Reclaiming His Pregnant Widow. Tessa Radley

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      The silence wore thin.

      Still she waited, her hands balled tight and her pulse pounding loudly in her ears. Waiting for an explanation of where he’d been, why he’d stayed away so long. Clea even convinced herself that she’d accept it without question, without revealing a hint of resentment for what he’d dared to put her through. Brand was back, and that would be enough. Wouldn’t it? She loved him. She’d only been half-alive without him. She couldn’t allow his return to break her, when she’d already survived his disappearance … and his death.

      But as the minute hands on the wall clocks pressed forward in tandem, Clea gave up.

      Brand wasn’t going to explain.

       Why not?

      Because he no longer cared?

      Only one way to find out.

      “Brand …” Clea unfurled her fists and stepped away from the safety of her desk. Standing on tiptoes, she reached up and placed her hands on his shoulders, searching for a connection. Under the black silk of his dress shirt she could feel the warmth of his skin. She flexed her fingertips. His muscles bunched in reaction.

      Need—hot and unexpected—hollowed out the bottom of her stomach. God, she’d missed him. His remembered scent—a mix of musk and something sharp and tangy—filled her senses.

      Shutting her eyes, she leaned into him, her body quivering as it came into contact with the taut length of his. The warmth of his big body seeped gradually into hers, reviving her after the heart-numbing chill. For a long moment she half dared to hope that their bodies might communicate even while their brains seemed estranged.

      The baby moved.

      And even as her lips brushed his chin, Brand tore out of her embrace.

      Putting two yards between them, he came to a stop near the doorway, breathing heavily, his eyes glittering, the golden skin stretched taut across his cheekbones.

      “What the hell is the matter with you?” Clea tried never to swear, but the force with which he wrenched away offended her. This time she wasn’t going to close the distance between them.

      “You need to ask?”

      Clea resented being treated as if she were contaminated. Her thoughts flew to the baby. She was pregnant, not contagious. Her condition was her salvation.

      “Yes!” She did need to ask. And she was prepared to listen to—and accept—any explanation he cared to make for his absence. But he wasn’t prepared to extend her the same courtesy. It looked as if they’d finally reached a deadlock. Because as her ire grew, Clea was finding herself less willing to offer him any explanation until he showed her the respect and trust she deserved.

      “What the hell does it matter what’s with me?” His voice was flat and cold. “Whatever we once had is gone.”

      “Gone?” At that her heart bumped to a stop. Forgetting her resolve to keep away, Clea took a step closer and stared at him in horror. “Brand! You don’t—can’t—mean that.”

      “Yes, gone.” He raked her with his ocean-blue gaze. But for once, rather than setting her alight with sensual, arousing heat, it froze her to the core. “It’s been a long time. Too long, I suspect, for us to have kept what we once had.”

      Pain ripped through her. Clea’s world came crashing down around her as she struggled to sort the thoughts crowding her brain into some kind of order. Had Brand been unfaithful? Had he come back only to claim a divorce?

      Cold emptiness settled in her stomach. Clea was starting to realize that her steadfast belief in Brand had been awfully naive.

      “Did you ever live with Anita Freeman?” She blurted it out with no premeditation.

      “What does that have to do with anything?”

      “You dated her.”

      He stood, unmoving. “For a time.”

      “A short time?”

      “Why these questions about something that was over before we met?”

      Clea’s brain was working overtime. Brand was prevaricating. He hadn’t wanted her with him in Greece; without consulting her, he’d gone to a country he knew she would deem too dangerous. According to the investigators, both times Anita had been with him. In Athens they’d been photographed together and witnesses that the investigators had spoken with had seen them together in Baghdad. They’d appeared inseparable.

      At the time Clea had refused to believe him capable of that kind of treachery. Brand loved her.

      The last words he’d spoken to her had been that he loved her—but she hadn’t reciprocated. She’d been annoyed with him for turning down the opportunity for a romantic idyll in Greece. Okay, so perhaps it was her own guilt that had prevented her from facing the truth earlier, Clea decided wearily.

      Had his avowal of love been motivated by guilt? Had she blamed herself on some unconscious level for his disappearance because she’d been sulking the last time they’d talked?

      Finally, she said, “I want to know if you ever lived with her.” She already suspected what his answer would be: Brand had lied in the past.

      His mouth slashed down in displeasure.

      He wasn’t even bothering to deny it. The last bit of hope she hadn’t even realized she was clinging to deserted Clea.

      “Who told you I once lived with Anita?” Brand broke into her despair.

      “Does it matter? By your reaction I take it that it must be true. Why lead me to believe it was nothing more than a couple of casual dates? You lied to me by omission.”

      “So in retaliation you went and cheated on me and got yourself pregnant?”

      Clea’s mouth fell open. “You have the gall to walk in here after an absence of four years and accuse me of cheating on you.”

      “You’re pregnant,” Brand snarled. “And I sure as hell haven’t been around to give you a good time.”

      The force of his harsh words caused tears to prick. Clea bit her cheeks until it hurt and the tears dried up. She half wished she’d never started down this track. But, after years of stubborn denial, admitting her stupidity and acknowledging that Brand had been with someone else was hard.

       Whatever we once had is gone.

      For now that was all she needed to know. Brand had made his choice.

      Choking back tears, Clea slipped her feet back into her shoes then headed blindly for the door. As she drew level with Brand, she braced herself and said with the last shred of dignity she could muster, “Maybe you’ll be prepared to tell me more once you’ve had a chance to think. Close my office door when you leave … it will latch behind you. This is an important night for me, and I’m going to celebrate my success.”

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