Ouch! “No comment. Please stop.”
As they neared the car, the photographer followed, and Luc cursed and ran, urging Alyssa along.
“I should follow you so you don’t have to drive me back here . . . after,” she suggested, keeping pace with him.
“I don’t mind,” he insisted.
She sent him a brittle smile. “You will.”
What did that mean? Had Peter started misbehaving now that he was out on bail and awaiting his trial? Jack hadn’t said a word, damn it! He’d talked to Deke’s business partner nearly every day.
“If we want to make a quick exit, it would be best if you just hopped in the car,” he pressed, unlocking it with his key fob.
“I insist.”
Stubborn to a fault. “Okay . . . Two blocks east there’s a quiet little Italian place. I don’t think the photographer will follow us there if we’re quick.”
“They hound you like that a lot now?”
He winced. “Just since I started doing the talk shows. I keep hoping they’ll go away. Does Italian sound good?”
“Sure.” The word itself was enthusiastic, but the tone was very whatever.
Luc gnashed his teeth. The suspense was killing him. Now he added worry to the mix. Something was definitely wrong here.
After she agreed to follow him to the restaurant, he waited for her to pull around. The photographer ran after him until he couldn’t jog fast enough to chase their cars anymore.
The drive to Georgio’s was the longest five minutes of Luc’s life. Why did Alyssa assume that he would mind being with her after dinner? What the hell was going on? Why did she look so thin and tired? Was Bonheur weighing on her? Had she come to him for advice?
Finally, he pulled into a parking spot in the restaurant’s lot. The one beside him was empty, but she parked farther down the row. Damn. If Alyssa wanted distance between them, why was she here?
She remained silent until they were seated in a quiet corner. It was early on Saturday afternoon, long past the lunch rush, but well before dinner.
“How is Bonheur?” he asked, hoping to entice her to lift her nose out of the menu and talk to him.
“Fine. I was pleased with the first month’s tally. This month is looking even better. Thank you for your help.”
Luc smiled for her, though the mystery of her visit chafed at him. “The hard work was yours. I just provided a little name recognition opening week.”
“And then some. I saw you on Ellen last week.”
He winced. “Still getting used to the TV thing.”
“You did well.”
“Thanks. The network has arranged a lot of these appearances. They want maximum exposure before the show actually launches in January.”
The waiter came by and took their drink orders. He ordered a cabernet sauvignon. She asked for water and refused a cocktail. He frowned, and asked the waiter to return later for their dinner selections.
“Let’s order now.”
This instant? Was she hungry . . . or just didn’t want to be in the same room with him any longer than necessary?
Of course the latter. You treated her like a whore.
Reluctantly, Luc agreed, and they placed their orders. The waiter finally left them alone.
Luc turned to Alyssa, willing her to say something. He wanted to touch her so badly, but not against her wishes. He owed her at least that much. She sat in silence for long moments, fidgeting nervously.
“Is this about Peter?” he prompted gently. “Jack told me he didn’t rape you. I know he’s free and awaiting trial. The DA has a solid assault and attempted rape charge.”
She nodded. “Peter still insists he didn’t write the notes. I don’t think we’ll ever know the truth. But that’s not why I’m here.”
He leaned forward, getting a closer view of just how pale and shaky she was. His worry deepened. “What is it? You can tell me anything.”
“Hell of a birthday present . . .” Her eyes closed. Her face tightened as she pressed her lips together, as if looking for strength. Then she stared at him with the deepest regret. “I’m pregnant.”
Luc recoiled, blinked, stared. “Pregnant?”
Why tell him? Was she trying to claim the baby was . . . his?
“Are you sure?”
Slowly, she nodded. “I missed my period a few weeks ago and thought maybe it was stress. But days went on, and I noticed changes in my body.”
“Like?” He barked the question at her. Maybe she’d made a mistake.
Even if she hadn’t, this child wasn’t his.
After a horrific teenage illness with a decimating fever, Luc had learned from his doctors that he’d been left with a very low sperm count that made the likelihood of him impregnating someone statistically insignificant. He’d been seventeen then, and his reaction to the news had been mixed, a vague sadness with a whooping cheer that he and his girlfriend of the moment would never have an “oops.”
The green light to sex in his late teens and early twenties had given way eventually. He’d returned to his doctor to have a physical for insurance purposes at twenty-seven, and he’d asked to be tested again. Despite having been involved in ménages with Deke for a few years, he’d begun wondering if, maybe, he could find the right woman and have a family of his own. His doctor had quickly squashed that possibility. Luc had even taken a prescription drug, clomiphene citrate, for a few months to see if his sperm count might improve. Further testing revealed his chances of fathering children were slightly better . . . but still virtually impossible.
He hadn’t been tested since. Why bother repeating something so humiliating? So devastating?
But Alyssa either thought the child was his or wanted him to believe so. He drummed his fingers against the table, a surge of jealous anger jolting him. Without knowing Luc’s secret, she probably thought there was a fifty/fifty chance he had fathered her child. But apparently, that honor was Tyler’s. So why track Luc down in Texas to give him the news, rather than name her bouncer the expectant father? Because he’d been on Ellen? Because he’d signed a sweet cable deal? That didn’t sound like stubbornly independent Alyssa, but he couldn’t think of another reason.
Damn her! As lies went, this one hurt so bad, his insides were about to implode. The pain of her rejection six weeks ago had hurt like hell, and she was paying him back in spades.
“My . . . breasts became tender,” she continued into the silence. “I—I felt like I had the flu. All of a sudden, I couldn’t eat spicy foods. I was—am—tired a lot. I saw my doctor yesterday. I’m pregnant.”
Not by me . . . And didn’t that reality taste bitter? He drummed his fingers on the table again. What the hell did she want him to say? Congratu-fucking-lations?
“I’m . . . um, due June seventh.”
Luc had to give her credit. The math worked in favor of the child being his. Though clearly she’d been fucking Tyler that week as well.
“And . . . you’re here because it’s mine?”
She rolled her eyes. “Whether you believe me or not, you are the only man I’ve had sex with in nearly three years. So yes.”
Luc resisted the urge to laugh hysterically. It was either that or swallow the reality that another man had impregnated the woman he loved and she now lied to his face. His blood pressure rose, and he drummed his fingers faster.
Luc opened his mouth to tell her the child couldn’t possibly be his. Then he stopped cold. She’s having a baby who needs a father.
He swallowed hard. His thoughts raced. What if . . . he didn’t refute her? There must be some reason she’d chosen to pin this on him. Did the why matter?
Once, he’d been eager to marry Kimber, despite the fact he hadn’t been in love with her, so he could be a father to the unborn baby she’d thought she was carrying. When Emily departed earlier, yet another chance at fatherhood had walked out the door. Now Alyssa was dropping opportunity right into his lap. And she came with a bonus; unlike Emily or Kimber, he had deep feelings for her. More than he’d ever felt for any woman, lies and all.
Suddenly, he knew exactly what he wanted. He also knew that after the way they’d last parted in Lafayette, he had to play this carefully.
“Say something,” she choked.
Luc hesitated, thinking through his strategy. “Have you told anyone?”
She frowned, then started scooting out of the booth. “If you’re worried I’m going to mess up your new image or screw up your relationship with your girlfriend, don’t be. I don’t want anything from you. I thought I’d just be a decent human being and inform you. Duty done.”
Interesting tactic on her part. Reverse psychology?
Luc beat her out of the booth and blocked her path. “That’s not at all what I meant. I wanted to know if you’d told anyone in Lafayette.”
Alyssa bristled. “Like Tyler? Why? There’s zero chance this baby is his, so no. I thought I owed you first. When I do tell Tyler, he’ll probably come up with some silly scheme to get married . . .”
Luc’s guts fell somewhere around his toes. Alyssa married to Tyler? The bouncer playing father to this baby? Over his dead body.
“Now that I’ve told you about my pregnancy—” She pushed against his chest.
He refused to budge. Finally realizing that he wasn’t moving an inch, she flopped back into her seat and glared at him.
“Now that I know, we should discuss our options,” he said, sitting again. Luc tried for calm, but his heart raced.
“Options?” she all but shrieked. “I came to inform you in person, instead of taking the chickenshit way out and phoning you. But I’m having this baby. You won’t push your money off on me and persuade me abort—”
“That’s the last thing I want!” The thought horrified him.
“Oh.” She looked away. “Look, I’m not asking for anything. It’d be great for the kid’s sake if you wanted to be involved, but if not . . .” She shrugged. “Plenty of single moms do it.”
She was independent and determined enough to go it alone. He admired her tenacity, even as he wanted to shake her.
Luc chose his words carefully. “So you wouldn’t marry Tyler if he asked?”
“I haven’t given it much thought. He hasn’t actually asked; I’m just guessing he might.”
Fairly accurate guess, in Luc’s estimation. Tyler loved her and would latch on to any reason to make her his. Besides, the man could argue the child was his. And he’d be right. Luc wasn’t going to allow Tyler that chance. He wanted this baby. And despite the lies, he wanted Alyssa, too. So much, the craving was nearly beyond his control. Some part of him was even perversely pleased with this outcome.
This time, he’d be better to her. He’d never let another man touch her. He’d never give her cause for regret.
“Something against Tyler or marriage in general?”
Alyssa frowned. “Tyler’s been my rock lately. I don’t know much about his life before he showed up on my doorstep, want ad in hand. But he’s solid. Marriage . . . I don’t think it works. I’ve seen guys who seem like the most devoted dads come in for a weekly lap dance, looking for something extra on the side.”
“Not every man cheats,” Luc chided her.
Alyssa raised a golden brow. “Most.”
“Some,” he corrected. “Women cheat, too.” How would she react to that statement? With guilt?
She just shrugged. “I don’t see them in my club every night.”
The line of questioning had netted nothing. Time to change tactics. “Cheating aside, would you get married? For the baby?”
“To Tyler?” She hesitated a long moment, then sighed. “Maybe.”
Luc sifted through the information, still drumming his fingertips. While she didn’t seem enthusiastic about the idea, Alyssa hadn’t said no. He had to crush that quickly.
“I didn’t come to ruin your birthday. I just . . . thought you should know.” She rose from the booth again. “I’ll call you when the baby is born.”
“Wait!” Luc blurted, cursing that she might be playing him like a fiddle. He still didn’t know what she wanted, but he had to tip his hand, say or do whatever necessary to keep her and this baby in his life. “Don’t go. I’m thrilled you’re pregnant.”
“Really?” She frowned, looking unconvinced. “You’re happy?”
“Ecstatic. The best birthday present ever.” He clenched his fists to keep from reaching out to her. “I don’t want you to call me when the baby is born. I’d like to be involved in this child’s life. I want to be there every step of the way—first tooth, first word, first crush, first date. I also want to be there for you during your pregnancy.”
Her eyes went wide. “Wha . . . what do you mean? You want to go to my doctor appointments?”