Page 122 of My Fiancé's Brother

I stared at the floor between my legs. “There must be some mistake.”

“We ran the test twice. They were both definitive. I take it this isn’t planned?”

I sat up and blinked. “I’m supposed to get married in four weeks, and my fiancé thinks I'm a virgin.”

Her mouth parted. “Okay. That’s a complication.”

“How pregnant am I?”

“When was your last period?”

I thought back. “About six weeks ago?”

“The first day of pregnancy is counted from the first day of your last period. So that would make you approximately six weeks pregnant.”

I shook my head. “But I had a light period two weeks ago.”

“That was probably just some spotting. That’s a fairly common occurrence.”

I concentrated on breathing. “Is the baby okay?”

“Some abdominal pain is normal. Your organs are shifting, your uterus is expanding, and all those ligaments are stretching,” she said. “I suspected you were pregnant, but I wanted to rule out other things in light of your attack. If you experience any bleeding, come back.”

I couldn’t wrap my brain around this. I was pregnant. With Jackson’s baby. Jackson, the guy who was emphatic that he didn’t want children.

“So is the guy I just kicked out of here the dad?”

I stared at her. “How did you know?”

“Lucky guess,” she said wryly.

I dropped my face into my hands. “Oh, my God.”

She rubbed my back again. “Listen. You’ve had an insane day. Go home, get some rest. Drink plenty of water. No alcohol or drugs. As soon as you can, get in to see your regular doctor. And you should go on some prenatal vitamins as soon as possible.”

CHAPTER 44

Jackson droveme back to the loft. I huddled in the passenger seat, unable to speak. He glanced at me frequently, but I couldn’t meet his eyes. I tried to wrap my mind around everything, but my mind was blank.

When we reached the loft, he got out of the truck and walked around to my side. He opened the door, and I reached out my arms to him. He picked me up and carried me up into the loft. He continued to carry me up to my bedroom. And then we stood in my bathroom.

He didn’t say a word to me, just turned on the shower. I started to cry. With an unbelievably gentle touch, he helped me pull his sweatshirt over my head. I kicked off my clothes, and then I stepped beneath the warm spray.

Heavy emotions continued to roll over me. And then he was behind me, his huge arms wrapped around me from behind. I turned around and clung to him, sobbing my heart out. He didn’t say a word, he just held me to his chest.

When I could cry no more, he took a bar of soap and a cloth and gently washed my body. I stood there like a rag doll, unmoving as hewashed every inch of me. He washed my hair. Holding my neck as he tilted my head back to rinse.

I opened my eyes and looked up at him. He had taken off his shirt, but he still wore his jeans. He inspected my face. When his eyes dropped to my bruised neck, I could see his nostrils flare in anger.

Our eyes met. This man had saved me from imminent death. I owed him my life.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

He swallowed and reached behind me, turning the water off.

Much like the time I had barfed, he dried me off. And then he picked me up and carried me to sit on my bed.

I allowed him to pull a t-shirt over my head and then held onto his shoulder while he helped me step into a pair of panties. He whipped back the covers off the bed, and I climbed in. I curled up on my side and stared up at him.

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