About That Night
When it comes to men, Ivy Rutherford never loses her cool. Ever. Then she meets wealthy, green-eyed cowboy C.J. Bartasavich, and desire burns out of control. So for one night, Ivy will indulge in a passion neither of them will forget…and walk away without a backward glance.
Except now Ivy’s pregnant. And even worse, C.J. has come to her hometown of Shady Grove determined to get to know her and be part of their baby’s life–even if she’s convinced their attraction is purely physical. Because Ivy can’t let herself rely on a sexy cowboy…or worse yet, fall in love with one.
Ivy wished she could take back that deep inhale. She’d gotten a nose full of Clinton’s aftershave with it. Her stomach turned. The back of her neck grew cold and clammy.
Well, wouldn’t throwing up on his feet take this moment from plain old bad to freaking horrible?
She breathed shallowly. Airplane travel and pregnancy didn’t mix—at least not in her case. She’d battled morning sickness for more than two months but hadn’t had a bout of it for the past two weeks. Until she’d been strapped in her seat, taking off from Pittsburgh.
Plus, yes, okay, she was nervous. She was dropping a bombshell on him. The night they’d spent together was supposed to be a one-time thing. Now, the child growing inside of her bound them for the rest of their lives.
But as bad as she felt, Clinton looked worse. The color had drained from his face, and he stood there, glassy-eyed, as if he was seconds from passing out, just…bam! Falling flat on his handsome face.
If that big, solid body started tipping, she wasn’t going to try to catch him. She was getting out of the way.
The last time she’d been underneath him, things hadn’t quite worked out the way she’d planned.
His mouth hanging open like a six-foot-plus blond guppy, he blinked. Shook his head slowly, as if coming out of an intense dream.
His voice was low. Calm. And very, very cold.
Good thing she wasn’t intimidated by anyone, or else she’d be shaking in her sandals right now. As it was, she had to force her gaze to remain steady, herself not to back up to…oh…somewhere in Kentucky would suffice. “I’m pregnant.”
“Am I to assume that you’re trying to tell me I’m the father?”
She raised her eyebrows. She wasn’t crazy about his snotty tone—and she preferred the term sperm donor over father—but he’d had a shock, so she’d give him a break. Never let it be said she couldn’t be reasonable and tolerant.
At least once.
“No,” she said, her tone all sorts of dry. “I internet stalked you, flew to Houston and talked my way into your apartment because I thought you might want to buy me a baby gift. I’ll leave you a list of where I’m registered.”
His jaw went rigid. “There’s no need for sarcasm.”
She snorted. “Please. That was such a stupid question it practically begged for sarcasm.”
His cool gaze went to her stomach then back to her face. “You’re lying.”
The man was really testing her limits. “We don’t know each other all that well, so I’m going to let that slide.”
“Know each other that well?” he asked with a harsh laugh. “Lady, I don’t even know your last name.”
She nodded slowly. Pressed her lips together because her stomach was roiling again. “Fair enough. Let me fill you in on what you need to know. My name is Ivy Rutherford, and I’m twenty-six years old. I don’t lie, cheat or steal, and I’m not big on second chances.” She swallowed, but the sick taste in the back of her throat remained. “Something you might want to keep in mind before you speak again. I’m also seventeen weeks pregnant.”