makati himself had asked about the methods that went into creating the sharp angles that were the building’s cornerstones, it should have been a slam dunk for him to answer. After all, he’d designed them.

Instead, all he’d been able to think about was Camille and how she’d looked when he’d driven away from her after the doctor’s appointment.

Beautiful, stunned and a little insecure—which was not a word he normally associated with his former lover—she’d touched his heart. Again. After he’d promised himself that he wouldn’t let it happen, wouldn’t let her get inside him this time so that she could just walk away again. And he’d blown it, already.

She’d been back from Italy less than twenty-four hours and he was already hungering to take her to bed, to let her back into his life. To try again, even though he was sure it wouldn’t work out. They were too different—he liked security, craved it, and she was the woman her high school graduating class voted most likely to sail around the world. Even more, she was the woman who had sailed around the world—more than once, while he’d always been the guy to keep his feet planted firmly on the ground.

How the two of them were ever going to raise a child together, he didn’t know. But he was smart enough to know that complicating that job with a renewal of their sexual relationship was definitely not a good idea. Eventually things would burn out between them and then where would they be—bitter and angry with each other at worst, awkward and uncomfortable at best.

No, it was better to keep things simple between them. To keep things platonic. Besides, he couldn’t afford to mess with Camille—she was bad for his peace of mind, bad for his organization. Chaos followed her around and, even worse, worked its way into his own life when he was with her. His disastrous performance at the meeting today was proof of that.

Because he felt guilty as hell—he and Reece had worked too hard on this design to watch it go up in smoke because he couldn’t get his ducks in a row—Matt didn’t even try to dodge Reece’s incredulous look when he came back into the conference room.

“You want to tell me what that was all about?” Reece demanded, leaning against the table. “And don’t tell me ‘nothing,’ because I’ve known you since we were freshmen at UT and I have never seen you screw up like that. Not once in damn near eighteen years of friendship.”

For a split second, Matt didn’t know what he wanted to say. After all, he’d yet to come to grips with everything that had changed in his life in the past twenty-four hours and the idea of talking about it… Still, this was Reece and he knew his friend well enough to know that he didn’t let go once he’d sunk his teeth into something—in this case, Matt’s uncharacteristic screw-ups.

Not sure what he was going to say, he opened up his mouth and the words “Camille’s pregnant” flew out before he could stop them.

Reece didn’t immediately respond, just sat there and blinked at him for a few long seconds. “Camille? The woman you were dating a few months back?”

“Yes.”

“The one you moped around about for weeks?”

“Yes.”

“She’s pregnant?”

“Yes.” He was beginning to feel like a parrot.

“With your kid?”

“Well, yeah. I don’t think I’d be this stressed out if it was someone else’s.”

“Hey, when did this happen?”

Matt stared at his friend incredulously. “Excuse me?”

“Not the pregnant thing, the you-finding-out thing.”

“Oh. Yesterday.”

“So this is what you needed the gynecologist’s number for?”

“Well, it sure as hell wasn’t for me.”

“Yeah, but I figured one of your sisters was looking for a new doctor or something. It never occurred to me that you’d gotten a woman pregnant, but at least everything is making a bit more sense now.”

“I’m glad it makes sense to you, because my head is so screwed up that I can barely see straight.”

Reece reached over, clamped a hand on his shoulder. “Tell me.”

He didn’t have a clue where to start, so for the first time in his life he opened his mouth and just rambled. “I fell for her the first time I saw her. She was doing sidewalk art a few blocks from the UT stadium, keeping the fans amused as we killed time before the game.”

“I remember. You were twenty minutes late for kickoff and when you finally showed up you looked like you’d been hit in the head with a two-by-four.”

“That’s how I felt. I hung out with her for over an hour, even paid her twenty bucks to do a caricature of me.” She’d drawn him in a suit and tie, a huge briefcase clutched in one hand and an even bigger pocket watch in the other. He’d been amazed at the astuteness of her drawing, especially since he’d been dressed in faded jeans and an old UT shirt. “Then I stood around, trying to get her number as she drew a bunch of pictures for other people.