Having Nathan's Baby

HAVING NATHAN’S BABY

By

Fran Louise

KINDLE
EDITION

* * * * *

PUBLISHED BY:

Fran Louise on Amazon

Having Nathan’s Baby

Copyright © 201
3 by Fran Louise

Having Nathan’s Baby

Copyright: Fran Louise

First Published: 13th October 2013

Publisher: Fran Louise Romance

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Adult Reading Material

*****

Thank you to Dave and Rachael at ThEditors

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HAVING NATHAN’S BABY

Prologue

Nathan shut the door
, and lean in his evening suit, approached me. Tonight he was clean-shaven, but there was still a shadow of masculinity underneath the grooming. It threatened to unleash itself as he came to a stop in front of me. The moment pulsed.

A head and shoulders taller than
I was, his dark gaze was lazy on me for a moment. The barest of smiles creased the corner of his eyes. “Are you actually wearing heels?” he asked.

I
ignored his low barb. Giving him only a flicker of a smile, I touched my hand to his waist, inside his jacket. It slid against the luxurious wool. His shirt was cool to the touch, but underneath his body generated heat like burning coal. I caught a light scent of something citrus and very masculine.

He bent down and kissed
me. Like a furnace coming to life, the first, thrilling touch between us roared. The sheer force of desire rocked me. I leaned back, clung to the object behind me for a moment. “Is the door locked?” I asked, clinging on to a last vestige of propriety.

The small room was no more than a glorified storage cupboard. The unit behind
me felt cold and hard; an appliance of some sort, a washer or dryer. I could smell clean laundry in the air, tepid and intimate.

“No one’s looking for us,
Chloe. Just relax.”

It was exactly what I wanted to hear, and his smile told me he knew this. His hands smoothed down my bear arms. The sensation was like silk sliding against skin. I shuddered, thought dissipating in my head, words dying on my lips.

“I’ve missed this.” His words were a low groan.

It had been six long months. Six months since I’d tasted this curious mix of cool masculinity and hot desire in his kiss. Six months since I’d last felt these lightly calloused hands exploring my body. I’d missed him; my body was crying out for him, even now. Six months was too long to wait.

He lifted
me on to the appliance. His eyes were level with mine now, sparking raven against thick lashes. His hands cupped my face. I only had time to gasp before he pressed a determined mouth against mine. My legs tensed against his hips. He wasted no time in accepting the invitation; his hands eased up my thighs, sliding the silk skirt with them. I felt cold air swirl against the exposed skin above my stockings. He encircled my bottom with eager hands and slid my lower body tight against his hips. Through the fabric, his arousal was unflinching.

He rested
his forehead against mine and breathed for a few beats. Then a slow curse emanated from him. “Damn it. I don’t have a condom.”

My
first instinct was to run to the restrooms to get some. My second was to chastise myself for even thinking about having storage room-sex.

Distracted, he pressed his lower body more firmly into
mine. “I’ll get some later.”

Dilemma neatly avoided for now,
I closed my eyes again. The blackness swirled around me, dragging me down. I tightened my hold on his hips to anchor my body in place. I felt his hands easing the shoulders of my dress down. I felt my nipples harden against the movement of the light silk. When I opened my eyes again, he had leaned back to survey my half-dressed body.

We
could have a few more moments of this ... right? There was no risk of anyone finding us.

He surveyed
me. “You … you look like a wet dream.”

I
leaned back on my hands. My breasts felt like they were straining towards him, like flowers seeking the sun. I closed my eyes and reveled in how hard his body was, how ready he was to take me. “How long have we got?”

“Five, ten minutes
,” he said, slightly breathless now. His hands, encircling my waist just above my panties, skimmed the silk fabric with the barest of touches. He smoothed them up along my sides, thumbs grazing the peaks of my nipples under the gauzy bra. I shuddered. “Not long enough, sweetheart. You’re just going to have to make do with a taster until later tonight.”  Regret filled his gaze, followed by amusement at my obvious dismay.

The thought of his leaving was abhorrent enough to drag
me out of my reverie. I eased into a sitting position. My hands slid to the waistband of his slacks. “There’s a lot we can do in ten minutes,” I said, refusing to be sidetracked.

“Oh, yeah? Like what?” His voice was lazy and yet full of dangerous intent.

I popped the button, slid the zipper down. “Like … plenty of things.” My hand slid under his shorts, causing his whole body to stiffen. I took a moment to wonder if I was going to regret this. Self-restraint had never been a strong suit of mine, not around Nathan.

Then a
groan emanated from him. Desire pooled low in my stomach and made my chest tight. It took effort to say the next words. “Use your imagination...”

Chapter One

I stared at the calendar and did the math in my head again. It was getting pretty easy to do by now – after all, I’d had five weeks to practice it. Five weeks of acknowledging that not only did I have no self-restraint around Nathan, I had no discernible imagination. Neither did Nathan, it transpired. The taster, as he’d so eloquently put it, had quickly escalated into a full course meal. With no condom.

I
closed my eyes and took in a shaky breath. When I opened them again, I was surprised to see the same uncluttered, silent office around me; how could everything be so calm, so the same, when my world had potentially turned upside down? I checked my watch. I had two hours before my afternoon meeting. That was plenty of time to buy a kit and find out. This anxiety was like nothing I’d experienced before, overwhelming. Was it pre-menstrual or caused by pregnancy hormones? Either way, I wanted it gone. I had to know.

A wave of nausea
washed over me. I held on to the smooth wooden desk for a moment, taking a deep breath. This was getting very, very real. Forget the spontaneous sex with Nathan – it was like the act of buying the kit was going to make me pregnant. What if I waited just one more day? Maybe all of this inner turmoil would resolve itself. I wouldn’t be the first woman to be a few weeks late! A small eruption of hope spilled into my chest. Between the late-nighters I’d pulled on the Elder project over the last couple of months, and all the business trips, and the meals and the entertaining–

Standing suddenly,
I bolted for the en suite bathroom and, somehow, for the second time that morning lost the contents of my stomach.

“Nathan?”

I flinched. Lauren, my elder sister, stood by the bath holding aloft a white stick with a plus sign on it.

“This is Nate’s?” Lauren’s voice was an audible slap. “Are you insane?”

I eased into a standing position at the sink. “Not yet, but I’m getting there.” I dabbed cold water on to my puffy eyes. Good God, I looked like I’d been in a fight.

“Let’s do an
other one,” Lauren said.

“That’s the third one I’ve done today.”
My words were no more than a groan. “I did one yesterday afternoon, too.”

“What about this morning sickness? How long have you had that?”
Lauren asked me.

“Forever
.”

Lauren
brushed aside my comment with a wave of her hand. Groomed and manicured within an inch of her life, she loomed over my shrunken form like a glossy Technicolor print. “I just don’t get it. Why do you keep sleeping with this guy? You aren’t in college anymore. I presume there’s a reason why you’ve never actually been in a proper relationship with him?”

“I don’t need a proper relation…” Assailed by nausea,
my voice trailed off. I had no argument for this, not right now. I splashed my face and grabbed a towel. I rubbed a hand across my clammy brow. “He showed up at this charity thing last month … my firm was hosting it.” I cast a beseeching glance at my sister in the mirror. “It’s been so stressful recently, Lauren. This partner fast-track is crazy. Nathan makes everything just seem – easier, I suppose-”

Lauren’s
laugh drowned out my words. “You think?”

“He’s hot! He wanted to have sex with me!” On a burst of angry energy,
I stormed from the bathroom into the uncluttered, clean lines of my apartment. I had a mental flash of the dove-grey room plastered with baby paraphernalia. In the midst of it, I could see my future self, ragged, bewildered and awash with mediocrity. Under the surface of the image, dreams of my partnerships started to crack.

“I can make you an appointment wi
th my gynecologist for tomorrow,” Lauren said, and appeared at my side, her voice softer now but still all business. She touched my shoulder. “You know – if you decide not to go through with it – it’s a very simple procedure.”

Despite the gentle delivery, the comment smacked
my consciousness like a hand across my cheek.

Lauren watched
me for a silent moment. “You can be back on track within a week,” she said.

My
eyes strayed to the view of Central Park. A week ... it was very tempting to imagine my well-organized life resuming so easily. I’d worked for a long time to get here. My dreams were just within reach. Aching inside, I swallowed down the welling emotion. Taking time out now to raise a child was like committing career suicide. I could kiss goodbye to a partnership within the next ten years. Besides, I’d never wanted babies; cribs and prams and cute, chubby cheeks left me cold. Children – they usurped a woman’s life.

“Will you tell Nathan?”

I looked at Lauren finally, the words expanding inside of my head. Anxiety ran riot in my chest like a vault of butterflies escaping. “I don’t know,” I said. I wrung my hands together. “He’s still on tour. I don’t even know what continent he’s on.”

It was a weak argument and Lauren’s expression told
me so. She sighed. “Well, it’s probably for the best. If you decide not to keep it, it might be wise not to include him in the decision. He’ll just be needlessly upset.”

It was
a reasonable presumption. I knew this. I wasn’t in a committed relationship, except with my Smartphone. I blew out a shaky breath. That entire discussion aside, was it really in me to make a decision about this pregnancy without including Nathan?

“I’ll send you Dr. Goldberg’s
details when I get home,” Lauren said. “They’re on my other phone.” Checking the phone in her hand now, she was already wandering towards the door. “I have to collect Amy from her violin class.”

“
She’s learning violin?” I tried to imagine my scatterbrained three year-old niece playing the violin and failed miserably.

“
She needs to at least play an instrument and speak one other language if she wants to get into Dalton.”

“What’s Dalton?”
I asked, wondering why Amy would want to get in there in the first place. Was she old enough to want anything other than hugs, attention and sugar?

“It’s a kind
ergarten on the Upper East Side,” Lauren said. She paused and looked up from her phone. A wicked smile brightened her face. “You know, I’m probably working harder on Amy’s career path than you are on your own. You have to start planning these things from before birth now if you want your baby to have a chance at getting into a good college.”

“Okay, okay...”
I hustled Lauren towards the door. “Not the time.”

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” I said.

The words were delivered with more assuredness than
I felt. I gave my sister a quick hug and closed the door behind her. Looking back into my sophisticated apartment, I experienced a faint sense of vertigo. Moments later I was bolting for the bathroom again.

The examination with Dr. Goldberg confirmed what I had suspected; I was nine weeks into my pregnancy.

“How many partners have you had in the last five years?”

“One,” I confirmed.

What
I didn’t add was that I’d only had sex once in the last six months. Of course, we’d actually done the deed maybe five times over the course of the night – and morning – before he’d left my apartment, but I guessed that was irrelevant; the pregnancy had been caused by a simple ill-conceived, five-minute coupling in a storage room. My cheeks flamed every time I recalled it. I couldn’t decide if the reaction was due to panic, regret or arousal.

“You said on the form you’re not married. Is it a committed relationship?”

I brushed my hair back, wishing the color in my cheeks would subside. “No. Not exactly.”

“A one-night stand?” Dr. Goldberg, a bespectacled woman in
my early sixties, delivered the question emotionlessly. “We’ll do some other tests, for sexually transmitted diseases.”

“Oh, he’s not-”
I paused. “I mean, he wouldn’t-” I stopped again. How did I describe my relationship with Nathan? I had the feeling the term ‘friends with benefits’ would just confuse the situation, but we were friends. “What I mean is that he wouldn’t knowingly put me at risk.”

“If the relationship isn’t committed then he’s had plenty of opportunity to catch all kinds of things that
could hurt you and this baby, presuming you decide to keep it.” Dr. Goldberg considered me with an even expression. “What kind of lifestyle does he have?”

My
smile felt lopsided. “He manages a band.” That didn’t sound good, lifestyle-wise.

“What kind of band? A brass band? A big band?”

“A rock band,” I said, and I had to bite back a smile, as inappropriate as it was. Imagining Nathan, with all that dark danger in his eyes, his tattoos and ruffled charm, in a brass band … it was deliciously funny. “But I’ve known him for a long time. He’s not the type to be irresponsible.”

“He’s the type to indulge in unprotected sex with an ex-girlfriend during a one-night stand: that’s all you need to know.” Dr. Goldberg’s tone was unforgiving. 
She nodded towards a door to our left. “Just go on through to the clinic. The nurse will take your samples; we’ll have the results back for most of the tests within two weeks.” She crossed her tanned, wrinkled hands on the desk. “Have you decided if you want to continue with the pregnancy?”

I
swallowed back a wave of tearful anxiety that swooped in and snatched at my nerves. Damn these hormones! “No. I mean, I ... haven’t decided,” I said. I hadn’t even discussed it with the father yet. Dread rose up in me with the fury of a storm cloud just thinking about that.

“The sooner you make a decision, the
easier it’ll be. Drawing these things out can be very emotionally traumatic,” Dr. Goldberg said, and she smiled for some indefinable reason. “Is there anything else I can help you with today?”

I
stared at her blankly. I was reeling from the efficiency of it all. Unless this office had a notification service to announce pregnancies to unwitting fathers, I guessed we were done. “No. Thank you. You’ve been very helpful.”

Dr. Goldberg closed the file on
her computer. “I’ll see you in two weeks.”

The two-week deadline seemed long. Normally two weeks meant a vacation that flew by in the wink of an eye, or a bad flu bug, or a Supreme Court sitting … as it was today – in this new context of my pregnancy – it meant a massive milestone that would almost take me into my second trimester. The thought of living with this level of anxiety for fourteen whole days was enough to galvanize me into action. I realized quickly that I wasn’t going to be able to make a decision, or at least not definitively, until I had spoken to Nathan.

I
was ninety-nine percent sure he would freak out. As for which way his reaction would fall after the initial peak … I couldn’t even envisage it, or allow myself to envisage it. Would he be caring and supportive? Would he be horrified? Ultimately it was my decision how I chose to deal with the situation, but I wanted at least a semblance of peace of mind to get through it. That meant coming clean...

I
checked the tour schedule on the internet, relieved that the fates were on my side; his band had added a second late-afternoon show at Madison Square Garden the following week. Announcing my pregnancy by phone had never been an option, and so I was glad that at least I wouldn’t have to trawl across the United States, or worse, around Europe or Asia, to find him and deliver the news.

The Garden was packed when
I arrived on Friday afternoon. Still dressed in my usual work attire of a slim fitting black dress and heels, with a thick red wool coat over the top, I wandered gingerly through the thronging masses. Talk about sticking out like a sore thumb ... I pushed my way through the queue at the backstage entrance. “I’m here to see Nathan Black,” I told the burly-looking man dressed in combats.

“You and forty thousand
others, honey,” he told me. He didn’t even make eye contact. “Back of the queue.”

“If you could just tell him that
Chloe Stewart-”

The bouncer was unimpressed, his tone beyond impatient.
“If he knows you, you’d be on the list. If you were on the list, you’d have a pass. If you had a pass, you and I wouldn’t be having this conversation.” He finally met my gaze. “What are you, his lawyer?”

I
straightened my back and frowned. “I’m a friend of his.”

“Then give him a call, sweet cheeks. I’m sure he’ll rush out
here to add you to the list.”

I yanked at my bag in response, pulling out my phone. God, I hoped I still had his current number. All bravado, I held the phone to my ear as it rang out, glaring at the bouncer.

“
Chloe?”

“Nathan?”
I was too shocked by the sound of a familiar voice in my ear to feel any real sense of satisfaction when the bouncer showed signs of hesitation.

“Hey.” Nathan’s warm baritone buzzed through
me. The bouncer was suddenly forgotten, replaced in my mind by the imagined dark, sexy smile coming through the line. “How are you? Did you hear I was in the city?”