Her Little Secret, His Hidden Heir(29)

Vanessa didn’t reply. Instead, she cocked her head, the tendons at the sides of her throat convulsing as she swallowed, waiting nervously for him to elaborate.

“We didn’t use a condom, which means that you may even now get pregnant with our second child.”





Nine




Oh, God.

Marc’s words slammed into Vanessa’s chest like a bullet, knocking the air from her lungs and making her literally stagger on her feet.

What had she been thinking? Bad enough she’d fallen into bed with her ex-husband faster than a star falls from the sky, but she’d completely forgotten about protection of any kind. It had never occurred to her to insist he use a condom, and since she was a new mother, still breast-feeding and with absolutely zero romantic prospects on the horizon, it hadn’t been necessary for her to be on birth control.

She tried to do the math in her head, to figure out when her last period had been and when she was due again, but panic kept her thoughts in a tailspin.

And what about the breast-feeding? Wasn’t it supposed to be harder to get pregnant while still nursing?

Dear God, please let that be true, because she couldn’t even fathom the idea that she might actually be pregnant again, unexpectedly, unplanned and by her former husband. It was almost too horrifying to contemplate.

“I’m not,” she said, as though saying it firmly and decisively enough would make it true.

Marc raised a dark, sardonic brow. “How can you be so sure.”

“I’m just not,” she insisted, tearing frantically at her dress until she got her feet inside and could yank it up. Never mind that it was open all the way to her bottom in the back because she couldn’t raise the zipper without help. She would walk home with it hanging loose, if she had to, rather than ask him for one iota of assistance.

“And what were you thinking?” she charged, stamping a foot as she slipped it into a strappy red heel. “How could you do that—let me do that—without taking precautions?” She cast him an angry, accusatory glare. “I’ve never known you to be so irresponsible.”

He shrugged, looking exponentially more casual and unconcerned than she was feeling at that particular moment. “What can I say? I was swept away by your beauty and passion, and the exhilaration of being with you again after such a long absence.”

Pausing in the act of shoving on her other shoe, she tilted her head in his direction and gave a loud, unladylike snort. “Please,” she scoffed.

“Is that so hard to believe?” he asked, still wearing the blank mask that gave her no clue of his true emotions.

Was he upset that they’d forgotten to use protection? Happy? Angry? Excited? Confused? Nauseous?

Because she was nauseous. And upset and angry and confused. There was no happiness or excitement anywhere on her radar.

If it turned out she really was pregnant…oh, God, please don’t let her be pregnant again—not by Marc, and not so soon after Danny’s birth…she would of course love the baby. Unconditionally and without question. But the difference between loving an existing child and loving the notion of carrying an as-yet imaginary one—especially under these circumstances—was like the difference between black and white, hot and cold, thirsty and drowning.

She loved Danny with all her heart and soul. She wouldn’t trade him for anything, or even go back and undo the events that had led to his birth.

But she sure as hell wouldn’t choose to be pregnant again. Not so soon after having one child, not without benefit of marriage, and not with a man she’d so recently divorced.

She was already linked too closely to Marc, thanks to his discovery of Danny’s existence. But the thought of being even more closely connected to him through a second child would be a nightmare come to life.

He was almost foaming-at-the-mouth rabid about staying close to her now that he knew about Danny. Having him know from the very beginning that he was going to be a father a second time would turn him into near-stalker material. She would never get rid of him, not even for short amounts of time while he commuted back and forth between Pittsburgh and Summerville.

Oh, no, knowing Marc, he would do something ridiculous like move to Summerville himself, or insist they get remarried and then drag her back to the city where she would be trapped and miserable all over again.

No, no, no, no, no. Vanessa’s head was shaking like a tambourine as she ran her gaze around the room, looking for anything she might have forgotten. Her purse, her watch, an earring…

“I think you underestimate your appeal,” Marc remarked, apparently missing the nuclear meltdown taking place inside her.

Small red clutch in hand, she shot him another withering glare before spinning on her heel and marching toward the hotel room door.

“Vanessa.”

Her free hand was out, reaching for the knob, but his sharp voice stopped her in her tracks. She didn’t turn to look at him, but remained still, waiting for him to continue.

“I’ll see you at the bakery first thing tomorrow, eight o’clock sharp. Be sure Danny is with you.”

A shudder rolled through her, and she wasn’t sure if it was aversion to having to deal with him again in the morning or relief that that was his only parting remark.

With a jerky nod, she pulled the door open and started to step into the hall.