Claimed: The Pregnant Heiress

“Fair enough. You don’t want certain characteristics of your mother to show up, and I have to admit there are a few anomalies I’d just as soon any son or daughter of mine didn’t chip off the old genetic block.” He paused, then asked, “Should I assume you plan to keep the baby?”

“That’s the only part of this you can assume. I will have the baby and I’m not considering adoption. I …” She caught her lower lip between her teeth. “I couldn’t. I couldn’t give my baby away.”

“Our baby. At least, I assume it’s ours.” He wished there were a less awkward way of asking his next question. “You implied I’m the father.”

“There’s no other possibility.” She made the statement with calm certainty.

“You’re sure?”

She jabbed an orange slice in his direction. “All right, Money Man. Let’s put this in terms even you can understand. One woman who’s had a rather lengthy sexual dry spell plus one man who ended aforementioned dry spell, minus one condom equals oops. In case you missed it, I double-checked my math twelve different times. It came up baby on every test.”

He would have laughed if the situation weren’t so serious. “I’m not questioning your math.”

Her expression froze over. “You’re just questioning which of my many lovers is the father, is that it?”

He cautiously moved the question aside and out of reach. “I assume you won’t object to a paternity test?” he asked instead.

“Of course not.”

“In utero?”

Her brows drew together. “They do that now?”

How the hell should he know? He’d never been in this situation before. Had done everything within his power to prevent it from ever happening. “We can ask your doctor.”

Emma shoved her plate aside. “There is no we.”

“If there’s a baby, there sure as hell is a we.” He leaned forward to give emphasis to his words. “Perhaps this is a good time to explain that I won’t walk away from my child. If it’s mine, I’ll be intimately involved every step of the way.”

“First things first. I—and I do mean I—go to see my ob/gyn and confirm the pregnancy. Then we’ll discuss the best way to handle the situation after that.” She rose, the dame at her most grand. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to go home.”

He did mind. He minded more than he could express. But he hadn’t gotten where he was in the world by losing his temper or indulging in a knee-jerk reaction when someone gave him a verbal shove. Chase relaxed back against his chair and studied Emma, while making a swift analysis. She was beautiful and clever and fascinating. But, she was also a Worth, which meant she came from money. Unfortunately, that small detail made her the last person he’d have chosen as mother to his child because he’d had so many bad experiences with others who came from that rarified world of inherited wealth.

The irony didn’t escape him. No doubt his father had felt the same dismay when Penny Larson had informed him of her unplanned pregnancy though Tiberius Barron’s reasons would have been far different. Unlike his father, Chase wouldn’t allow Emma to give birth to a bastard, to force his son or daughter to deal with the sort of snobbery he’d dealt with his entire life. Nor was she the same as the other trust fund babies he’d known. There was something irresistible about her. Something that appealed on every possible level. Even more important, she carried his child, which meant that whether she realized it or not, he was going to take control of both her and her pregnancy, starting now.

“I’ll be happy to take you home.” He waited until the relief gleamed in her violet-blue eyes. “On one condition.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “This is not a business negotiation,” she snapped.

Oh, but it was. She just didn’t realize it, yet. “This is my child, too. As I said, I want to be involved from day one.” He offered a crooked smile. “Actually, I was involved on day one. Now, I want to be involved in the next step. I want to go with you to the doctor.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Emma, it would be a mistake to shut me out. I’ll simply find a way to go around you. It would be far easier to cooperate.”

“Once I confirm the pregnancy, we’ll get together and discuss how we plan to handle the matter from that point on. But I need time to come to terms with what’s happening.”

He wasn’t about to give her that time. He didn’t know her well enough to risk what she might do while he sat around twiddling his thumbs. He didn’t answer, though she took his silence for acceptance, assumed she’d gained the upper hand in their little skirmish. Turning on her bare heel, she stalked to the bedroom, returning with her clothes, shoes and BlackBerry.

“Don’t bother to show me out.” So calm. So cool. So proud. So determined to make An Exit. “I’ll call a cab.”

He eyed the BlackBerry, then glanced toward the couch where she’d sat the night before and sipped herbal tea. He shrugged. “Okay.”

She opened the front door and gently closed it behind her, demonstrating her ability to make An Exit that was also calm, cool and proud. He waited, counted to ten, then crossed to the table beside the couch and picked up Emma’s BlackBerry. Next, he headed for the bedroom to collect his car keys. The soft knock sounded at the door seconds before he reached it.

He opened the door and lifted an eyebrow. “Forget something?” Like who was actually in charge around here?

He had to hand it to her, she maintained her poise with impressive fortitude. “I think we mixed up our cell phones.”

“We, huh?”

Her chin came up. “Yes. We.”

“Come on. I’ll drive you home.”

“I said—”

“I know what you said, Emma. You want your BlackBerry back?” He didn’t wait for her response. He exited the condo, striding past her toward his Ferrari. “Then stop giving me grief and let’s go.”

Emma Worth had a lot to learn about him, Chase decided. Like the small fact that he didn’t like being thwarted. But she’d get the message.

Soon. Very soon.

“Hello, sweetheart. Thanks for letting me know our appointment was this Monday morning.” He glanced down at his BlackBerry and frowned. “For some reason I didn’t have it scheduled.”

Emma froze in the doorway between the examination area of the doctor’s office and the waiting room and stared in disbelief at Chase. It had been less than forty-eight hours since they parted and yet he sat in one of the chairs, the ankle of one leg resting on the knee of the other in a typically masculine pose. A parenting magazine sat open on his lap. He flipped the magazine closed and tossed it onto the stack of similar periodicals spread across the glass-and-chrome table in front of him.

Her gaze darted to the other occupants in the waiting room and she worked hard—very hard—to keep her voice low and even. “What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you, of course. The nurse offered to let me join you.”

Emma drew in a deep breath. “Did she?” She turned to close the door behind her, using the few precious seconds it offered to regain her equilibrium.

“She did,” Chase confirmed. “Next time I’ll take her up on her offer.”

It was a warning, as clear as though he’d shouted it. Clutching the various pieces of literature the doctor had given her to study, along with an ultrasound photo of their baby, she forced herself to walk briskly across the waiting room toward the exit. Chase stood, pocketed his BlackBerry and followed her. She managed to keep her temper until they reached the parking lot and were standing where they couldn’t be overheard.

Then she turned on Chase. “How dare you? How dare you!”

Apparently, he dared plenty because he didn’t appear to appreciate the extent of her outrage. If anything, his features settled into a stone-hard cast. “You knew I wanted to be at that first appointment.”

“Why?” She jabbed a finger into his chest, allowing her anger free rein. “In order to be with me? Or in order to ask whether you could get an immediate paternity test?”

He planted his fists on his hips and bowed his head for a moment before shooting her a straight look. “I have the right to know whether the baby is mine.”

“Oh, for …” She took a deep breath. Getting upset wasn’t good for her and it certainly wasn’t good for the baby. “I’m done with this conversation.”

“Not a chance.” He glanced around the downtown district adjacent to the medical building and gestured toward Bistro by the Sea—or the Bistro as the locals referred to the small deli and coffee shop. “Come on. We can grab a couple coffees and talk there.”