For the first time in his thirty-one years, he was chasing a woman.

Sterling Vance stopped just inside the doors to the parking lot where a petite brunette—well, she’d been brunette once, but now her hair was a coat of many colors—hurried away. From him. He’d called after her repeatedly, and she’d waved a hand over her shoulder and soldiered on. Small shoulders hunched, pale hand rubbing her belly.

Ang might’ve had the stomach flu or food poisoning. Or she was pregnant. Since he’d never seen a woman’s breasts grow from either of the first two, he had to go with the latter. Unless she’d had breast augmentation. There, that was a reasonable explanation. She’d had breast augmentation and now she had food poisoning, probably from the cheese and chips they sold at the bingo hall. Surely that didn’t count as actual food. He’d probably start feeling sick anytime now.

She walked fast, head down. Even with her face hidden by her tangle of wildly colored hair, he could sense her desperation. She didn’t want to talk to him. Running into her at Assumption Church’s parish center in the middle of Manhattan had been pure, blind luck. She was a Hamptonite born and bred, as he was. Their families had been friends for longer than either of them had been alive. Much longer than she had especially, since Ang couldn’t be more than twenty-two.

Sterling’s fist tightened around the phone he gripped in his pocket. Twenty-two, possibly pregnant and alone. At least he assumed she was alone. He hadn’t seen a ring on her finger. And he’d looked, just because. When the likely reality of her situation had slammed into him, he’d wanted to make sure she was taken care of. Happy.

Instead he’d glimpsed fingers bare of all adornment other than a flash of glitter on her nails that probably consisted of silver polish.

Ang had always liked her sparkle.

That sparkle had practically vanished now. The misty smile that had spread slowly over her face as she’d announced Chase and Summer’s impending engagement had disappeared at his acknowledgement of her presence. Something else had filtered into her gaze at the sight of him—and it sure wasn’t pleasure.

They were friends. Or they had been once. He hadn’t visited home much recently, thanks to his new role in Deuces Wild, the bodyguard business he was building with Chase Dixon and Jax Wilder. Usually he made more time during the summer to attend the legendary parties his legendary family was so fond of having, but he hadn’t had the inclination this year. And it wouldn’t have affected his friendship with Ang in any case, since she’d spent the summer in Europe. Doing what, he wasn’t sure.

Before he’d heard she’d left town, he’d hoped she might consider a temporary position at the bodyguard agency. He wanted to reconnect with her. In a town of faux everything, Ang was the real deal. Honest. Smart as hell. Funny.

There were more adjectives he could use: beautiful, untouchable. Way too young.

And now she was pregnant. Maybe. The time line of her promising future as an engineer would most likely change, at the very least. He had no doubt she’d reach her dreams. Still, this pregnancy had to represent a pretty big curveball for a woman who had stuck to a rigid path despite the picture she painted of a freewheeling, free-spirited young woman.

The idea of leaving without speaking to her did more than rankle. It stung. He needed to know what was going on…why it was going on. Dammit, he’d missed her, and he didn’t say that often. He didn’t mind his own company. Other than Jax—and Chase, though their friendship was reluctant at best—he didn’t have many friends. He had business associates, and that suited him fine. As much as he longed to find someone special, he also wasn’t willing to settle. Being alone worked for him right now.

But he very much minded not having Angelina McFee in his life. Letting her go without understanding why wasn’t an option.

Swallowing hard, he pushed open the door and followed.

She was going to puke.

Pressing her back against the brick wall outside the bingo hall, Ang realized for the first time she wasn’t being melodramatic. Morning sickness had only threatened with whispers of nausea so far, but now it was shouting. Bellowing. The timing couldn’t be worse, though Maybe Baby—now For Sure Baby—had never shown much concern for choosing its moment. She sucked in breath after breath of the warm September air, and the additional oxygen did nothing except make her queasy stomach pitch harder.

She clenched her arms around her stomach and counted backward from twenty. Maybe he’d give up and go away. She’d hidden herself well in the shadows—

“Ang? Where are you?” Sterling stepped into the alley between the parish center and the elementary school, and the air seemed to faintly shimmer while he scanned the area with his piercing eyes.

Eyes that finally landed on hers where she’d stationed herself next to the garbage cans. Which, in retrospect, probably hadn’t been the smartest move for someone sensitive to smells.

“Ang?” he repeated, softer now, striding forward without hesitation. Nothing made Sterling Vance falter. Except, apparently, the sight of her clutching her heaving belly. He stopped a couple inches away. “Are you okay?”

Oh no. Oh God. Here it comes.

She made a startled sort of squeaking sound in warning. He didn’t get it. But he did get the splash on his expensive shoes a moment later when she ralphed up that morning’s wheat toast and OJ.

“God, I’m so sorry,” she gasped, praying to die. Her stomach rolled again. Maybe Baby wasn’t quite through yet. “You might want to move back.”

He didn’t move. And naturally, his shoes got another splash. Instead of acting disgusted as most normal people would, he looked stupefied.

While she stood there bent over and breathing erratically, he pulled a handkerchief out of his lapel pocket. An actual handkerchief, as if they’d gone back in time to a gentler, more refined age. Not one where a twenty-two-year-old, pregnant, unmarried—uncoupled—woman upchucked that morning’s meal on the fancy shoes of the most upstanding man she knew.

“You’re pregnant?” The faint question mark tacked on the end of what, to her, should have been a declarative statement might’ve made her laugh had she not worried about dislodging last night’s peanut butter cups.

Even so, she didn’t want to admit it aloud to Sterling of all people. Her upper-crust family sandwiched his own. If their social strata had been a bread, it would’ve been the fancy multigrain kind that was purported to be healthy but tasted like overcooked ass.

Her stomach swam. Yeah, she’d avoid food thoughts for a bit yet.

“What are you doing here?” she asked in lieu of answering his question. Any answers she gave to him would likely be told to her father by nightfall. They were this close, and she wasn’t ready to be outed yet.

If she had to pick someone to father her out-of-wedlock baby, her parents would’ve handled it a lot better if Sterling were the father instead of Pete Lamont. Pete Lamont of the mohawk and pierced eyebrow and upper-crust background that wouldn’t mitigate his looks and inconsistent employment history in her parents’ eyes. Sure, he worked as a mechanic when it suited him, but that wouldn’t impress her folks. Nor would the fact that Pete wanted her to have an abortion so much that he’d been willing to send her on an all-expenses-paid trip to Europe for the summer to get the deed done.

She’d taken the trip but she hadn’t taken the abortion. To her mind, he’d owed her that much since she was pretty sure he wouldn’t be a reliable source for child support.

She hadn’t told her parents yet about the baby. It would have helped if she could drink heavily first. Alas, that wasn’t an option.

“I’m playing bingo,” Sterling said.

“I saw that.” Idly, she stroked her queasy stomach and tried to focus on the memory of him grumbling over his bingo winnings. “This doesn’t really seem to be your speed.”

“Speeds change. Take this.”

She shook herself out of her stupor long enough to grab the handkerchief he held out. Pressing the pristine navy silk to her mouth, she let her gaze meet his for the first time. The only reason she didn’t reel like she usually did upon locking eyes with him was because she had a solid wall at her back and enough reasons to be lightheaded already. “Thank you.”

He rubbed his hand over the back of his closely shorn, dark hair. The contrast with his pale-blue, Siberian husky eyes had always struck her mute. “I’m assuming you don’t want to answer the pregnancy question.”

She bit her lip and glanced down at her too-snug blue top, noting with relief that at least she hadn’t gotten anything on herself. She could still get lucky now and then.

“You look different.”

He was going to just keep talking, she knew. Sterling didn’t respond to social cues in the typical way. Most men—especially with his pedigree—wouldn’t tolerate a lack of response. They’d turn and walk away without another glance. Not Sterling. He appeared genuinely concerned for her welfare and would keep pestering her until she gave in and tossed him a verbal bone.

“I’m guessing you mean the eyebrow ring. And the Monroe,” she murmured, touching the tiny stud piercing above her lip. Pete’s idea, but she’d grown to love it.

The small tattoo on her shoulder blade was a different story. She’d always wanted a few, but that particular one had been a total impulse, as had been getting Pete’s name scripted alongside the lotus. She’d probably end up getting it changed to Peter instead. She’d tell people it was an ode to penis before she admitted she’d willingly tattooed that jerk’s name on her body.

Her disease to please and tendency to fall in love too hard too fast had always been troublesome personality traits. Now they’d messed up the trajectory of the rest of her life. She didn’t want her Maybe Baby to think she or he wasn’t loved, but the timing seriously sucked.

And the current self-loathing quotient? Off the charts.

“Yes, the piercings,” Sterling said. “The hair color too.”

She ran her fingers over her short, dark flip with streaks of blue, green and pink on the ends. “It’s just chalk.”

Frowning, he dipped his hands in his pockets and rocked on his heels, as he often did while standing. The guy had enough energy for five men. She wondered how he managed to leash it long enough to stay behind a desk during the long hours he kept. Back when she’d seen sex as pleasure and not a portal to invite alien beings into her body, she’d also imagined he must be a freaking demon in the sack to offset his mostly sedentary job.

Now she had a roadblock in her mind on Sex Boulevard. Anytime her thoughts tried to veer off in that direction, she directed them back to Not Sleeping Through The Night For At Least Three Years Lane and Your Days Without Stretch Marks Are Over Road.

“I realize I’m not up on all the newest beauty innovations, but chalk? The stuff little kids use on sidewalks?”

She smiled at his obvious confusion. He got the cutest little wrinkle between his brows when he was perplexed. “Not exactly the same. It’s a way to temporarily add color to hair without having to bleach it or anything. Washes right out.”

“Then what’s the point?”

She shrugged. “It’s fun to change your look, you know?”

More eyebrow wrinkling. “You cut off all your hair too. Why?”

“Because I was bored with it. I get tired of looking the same way all the time.”

“I truly don’t understand women.”

It felt good to laugh. “At least you admit it. Most of your brethren pretend superior knowledge.”

“Most of my brethren have dating records that indicate such. Not I, I’m afraid.” He didn’t sound afraid; he sounded perplexed again. The rare show of vulnerability turned the tables between them, so that for one moment she didn’t feel like the scared, precariously balanced pregnant chick who’d just puked on his polished shoes.

She appreciated that more than she could say, since moments when she even had a fighting chance of regaining her equilibrium were few and far between these days. To pay him back, she’d do something she should have done five minutes ago—get him away from the evidence.

“Let’s walk over there.” She gestured to the small playground she’d passed on her flight down the alley.

“Why?”

Yep, oblivious to all cues. “Because I feel like swinging.” She so didn’t, but it was worth it to watch his eyebrow lift. That part of his face seemed to do most of his emoting.

“If you insist.” He offered her his arm as if they were traversing an icy pathway rather than a perfectly flat, dry alley and parking lot. “You don’t look quite steady yet.”

She didn’t doubt that. Gripping Sterling’s surprisingly solid arm wouldn’t help on that score either. “I’m good. Thank you.”

“As you wish.”

“I’m sorry about your shoes.” She couldn’t meet his gaze. “There’s a fire hydrant on the other side of the building if you want to wash them off.”

“Isn’t that illegal?”

“Sure, but haven’t you ever heard of people opening up the fire plugs to cool off in the summer?”

“No. I have not.”

She sighed. He wouldn’t have. “Then we can go to the men’s room and I’ll…handle it for you.” Great, she was blushing. She’d never been a blusher before Maybe Baby had hijacked her hormones and her emotions.

“You don’t need to handle anything of the sort. It’s no problem.” He waited until they were seated side by side on the swings before speaking again. “So, Europe, hmm? What made you decide to take a summer vacation? Something for school?”

Because my douchebag ex decided if he got me out of the country, he’d be able to pay off the problem of me carrying his child.

“Actually, I’m no longer in school.” She tried to make it sound like no big deal.

“What?” He turned toward her so fast that for a moment she wasn’t sure the rickety chains holding up the swing would support his weight. “Why the hell not?”

Unexpected tears pricked her eyes. Damn hormones. She’d blame them for every frigging thing if she could get away with it, including poor life choices. Too bad she’d made the bulk of those long before she’d been with child.

“I don’t think I’m cut out to be an engineer,” she said finally, once she didn’t think her voice would give way. More like she wasn’t on her parents’ payroll anymore—or she wouldn’t be soon—and what disposable money she did have would be going toward a college fund for someone who wasn’t her.

“That’s poppycock. You have the finest brain for mathematics I’ve ever come across, and that’s saying a lot.”

Poppycock. She smiled again. There truly wasn’t another man on the planet quite like Sterling Vance. Old-fashioned sensibilities, a gorgeous face, insane smarts and a bit of social ineptitude made for the most fascinating combination. “I’ve missed you, Vance.”

That seemed to take him aback, enough that the chains rattled again as he shifted his weight on the narrow seat. “I’ve missed you too. I’d actually hoped…”

Her heart picked up speed. “You hoped what?”

He cleared his throat. “You’ve heard of my new venture?”

“Another one? Aren’t you ventured out yet?” she teased softly, pleased to see him cast his gaze away. He was so adorably…not shy exactly, because he was way too self-possessed for that. More like he tended to be uncertain about anything interpersonal that wasn’t work or money related. There, he was primo capitalist supreme.

“You’d think. But, no. You’ve heard of Jax Wilder? The baseball player?”

The way he was jumping tracks made her head hurt. Normally Sterling made a ruler look less than linear. “I’m sorry, no.”

“Well, Chase, the one who just proposed to his girlfriend in there?” He gestured behind him impatiently. “Chase and Jax are both former ballplayers. Really successful ones too. They started a bodyguard agency when they walked away from the game. Jax recruited me.”

“For what?”

His mouth quirked. “Surely you’re not implying that I’m not bodyguard material?”

He was a pencil pusher. A really hot one. How well that translated to shoving people around and intimidating folks with stares and giant muscles, she couldn’t say. “No. Of course not. It’s just—”

“Come on, Ang. Say it. You don’t believe I could work as a bodyguard.” He didn’t sound pissed. In fact, he sounded amused. Laughing with her rather than at her.

“I think you could do anything you set your mind to.” She did, unquestionably.

“You’ve never seen me out of the suits. I think you’d be surprised that I’m not all flab under this jacket.” He tugged at the sleeve of his pinstriped suit and flashed her a slice of his wide, tanned, Rolex-adorned wrist.

Down south, her pulse quickened. Way down south, where she had no business quickening.

Okay, apparently, the drawbridge on Sex Boulevard was still accepting passenger vehicles. More specifically, his. She’d wanted him for so long—in an off-limits, he’s older than me and good friends with my father manner—that evidently his presence superseded her absolute lack of interest in sex.

“Oh, I’m sure you’re not. I’ve seen your Ab Flex DVDs.”

He laughed. “Nice save. I prefer the pool at the gym and the cross-trainers, but I suppose I should look into workouts on YouTube. Have any you can recommend?”

“Ha. My abs are currently buried under—” She broke off and rubbed the piercing above her lip. Technically the baby was under her muscles, not over, but she hadn’t stopped talking because of her anatomy gaffe. “So, about the bodyguard agency. You’re really acting as hired muscle? That’s kind of yummy.”

Eyebrow-wrinkling time. “Yummy? How so?”

She leaned her head on her swing and grinned at him. “You’re a strange duck, Sterling Vance.”

“No, I’m serious. Take pity on me, Ang.” He wound his long, blunt fingers around his swing, and the quickening in her nether parts turned into a throb. “Do women really find men that muscle other men into line attractive?”

“Think about what you just said.” She couldn’t help rolling her eyes at him good-naturedly. “That’s a yes.”

“Hmm.”

“Besides, bodyguards don’t only muscle around men. Unless they’re discriminatory bodyguards. Women get out of line too.” Personally, she was feeling damn feisty at the moment. If she’d been in a position to receive some field tackling, she might just have tested his reflexes.

But probably not. Sterling was so far out of her league, she could practically wish on him like the Big Dipper.

“No man should ever lay hands on a woman in a violent manner,” he said, voice clipped.

“I happen to agree,” she said quietly, fighting to keep her mind a nice blank slate. “But there are nonviolent ways to herd disruptive women too, aren’t there?”

“I suppose. I’m taking my first martial arts classes this week, so I’ll find out firsthand.” He narrowed his eyes. “You never explained why you’re no longer in school.”

“There are a couple of reasons.” She preferred to think about the money rather than the reality that she’d mostly dropped out of her life, first, to avoid contact with her old world for as long as possible, and second, to make it harder for Pete to find her. Being threatened in subtle—and not so subtle—ways that she needed to end her pregnancy “before anyone found out” didn’t have the best effect on her desire to get out and mingle.

“Such as?”

She gave him a smile that almost felt genuine. She really had missed him. “Honey, you really don’t want to get involved.” She risked her suddenly burgeoning libido and patted the back of his hand. Like a friend would. Not like a preggo chick on the prowl for a new baby daddy. “Trust me.”

“I am involved. We’re friends. That makes your business mine.” The fierceness in his tone nearly unwound her at his feet like a spool of ribbon. The discount kind that had seen better days and no one would buy because it had frayed edges.

“I appreciate—”

“Ang, talk to me. Don’t make me beg. I want to know.” He leaned forward into her line of sight. No matter how she tried to avoid looking at him, he was making it impossible. “No, I need to know. Please.”

Oh God. He was going to make her cry. She hadn’t in all these weeks, not since her late period had clued her in to the fact that somehow she’d gotten knocked up despite taking precautions. Her ill-fated three-week relationship with Pete had already been over by then, but his sperm was the gift that kept on giving.

“You might not agree if you knew how my life has changed since the last time we saw each other.”

His gaze dropped pointedly to her stomach, hidden by her protective arm. Yet again she’d taken to huddling over her finger-sized baby as if she expected it to be ripped away bodily by any one of the numerous people who wouldn’t want her to have it.

“It’s true that things have changed, but friends don’t make judgment calls. There isn’t anything you could say to me that would change my mind about you, Thumbelina. Not one bloody thing.”

A tear snuck free and she laughed, wiping it away. He’d been calling her Thumbelina instead of Angelina for years. It was so reassuring to have that one part of her life be the same that she nearly lurched across the space that separated them to curl into his chest. But if she did that, she might never let go.

“You know, maybe I should just hire you. Officially.” She thought of her meager bank account and sighed. “If we could work out a payment plan, that is.”

His eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”

“I think I need a bodyguard.” Saying it out loud made it all more real somehow, just as she’d known admitting she was pregnant to more than her new doctor would change things as well. She wasn’t hiding from reality, just from discussing it.

“Why would you need a bodyguard? Is someone bothering you?”

She choked on her laugh. Her emotions were dangerously close to the surface, and having a sympathetic ear would make them boil right over. “You could say that.”

“Don’t play games with me. Tell me what’s going on. Now.”

It was simply a matter of forming words into sentences. Nothing more, nothing less. Needing a confidant didn’t make her weak. It made her human.

“I’m pretty sure my ex-boyfriend is having me followed,” she said in a low voice, glancing around reflexively. They were still alone, thank God.

“Why would he do that?” His jaw tightened. “Is he having a hard time moving on?”

“No. He wants me to move on, and I refuse to.” She made herself meet Sterling’s intense gaze. He could bore holes in her with those eyes. “He’s determined for me to get an abortion and I think…I think he’s willing to hurt me if I won’t.”