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She had felt sure she would die if he stopped.
She lifted a mental screen and pushed the memories behind it before they overwhelmed her.
‘People try for years to get pregnant,’ she said, thinking of her twin. ‘I didn’t think anything would happen the first time—which was stupid.’
Benedict’s dark brows lifted. ‘You think?’ There was a hard, ironic gleam in his eyes. ‘A child…’ He dragged a hand through his hair, a dazed expression on his face as he turned his scrutiny on her. ‘So I have a child and you didn’t think to mention it to me? I wasn’t a stranger …’
‘You didn’t owe me anything. It was my decision to have Emily—my responsibility.’
‘So you made a unilateral decision?’ He struggled to keep a lid on his anger.
She lifted her chin. ‘Yes, and I’d do the same again.’
One Night With Consequences
When one night…leads to pregnancy!
When succumbing to a night of unbridled desire it’s impossible to think past the morning after!
But, with the sheets barely settled, that little blue line appears on the pregnancy test and it doesn’t take long to realise that one night of white-hot passion has turned into a lifetime of consequences!
Only one question remains:
How do you tell a man you’ve just met that you’re about to share more than just his bed?
Find out in:
Nine Months to Redeem Him by Jennie Lucas January 2015
Prince Nadir’s Secret Heir by Michelle Conder March 2015
Carrying the Greek’s Heir by Sharon Kendrick April 2015
Married for Amari’s Heir by Maisey Yates July 2015
From One Night to Wife by Rachael Thomas September 2015
More stories in the One Night With Consequences series can be found at millsandboon.co.uk
Her Nine Month
Confession
Kim Lawrence
www.millsandboon.co.uk
KIM LAWRENCE lives on a farm in Anglesey with her university lecturer husband, assorted pets who arrived as strays and never left, and sometimes one or both of her boomerang sons. When she’s not writing she loves to be outdoors gardening, or walking on one of the beaches for which the island is famous—along with being the place where Prince William and Catherine made their first home!
MILLS & BOON
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For Shirley.
She was the best mum—a brave and lovely lady.
Contents
Cover
Introduction
One Night With Consequences
Title Page
About the Author
Dedication
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
EPILOGUE
Extract
Copyright
PROLOGUE
London. Three years earlier.
IT WAS SIX A.M. when Lily woke, thanks to her internal alarm clock—an inconvenient genetic quirk that always woke her at this hour. She knew she wouldn’t be able to snuggle down and have another half-hour under the duvet, but for a few moments she resisted pushing her way through the thin layer that separated sleep from full wakefulness.
On the plus side she was never late and it was amazing what you could achieve in that quiet hour or so before the rest of the world, or at least her loud neighbour in the adjoining flat, woke.
She silenced the tedious inner voice that insisted on seeing the bright side of everything with a scowl and pushed the heavy swathe of tangled curls from her face. Lying there with one arm curved above her head, she focused on her justified resentment of people who could roll over and fall back to sleep. Normal people who overslept, even her own twin, Lara, who, it was no exaggeration to say, could sleep through an earthquake. But no, not her, every morning it was the same old...same old...
Only it wasn’t.
A fresh furrow appeared between her delicately delineated brows as a remaining sleepy corner of her mind told her actually something was different, but what?
Had she actually overslept?
Eyes closed, she reached out for her phone on the bedside table. Patting her hand flat, she hit a couple of unfamiliar objects before she found it. Opening one eye, she glanced at the screen and read the predictable and unsociable hour. She clutched the phone to her chest—naked chest! Was that relevant? she wondered as she hitched the sheet up over her shoulders. No, the something different was not the time or her naked state.
So what was it?
She looked around. This was not her room.
The belated recognition hit her as she struggled to focus. Her entire body felt as though she’d just run a marathon—not that she ever had or in all probability ever would. But last night...last night!
Her green eyes snapped wide open as the memory of the night before hit her like a bolt of lightning. At least that explained the aches in places she hadn’t known she had.
She pressed a hand to her left breast where her heart was trying to batter its way through her ribcage. The rush of blood in her ears was a deafening roar as she turned her head slowly...very, very slowly. What if she’d been dreaming? She gritted her teeth, prepared for an anticlimax that never came.
A fractured sigh left her parted lips... It was real, not a dream; he wasn’t a dream.
She blinked, bringing the face on the pillow next to hers into focus. A stab of sizzling longing lanced through Lily’s body as she greedily absorbed the details of his symmetrical features, committing each plane and angle to memory. Not that she would ever forget him or last night!
He had a face that inspired a second glance and inevitably a third. The sleeping man’s chiselled bone structure was dramatic, a broad intelligent forehead, high carved cheekbones, square chin with a sexy cleft, thick darkly defined brows, an aquiline nose and wide, expressive mouth. If pushed to select an individual feature that set him apart, Lily decided it would have been his eyes.
Beneath heavy lids and framed by lashes that were as dark as his hair and crazily long, his eyes were the deepest, most electrifying blue she had ever seen.
Looking at his sleeping face now, there was something different about him. It took her a few seconds to work out that the subtle difference was something that wasn’t there. It was an absence of the restless energy that hung about him like an invisible force field when he was awake.
It would have been an overstatement to say it made him look vulnerable, but it did make him look younger. Even with the dusting of stubble in the hollows of his cheeks and across his jaw there were enough reminders of his younger self to make Lily’s thoughts slip back. Memories that were now tinged with a rose-tinted nostalgia that had been absent that first time she’d seen him.
She’d known about him, of course. The estate, where her father was the head gardener, and the village had been buzzing with gossip about Benedict, the boy born with the silver spoon, the boy doted on by his proud grandfather. While everyone else had got excited about the fact that he had just moved into the big house, Lily had nursed a quiet and growing resentment.
Warren Court, one of the most important houses still in private hands in the country, was just five hundred yards from the estate cottage where Lily lived. She had known, even then, that in all other ways it was a planet, a whole universe, away. She had been totally prepared—actually determined—to dislike the rich boy.
And then her dad had died and she’d forgotten about Benedict, not even seeing him standing beside his grandfather at the funeral. She had thought no one had seen her slip away when she’d escaped from the churchyard and headed for the pond where her dad had skipped stones from one side to the other.
Something he’d never do any more.
She’d picked up a big stone, weighing it in her hand before launching it into the air. Her heart had felt like the stone as she’d watched it sink, then another and another until her arm had ached and her face had been wet with the tears she’d ignored. But she hadn’t been able to ignore the voice or the crunch of leaves as someone had come to stand behind her.
‘No, not like that, you need a flat one and it’s all in the wrist action. See...’ She’d watched the stone skip lightly across the water.
‘I can’t do it.’
‘Yes, you can. It’s easy.’
‘I can’t!’ Fists clenched, she had rounded angrily on him, tilting her head because he was so tall. She’d vented her grief and frustration at the intruder, screaming, ‘My dad is dead and I hate you!’
That was when she’d seen his eyes. So blue, so filled with sympathy as he’d nodded and said simply, ‘I know, it stinks.’ Then he’d handed her another stone and she could still remember how it had felt smooth and cold on her hand. ‘Try this one,’ he’d said.
By the time they’d left, she had made a stone skip three times and she had decided she was in love.
It had been inevitable really. Lily had craved romance and the boy who was almost a man had seemed like the amalgam of all the heroes in the novels she devoured. Not only had he lived in a castle, but to her youthful self he had seemed like the embodiment of a dark and brooding hero. Mature—he was five years older than her—sporty, sophisticated. Lily had woven an intricate web of wildly unrealistic fantasies around him. Fantasies she’d dreamed would come true. Until the night of the ball...
* * *
She had been waiting for weeks for the annual estate workers’ Christmas party, hosted by Benedict’s grandfather in the massive Elizabethan hall of Warren Court, where her mother was now the housekeeper. She knew that Benedict, who had graduated from Oxford that summer and was doing something important in the City, according to his grandfather, would be there.
Lily had spent hours getting ready. Persuaded Lara, who had much better fashion sense and many more clothes thanks to the tips she got at the hotel where she waitressed on Saturdays, to lend her a dress. Then finally Benedict had arrived and the first thing she’d noticed was how different he’d looked, remote somehow in his sleek dark suit. Before she’d had time to absorb all the details, she’d seen that he wasn’t alone.
‘I am so-o-o bored, darling.’ The tall designer-dressed blonde, who had spent the night sneering, hadn’t even bothered lowering her upper-crust voice with its tortured vowels as she’d drawled, ‘When can we leave? You didn’t tell me the place would be full of the local yokels.’
Followed by Lara never missing an opportunity to tease Lily about her ill-disguised crush. ‘Drooling, Lil? So not a good look, sweetie. If you want him, go get him.’
Lily had finally snapped. ‘I don’t want him. I don’t even like him! He’s boring and totally up himself!’ she’d declared before she’d turned and seen Benedict standing behind her.
Since that embarrassing moment she hadn’t seen him or thought about him, not for years. Obviously his high profile meant that she saw his name sometimes, though not often—the financial pages were not really her thing and she didn’t have a clue what an investment tycoon was.
What she hadn’t expected was to bump into him coming out of a bookshop.
She didn’t believe in fate but...well, what else explained it? She had walked out of the door and at the exact same moment he had been walking by. Blinded by a strand of hair whipped across her face by a gust of wind, she had walked into him. Not any of the other people walking by—Benedict.
Coming out of her reverie, she clenched her hands tight as she fought the compulsion to touch his cheek. His deeply tanned skin was dusted with stubble that was the same ebony shade as the thick hair he wore cropped short. He was sleeping so peacefully and, though sleep had ironed out the lines of strain that ran from his nose to his mouth, the dark shadows under his eyes remained. Tired looked sexy on him, she decided as her fascinated gaze lingered on the shadow cast by his long spiky eyelashes against sharp cheekbones.
She released the breath trapped in her tight chest in a slow sibilant sigh. He was beautiful. Yesterday she’d had to bite her tongue to stop herself saying it, then she hadn’t. She’d said it over and over, she’d said it in between kisses and while she’d kissed her way across his chest.
They were lovers.
Her first... She hugged the knowledge to herself, a dreamy expression drifting into her eyes as her thoughts slid back to yesterday and the moment that had changed her life. It had changed her; she felt like a different person...
* * *
‘Lily!’
Benedict had always been one of the few people who never mistook her for her twin.
He handed her the book that she’d dropped and fatally his tanned fingers brushed hers. No teenage sexual fantasy—so safe because it had never been going to happen—had prepared her for the nerve-stripping effect.
The electric sizzle shook her so badly she barely remembered her name as slowly they both rose to their feet, the book they both still grasped acting as a connection they seemed reluctant to break.
It was a passer-by bumping into them that made them break apart, the book falling again to the floor.
The spell broken, they both laughed.
This time she let him pick it up. Staring at the top of his dark head, she gave herself a mental shake and put some defensive tension into her spine. She saw him raise a brow when he looked at the title and this time when he handed it to her she made sure to avoid contact. This triggered a quizzical look that she didn’t react to beyond the flush she was incapable of controlling.
‘You always were a bookworm,’ he said, smiling. ‘I remember the time I caught you in Grandfather’s library, you hid his first-edition Dickens under your jumper.’
‘You remember that?’ She stopped in her tracks, her amazement giving way to horror. ‘It was a first edition?’
‘Don’t look so worried—the old man didn’t mind.’
‘He knew?’
The lines that fanned out from the corners of his eyes deepened as her astonishment drew a laugh from his throat. ‘That you used the place as an unofficial lending library? Well, he did, he doesn’t miss much...so...’ He lowered his gaze from her flushed face, turning his wrist and with a flick of a white cuff revealing his paper-thin watch.
Lily watched with a smile she really hoped said I’m in a hurry too.
The next time you are in danger of believing in magical connections, Lily Gray, she told herself, or a sexual awareness too strong to deny, remember this moment.
‘I was going for a coffee...’ He stopped, his remarkable eyes filled with warmth and other things that made her stomach flip as he gave a twisted, rueful smile and admitted huskily, ‘No, I wasn’t, but I am now.’ Head tilted a little to one side, he smiled into her face. ‘If you’d like...?’
Her knees just stopped short of buckling. They were shaking. She released a carefully controlled sigh, her emotions a mingling of excitement and fear as she thought, if a smile could do this much to her what would a touch do...a kiss...?
Getting ahead of yourself here, Lily. He’s offering you a cappuccino, not a night of wild, head-banging sex! It was just coffee, she reasoned.
‘Yes.’ Too keen, Lily. She gave a smile. ‘I’m not meeting Sam until half four.’
His dark brows twitched into a line above his masterful nose. ‘Is Sam your boyfriend?’
‘A friend,’ she said. And it wasn’t a lie: Samantha Jane was a friend, the first one she’d made at the drama college. Sam wouldn’t mind if she was late; Sam would approve. She often lectured Lily on her love life, or lack of it.
‘You have to stop being so picky,’ Sam had told her. ‘Look at me—I’ve lost count of the number of frogs I’ve kissed but when my prince comes along I’ll recognise the difference, and actually frogs can be fun.’
An hour later Lily and Benedict were still sitting in a cubicle in a small coffee shop and she couldn’t remember what they’d talked about. But she had made him laugh, and he had made her feel smart and sexy. He thought she was funny so she was. After the first five minutes she had relaxed and lowered her guard as their conversation moved from literature, to politics, to her favourite ice cream, to her drama school course and the great opportunity that had recently fallen in her lap. It was only later she’d realised that he’d hardly told her a thing about himself, but then it was, oh, so easy to be wise with hindsight.
‘So I’m going to see you on the big screen?’ Elbows on the table, he’d leant forward, his interest seeming genuine and unfeigned. He had ignored all the women who had eyed him up, not even seeming to notice them. It seemed he only had eyes for her and Lily was flattered. If she’d been a cat, she’d have purred.
‘A small part.’
‘I’m not sure actresses are meant to be self-deprecating.’
‘I’m not, just factual. It’s a small part.’
‘But the TV drama, that’s the lead?’
‘I’ve been really lucky.’
‘You could do with a few lessons in self-publicity.’
She looked at him through her lashes and asked huskily, ‘Are you offering?’
His slow smile made her insides melt and her heart race even faster.
Over her third cup of coffee, looking into his electric-blue eyes, Lily made the dizzying discovery that it was potentially addictive having a man look at you with undisguised desire. Especially when the man in question had, for a large part of your life, represented the perfect ideal and you’d spent your life measuring other men against him—inevitably they had fallen short.
Could that be why she’d still not had a single serious relationship?
The possibility drifted into her head and then was gone because he had caught her hand and, holding it between his thumb and forefinger, was massaging the pad of her palm. The light arabesques sent deep tremors through her body. What she was feeling bore no resemblance to any teenage crush. It bore no resemblance to anything she had felt or imagined feeling.
She didn’t even know she’d closed her eyes until he spoke in his deep husky voice.
‘I have a room.’
She didn’t say anything; she couldn’t.
Her voice sounded throaty and deep, unfamiliar to her own ears, when she finally managed a response: ‘Yes.’
* * *
If she’d known what she was saying yes to she wouldn’t have waited even that long. Last night had been more than Lily had ever dreamed!
Her body still thrummed with the sensual aftermath of their lovemaking and her heart felt full. And there was more to come, much more, there were days and nights and... She felt her heart flutter as she thought of a future with Benedict in it, beside her in her bed. Last night was the start of something...it had to be.
Not romanticising, she told the voice of caution in her head. The sex had been incredible but it had gone beyond the physical; nothing that special could be transitory. She had no name for it, but it had been real.
‘What are you waiting for, Lily?’
Lily had never had an answer for Sam’s exasperated lectures about lowering her expectations and being realistic.
As she directed her searching, hungry gaze at his face a series of sensual images superimposed themselves over his sleeping features. The accompanying taste and textures were so real that the effort of separating herself from them brought a fine sheen of perspiration to Lily’s skin.
She shivered even though she was close enough to feel the warmth of his body. She had an answer to Sam’s question now—Benedict was the man she had been waiting for.
Did he realise that he’d been her first? Last night the memory of Lara’s experience had made her hold back. The man her twin had fallen for had said virgins were not his style—a deal breaker, she remembered Lara saying, while she outlined her solution to the problem.
Did other men feel that way...?
Did Benedict?
Would it be a deal breaker...? Could she take the risk?
Did not telling him constitute lying?
In the end the moment had passed, as had the fear her inexperience might be a problem. But she still didn’t know if he’d realised.
She would ask him, she decided, fighting the strong compulsion to wake him, her lips curved in a contemplative smile. Lily lay down with a sigh and, in an effort to distract herself, began to scroll idly through her emails before moving on to read the latest theatre gossip. She discovered, as her fingers idly flicked through the website, that the play she’d seen the previous week had been nominated for an Olivier award and the fans of a soap were demanding they reinstate a recently axed daytime favourite. A celebrity couple were splitting but staying good friends and a—
Her finger froze as she stared at the screen. The images there screamed silently back at her until she felt as though her skull would explode with the building pressure, the anger aimed as much at herself as him.
‘No!’ she whispered, but though the words and images blurred through the tears in her eyes they remained there, visible evidence of her wilful stupidity!
The piece was written in a gushy style that included quotes from friends of a newly engaged couple. There were several photos of the bride-to-be, the shiny rock on her finger and the groom...the groom...looking handsome on a ski slope, snow on his eyelashes...looking elegant and aloof at a red-carpet event...looking dynamic and sombre at an economic conference.
Her chest lifted in a tremulous sigh as she started breathing again and turned her head.
‘Nobody is surprised,’ she’d read.
Well, they were wrong; she’d been. Self-disgust left a rancid, metallic aftertaste in her mouth as she asked herself, Why are you surprised? You saw what you wanted in him, not what was there. He’s a man, and you were an easy lay.
Anger and devastating hurt clawed at Lily’s throat as she struggled to swallow a sob. Hands clenched, her nails gouging deep into the soft skin of her palms, she turned her hard, glittering stare on his sleeping face.
At sixteen she’d seen through him; she’d had more sense then than she did at twenty-two! Even if he had assumed that she was perfectly all right with one-night stands, he was engaged, newly engaged, for God’s sake!