“Kitten, are you okay?”

  Every ounce of oxygen leaves my body. Because how in the hell does he know already?

  Except he doesn’t. He can’t.

  “Okay?” I repeat. “What are you talking about?”

  “Matthew called. Bryan Raine. And now you’re over with Nikki. I can take a wild stab at your mental state.”

  Phone. Of course he’d know exactly where I am. And, after getting the call from Matthew, he’d know why, too.

  I drag my fingers through my hair. “It’s been a really strange day. But I’m okay. I thought about bailing, but decided to say fuck it, do the movie, and ride on the asshole’s coattails, right?”

  “That’s my girl.”

  I glance at Nikki. “Listen. Is it okay with you if I stay here tonight? Abby popped by and we thought we’d make a girls’ night since Damien and the kids are gone. You know, a movie. Wine. Pizza. The whole shebang.”

  “TGI Thursday?”

  “Pretty much. And aren’t you heading down to San Diego at the crack of dawn tomorrow anyway?”

  “I am. And a girls’ night sounds like just the balm you need to soothe your bad day.”

  “Totally,” I say, feeling like a horrible, lying bitch. But I’m just not ready to face him. We finish the call, and I turn to Nikki, girded for her reaction.

  “Abby? Seriously? Why—”

  “I don’t know. I guess it felt more legit if it was girl thing and not just a you and me thing.”

  “Jamie, why are you—”

  I hold up my hand. “Don’t,” I say. “Please. Just a movie and popcorn and sleep.” And because Nikki’s my best friend on Earth, she gives me one final, long look. But she doesn’t say a thing.

  Chapter Six

  “Hey, babe,” Ryan calls, making me jump as I come in through the back door that leads into the kitchen.

  “Jeez, Ryan! You almost scared me to death. What are you doing here?”

  I kick off my sandy shoes. I walked back home via the beach—one of the perks of having bought a house that’s conveniently located right next to my bestie.

  He crosses to me, then extends a hand. “Ryan Hunter. I live here. I believe we’ve met before.”

  “My husband the clown. I just meant that you’re supposed to be in San Diego. And you’re usually gone by now, anyway.” Nikki apparently tried to get me up at eight, but I was having none of it. Now it’s coming on eleven, and I have no memory of even halfway waking up, much less telling her that our continuing friendship was directly tied to her letting me get at least two more hours sleep.

  I would’ve call her on her bullshit, except that really does sound like me.

  Ryan moves to our coffee corner. “San Diego got canceled, and I had paperwork to take care of. Figured I’d have a lazy morning. See my wife.”

  “Oh. Great.”

  His brows rise, and I force a smile. Normally, I’d already be trying to get him in bed. Because that’s my idea of how to pass a lazy morning. Today, I’m off-kilter. I thought I’d have the house to myself. To think about how to tell him.

  And to figure out why I’m not even remotely ready to tell him this thing that he’s going to think is such good news. And, I tell myself sternly, that I think is good news, too.

  As I take a seat at the kitchen island, he grabs two mugs, fills them, and puts one in front of me. I push it a few inches away so as to not breathe in the aroma and barf all over the island.

  He stares at me for what feels like a beat too long, and I’m certain he’s figured it out, and any minute he’s going to ask me why I’m keeping my secret. And what the hell am I supposed to say then?

  Stop it.

  I follow my own order, forcing myself to just sit there, calmly not drinking coffee as he stands on the other side of the island, sipping away at his. I wait for him to ask me what’s wrong.

  He doesn’t.

  I clear my throat, unnerved by what feels to me like a very uncomfortable silence. “So, um, get a lot done? Paperwork, I mean.” I’m fidgeting with my fingers and so I lift the coffee, if for no other reason than that I can hold tight to the mug.

  “Enough.”

  “That’s good.” The whole conversation seems off, but I figure that’s just my perception because, oh, I’m slightly knocked up and not ready to tell my husband.

  When Ryan comes around the island to sit on the stool next to mine, I expect him to kiss me. He doesn’t. He’s just sitting, sipping his coffee as I fight the horrible, twisty something’s off feeling that’s still winding its way through my gut.

  Speaking of guts…

  I push the coffee away, unable to take the scent of it any longer. I realize right away how big a mistake that is—I never say no to coffee unless someone else is offering booze—but I don’t think he’s noticed that at all. Instead, he’s looking at me with the kind of intense expression I haven’t seen since before we got married. Back when I had a habit of running scared despite wanting him so very, very badly.

  I haven’t run in a long time, though, which means that I have no idea what that expression is for. But while I might be wildly curious, I know better than to ask.

  “—chip,” he says, and I sit up straighter, realizing I’d gotten completely lost in my thoughts.

  “Sorry. What?”

  “I said I’m going to get a muffin. Do you want one? They’re chocolate chip.”

  My stomach growls happily. Apparently, the pregnancy gods like chocolate. “Yeah. That sounds great.”

  He nods, then goes to the cabinet and pulls out a box of bakery muffins I didn’t even know we had. When he brings them back, I anticipate him standing behind me in that way he has of easing up close, then brushing a kiss on the back of my neck. Sweetly gentle and oh-so sexy.

  But he goes straight to his stool and puts the box between us.

  Needless to say, I’m downright paranoid now. I’m about to suck it up and ask what the fuck is wrong when he puts his hand over mine. “You probably shouldn’t have stayed over at Nikki’s last night.”

  “Oh.” I frown. “Why not?”

  He brushes my cheek. “Kitten, you’re sick. When I heard you spewed your guts onto that prick’s shoes, my first reaction was just that he deserved it. And I feel like a shit for that.”

  “What? Why? He does deserve it.”

  Ryan chuckles. “No, because I was thinking about him, not you. But baby, you’ve been off all morning.” He presses his hand to my forehead, and I wonder if it’s possible to wish oneself into a fever.

  “You’re right,” I say, greedily grabbing the excuse’s coattails. “It’s probably just a twenty-four-hour thing.”

  “Which you may have given to Nikki and Abby.”

  “I didn’t think about that.”

  “Well, the spreading of the plague notwithstanding, did you three have fun?”

  “Please. You know we did.”

  He grins. “I figured as much. I actually thought about popping over for a good night kiss, but I assumed that would break some marital rule.”

  “And you were right.” I pluck a few chocolate chips and pop them into my mouth. “We had a total blast,” I continue. “We ate brownies and watched Romancing the Stone.”

  I don’t quite look him in the eye, even though I tell myself I have no reason to feel guilty. It’s not like I’m actually lying. Everything I said was true.

  Everything except the part about Abby being there. But since Abby is Nikki’s business partner, I figure she was there in spirit. And what Ryan doesn’t know can’t hurt him.

  For a moment, he says nothing. Then he takes a sip of his coffee, camouflaging the fact that he’s still saying nothing. But inside all that nothing is that weird vibe. I don’t know what it is, but I’m pretty sure it’s not him worrying that I’m sick.

  Or maybe my hormone addled brain is just paranoid.

  Silence lingers as I pluck out four more chocolate chips. Then he says, “Jamie. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

  Jamie. Not Kitten. And in that firm, Master of the Universe, tone.

  I lick my lips. I want to tell him. I do.

  But I can’t seem to make the words come. So instead, I shake my head. “Nothing. I’m just feeling off, you know?”

  He doesn’t answer. Instead, he simply looks at me. Then, to my shock, he catches my chin, pulls me to him, and captures me in a bone-melting kiss. I can feel the frustration rolling off him in waves. Why not? He knows me better than anyone.

  And I know him well enough to realize that he’s fully aware that I’m keeping something from him.

  It’s my chance to come clean. To tell him about the news I got last night. News I’m still trying to process.

  I open my mouth, sternly ordering myself to just spill it. But I ignore that inner voice and offer nothing more than a little shrug.

  He sighs. “Is it work?”

  I start to argue—to stick fast to the lie and reiterate that I’m sick. Instead, I nod. Why not? At least that conversational path is lined with the truth.

  He closes his hand over mine. “Everything’s going to change.”

  My chest tightens—he’s talking about the pregnancy after all. But how—

  “You’re recognized on the street now, but after Dead Certain comes out everyone’s going to want a piece of my wife.”

  I smile up at him. “But only you have her.”

  He brushes the pad of his thumb over my cheek. “Only me.” Then he leans in, and I sigh, expecting the sweetness of his kiss. But his lips only brush my forehead.

  I pull back with what I’m sure is a picture-perfect What The Fuck expression, but he only grins.

  “I’ll share most anything with you, Kitten. But not the stomach flu.”

  As I roll my eyes, he hurries away to dress, and I’m left alone with my malodorous coffee and absolutely no idea what to do now. Not about my career. Not about my body. Not about anything.

  I don’t know what I want.

  I don’t know my options.

  But it’s time for me to figure that out.

  Chapter Seven

  “Morning,” Renly said, striding across the Stark Security break room to where Ryan stood by the coffee maker. “You okay?”

  Ryan looked up, trying to pull his mind back on track. “Sorry. What?”

  Renly pointed toward the machine. “It works better if you press the shiny green button.”

  “Right. I think I read that in the brochure.” He hit the switch, and the magical elixir began to flow. It had been a shitty morning, mostly because he couldn’t get a read on his wife. All he knew was that something was off. And that today was definitely a non-stop coffee day.

  “Thanks for the invite last night. Sorry I couldn’t pop over but Abby had other plans for us.”

  “No prob—” He cut himself off, frowning. He’d invited Renly over to watch a flick after Jamie announced she was doing the girl thing with Nikki and Abby. Renly thanked him for the invite, saying he already had plans, and Ryan had thought nothing more of it.

  Until now.

  Frowning, he took his mug and headed straight for the privacy of his office, barely noticing the way Renly’s eyes tracked him.

  A moment later, Renly stepped into the office and closed the door behind him.

  “What’s up?” Ryan asked from behind the desk.

  “That’s what I was going to ask you.”

  “I’m fine.” He could hear the curtness in his own voice and silently cursed his wife. The woman could definitely get under his skin.

  “Might be my imagination, but with me being a hotshot security guy, I like to follow up on my gut. And my gut’s saying my boss has something on his mind. So spill. What’s wrong?”

  Ryan hesitated, then shook his head. “Probably just a misunderstanding. Seriously, don’t worry about it.”

  Renly hesitated, but eventually nodded and started to turn away.

  Oh, hell. “Actually, wait.” Ryan hated that he was probably being paranoid, but he hated more not having answers. “Last night when you told me that Abby had made plans for the two of you, you meant together, right?”

  “Uh, yeah. Very together.”

  “And just the two of you?”

  Renly’s brows rose. “Getting a little intimate there, boss man.”

  “Oh, hell, I—”

  Renly laughed. “Just giving you shit. Yeah. Just the two of us. And again I ask, what’s going on?”

  “Nothing. Like I said, just a misunderstanding.”

  For a moment, Renly studied him, clearly wanting some explanation for the odd questions, but at the same time, not wanting to interrogate his boss.

  Finally, the hierarchy won out. “Okay, man. Holler if you need me. I’ll be at my desk all day. Damn paperwork. That’s what I get for being so awesome and closing cases.”

  Ryan chuckled, then sat back in his chair as Renly shot him one more inquisitive look, then shut the door behind him. Immediately, Ryan reached for the control knob on the side of his desk, turned the dial, and watched as the blinds slowly lowered. Then he sat back in his chair wondering why on earth Jamie had told him that Abby had been with her and Nikki.

  He couldn’t think of a single goddamn reason.

  Which meant that Jamie had lied to him. But why?

  If it were near Christmas, his birthday, or their anniversary, maybe Abby had been her cover for shopping. But they were months away from all of those.

  He picked up the phone, and was just about to call her when he heard a soft tap at his office door.

  He considered ignoring it, then sharply chastised himself. He wasn’t going to let his own paranoia—hopefully it was paranoia—interfere with work. “Come in.”

  A second later the door swung open, and Moira’s smiling face greeted him, framed by dark, curly hair so unlike his own. “Hey big brother. What’s up?”

  His grin was automatic and felt pretty damn good. He hadn’t seen her for over a month, and considering his current mood, she was a welcome intrusion. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

  “Like you’re sitting behind your desk, feeling all giddy and happy that your little sister is here.”

  “You know me so well, you’d think we were related.”

  “Oh, please.” She waved a dismissive hand. “You aren’t nearly pretty enough to share genes with me.”

  “Watch it, kid,” he said as he came around the desk to give her a hug, then stepped back and looked her up and down. She’d been a surprise to his parents, and his father had died in the line of duty when she was only eight. Ryan had always felt half-father, half-big brother to her. And she knew it well.

  Now, she rolled her eyes at his critical appraisal. “I’m fine.”

  “Really? Because—”

  She shook her head and held up a hand at the same time. “I’m making the right decision. Advertising isn’t for me.”

  “Then what is?” She’d recently dropped the bomb that she’d quit her job at a major ad agency.

  “I don’t know. But I haven’t enjoyed anything that I’ve done since I got out of school. It’s all office politics, with maybe ten percent creative.”

  “Maybe you should try a smaller firm.”

  She cocked her head. “I already told you what I want to try. But that’s not why I’m here.”

  For the first time, he caught a serious note in her voice. “Then why are you here?”

  Her shoulders rose and fell. “Moral support, dummy. But you look like you’re doing fine, which makes me feel a hell of a lot better, because I was expecting big drama. Well, not expecting—I knew it all had to be bullshit—but I figured you’d still be…” She made an exploding motion with her hands.

  “Moira, what the hell are you talking about?”

  She took a step back, looking like she wanted to slap her own face. “Shit.”

  “Moira.” His voice was low. Flat. “Tell me what the fuck is going on.”

  Her teeth grazed her lower lip. “You really haven’t seen?”

  “Since I don’t know what we’re talking about, I can’t tell you whether I’ve seen it or not.”

  “You really should have someone monitoring social media. So much stuff is revealed there, and you guys are in the security business.”

  “Dammit, Moira…”

  She sighed, then reached into the back pocket of her jeans. She pulled out her phone, unlocked it, and passed it to him.

  He took it…and his entire body turned to ice when he saw the paparazzi photo of Jamie walking out of the Women’s Haven Reproductive Clinic, her head down, her arms wrapped around herself as she hurried down the hedge-lined sidewalk.

  Innocent enough if it was just the photo. But it was the headline blaring in a neon font that really kicked him in the gut: Preggers! Actress Jamie Archer confirmed pregnant!! But is she still?

  There was a link, of course, and he followed it to an article—if that’s what you could call the kind of tripe that celebrity chasers pedaled. The “article” reported that the pregnancy was confirmed by an “unnamed source” at the clinic, and that abortion was discussed.

  His stomach twisted, but he kept reading as—in some warped facsimile of journalism—it went on to report that she was married to him, that he was the head of Stark Security, a prestigious private security company founded by billionaire Damien Stark, and that Stark’s wife—Nikki—had been Jamie’s closest friend since childhood.

  He put the phone face down on his desk. “This isn’t...” but he couldn’t finish the sentence, because he didn’t know what it wasn’t.

  “Oh, god.”

  He looked up to see Moira blinking back tears as she studied his face.

  “I—I’m so sorry. I came to commiserate on the press turning your personal lives into bullshit news bites. But you didn’t know. You didn’t know about this stupid post—and yeah, it’s already gone viral—and I can tell from your face that you didn’t even know about the pregnancy, either.”

  She exhaled, then sat in one of his guest chairs. “Maybe there isn’t a pregnancy. Maybe the whole thing’s made up.”

  He said nothing, because what the hell was he supposed to say? That his wife had never told him she was pregnant? That she’d never even hinted at it, much less raised the possibility of an abortion?

 

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