CHAPTER NINE
“I can’t spend the night here,” Melanie stated, stunned.
“That’s a crazy idea.”
“You have a better one?” Anger crept into his voice. So he didn’t like the arrangements any better than she did. Good.
“No, but—”
“I don’t have time to stand around and argue with you. Since we don’t have any power, I’ve got to make sure the pipes don’t freeze, that the building is secure and that you and I find a way to keep warm tonight.”
“But—”
“Listen, Melanie, we just have to accept this,” he said, his fingers gripping her shoulder.
“I can’t.”
He muttered an oath, “Can I count on you to help me, or are you going to spend the rest of the night complaining?”
She started to argue but clamped her mouth shut.
“That’s better.”
“I just want to go on record as being opposed to this.”
“Fine. Consider it duly recorded. Now let’s get on to business, okay?”
Ignoring the hackles rising on the back of her neck, she silently counted to ten. He did have a point, she grudgingly admitted to herself. There wasn’t much she could do but make the best of the situation. Even if it killed her. “Okay,” she finally agreed. “Let’s start by being practical. Are the phone lines still working?”
“They were fifteen minutes ago.”
“Good.” She pushed her hair from her face and ignored the fact that he was staring at her. “I need to call someone to check on Sassafras and I’d better let Bart and Lila know where I am.”
“You sure that’s a good idea?” he asked, his face a hard mask.
She bristled. “Would you rather they send out a search party? No one knows I’m up here, and believe me, I’d like to keep it that way, but I can’t.”
Gavin crossed to the bar, yanked the phone from underneath and slammed it onto the polished mahogany. “Suit yourself.”
Ignoring his temper, Melanie picked up the receiver and dialed. “Come on, come on,” she whispered as the phone rang and Gavin, blast him, stared at her in the mirror’s reflection. Finally Aunt Lila picked up on the sixth ring.
“Mellie!” the older woman exclaimed, her voice crackly with the bad connection. “I was worried to death! Bart went over to check on you and brought Sassafras over here, but we didn’t know where you were.”
Melanie squirmed. She caught Gavin’s tawny gaze in the mirror and turned her back on his image. “I brought the photographs for the lodge up to the resort,” she said, trying to concentrate on anything other than the man glowering at her in the glass. Quickly, she explained how she’d lost track of time and the storm had turned so wild. “I just should have paid more attention and left before it got so bad outside.”
“Well, thank goodness you’re safe. Now, you just stay put until the roads are clear.”
“That could be several days,” Melanie said.
“I know, but at least you’re safe.”
Safe? Melanie doubted it. She cast a sidelong glance at Gavin. His features were pulled into a thoughtful scowl, his lips thin.
She hung up and let out a long breath. “Okay, get a grip on yourself,” she muttered.
“What?”
She shook her head. “Nothing.”
He was standing at the end of the bar, lighting the wicks of several kerosene lanterns. He glanced up at her and nearly burned his fingers. “That’s the first sign that you’re losing it.”
“I always talk to myself.”
“I know,” he said quietly. “I remember.” He looked up at her again, his eyes warm in the firelight, the angles of his face highlighted by the flame of the lantern. Melanie’s heart turned over, and she looked away quickly, before her gaze betrayed her.
He cleared his throat. “I’ll go check on the pipes and you can see if there’s anything for us to eat in the kitchen.”
“Is that what I’m reduced to—cook?”
Gavin smiled. “Gee, and I figured that was a promotion.” “You little—”
“I’ve heard it all before,” he said, striding down the hall.
“Cook, eh?” Indignantly, she grabbed a lantern and headed past the bar to the restaurant and the kitchen beyond.
Stainless steel gleamed in the light of the lantern. The refrigerators, freezers and pantry weren’t completely stocked for the season, but there were enough staples to get through several meals. They might not dine on gourmet cuisine, but they wouldn’t starve. And if she didn’t decide to poison Gavin, he might be in for a rude awakening!
She found a thermos and saved the rest of the coffee, then pulled a bottle of wine from the wine cellar. This is dangerous, she thought, eyeing the bottle of claret. Wine had been known to go to her head, and tonight, she knew instinctively, she should keep her wits about her. But what the hell? She intended to show Gavin up, and if a little claret could help, why not?
She couldn’t resist the temptation and placed the wine and thermos on a serving cart along with a huge copper-bottomed pot and some utensils.
Water presented another problem. Without electricity, the pumps wouldn’t work. No problem, Melanie thought, refusing to come up with any excuses. She’d prove to Gavin that she could bloody well take care of herself—and him, if need be.
Melanie threw on her jacket and gloves and braved the elements long enough to scoop up snow in several huge soup kettles. She gritted her teeth against the wind that ripped through her clothes and pressed icy snowflakes against her cheeks. Even through her gloves, her fingers felt frozen as she lugged the filled kettles into the kitchen and placed them on the cart.
She pushed the cart to the lobby and placed the kettles in the huge fireplace, then headed back to the kitchen, where she grabbed spices, bouillon mix, tomato juice and all the vegetables she could find. Thinking ahead, she added bowls, utensils and a loaf of bread. She’d never considered herself a great cook—in fact, Neil had thought she was “hopeless,” but she figured, as she shoved the cart back to the lobby, it really didn’t matter. Haute cuisine wasn’t the issue. Survival was—and, of course, showing Gavin up.
Once she was back in the lobby, she poured the juice into a huge pot, added bouillon and canned vegetables, then peeled and cut potatoes. She tossed the thick chunks into the simmering mixture and kept warm by staying close to the fire.
When Gavin returned half-frozen an hour later, he was greeted by the scent of hot soup heating on the grate. Candles and lanterns flickered on nearby tables.
He brushed the snow from the shoulders of his sheepskin jacket and warmed his hands by the fire. His eyes narrowed at the sight of the simmering pots. “What’s this?”
“Oh, just a little something I whipped up,” she tossed back.
“Sure.”
He lifted a lid, and scented steam rose to greet the suspicious expression on his face. “You outdid yourself.”
“I just aim to please, sir,” she replied, smiling falsely.
“Okay, Melanie—what’s up?”
“Oh, Mr. Doel, sir, I hope you’re pleased,” she said, her lips twitching at the way his eyebrows drew together. Served him right! “Here, take this.” She handed him a cup of coffee, and he wrapped his chilled fingers around the warm ceramic and sipped. “What’s your game?”
“Game? No game.”
“Oh, sure. Right.”
She couldn’t keep a straight face. “I just got tired of you barking commands at me and telling me what to do.”
“As if you’ve ever listened.” He frowned into his cup.
“I listen.”
One of his brows lifted skeptically. “You do a lot of things, Melanie. And,” he acknowledged, pointing to the kettles in the fire, “most of them very well. But listening isn’t high on the list.”
“And how would you know?”
“I remember more than the mere fact that you talk to yourself, Mel.” He paused, looking deep into her eyes. “In fact, I remember too much.”
Her throat suddenly started to ache. She swallowed hard and whispered, “We’d better eat now.”
Ladling the soup into bowls, she tried to ignore him. But she saw the snowflakes melting in his hair, the nervous way one fist clenched and opened, the manner in which he tugged thoughtfully on his full lower lip.
They ate in silence, both lost in their own thoughts as they sat on the floor in front of the fire. Melanie pretended interest in her soup and coffee, wishing she was anywhere but here, alone with the one man who could ignite her temper with a single word, the man who could turn her inside out with a mere look.
It’s only for a few hours, she told herself, but the wind continued to moan and mock her.
It seemed to take her forever to finish her soup. She set her bowl aside, then, sipping her coffee, slid a glance at Gavin from the corner of her eye. She wondered what would have happened if, all those years ago, she’d told him the truth about the baby, if they had married, if their child had survived.
“What’s this?” he asked, spying the bottle of claret for the first time.
“A mistake,” she said.
“Oh?” He picked the bottle up by its neck, found the cork on the cart and slid her a knowing look. “Don’t tell me, you were planning to get me tipsy, then, when I wasn’t thinking properly, you were going to strip off all my clothes and have your way with me.”
Blanching, she could barely speak. But when she found her tongue, she threw back at him, “Sure. That’s exactly what I planned. Right after we both took a midnight swim in the pool, then ran naked through the blizzard.”
His eyes darkened, and her throat closed. “There are worse fantasies.”
“Well, that’s not my fantasy.”
“Isn’t it?”
“You’re giving yourself way too much credit.”
“Am I?”
“Yes!” she cried, the sound strangled. Don’t let him get to you, she told herself, but couldn’t stop the knocking of her heart.
“If you say so.”
Good Lord, was there a more frustrating person in the world?
He poured them each a glass of wine, then clicked the rim of his to hers. “To blizzards,” he mocked.
She laughed. “Blizzards?”
“And running naked through the snow.”
Melanie’s pulse leaped, but she tried to appear calm. “Hah. Yeah.”
His mouth twisted wryly, but his eyes gleamed, and as he swallowed his wine, Melanie couldn’t help but notice the way his throat worked.
The fire hissed and popped as a chunk of wood split. Outside, the storm raged, and Melanie, drinking slowly, caught alone in the lodge with Gavin, found that life outside the lodge seemed remote.
Don’t let the night get to you. . . . But Gavin was so close, pouring more of the clear red claret, his hand touching hers as he steadied her glass, his gaze lingering on her mouth as she licked a drop on her lips. She remembered him as he used to be—loving and kind. Their love had been simple and pure ... and doomed.
“It’s been a long time,” he said quietly, his thoughts apparently taking the same path as hers.
“We were kids.”
He shook his head. “I don’t think so.” His eyes held hers, and in that instant, she knew he intended to kiss her.
“Gavin, I don’t—”
His mouth silenced the rest of her words, and her blood heated slowly. He tasted of wine, and the feelings he evoked were as violent as they had been years before. A thrill of excitement crept up her spine. Her heart began to pound, and she parted her lips willingly, moving close to him, feeling the contour of his body against hers.
“You don’t what?” he asked, lifting his head and regarding her with slumberous golden eyes.
“I don’t want to make love to you.”
“Good. Because I don’t want to make love to you.” But his lips found hers again, and she yielded.
Gentle at first but more insistent as he felt her respond, his mouth moved over hers. Melanie’s blood burned like wildfire as he clasped a hand around her neck, lacing his fingers in the loose knot pinned to the back of her head.
His heart thudded a rapid cadence, matched only by her own. She felt the pins slip from her hair, one by one, to fall on the floor as his kiss intensified and his tongue slipped familiarly through her teeth.
His weight carried them both to the carpet in front of the fire. Melanie’s breasts pressed against the hard wall of his chest, and her arms circled his neck.
“Melanie,” he whispered against the shell of her ear, and she shivered in anticipation. He pulled the final pin from her hair, and her thick braid fell over her shoulder.
Gavin touched the dark curls, his fingers grazing her breast. Beneath her sweater her nipples grew taut, and heat began to swirl deep inside.
Melanie knew the wine was going to her head, and even worse, the intoxication of being close to him was creating havoc with her self-control. She should stop him now, while she could still think, but the words couldn’t fight their way past her tongue.
When he reached beneath her sweater and his hand touched her skin, the same old warning bells went off in her mind, but she didn’t listen.
Instead she moaned and curved her spine, fitting herself perfectly against him. His breathing grew ragged as he lifted the sweater from over her head and gazed down at her.
“This is crazy,” he muttered, as if his self-control, too, had been stripped from him.
He placed the flat of his hand between her breasts, his long, warm fingers feeling her heartbeat. His eyes closed for a second. “I want you, Melanie,” he said, as if the words caused him pain. “I want you as much as I’ve ever wanted a woman.”
Melanie’s throat went dry.
“But this could be dangerous.”
More than dangerous, she thought, gazing up at his powerful features and focusing on the sensual line of his lips held tight with failing self-restraint. Making love to him was an emotional maelstrom. “I—I know.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Hurt me?”
“By getting you pregnant.”
Tears threatened the corners of her eyes. “It’s okay. . . .”
“You’re safe?”
“Neil and I couldn’t have children.”
He stared down at her for a long second.
Her throat ached, and she blinked as he lowered his head and kissed her with all the passion that had fired his blood years before.
Melanie lifted her hands, her fingers nimbly unbuttoning his shirt, her hands impatient as she shoved the fabric over his shoulders. In the glow from the fire, his skin took on a golden hue.
Her fingers swirled around his nipple, and he sucked in his breath, his abdomen concaving, his muscles a sexy washboard beneath his tight skin. Sweat dotted his brow, and she wondered vaguely if he was arguing with himself, listening to voices of denial screaming in his head.
She touched his waistband, and his eyes leaped with an inner fire. “You always could make me go out of my mind.” Then his lips crashed down on hers, and gone was any trace of hesitation. His tongue pushed into her mouth, parrying and thrusting, exploring and claiming.
Melanie wrapped her arms around him, felt the fluid movement of his muscles as he shifted, lowering his lips down the slope of her cheeks, brushing across her skin. He kissed her eyes, her cheeks, her ears and lower, to her neck and the small circle of bones at her throat. His tongue tickled the pulse that was thundering in that hollow, and one hand moved in delicious circles on her abdomen.
Her breasts ached, and she moved impatiently.
“Slow down, Mel,” he whispered hoarsely. “We’ve got all night.”
His promise should have been a final signal for her to stop, before it was too late. But Melanie was well past turning back. And when he slid the strap of her bra over her shoulder, she moaned, her nipples strained upward, and he stared down at her. “God, I missed you,” he admitted as he tugged on the ribbon and her breast spilled out of its lacy bonds, the dark nipple puckering under his perusal.
Melanie writhed at the sweet torture, wanting more, aching deep inside as he cupped her breast and kissed the hard nipple.
His tongue caressed her as his mouth closed over her. His arms wrapped around her torso, and his fingers splayed across the small of her back, pulling her urgently against him.
He kissed her again. Melanie exploded in her mind, memories of love and trust, passion and promises.
Quickly, he removed her bra and skirt, then kicked off his jeans and lay next to her, his naked body, bronze in the firelight, pressed intimately to hers. No words were spoken as he lay upon her, finding a path he’d forged long ago. Their bodies joined and fit, moving rhythmically, heating together, fusing into one.
Melanie gazed up at him, and her heart, pounding a thousand times a minute, swelled. His tempo increased, and she dug her fingers into the sleek muscles of his back, her body arching, her mind spinning out of control. She could feel him pulsing inside of her, and tilted her head back and closed her eyes, lost in her own pleasure.
Gavin cried hoarsely as the earth shattered into a million fragments of light. She felt him complete himself as wave after wave of euphoria took over her body.
Her nerves were tingling as he collapsed against her. She clung to him, holding on to this special moment, feeling his weight as a welcome burden as afterglow enveloped them.
I love you stuck in her throat, but she didn’t say the words, nor did she hear them. The only sounds in the darkness were the gentle hiss of the fire and the moan of the wind outside.
When he finally rose on one elbow, looking down at her through warm tawny eyes, one side of his mouth lifted and white teeth flashed against his skin. “You know,” he said, tracing the slope of her jaw with one finger, “I think we’d better go.”
“Go? Where?” she said dazedly. Shoving her hair from her eyes, she wondered what she was doing here, naked, still feeling the warmth of afterglow invade her.
“To my suite.” He glanced to the shadowed rafters and sighed. “There’s no way I can keep this room warm—not until the power comes back on. There’s just too much space. But we’d be warm in my room.”
And in your bed, Melanie thought. The thought of sleeping with Gavin, waking up in his arms, was inviting—but dangerous. Falling victim to him spontaneously was one thing; making love to him again was just plain foolish. “I don’t think this is such a good idea.”
“I know it isn’t, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to sleep alone tonight. We’d both freeze.”
“Oh, so this is just a matter of convenience.”
“No—pleasure.”
“Stop this,” she cried as he started to carry her. “Gavin, your leg!”
“My leg’s fine.”
“No, I mean it.” She started to squirm out of his arms, then realized that she was probably doing more damage than good. “I’m perfectly capable of walking.”
He chuckled deep in his throat. “Believe me, I’m not underestimating your capabilities.”
“And I could carry things.”
“We don’t need anything.”
“But the flashlight and the lanterns—”
“Unnecessary,” he replied, carrying her down the dark hallway without once stumbling. He kicked open the door to his room. Red embers glowed from the fireplace, and a lantern, flickering quietly, had been placed on a bedside table.
“You planned this,” she accused as he laid her onto the bed. The sheets were cold against her bare skin.
“No . . . well, maybe.” He covered her with an antique quilt and crawled into bed with her.
“You devil!” she rasped, wishing she had the strength to climb off his bed and stomp back to the lobby.
“Absolutely.”
“And beyond redemption.”
“God, I hope so.”
“And—”
His mouth found hers, and his hands wrapped around her waist, drawing her naked body to his. It was incredible, he thought, how perfectly she fit against him, how her curves molded to his muscles, how she seemed to melt into him. He’d stupidly thought that making love to her would purge her from his system, but he’d never been more wrong in his life.
It had been only minutes since they’d joined and he’d felt the wonder of her flesh wrapped around his, and yet he was ready again, his body fevered, his mouth hungry.
And she responded. Her breasts felt heavy in his hands, her nipples willing buds that he brushed with his thumbs. And when he took her into his mouth, tracing those dark points with his tongue, she moaned, her body arching up to his, her moist heat enveloping him.
He rolled her onto him and was lost to pleasure as she slowly descended upon his length. Suckling at her breasts, his hand firm on her buttocks as she started to grind against him. She was in the driver’s seat this time, as the windows rattled with the wind, and he thought vaguely that he hoped the storm would never end.
* * *
With the morning came regret. What had she been thinking about? Making love to Gavin was asking for trouble. Yet, lying in his arms, she found it impossible to roll away from him and pretend that a one-night stand with him meant nothing to her.
Once a fool, always a fool, she thought, a willing prisoner in Gavin’s arms. The storm had subsided, and the day promised to be clear and cold. Soon she would have to leave him.
She rested her cheek against his chest and fell back into a dreamless sleep.
Gavin, however, was very much awake. As he lay in the bed, gazing through the window, watching the sunrise blaze against the snow-covered mountain, the bedside phone rang loudly.
He groaned, unwilling to move. Melanie’s cheek rested on his chest, and one of her arms was flung around his abdomen. Her skin was creamy white, her tousled black hair in sharp contrast to the white pillowcase and sheets. His heart warmed at the sight of her tucked so close and lovingly beside him.
He wanted to protect her and cherish her and love her—
The phone rang again, and she stirred, lifting her head and shaking the hair from her slumberous eyes.
“Uh-oh,” Gavin growled. “Looks like someone found us.”
“Bound to happen sooner or later,” she said, yawning through a smile.
“I suppose. Go back to sleep.” He grabbed the jangling receiver with his left hand while still holding Melanie with his right.
“Ridge Lodge.”
“About time you answered! I’ve been trying to reach you all night,” Rich grumbled.
“I’ve been here.”
“Well, you didn’t answer!”
“The phones must’ve been out,” Gavin replied, not really interested. “And you know cell reception is spotty at best up here.”
“What’s going on up there? No, don’t tell me. You’ve probably got some beautiful woman waiting for you in bed.”
“Get real, Rich,” Gavin replied, smothering a smile. “The electricity has been out since last night.”
“What about the backup generator?”
“Not yet fully operational.”
“Oh, God,” Rich groaned. “Any damage?”
“Nothing severe.” Gavin stretched lazily. For the first time since he’d agreed to this project, he wasn’t really interested in the resort.
“Listen, we’ve got a million things to do. Now that there’s snow, we’re wasting big bucks every day we’re not open. So I called all our suppliers and the trucks will deliver as soon as the roads are clear. Get ready. Make sure the lot is plowed and that Erik and some of the other boys are there when the shipment of rental gear arrives.” He rattled on and on, giving instructions, though he expected—and got—no answers, Gavin just grinned, and when Melanie tried to roll out of bed, he pinned her hard against him. He hadn’t felt this good in years and he wasn’t about to give it up.
He harbored no illusions that he and Melanie could ever get back together. She hadn’t wanted him when he was dirt poor and she probably didn’t want him now. But while they were locked away from the rest of the world, he was going to spend every second with her. She was warm, willing and . . . damn it, the one woman who could make love to him as no other had ever ...
“So I’ve called the ski patrol, and a group of would-be instructors will be at the lodge as soon as they can get through. Take their applications, talk to them, and for God’s sake, make sure you see them on a pair of skis. Put them through their paces.”
“I’ll handle it,” Gavin said, glancing down as Melanie looked up at him through the sweep of dark lashes.
“Right. And check on the—”
Gavin dropped the receiver back in its cradle and rolled over, giving her the full attention she deserved.
“Problems?” she asked.
“Nothing that won’t wait.” He fingered a strand of black hair that curled deliciously around her face, neck and breasts. Her eyes flashed silvery green in coy delight.
The phone began to ring again, and Gavin reached to the bottom of the bed and yanked on the cord. There was still a faint jangle from the phones in the lobby and bar, but Gavin didn’t pay any attention. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her. “I think we have more important things to think about.”
“More important than opening the lodge?”
“Mmm.” He nuzzled her neck. “Definitely more important.” And, kissing her, he proved it.
Later, while Gavin was working elsewhere in the lodge, Melanie dialed the newspaper.
The receptionist answered on the second ring. “Taylor’s Crossing Tribune.”
“Hi, Molly, it’s Melanie.”
“Melanie! Where’ve you been?” Molly asked, her voice breathless. “Brian’s been looking everywhere for you!”
“I got stuck up at Ridge Lodge when the storm hit last night,” Melanie said, feeling more than a trifle guilty as she glanced at the still-rumpled bed. “The road’s been closed. Is Brian there?”
“Yeah, I’ll connect you.”
Molly clicked off, and a few seconds later, Brian Michaels’s voice boomed over the wires. “Where the hell are you?”
“Ridge Lodge,” she said, repeating everything she’d just told Molly.
“And you were up there all night?” Brian asked.
“That’s right.”
“Melanie, I need you down here! We need pictures of the downed lines and the road crews and God only knows what else.”
“I’ll be there as soon as the roads are clear,” she promised. “And I’ve got some great shots of the lodge.”
“Good, good. According to the state police and the highway department, the road to the lodge will be open this afternoon.”
A twinge of regret tugged at Melanie’s heart. “I’ll make a beeline to the office.” she promised.
“Good. I’ll be in all afternoon.” His voice lowered. “And, since you’re up on the hill anyway, there’s something I’d like you to check into for me.”
The hairs on the back of Melanie’s neck rose. “What’s that?”
“I want you to nose around. See if the resort is experiencing any financial trouble.”
“Financial trouble,” she repeated, her temper starting to rise.
“Right. There’s a rumor circulating that an investor is backing out, that Doel’s sunk all his personal fortune into this place and unless it opens and opens big, he’s in trouble.”
“I doubt it,” Melanie replied tightly.
“Where there’s smoke there’s fire.”
“I think that depends on who set up the smoke screen.” She kept her voice low, hoping Gavin wouldn’t walk in on her. Clenching her fingers around the receiver, she felt trapped. To think she’d defended Brian to Gavin!
“Well, Rich Johanson spends a hell of a lot of time in Portland trying to keep that legal practice of his alive.”
“So what?”
“Seems strange to me.”
“You’re fishing, Brian.”
“Maybe, but you keep looking around. As long as you’re there, you may as well keep your eyes and ears open.”
“Listen, Brian, I’m the photographer for the Tribune. I’ll take all the pictures you need, but that’s as far as it goes! I’m not going to run around here trying to ferret out some dirt.”
She hung up and slowly counted to ten. She’d gotten only as far as seven when the door to the apartment opened and Gavin strode in.
“Road crews are already working between here and Taylor’s Crossing.”
“So I heard,” she admitted, motioning to the telephone. “I just called the office.”
A lazy, self-deprecating grin stretched across Gavin’s jaw. “And what did good old Brian have to say?”
“He misses me.”
Gavin lifted a lofty brow. “Anything else?”
“Well, he did mention that I should poke around here and find out if you were financially stable.”
“You’re kidding.” Gavin swore loudly.
“Nope.”
“Then he was”
“I don’t think so.”
Gavin shoved his hands into his back pockets. “Michaels will stoop to anything,” he said, disgusted. “The financial situation at the lodge is none of his business. You know, I wouldn’t be surprised if he sent you up here just to find out what was going on.”
Melanie hardly dared breathe. He wasn’t serious, was he? Here, in this room, the bed still warm from lovemaking—how could he even say anything so cruel? “Brian didn’t send me, Gavin.”
“Of course he didn’t,” Gavin agreed. “But I wouldn’t put it past him.”
“And me?”
He snorted contemptuously. “I don’t think you sleep with men to get the kind of story or pictures or whatever it is you want from them.”
“I don’t sleep with men, period. Except for you,” She picked up a pen from the table and twisted it nervously.
His face lost all expression. “What about Neil?”
“Only while we were married.”
He blanched.
“And there’s something I should explain about that,” she said quietly, her voice shaking as she struggled for the right words. “I married Neil because of the baby.”
The room went still. Melanie heard her own heart thud painfully. She lifted her eyes to meet the questions in Gavin’s gaze.
“I thought you said you didn’t sleep with Neil until you were married.”
“I didn’t.”
“And just last night—you told me you couldn’t get pregnant?”
“I couldn’t—I mean, I can’t, not now, not with Neil—I mean. . . .” Her hands were shaking and her throat was cotton dry. She forced herself to stare straight into his eyes. “What I’m trying to say, Gavin, is that the reason I married Neil was because I was pregnant.” She couldn’t help the tears clogging her throat. It was all she could do to stand there, keeping her knees from buckling.
The air in the room was suddenly hot, the glare in Gavin’s gaze positively murderous. “Pregnant?” he repeated slowly, quietly.
“Yes.”
“But you said . . .”
She squeezed her eyes shut. “I know what I said. But I did get pregnant once, Gavin. And the baby was yours.”