A Baby Between Them

Much as Aidan wanted to remember the place as it had seemed to him in his childhood—warm, inviting, almost magical—he couldn’t help recalling that this was where Simone DeRosier had been murdered.

And now he was supposed to vacation here. To relax. Just because his office staff thought he was overstressed from too much work.

He jumped out of the convertible without opening the door, then went round to the back and removed his luggage from the trunk. He paused and glanced farther down the road to Pebble Beach. Wooden stairs led from a modest parking lot to a naturally protected cove. He remembered summer nights sitting by a bonfire on the beach, then later strolling along the boardwalk that led all the way back to town. He, Harrison, Emerson, Gabe and Jennifer had had a lot of fun in those pre-Simone days.

Aidan hefted an expansive duffel bag over his shoulder, then had another cursory glance at the rental car parked next to the driveway. Must be someone visiting the yoga studio across the road. He dug Harrison’s key out of his jeans pocket and headed for the front door.

Last time he’d been on the island—about a year ago— Harrison had been in residence. He’d been investigating the circumstances of Simone’s death, and then, along the way, he’d fallen in love with his real estate agent, Justine Melbourne. No one had been more surprised than Aidan when Harrison and Justine succeeded in proving Simone’s death had not been suicide, but murder.

Harrison could be fiercely tenacious when he wanted something. Like this stupid holiday idea. Harrison had all but packed Aidan’s bags and filled his car with gas, he’d been that anxious to get his friend out of the office in Seattle. Just because Aidan had called Harrison while he was sleeping with a great idea for a merger target.

“It’s three o’clock in the morning, Aidan. You need to get a life.”

But it had been a great idea….

Never mind, maybe he had been guilty of overworking this last little while. But he had to, didn’t he? Otherwise, if he weren’t careful, he’d be thinking about things that were better forgotten.

Aidan dropped his bag to the porch floor. The wooden boards looked freshly stained. The entire property was well-maintained. He glanced back at his car, wondering if he should put up the roof. But the clear sky held no hint of a summer storm.

What had brought him back to this place for his holiday? Sure Harrison had offered the use of his house, but money wasn’t an object—Aidan could have traveled anywhere in the world. It was almost as if he couldn’t stay away, as if the island had laid a claim on him, a claim that had to be settled.

Gloomy thoughts, man. You’re supposed to be on holiday, remember?

He inserted his key into the lock, then pushed the door open. Immediately, he was accosted by an acrid smell. A second later, a loud crash sounded from the back of the house where the kitchen was.

What the hell? Harrison had told him a cleaning crew would have the place stocked and ready for his arrival, but this couldn’t be them, could it?

And then it hit him. The driver of that rental car wasn’t at the yoga studio, after all.

RAE CORDELL HAD READ the instructions on the plastic wrapper that was now lying on the counter. It wasn’t that complicated. “Remove from packaging and place loaf on a cookie sheet in a prewarmed 325 degree oven. Bake for thirty to thirty-five minutes, until the bread is golden brown and sounds hollow when tapped.”

Yes, it had all sounded very simple. But Rae knew that if anyone could screw up baking a loaf of oven-ready bread, it would be her.

She peeked in the oven, and the yeasty aroma that greeted her made her gag. Oh, God. She had to get to a washroom. Quick.

Just hours ago, she’d been craving a slice of thick bread, slathered in butter. Now, the scent of the baking dough made her ill.

Rae kneeled over the toilet, and when she was done, mopped off her face and then checked her reflection in the mirror above the sink.

What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she do the things that seemed to come to other women so easily? Like cooking. And being pregnant.

Everyone knew morning sickness ended after the first trimester. Yet here she was, well into her eighth month. And the nausea still struck without warning and often at the most inopportune times. Like during Thursday afternoon staff meetings. And business dinners with important financiers. No wonder she’d been invited to take an expenses-paid vacation until the baby was born.

Oh, Harrison’s wife had been very sweet on the phone. Justine had said that since she and her husband were planning to spend August in Seattle, their summer home would be vacant. Why didn’t Rae take the opportunity and allow herself a well-deserved vacation?

Justine’s suggestion had been echoed by the executive assistant who worked under Rae at the Pittsburgh office of Kincaid Communications. The human relations director in Seattle had called for a “personal chat” and so had the VPs for Finance and Marketing. In fact, Rae had heard from almost everyone at the corporation except for the one person who really counted: her direct boss, acting CEO Aidan Wythe.

Rae placed her hands awkwardly over the huge mound of her abdomen. The man who got me in this predicament in the first place.

Her pregnancy had been common knowledge for at least the past three months—it wasn’t the sort of news one could hide forever—and she’d spent weeks dreading the prospect of hearing from him. But he hadn’t come to the Pittsburgh office in all that time. He hadn’t even called. Finally, it dawned on her that he didn’t intend to face up to the situation. Knowing men, Rae figured that he’d probably convinced himself someone else was the father.

Well, Rae had no interest in dissuading him of that notion. In fact, the more she reflected on her situation, the more she came to think that Aidan’s disinterest worked perfectly with her own plans.

This way, she didn’t need to consider anyone’s needs but hers and the baby’s.

The timer on the oven sounded again, and Rae was forced to head back to the kitchen. As soon as she stepped out of the bathroom, she knew something was wrong.

The bread was burning. She ran to the oven, slipped on oven mitts and opened the door. The top of the loaf was scorched black. As she pulled it out, her thumb pressed through a worn spot on the oven mitt.

Yikes! She dropped the pan and it clattered loudly against the granite-topped counter. It was in the ensuing silence that she heard the footsteps. Someone was in the house and heading her way.

Rae knew she’d locked the door after her morning walk. Was she about to be robbed? Raped? She reached for the hot pan, ready to hurl it if she had to. As she closed her gloved hands over her improvised weapon, a man stepped into the kitchen.

“Oh!” She stifled her scream at the moment of recognition. Damn it, this wasn’t possible, was it? Separated from her by a ten-foot, granite-topped island, Aidan Wythe looked almost as startled as Rae felt.

“Aidan?” She spoke the name as if his identity might be in doubt, but of course it wasn’t. Damn him, he looked good—even with windblown hair, and dressed in a casual T-shirt and jeans rather than his usual Armani suit and tie.

Oh, my Lord.

She dropped the pan to the countertop for the second time. Fighting an urge to run from the room, she gripped the counter for balance.

Why wasn’t he saying anything? What was he doing here? Rae swallowed, and drew in a long breath. The staccato pounding of her heart made her feel as if she’d just run up a long flight of stairs.

“This can’t be happening.” She closed her eyes, then opened them, hoping this apparition would disappear. Big surprise—it didn’t.

Aidan crossed his arms. Frowned. “What are you doing here?”

“Shouldn’t that be my line?” Must be the baby she was carrying, but she was having a hard time catching her breath. She leaned a little harder against the counter, trying not to wish that she looked slightly more presentable.

She was still flushed from her morning walk, and she hadn’t changed from the baggy T-shirt and shorts that she wore for exercise. Surely no one expected an extremely pregnant woman to look that good, anyway.

Not that it mattered. This was Aidan Wythe. The man she’d thought was so different…so sensitive, so deep. And he’d turned out to be the biggest jerk of all.

“Harrison told me his house was vacant for the month of August.” As Aidan spoke, his gaze raked over Rae, and she could almost hear him listing all the flaws he must be seeing. Messy hair that hadn’t been washed in days, no makeup, terrible clothes.

Whereas Aidan looked…absolutely delicious. More handsome than ever, not to mention calm and collected, even though—as Rae now understood—he hadn’t expected to see her here, either.

Well, that explained one mystery. She should have known he wouldn’t have been looking for her.

“Funny,” she said. “That’s exactly what Justine told me.”

Aidan blinked, surprise registering in his enigmatic, dark eyes. Finally, he broke the visual connection and crossed the room to the windows. The Pacific Ocean, deceptively calm on this late-summer day, dominated the view through all three picture windows that ran the length of the combined kitchen and dining area.

Rae stayed where she was, watching him push his hands into the pockets of his jeans, and trying not to admire the way the dark denim outlined slim hips, long legs, tight ass.

Ah, hell, it wasn’t fair. Aidan had never looked better. Shouldn’t men like him come marked in some way to warn innocent women of the potential danger? He hadn’t asked her how she was feeling, hadn’t even acknowledged the fact that she was pregnant. He really was a cad.

Now she glanced at the spot where he’d been standing earlier and saw a very large duffel bag. And suddenly the ramifications of the problem before them increased significantly.