Page 40 of Whispers

She gnawed on her lip. “What if it takes three or four months to get pregnant? He’ll know—”

Weston swore under his breath, and when he looked at her it was with a new high-powered intensity. “You want a baby to seal this deal?” he asked.

“I—I guess.”

“Then I’ll give you one.”

“What?” The saliva dried in her mouth. She couldn’t believe she’d heard correctly.

“I’ll get you pregnant.” He dropped to the deck and advanced on her. Despite her loathing for him, she felt a thrill slide down her spine.

“You?”

“Same gene pool as Harley. Same blood type. There wouldn’t be any question of paternity.”

“Oh, God.” Her heart was racing as her gaze locked with his. “What . . . what would you get out of this?” She swallowed hard as his gaze slid slowly down her body, then returned to her face.

“Your undying affection and gratitude.”

“I don’t think I can—”

“Not even to be Harley?

?s wife?” He reached for her hand, drew it up to his lips, and kissed the inside of her palm.

Her knees went weak, but she yanked her hand back quickly, as if his kiss had seared her skin. “This is nuts. No way—”

“Think of it. You’ll be Mrs. Harley Taggert.”

“With your baby.”

“You could miscarry . . .”

She nearly threw up, and one hand shot up to cover her mouth. “You’re beyond perverted.”

“Just trying to help.” She turned away, but he was quick and wrapped strong arms around her middle so that her breasts were resting on his forearms. “Think about it, Kendall,” he whispered into her ear as the ocean rumbled on the other side of the dunes and a hot July sun slowly lowered on the horizon. “We could have a little fun and then . . . bingo, you get Harley. What could it hurt?”

“Everything,” she said, disgusted, though her skin, where he touched it, tingled. “You could ruin everything.”

He laughed against her ear. “Don’t think so, babe. You’ve done a good enough job of that yourself.” He released her and headed for the steps. Before rounding the corner, he called over his shoulder, “But if you’re content to let Harley slip through your fingers so that he can marry Claire Holland, don’t blame me. Nope, honey, you’ll only be able to blame yourself for that one.”

Harley’s voice had a definite edge to it. “I’m sorry, Claire, I’ll call you later, but something’s come up. Business. Dad won’t let me out of it.”

Closing her eyes, Claire wrapped the phone cord around her fingers and fought the urge to scream. Something was wrong, definitely wrong, and all those doubts she tried so valiantly to hold at bay continued to inch closer, crowding her. “He’s just trying to keep us apart.”

“I know, but I’ll see you later. You know I will.”

“It’s been over a week.”

“I know, I know,” he said, and Claire could almost hear the wheels turning in his mind. Was he lying to her? Avoiding her? Why not just break it off? Despair clutched her soul. She loved Harley, adored him and yet . . .

“We’ll meet later—well, probably not tonight but soon. I swear. Claire, I miss you.”

Do you? Do you really? “Harley—?”

“What?”

Was there the hint of irritation in his voice? She was going to tell him that she loved him, but thought better of it. He was too distracted—too distant. “Nothing.”