The Pregnancy Contract. Yvonne Lindsay

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      To Anna Campbell and Trish Morey, the funniest

       “went to the cheese shop” and French champagne buddies a girl could have!

      One

      “He’s dead?”

      Wade watched her carefully. Oh, she was a good actress all right. Anyone would think she was shocked, or even sorry, to hear her father had died. But if that was genuinely the case, maybe she’d have been at his side in his last hours instead of partying her way around the world these past eight years. He fought back the rawness of his own grief for the man who had been his mentor—his best friend. He should have been able to share that grief with the man’s daughter. But he knew better than to share any part of his feelings with Piper Mitchell again.

      “Yeah. Four days ago. This—” he gestured behind him to the throng of people circulating through the lower floors of the house “—is his wake.”

      “No, he can’t be dead. You’re lying.” Piper took a shuddering breath. “You have to be lying!”

      “I wouldn’t waste my breath lying to you.”

      His words slowly sank in, digging beyond her disbelief. He could see the exact moment the reality hit her. Her face paled beneath the healthy tan that had gilded her cheeks only moments ago. Her light-colored irises that glittered like the palest blue topaz all but disappeared as her pupils dilated and the shadows under her eyes hollowed and darkened. She took an unsteady step backward, and instinctively Wade shot out a hand to stop her before she toppled down the tiled stairs behind her.

      She tilted her head to look at his hand, curled around her arm.

      “I … I don’t feel very well,” she said, her voice trailing away into nothing as her knees buckled and her eyelids fluttered shut.

      Silently cursing her for both her timing and her reaction, Wade scooped her up into his arms and carried her through the front door.

      “Mr. Collins, is everything all right?” Dexter, the butler, for want of a better description, came hurrying from the ballroom where the bulk of the mourners had gathered over drinks and canapés.

      “It’s Miss Mitchell, she collapsed when she heard the news about her father,” Wade replied, clamping his jaw on the more colorful adjectives he’d have preferred to use to explain her reaction.

      “Should I call a doctor?” Dexter asked.

      “No, I don’t think that’s necessary. Let’s see how she feels when she wakes. Is her room still prepared?”

      “It was one of Mr. Mitchell’s express wishes that Miss Piper’s room always be kept ready, sir.”

      “I’ll take her up, then.” Wade nodded at the pack Piper had dropped on the front porch. “Could you bring her things?”

      “Certainly, sir.”

      Wade powered up the wide sweep of stairs with his late boss’s daughter in his arms. Despite her height, she barely weighed enough to register on his breathing, and when he lay her down on the frilly comforter that adorned her bed, he noticed how thin and frail she was beneath the jeans and bulky sweatshirt she wore.

      “Perhaps it would be best if I called Mrs. Dexter to attend to her,” Dexter said smoothly as he deposited the grimy backpack on the polished wooden floor of the room.

      “Yes,” Wade said, watching for any signs of consciousness from the still inert form on the bed. There was no way he wanted to have his hands on her any longer than necessary. Not anymore. “That would be best.”

      Why now? he wondered. Why had she come back now? He stood to one side of the bed, watching the shallow rise and fall of her chest beneath the well-worn sweatshirt. He shook СКАЧАТЬ