I blink in surprise. I thought he would question me about Peter’s list, not this. “It wasn’t too bad at dinner,” I say carefully. “I felt better after I took a shower and we . . . well, you know.” I wave my free hand in a gesture meant to encompass the bed.
“We fucked?” Julian’s tense expression eases slightly, unexpected amusement flickering in his eyes.
“Right.” Heat crawls up my body at the mental images his words bring up. Apparently, I’m not too sick to be turned on. “That made me feel better.”
“I see.” Julian regards me speculatively, stroking the inside of my wrist with his thumb. “And you decided that since you were feeling so well, you were going to hack into my computer.”
And there it is. The reckoning I anticipated. Except Julian doesn’t seem as angry as before, his touch on me soothing rather than punishing.
It looks like food poisoning—or whatever I’ve got—has its perks.
I offer him a cautious smile. “Well, yeah. I figured it was as good of an opportunity as any.” I don’t bother apologizing or denying my actions. There’s no point. It’s done. I paid my debt to Peter.
“How did you know my password?” Julian’s thumb continues moving over my wrist in a circular motion. “I never told you what it was.”
“I filmed you when you were changing it a few days ago. After I found out that Frank came through on the list.”
The corners of Julian’s mouth twitch, almost imperceptibly. “That’s what I thought. I was wondering why you were on your phone so much that day.”
I lick my lips. “Are you going to punish me?” Julian seems more amused than angry at the moment, but I can’t imagine he’ll let me off scot-free.
“Of course, my pet.” There’s no trace of hesitation in his voice.
My pulse jumps. “When?”
“When I choose.” His eyes gleam as he releases my hand. “Now, would you like some water or anything?”
“Some crackers and chamomile tea would be nice,” I say on autopilot, staring at him. I’d expected this, of course, but I still can’t help feeling anxious.
“I’ll get that for you.” Julian gets up. “Be back in a few.”
He disappears through the door, and I close my eyes, my earlier tiredness returning now that the adrenaline rush is over. Maybe I’ll just catch a quick nap before Julian comes back . . .
A knock on the door startles me again, causing me to jerk to a sitting position. “Yes?”
“Nora, this is David Goldberg. May I come in?”
“Oh, sure.” I lie back down, my heart still beating too fast. “Did you already run the tests?” I ask as the doctor enters the room.
“Yes.” There is an odd expression on his face as he stops next to the bed. “Nora, you’ve been fatigued lately, right? And unusually stressed?”
“Yes.” I frown, starting to feel uneasy. “Why?”
“Have you noticed anything else? Mood swings? Atypical food cravings or dislikes? Maybe some tenderness in your breasts?”
I stare at him, a cold fist seizing my chest. “What are you saying?” The symptoms he’s listing—surely he can’t mean . . .
“Nora, the blood tests I ran showed a strong presence of the hCG hormone,” Dr. Goldberg says gently. “You’re pregnant.” He pauses, then adds quietly, “Given the timing of the implant removal, my best guess is you’re about six weeks along.”
Chapter 7
Julian
Carrying the tray with tea and crackers, I walk up the stairs toward the bedroom. I should be furious with Nora, but instead, my worry for her is tinged with reluctant admiration.
She defied me. She locked herself in the bathroom and hacked into my computer to pay a debt that she believed was owed. She had to know that she would be caught, but she did it anyway—and I can’t help respecting her for it.
I would’ve done the same thing in her shoes.
In hindsight, I should’ve expected this. She’s been adamant about wanting to get the list to Peter, so it’s not all that surprising that she decided to act on her own. From the very beginning, I’ve sensed a quiet, stubborn strength within her, a steel core that belies her delicate appearance.
My pet might be compliant much of the time, but that’s only because she’s smart enough to choose her battles—and I should’ve known she’d choose to fight this one.
As I approach the bedroom, I hear voices and recognize Goldberg’s slightly nasal pitch.
He’s back with the test results, and Nora sounds upset.
Fuck. Fear, icy and sharp, bites at me. If it’s something serious, if she’s truly sick . . . Picking up my pace, I reach the door in two long steps. Tea sloshes over the rim of the cup, but I barely notice, all my focus on Nora.
Gripping the tray with one hand, I push open the door and step in.
She’s sitting on the bed, her eyes huge in her colorless face as Goldberg says, “I’m afraid it is possible—”
My heart freezes. “What’s possible?” I ask sharply. “What’s wrong?”
Goldberg turns to look at me. “Oh, there you are.” He sounds relieved. “I was just explaining to your wife that the morning-after pill is only ninety-five-percent effective when taken within twenty-four hours, and even though the likelihood of conception was low given the timing of the implant removal, there was still a small chance of pregnancy—”