* * *
Night air whipped around Trystan, chilling him in a way it shouldn’t for this time of year.
To say his mind was reeling would be the ultimate understatement. He leaned on a dock post, watching Isabeau disappear up the hill, her red hair perfectly rearranged as if nothing had happened between them.
The problem was that everything had happened between them.
Her curvy silhouette brought his memory back to the softness of her lips, the way she felt pressed against him. Beautiful. Stunning. Hot. Sex that made him lose his mind, forget his sensibilities. The kind that had him thinking of making this a long-term affair.
And all that had changed with a broken condom and Isabeau’s retreat.
He also couldn’t escape the unsettling possibility that she might be pregnant. He would live up to his responsibility. He would even offer to marry her if he thought there was a chance in hell she would say yes.
Her current level of horror at furthering their connection and her emphatic insistence on a business-only relationship indicated a marriage proposal would not be at all welcome.
He put a mental pin in the marriage proposal idea, tucking it aside for later consideration. He would never bail on his child like his biological parents had bailed on him. Any child of his would know he or she was wanted by both parents.
Royce Miller, Naomi’s scientist fiancé, ambled toward him, the shirt beneath his suit jacket slightly disheveled. Royce, a quiet guy, always seemed lost in thought. Probably figuring out a math equation in his head that would revolutionize oil production, Trystan thought. No denying it—the man was a genius.
Royce drew up alongside Trystan. “Have you seen Naomi?”
“No, I haven’t seen my future stepsister. But if I do, I’ll let her know you’re looking for her.” Trystan adjusted his Stetson, turning back toward the water. Lights from the Steele compound reflected along the glassy surface.
Royce leaned against the dock railing, his cowboy hat dipping forward as he shook his head, his expression taut. “Better not put it that way. I’m trying to get her to take a breather and put her feet up. She’s having none of that.”
“She’s an independent one.”
Pacing, Royce appeared frazzled, like a tree rustling in a gust of wind. He moved toward the grass and knelt to examine a small rock. “An independent pregnant woman who doesn’t seem to realize her ankles were really swollen last time I saw her.”
Naomi’s fiancé moved back to the rail, leaned against it, rock in hand.
Trystan shot him a look. “Probably not wise to lead with that when you find her. I’m no Romeo, but I’m guessing insulting a woman’s water retention won’t go over well.”
Thumbing the rock over and over in his palm, Royce nodded. “I’m aware. She’s prickly as hell about being pampered. She’s a confusing woman.”
“Aren’t they all?” Trystan’s thoughts drifted away.
His question was more about Isabeau’s potential pregnancy than about Naomi Steele’s fiery independence.
As the company’s temporary figurehead, an unplanned pregnancy with Isabeau could be a media nightmare. The irony was not lost on him that it was Isabeau who’d been specifically hired to curate his image. A much harder job if she became the epicenter of the crisis.
Damn. What would the next month look like? More important, what would the next eighteen years be like bringing up a child together?
“Do you have any advice for the next few weeks as I march around as the figurehead of this new company?”
With a flick of his hand, Royce skipped the rock. It skidded across the water for five beats before it plummeted into the depths with a defiant splash. “Why are you asking me?”
“You’ll be a part of the family when you marry Naomi. Your role at the wilderness preservation wine and dine fund-raiser has been valued so far.”
“You could ask Delaney.”
Narrowing his eyes, Trystan shook his head dismissively. “You still have an outsider feel.”
Something he identified with more than he was comfortable saying.
Royce shrugged, his attention already shifting back to the house. Likely thinking about his pregnant fiancée. “I’m not really family.”
And at that, he turned to leave with an absent wave.
A deep pit formed in Trystan’s stomach, sinking faster than the last rays of sunlight. “Neither am I.”
* * *
Naomi eased out of her shoes, feet swollen and aching. She felt like an idiot for thinking she could pull off wearing a pair of heels to her brother’s wedding.
For the few hours of the ceremony and reception, it had felt a bit like she’d stepped back in time. Back before she’d gotten pregnant, before she’d started a relationship with a sexy scientist who thrived in seclusion.
She and Royce had recently moved to a cabin on the outskirts of town. Remote. Romantic. Cozy.
Cozy was a fancy spin on the suffocation she’d been feeling lately.
It made sense to stay here tonight rather than driving an hour back to their little hideaway—longer if the weather acted up. She’d known the wedding would tax her stamina. She’d underestimated just how much it would though.
As she stepped out of the mansion’s elevator, the motion sensor lights popped on, illuminating her room, recalling her old life. She breathed in deeply, reveling in the calm. Four months ago, Royce had blasted into her world. Or rather, she’d half conned her way into his. Pregnant with twins and trying to land the world’s top oil industry engineer for fledging Alaska Oil Barons, Inc.
Safe to say, she’d accomplished more than that. Royce was a wonderful man.
His attention to her every whim and movement though was more than a little suffocating sometimes.
She couldn’t help but wonder if he stayed with her and took such good care of her because he couldn’t live without her—or because he needed to care for
