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“You got under my skin from the second I saw you. I call it lust because if I call it something else, it feels dangerous,” he admitted gruffly. “It means that a drunk I see once every three years can say something about you that makes me act like a Neanderthal. You think I behave that way every day?” He waved his hand in a vague direction. “Never. When I say people know how I feel about you now, I mean they know they can get to me through you. It’s terrifying.”
She didn’t want to be moved in any way by that, but she was. A little. She crushed the sleeve of her robe in her fist, emotions crashing around in her chest like storm waves.
“Do you see how insulting that is, though?” she asked. “That you don’t want to care about me? That you resent that you do?”
“You don’t want to care about me,” Saint shot back, stabbing the air between them with his finger. “You don’t trust me. You don’t want to rely on me. You’re only here for the baby. You think I don’t know you have an exit strategy? If you search for train tickets to Toronto, where Mrs. Bhamra’s sister lives, I’m going to get ads for them in my feed. How the hell am I supposed to trustyouwhen you keep one foot out the door?”
“She’s talking about visiting,” Fliss mumbled, looking down at the elegant arcs of gold painted against her cuticles on her otherwise pink nails.
“I shouldn’t have blurted out that you’re pregnant. I know that,” he said begrudgingly. “You’re right that people haven’t been taking you seriously. That’s on me. I have a history of not taking any of my relationships seriously. But I said it so Kyle would know this is different. Now everyone knows this is different. And yes, maybe it was also a move to lock you in. Not consciously, but... I don’t know.” He ran his hand over his face. “I want you here, Fliss. You. And I hate myself for hurting you. I’m sorry.”
Oh, what was she supposed to do now? Her anger was washing away like footprints in sand, leaving her feeling more vulnerable than ever.
“Can we at least not be angry anymore?” He held out a hand.
“What doyouhave to be angry about?” she grumbled as she stepped close enough to let him draw her into his arms.
“You clocked me with a pillow, for starters.” He hugged her securely. “Disparaged my cooking skills. Accused me of human rights violations.”
“Pregnant women need the loo. And I was moving the pillow. It’s not my fault your face got in the way.”
“My mistake. See? I’m getting the hang of relationships.”
She hummed a small laugh as she tucked her face against his chest, wanting to stay in this moment of reconciliation forever. But.
“We have to go to the track tomorrow, don’t we?” she said with dread.
“No,” he said firmly, dropping his arms away from her. “I’ve already told my pilot we’re flying back to the city first thing.”
“Saint. Your mom will be devastated if we don’t watch the race. If her horse doesn’t win, who will console her? Your dad? It will be awkward for me, I know, but it won’t get less awkward if I put it off, so let’s get it over with.”
“You think Paprika’s Tuft won’t win?” he asked with a frown. “What did your cards say?”
“I don’t ask questions I don’t want the answer to.”
He narrowed his eyes. “What do your cards say about us?”
“I haven’t asked.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
PAPRIKA’STUFTLOSTby a nose. Norma was disappointed but mollified by the quarter of a million dollars that was the second-prize purse.
Fliss had another good day with two wins and a shrewd win-place-show cover of bets in the final race. Her biggest return came when the man who had shadowed her bets gave her his business card.
“Call my assistant the next time you’re on your way to Paris. She’ll have accounts opened at whichever boutiques you like to visit.”
“Oh, that’s kind of you, but I couldn’t.” She looked to Saint, nonplussed.
“I’m up four hundred thousand dollars today. You ought to have a cut of those winnings,” the man insisted.
“Take the card,” Saint said mildly. “Send him your business plan. See if he’d like to bet onyou. Fliss designs lingerie,” he told the man.
“Ah. Yes. I’d like to see that proposal.”
His immediate interest plucked against her sense of not working hard enough to earn such an advantage, but it was a nice outcome to end what had been a tense day. She’d been braced for the worst, but it hasn’t been as uncomfortable as Fliss had feared. There’d been too much action and, thankfully, the drunk who’d provoked Saint last night was nursing his hangover and didn’t turn up at the track.
They returned to New York later that evening to headlines about her pregnancy, but a political scandal was already overshadowing it.
