Reclaiming His Pregnant Widow (12 page)

Clea sighed. “I should
never
have embroiled you in it.”

Harry sat forward in his seat. “Divorce Brand—marry me. I'll always be there for you. And I wouldn't go MIA on you. It would be good. We'd share what we've always shared, and I'd give your baby a father. We can make this work.”

Without waiting for an answer, he reached for her hand and slid the ring onto her finger, into the empty groove where Brand's ring had sat until she'd removed…and lost…it.

The solitaire felt tight and uncomfortable—and just plain
wrong
.

“No!” Clea started to tug it off, only to have Harry's hands close over hers.

His hazel eyes were solemn. “I bought that ring for you weeks ago—before your husband turned up. I want you to divorce Brand. I want to marry you. Clea, I love you—I've always loved you.”

Clea stared at Harry aghast. She glanced surreptitiously
around to see if anyone had overheard. But fortunately no one was paying any attention to their table tucked away in the corner.

Moving her gaze back to Harry, Clea settled for, “I never knew.”

How could she have been so blind?

Harry gave her a wry smile. “I dreamed someday you would look at me and know that I was the only man for you.”

“Oh, Harry…”

How could she have been so insensitive? All those years she'd treated him like a brother, like a friend. How he must've suffered. She'd fallen in love with Brand…and left Harry to break the news of her Vegas wedding to her father. Clea closed her eyes and drew a deep breath.

Then she'd told Brand she was marrying Harry…

For the first time in her life she actively disliked herself.

Opening her eyes, she turned her hands over and laced her fingers through his. “I'm so sorry. How selfish you must think me.”

“You don't love me?”

Clea shook her head slowly. “Not the way you deserve to be loved. I wish I did.” She gave his fingers a gentle squeeze before releasing them and drew the ring off her finger. “I can't wear this.”

The tight, brave smile Harry gave her as he took his ring back almost broke her heart.

“What we have could be very good—I've known you your whole life.”

“Harry—”

“Don't be too hasty, Clea.” He paused, and she glimpsed the first glitter of annoyance in his eyes. It was gone so quickly she decided she must've imagined it. “If you're holding out for Brand, you're making a mistake.”

Clea swallowed her instinctive objection and lowered her lashes. Harry was hurting, she told herself. It was to be expected that he'd attack Brand.

“Brand is my baby's father,” she said at last.

“He's a cold, dangerous bastard.”

Snapshots of the weekend flashed through her mind. Brand's gentleness…his joy…his tears. Harry didn't know Brand or he wouldn't make such an absurd claim.

“Think about how much more we would share. Your father would be delighted—and mine would be dancing in his grave. Two dynasties merging.”

“Dynasties?” The grandiose term alerted Clea. “Is this about money? Please tell me the rumor you're in financial trouble isn't true.”

“Who told you that?”

The red rising up Harry's neck told her that Brand had been right.

“Why didn't
you
tell me? I could've helped you with a loan to tide you over.”

He smiled ruefully. “Oh, Clea. It wouldn't have made a dent.”

Suddenly Clea didn't feel like finishing her smoothie. Pushing the tall glass away, she said quietly, “I could've asked Dad to help.”

“Your father knows. If you married me—” he glanced down at her tummy, which was starting to show “—and we raised your son together, he was prepared to settle my debts.”

Shock rippled through her. “My father said that?”

“Your father likes me—he's always wanted us to get married.”

Harry's claim rang true. Yet offering to pay Harry to marry her…

“Don't look at me like that Clea.” There was an
under current of impatience in Harry's voice. “It makes perfect sense for you to marry me—it always did.”

Had her father…and Harry…been so sure of her? Had they believed she would marry Harry eventually, even though she didn't love him?

A sharp blade of betrayal stabbed Clea. Opening her purse she extracted a $50 bill and set it down on the table to cover the meal, then she rose to her feet.

Even as Harry started to bluster, she shook her head and said simply, “Goodbye, Harry.”

A
t five o'clock Clea found Brand in the long gallery, examining her tiger. Clad in a new Cesare Attolini suit, he stood unmoving as Clea came up behind him, her heels clicking on the marble floor.

Halting beside him, Clea cast him a sideways glance, and her stomach dropped like an elevator as she took in the reality of the man. The white shirt with a darker stripe and an immaculately knotted tie drew attention to Brand's smoothly shaved, tanned jawline. “He's gorgeous, don't you think?”

And she wasn't only speaking of the stone tiger.

“A relic from another time.” Brand was engrossed. “He's fierce and splendid, with a regal dignity.”

“Noble, isn't he?” Clea's lips curled up at the pun.

Brand tipped his head to one side. “Yes.” He fell silent, clearly captivated by the creature that had been crafted with care by a pair of hands thousands of years ago.

“Sometimes I wonder if it wouldn't be simpler living in his world,” said Clea. “What's to worry about? Besides sourcing food and water, finding a mate to ensure that he passed his genes onto cubs, then going his own way again.”

Brand slanted her a very male glance. “Straightforward instincts—sex, survival, hunger, thirst.”

Clea grinned. “Exactly!”

“All kills done for food.” Brand's voice dropped. “No need to consider greed, lies and deception.”

He'd lost her. Her smile faded. “What do you mean?”

Was he referring to her lie about her engagement to Harry? Or leading him to believe the baby was Harry's? Ever since seeing Harry earlier, a sick feeling had swirled in the pit of her stomach. Regret. Guilt.

Brand shrugged, his shoulders rising and falling under the suit jacket. He turned his head and she caught a flash of white as he grinned. “Nothing. Just empty philosophizing.”

And Clea melted with relief.

When Brand's gaze swept over her, causing tingles of awareness to flood her, she was glad she'd worn the sea-green chiffon shift for the scheduled TV interview she'd had that morning—she knew she looked good.

Then his eyes rested on the curve of her baby bump. And when his eyes returned to her again, his expression was indescribable.

“I always knew you were beautiful—but now you glow.”

His soft words pushed the smoldering coals of the lunchtime conversation with Harry from her mind as she counted her blessings. Brand was back. Their baby was growing. They would finally be a family.

She linked an arm through Brand's, tugging him toward the exit. “Where are we going for dinner?”

“Not far. I played it safe and booked a table at Fives on Fifth Avenue.”

“The food there is always splendid.”

Casting a last look over her shoulder at the tiger, Clea searched the proud head and solid form for a hint of what had inspired Brand to make that enigmatic statement about greed and deception. All she saw was a splendid, heroic animal she'd spent countless hours admiring—and no sign of the darkness to which Brand had alluded.

Yet Clea knew better than to ask Brand what he'd meant. She had to trust him to tell her when he was ready.

 

Fives had a welcoming ambience. The spacious room with its carefully arranged tables provided the perfect degree of privacy.

Yet, despite the easy conversation between them, Brand knew something was troubling Clea. After devouring the last of the beef tenderloin, he asked, “What's the matter?”

Clea neatly set her knife and fork down. “You were right.”

Patiently, he waited as she chose her words.

“As you said, Harry is in financial trouble. He thought I would divorce you—and marry him.”

Electrifying tension tightened Brand's muscles. “That's never going to happen.”

Clea gave a half laugh. “I know. I told Harry so.”

Brand counted to ten as the waiter removed their empty dinner plates and amazed himself by his feeling of utter cool. “What did he say?”

“He tried to make me believe that he loved me.”

The pain in Clea's voice twisted Brand's gut inside out. A moment of truth faced him. It was hard for him to vocalize what he'd rather have kept hidden. But Clea deserved more. “I suspect that he does love you. My
return, causing him to lose you again, would've hammered it home to him.”

But she was already shaking her head. “I was never his to lose. No, he was simply prettying up a mercenary proposal. If he married me, my father would have bailed him out of debt.”

Clea looked so forlorn that, uncaring of the attention he might draw from other diners, Brand got to his feet and went around the table to crouch down beside her chair. Putting an arm around her, he hugged her clumsily. Clea dropped the paper napkin she'd already shredded and threw her arms around his shoulders.

Brand rested his cheek against hers. “Never in this lifetime will I let that happen.”

This was
his
woman, and she was carrying
his
child. The surge of primitive possessiveness took him aback. Hell, he regretted not flattening Hall-Lewis when he had the chance. The man had wounded Clea.

“Harry is an idiot,” he said softly.

To Brand the woman in his arms was worth far more than a monetary fortune.

Clea leaned against him. “I feel like I've totally misjudged him. He was my friend—my best friend.”

“I'm sure he thinks he still is your friend.”

“Then how can he do this to me?”

“Harry will always love himself most. Consider him a shallow idiot.” Brand turned his head and pressed a kiss onto her cheek. “Money makes men do the stupidest things…”

Clea sniffed then laughed. She tilted her head to one side, and considered him. “But not you.”

It was uttered with confidence.

Brand shook his head, and, still hunkered down beside her, stroked a curl off her cheek, relieved that her eyes had
lost that forsaken look. “I learned a long time ago there are more important things in life than money.”

The sentiment came from the heart. The past four years had only served to underscore his belief. Health. Sanity. Love. None of those could be bought…

She sniffed again and dropped her forehead until it met his. “I just feel so…” Her voice wobbled.

Betrayed.

The notion caused an ache deep in his chest. His anger at Hall-Lewis intensified. No one knew better in the world what she was going through than Brand. He closed his eyes and hugged her to him, trying to absorb her heartbreak.

“Thank you for not saying
I told you so,
” she murmured, her breath mingling with his.

“I only wish I could've saved you the experience of being hurt by Harry.”

“I'll get over it,” she said. “At least I have you—so there's a place in my heart that is intact. My pride is smarting right now. I feel so foolish. Why do I always trust the wrong people?”

With a sigh Clea sat up, and Brand's arms fell away. He rose slowly to his feet.

He'd betrayed her trust, too.

It wasn't a pleasant realization. He had no wish to be lumped on a list with people who had let Clea down.

He'd much rather be the person she trusted above all others. The person she turned to in the darkness of night. To protect her from the nightmares, the monsters, the heartbreak.

Sliding back into his chair, he asked, “Would you like dessert?”

Clea shook her head.

“Coffee?”

“Cancel coffee.” She gave him a long look. “You know
what? The meal was delicious, but now I'd like to go home.”

Home.

They were in agreement on that. Brand knew there was no place else he wanted to be.

 

For Clea, the days that followed slipped past in a haze.

She worked nonstop on preparing the new exhibition for the Museum Mile Festival, and when she came home at night she was dead tired. The pregnancy had also finally started to show, and she was favoring looser dresses that were well suited to the New York summer.

Their time together had settled into a routine. Often, in the evenings, she and Brand would prepare dinner and they'd eat it out on the deck overlooking the garden. Later, Brand would draw her a warm bath, and afterward he rubbed her back…and anything else that ached. He would rub cream into the stretching skin of her stomach—he was fascinated by the baby moving.

And frequently they made love.

On the weekends, they decorated the nursery. Brand had painted the walls himself in a pale leaf-green that echoed the garden outside. And they were busy furnishing the room with pieces selected with love and care.

Clea knew that his days, too, were full. Brand had leased new office space, and tempted Karen, his trusty PA, to return to work for him. Clea had visited the offices and was stunned by how much her husband had achieved in so little time.

He often attended meetings she knew little about. While she knew he was receiving counseling to come to terms with his imprisonment, there were times when she worried that he might be returning to his old ways of secrecy
that had caused such distance and misunderstandings in the past.

But she had promised to give Brand time. He'd suffered terrible trauma, the very least she could do was offer understanding.

He would talk when he'd worked everything through for himself. After four years, Clea had thought she'd mastered her impatience. She was wrong. She'd never been more impatient than she was now. It was difficult…the hardest thing she'd done in her life. She wanted to talk, to know what he was thinking, how he was dealing with what had happened to him in the time they'd been apart. She itched to climb inside his head…feel what he was thinking. But pressure…impatience…wasn't what he needed from her.

It was tough to wait. But he'd asked her to trust him on this. And she had to respect his request.

 

Almost three weeks had passed since he had come home, and Brand found he was still entering the house each evening filled with anticipation at seeing Clea.

Tonight, after a meeting with a shadowy ex-special forces operative, he was later than usual. Curtis had already left. Clea was not out on the deck admiring the garden. Nor was she curled up on the chesterfield in the study. Brand took the stairs two at a time.

He found her in the nursery beside the crib they'd purchased together a few days earlier, securing a mobile made of yellow ducks overhead. She hadn't heard him arrive, and Brand paused in the doorway, taking in the picture she made in a pair of faded jeans, a white T-shirt and bare feet, before committing it to memory.

Given the questions he'd been asking for the past few weeks, Brand risked unleashing the phantom monsters
buried deep in his unconscious mind—monsters he suspected would never be contained once they'd escaped.

But he needed answers. Only then would he be able to regain the peace and sanity he craved. Only then could he get on with his life with Clea.

He shifted slightly on his feet, and Clea turned her head. Instantly her face lit up with a smile of delight.

“Brand! I knew you'd be home any minute.”

Her pleasure warmed him, melting the cold emptiness inside.

He went toward her then, took her in his arms and nuzzled the soft patch at the side of her neck above the neckline of the cotton shirt.

She giggled. “That tickles.” She hooked her fingers into the waistband of his suit pants. “I have something for you.”

“All I need is you.”

It was true. She was his sunshine…his love…his everything. And his greatest fear was that finding the answers he sought might only hurt Clea more.

Reluctantly, he released her. She darted out through the nursery door and he followed as she ran down the stairs and then disappeared into his study.

By the time he caught up with her, she was hovering beside his desk. He'd always loved the satin finish of the carved rosewood, but today his gaze landed on the small black box resting on the blotter.

“What is it?”

“Open it.”

The box fitted easily into his palm. He lifted the lid and his breath hissed out when he saw what lay within.

His wedding ring.

There was a luminous glow in her eyes. “I thought you might want to wear it again.”

“I do.”

I do.
It was a refrain of their vows, a moment engraved forever in his memory.

“Here.” Clea reached past him and took the ring out of the box. “Give me your hand.”

Emotion closed his throat as he watched the band of gold slide onto his finger.

“And don't ever take it off!”

His eyes jumped to hers. “Not of my free will.”

Last time it had been ripped off. Brand had fought so hard not to give it up that he'd been beaten for his resistance.

Clea released his hands. “You have no idea of the despair the return of your ring caused me.”

At the back of his mind, something nagged.

Leaning against the desk, Brand folded his arms across his chest and asked carefully, “Who returned it?”

“It was turned in last year for a reward. By a moneylender living in a desert village not far from Baghdad, close to the scene of the crash that supposedly took your life. He must have had it for years. I was lucky it never sold.”

Brand homed in on the detail that interested him the most. “The scene of the crash?”

“Of the SUV you rented.”

“Clea, I've never had an accident in a vehicle I rented.”

Brand thought back to his kidnapping. He'd been snatched by four gunmen off the streets of Baghdad, nowhere near the desert. The darkness of the void he was facing widened.

“But the investigator I hired reported that you'd rented a vehicle in Kuwait to get into Baghdad,” she protested, coming closer, her face puzzled.

“I did rent a vehicle,” he said patiently, “but I certainly never crashed it.”