Page 19 of Conail

"Is that all you're going to say?"

"Why don't we wait to see if the pregnancy will last the full-term before we break out the champagne?" he suggested dryly. "This is just the initial stage and anything can happen."

She followed him as he made his way to the heavy oak doors.

"She's going to need our support."

Grabbing his keys from the foyer table, he turned to look at her. "I'm assuming we already deposited a sum of money into her account."

"Darling, she's carrying your baby."

"It's not a baby, yet is it?" He broke off a sigh at the look on her face. "Mother, I cannot share your enthusiasm, and I would like to advise that you be careful how excited you get. Anything can go wrong."

She followed him outside. As soon as she heard the news from the doctor, she had come straight here to let him know. And could not help but feel let down at his noncommittal response. Not that she did not understand. He had been burned before and was playing it cool.

"I have every confidence that this will turn out to be a wonderful thing." She touched his arm briefly as they made their way to the parking lot. "You might want to limit your social appearances with the women you've been seeing."

His mouth tightened, his expression turning ominous. "That's none of your business. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm running late."

But he could not shake the conversation or the look on his mother's face. Nor could he stop the horrible memories from resurfacing. The dazzle of lights, the flash of cameras as they walked the red carpet was more annoying than entertaining and at some point, he felt like growling to the paparazzi that came rushing towards them with shouted questions.

"Darling, you look like you're about to go to war," Margo whispered in an undertone.

"I'm about to start using my fists if another of those bloody things are pushed into my face," he growled. "And I'm ready to leave."

Without a word, Margo followed him, realizing that he was in a bit of a mood.

"Why did you come if you didn't want to?" she demanded as soon as they were in the limo, the glass shut to give them some privacy.

Loosening the tie, he tugged it off and unbuttoned the two top buttons. Sighing in relief, he stretched his legs and made himself comfortable. For the first time since he boarded his plane, he felt himself relaxing. He had decided to leave from here to his club and would spend the weekend there. Margo was going to be very disappointed that he wasn't going to end up in her bed.

"I was doing you a favor."

Her coral painted lips pouted. "You did me no favor when you told that photographer to shove his camera into any orifice he prefers. Darling, your bad mood is going to be showcased on camera all over the world."

He relented a little, recognizing her distress. She certainly did not deserve his grouchy mood and had nothing to do with it. And he was the one who had agreed to accompany her. He could have said no.

"I apologize," he said abruptly. Scooting forward, he touched the button, and the cabinet popped out. Plucking the iced bottle of champagne, he worked the cork out and poured the expensive bubbly into two glasses, handing her one.

"To your award." He clinked his glass to hers and settled back to drink and forget. "The driver will drop you off at your place."

Blue eyes blinked in confusion. "Drop me off? You're not staying?"

"No." He was prepared for the theatrics but not looking forward to it. "I have someplace else to be."

"You really are a bastard, aren't you?" she asked bitterly. Tossing back her honey blonde hair, she glared at him. "Do you know how many men I could have invited?"

"Quite a few, I would imagine."

"Yes," she spat. "And I chose you."

"I'm flattered."

"You bastard." Her eyes were heated, her chest heaving with a surprising hurt. She really liked him—more than liked him—and had thought their relationship was evolving. Conail McLaughin had a way about him that made women like her want to press his head to her breasts and offer comfort. And if she was being honest, she wanted to be the one to help him to get over the horror of his past with that bitch. But he never gives an inch. How the hell was she supposed to handle him? She had tried staying away, but that had not worked. After a few weeks of trying to make him come to heel, she had been the one to call and ask to see him. She stared at the lean attractive face with the stubborn chin and yearned to have his arms around her. Even now, knowing that he meant to dump her at her apartment, she could still want him.

"What is it going to take to get through to you?" she asked quietly, her anger diffusing. What's the use anyway? she thought wearily.

He looked at her in genuine surprise. "I have no idea what you mean."

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