A pregnant heiress, a bachelor billionaire...

...an unlikely family?

In this Manhattan Babies story, Trent Sigmund’s discovered Sabrina McCallan’s shocking secret: she’s pregnant! As she is his best friend’s sister, Trent’s compelled to help her. But offering Sabrina his private jet to track down her errant ex wasn’t supposed to become a whirlwind trip of Europe... And it certainly wasn’t supposed to awaken an attraction that makes him long to take this unexpected chance and build it into the perfect family!

SUSAN MEIER is the author of over fifty books for Mills & Boon. The Tycoon’s Secret Daughter was a Romance Writers of America RITA® Award finalist, and Nanny for the Millionaire’s Twins won the Book Buyers’ Best award and was a finalist in the National Readers’ Choice awards. She is married and has three children. One of eleven children herself, she loves to write about the complexity of families and totally believes in the power of love.

Also by Susan Meier

A Mistletoe Kiss with the Boss

The Boss’s Fake Fiancée

The Spanish Millionaire’s Runaway Bride

Manhattan Babies miniseries

Carrying the Billionaire’s Baby

A Diamond for the Single Mum

Falling for the Pregnant Heiress

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Falling for the Pregnant Heiress

Susan Meier

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09137-4

FALLING FOR THE PREGNANT HEIRESS

© 2019 Linda Susan Meier

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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To my bowling buddies

on the Tuesday afternoon league.

We may not always bowl well, but we laugh a lot!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

ANYONE WHO LOOKED at Sabrina McCallan usually did a double take. With her blond hair, blue eyes and nicely kept curves, she was physically perfect. Add impeccable manners, poise, charm, grace and intelligence, and Trent “Ziggy” Sigmund thought the woman was class in Chanel.

Until today.

As a bridesmaid in her brother Seth’s August wedding, standing by a church pew, waiting for her turn in the after-ceremony pictures, she seemed frazzled. Nervous. Plus, a strand of yellow hair had sprung from her up-do and she hadn’t tucked it back in.

Which was why Trent couldn’t stop staring at her.

Sabrina’s partner in Seth and Harper’s wedding, Trent was supposed to be aware of where Sabrina was when their names were called for the pictures, and her fidgeting confused him. He wasn’t staring because he was attracted to her. She wasn’t his type. She was perfect, flawless, and he liked things a little messy. Not a disaster. But wild hair on a pillow, sleepy eyes, torn jeans and scruffy tennis shoes were more his speed.

Still, something was up with Sabrina and he had responsibilities as her partner in the wedding, more as her brother’s best friend. He and Seth had lived together in a run-down apartment, both earning their living as waiters, as they finished school. They’d shared spare change and food, knew the bus and subway schedules like the backs of their hands and played wingman when one or the other spotted a girl they liked. Though Seth had dropped out of his family for a time, the second McCallan son still knew “people” and that had helped Trent get his first job, which had resulted in his learning the right things at the right time to develop his genius, strike out on his own and become rich.

In some ways they were like brothers. In other ways they were closer than brothers. Trent would be a fool if he didn’t realize he owed Seth. And Trent wasn’t a fool.

Which was why Seth’s little sister’s fidgeting was like a red alert alarm. The groom, Seth, was too busy to notice. Even Jake, Seth and Sabrina’s older brother, was busy with his toddler and pregnant wife. Only Trent had time to see the McCallan daughter was off her game today.

When his name and Sabrina’s were called for their picture, Trent sauntered across the church aisle to stunning Sabrina. Her pale purple dress highlighted her blue eyes. Her yellow hair would have been perfection, except for that one wayward strand, which to Trent’s way of thinking, actually made her more beautiful.

He offered his arm. The way he and Sabrina had grown up might have been worlds apart, but twelve years of knowing a McCallan had taught him how a gentleman behaved.

“Ready for pics?”

Sabrina smiled politely as she slid her hand into the crook of his elbow. “Yes.”

He nearly told her she looked elegant and feminine in the simple lilac dress Harper had chosen for her bridesmaids, but he figured she’d probably heard that thirty or forty times already today.

They walked to the space the photographer pointed out, stood by Seth and Harper and smiled as the middle-aged man snapped a picture. He took at least a hundred more shots with Seth and Harper and the members of their bridal party, Harper’s parents, Seth’s mom Maureen, Seth’s brother Jake and his wife, Avery, and then a few final shots of everyone—a big mob of men in tuxes, women in gowns and little girls in dresses with so much tulle and ruffles, Trent wondered how they could stay upright.

Seth’s mom and Harper’s parents said their goodbyes. Harper’s parents were taking Harper’s daughter, Crystal, home for a nap before the reception. Seth’s mom was going home for a nap herself. Jake and Avery’s nanny hustled Abby to their Upper East Side condo for some quiet time. The rest of the wedding party took limos to Seth and Harper’s penthouse for a few pre-reception drinks.

Thanking everyone for joining him in the celebration of the happiest day of his life, Seth popped the cork on the first bottle of champagne, then servants scurried over to open more champagne, fill glasses and distribute them for a toast.

Leaning against the bar, Trent kept his attention on Sabrina. She took a glass of champagne, happily raised it when best man Jake made a toast, then pretended to sip.

Trent’s eyes narrowed. She had absolutely pretended to sip. Three toasts later, she still had a full glass of champagne.

The bride and groom mingled through the small crowd. Waiters brought out trays of hors d’oeuvres. Seth told stories of his misspent youth, and with Harper by his side, he spoke fondly of her deceased husband, Clark, the third roommate in the trio of Clark, Seth and Ziggy, who now preferred to be called Trent. Trent joined him in one final story. Then the conversation drifted to more current topics, and before Trent knew it, it was time to go to the Waldorf Astoria for the reception.

He had to hunt for Sabrina. When he found her, she looked to have gotten lost in the shuffle. A woman who ran a nonprofit that helped startups turn into corporations did not get lost in any shuffles.

He added her obvious confusion to her not drinking and came up with a conclusion so startling it almost made him whistle—the way his stepfather always had when he realized something outlandish, something farfetched, something so out of the realm of reality that only a physical gesture or a reverently whispered “Wow” would do.

* * *

Sabrina held up as well as she could through the small party at Seth and Harper’s. When Ziggy found her—again—to ride with her to the reception, she wanted to throttle him. She needed some alone time to figure things out and her brother’s best friend, her groomsman partner, always seemed to be two feet away.

She’d think he’d suddenly gotten a thing for her, but she knew better. If the wild-haired waifs he dated were anything to go by, she wasn’t his type. But he wasn’t her type, either. He was good-looking enough. His black hair curled into sexy ringlets on his collar. His heavy-lidded dark eyes never missed a thing. But he was scruffy. He liked things like dimly lit jazz bars and kicking back with a beer by the lake. Any lake. She was pretty sure he owned houses on three of them.

Then there was his name. She’d never get used to calling him Trent. First, because her brother had called him Ziggy for at least a decade. Second, because to her the name Ziggy fit the laid-back billionaire much more than Trent.

And nobody really wanted to be dating a guy named Ziggy, let alone a high-profile professional woman. She ran a respectable nonprofit. Her public persona determined whether she got contributions and grants to assist the hundreds of people who came to her with ideas every year.

Trent helped her into one of the black limos that had pulled up to the curb in front of Seth and Harper’s building.

She smiled politely. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

The driver closed the door behind them, walked to the front of the long car and took his seat behind the steering wheel.

Trent pushed the button that raised the glass between passengers and the driver. “Are you okay?”

“What? Yes! I’m fine.”

“Nothing you want to tell me?”

She gave him the side eye. “Of course not.”

“I’m just saying you look like a woman who might need a shoulder to cry on or maybe somebody to offer advice.”

She fought the urge to close her eyes and kept her poise strictly intact. He couldn’t know that she was pregnant. She’d only found out that morning. One stupid week of loneliness had her flying off to Paris to Pierre—with whom she’d made the mutual decision to break up the month before—and spending a reckless weekend that resulted in a child.

She’d sensed a bit of regret on Pierre’s part when she’d left to return to New York, but not enough for him to call her. Which was for the best. As a woman who didn’t believe in love, she’d accepted Pierre’s romantic advances four years ago because she knew there was no danger that anything would come of their affair. A gorgeous, passionate artist, Pierre was a lot of fun and they spoke the language of art. They both lived and breathed art. But Pierre was the product of a marriage more dysfunctional than Sabrina’s parents’ marriage had been, and he’d decided to make up for his parents’ neglect by giving himself everything he wanted. He’d also taken a solemn vow never to marry or have kids. Which was okay because they weren’t long-term anything. They had a safe, long-distance relationship, with no possibility of things getting messy with talk of love.

And now that she was pregnant?

Well...

They’d broken up. He didn’t want to be a father. She’d never wanted him in her life permanently. Nothing had changed.

At least she didn’t think so. But that was the problem. There hadn’t yet been time to think this through. She hadn’t had two quiet minutes since she’d seen the stick turn blue, and her nerves were beginning to fray. Part of her wanted to enjoy her brother’s big day and celebrate. The other part wanted to go home and cry. Except—

She didn’t know if she wanted to cry out of fear or happiness. She’d always wanted to be a mom. She’d envisioned herself having as close of a relationship with her child as she’d had with her mom, guiding her little boy or girl into a wonderful, fulfilling life, choosing good schools, taking her baby to the park, maybe even getting a dog—

She’d just always thought it would be sometime in the future.

“I’m fine.”

“Okay. Keep your secrets.”

An arrow plunged into her heart, scaring her to death at the way he’d made secret plural. Secrets. Being pregnant wasn’t her only secret. She also painted. Temperamental, brilliant Pierre was one of a handful of people who knew Sabrina McCallan was the reclusive artist Sally McMillan. She’d taken a pseudonym because as Sabrina McCallan she was New York high society. Her one and only showing had been mobbed by people buying her paintings to win favor with her now-deceased tycoon father.

She’d been on the verge of quitting painting altogether when her mother had suggested a pseudonym. And it worked. She didn’t go to her showings, didn’t schmooze or pander to the public. Her art stood on its own.

Still, Ziggy couldn’t know that. Seth, Jake, Avery and Harper all knew the stakes. Seth would not have spilled her secret. None of them would.

Ziggy was bluffing.

“Maybe I should ask you if you need some counseling.”

He laughed.

She lifted one eyebrow. “Afraid your business won’t stand up to the scrutiny of a professional?”

“Honey, my business wouldn’t stand up to anybody’s scrutiny. I have a couple simple formulas. I read five newspapers a day and a few dozen blogs. Once I get all the information I need in my head, I grab a fishing pole and go to the lake, or I slip off to Spain and let it all sink in. After a few days I might make a move, or I might not.”

“That’s really not a business.”

“Didn’t I just say that?”

The train of limos arrived at the Waldorf. Doormen scurried out to release the passengers and escort the bridal party into the hotel. When Sabrina and Ziggy arrived at the four-story, two-tiered ballroom, the place was lit with dim purple lights that made the space shimmer romantically. Long, rectangular tables outlined the room, while round, more intimate tables filled the area beside the open dance floor.

Sabrina murmured, “This is lovely.”

Ziggy looked around. “Your family does know how to throw a party.”

His casual way of looking at things hit her all the wrong ways. “We aren’t throwing a party. We’re celebrating a marriage.”

“Potayto, potahto.”

“It’s not the same thing! A party can be four guys and a beer bong. We’re celebrating my brother and his wife finding love.”

He faced her with a goofy smile, his dark eyes gleaming with mischief. “You’re a romantic.”

She almost laughed. Her? A romantic? She was exactly the opposite. She was a woman who believed romance and the mythical concept of “love” only caused problems—especially for women. She would never let herself be so vulnerable as to fall in love.

“I’m not a romantic. You know as well as anyone that our family had a rough time.” A dad who couldn’t be faithful and a mom with three kids who lived in fear of his temper. “I never thought either of my brothers would get married.”

Ziggy nodded. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.”

She straightened to her full five feet six inches—five-nine with heels—and still she only came up to about his nose. Odd that she’d notice that with so much on her mind. “You’re damned right, I’m right. Now, if you’ll excuse me, don’t follow me to the ladies’ room.”

He laughed.

She strode away, feeling more like herself than she had all day. There was nothing like righting a wrong to get her blood flowing. Having her spunk back helped her to weed through some of the confusion in her brain.

Number one, she wanted the baby. Because of her parents’ abysmal marriage, she’d vowed never to marry, but she wanted to be a mother. This pregnancy might have sped up her timetable, but she was ready—

No. She was eager to become a mom.

Number two, she had to tell Pierre. She expected him to be appalled and tell her that he wanted nothing to do with their child. But she’d chosen him as a lover, someone with no intention of falling in love, not a father for her children, so that was okay. She had no qualm about raising this baby alone. In fact, she’d prefer it.

Number three and four, telling her mom and telling her brothers couldn’t happen until she told Pierre.

She had to go to Paris.

She walked into the elegant lounge section of the ladies’ room and leaned across a vanity to get a peek at her makeup. Now that she wasn’t falling apart internally, her face had gone back to normal. She could have nitpicked every tiny imperfection. She could have second-guessed her choice of lipstick color. Except she looked like the lady her mother had raised her to be. She might not be perfect, but she was firmly in her role.

She drew a long breath and left the restroom, heading back to the ballroom. She spotted Ziggy and walked in the opposite direction. Jake was about to introduce Seth and Harper and the bridal party. She ambled up to Harper, who looked elegant in her simple satin dress. Her short, dark hair gave her the look of a pixie. Her blue eyes sparkled with love—for Sabrina’s brother. Sabrina could never appreciate anyone more than she did Avery and Harper for helping her brothers to heal. Theirs were the rare unicorn of relationships that did revolve around love, exactly what her brothers needed.

But Sabrina didn’t need to heal as her brothers had. A daughter, not a son, she hadn’t endured the kind of cruel mistreatment from their dad that her brothers had. Her chauvinistic father didn’t see her as a businesswoman, so he had no reason to “train” her. But she had seen how he treated her mom, how her mom had cried over his infidelities and worried for her sons. At fourteen, Sabrina had promised herself no man would ever treat her the way her dad had treated her mom. And she’d kept that promise.

“Anything I can do for the bride?”

Harper hugged her. “No. We’re fine. I’d just like to get to dinner already. I’m starved.”

“You should have had some hors d’oeuvres at your penthouse. They were wonderful.”

“I was saving my appetite for the Beef Wellington.”

As Jake began announcing the wedding party, Ziggy walked up to her and escorted her to her seat. Jake then introduced himself and his wife, Avery, who joined him by the podium. He introduced Seth and Harper and the room broke into joyous applause.

Tears filled her eyes. She really couldn’t express how grateful she was to her two sisters-in-law for saving her brothers, healing them, helping them to believe in love and lead normal, happy lives.

Harper finally got her Beef Wellington and the dinner progressed with Ziggy making small talk with her one minute and turning to his left to talk to her mother the next. She supposed he was an okay guy—

All right. He was sort of a great guy, considerate of her and kind to her mother. She shouldn’t have snapped at him.

She never snapped at anyone.

But there was something about Ziggy today. Something about the sexy way he looked in a tux—or maybe the way he’d asked if she needed someone to talk to—

She didn’t know. Her hormones were a mess and so were her reactions. But now that she’d worked everything out in her head, she could get back to normal.

The band announced Seth and Harper’s first dance, and her brother escorted his bride to the dance floor. When the music ended, the band announced Jake and Avery, who joined Seth and Harper, then Trent and Sabrina, who walked out onto the dance floor with them.

The band began a slow, romantic song for the bridal party dance, and Sabrina drew a quiet breath. Trent slid his arm around her waist. She put her hand on his shoulder—his very solid shoulder.

That was a surprise. Pierre was a tall, thin man, and touching someone more solid sent a jolt through her. She hadn’t expected Ziggy to be buff.

“Do you work out?”

He waggled his eyebrows. “Liking my muscles?”

She rolled her eyes. “Can you be serious for one second?”

“I tried to be serious in the limo. You shut me down.”

“You weren’t being serious. You were prying into my life.”

“See, there you go again. Making distinctions that don’t need to exist.”

The music shifted into something faster for mere seconds, but Trent took advantage of those seconds to spin them around. Silly though it was, the movement lightened her mood. She laughed.

“See? That’s what I wanted to hear. A laugh. A spontaneous one at that.”

She shook her head. “You’re weird.”

“No. We’re opposites.”

She inclined her head in agreement.

“Which means if you told me whatever was troubling you, I’d come up with an out-of-the-box solution that might help you.”

This time she didn’t try to deny that she was in the throes of figuring out a problem. “You can’t help me.”

* * *

Her honesty surprised Trent. Not only did it mean she trusted him, but also, he’d never been able to do a real, solid favor for Seth. The McCallans wanted for nothing. If he could do something kind for the sister of the guy who’d given him the boost he’d needed to become the success he was, he was at her beck and call. “You’re so sure.”

She looked away. “Yeah.” She caught his gaze. “Can you keep a secret?”

Without hesitation Trent said, “Absolutely.”

“There’s not really anything you can do about the fact that I’m pregnant.”

Trent didn’t react. He’d already guessed that. “I have three getaway houses in the US and a condo in Spain. I have a yacht that’s really nice for privacy when you need it. If nothing else, let me give you a place to think this through.”

She caught his gaze. “I don’t need to think it through. I need to go to France to tell the baby’s dad. I can’t use one of the McCallan jets because my family will know where I’ve gone. And I don’t want them to know.” She bit her lower lip. “At least not yet. I have to tell the baby’s father before I tell my family.”

He perked up. “I have three jets.”

Her blue eyes filled with hope. “You’d lend me one?”

“Sure.”

The hope in her eyes turned to skepticism as the song ended. “And you wouldn’t tell Seth?”

He made a cross on his chest. “I’ll keep all of this a secret until you have a chance to tell everyone yourself. When do you need the jet?”

“Tonight.”

“So soon?”

“I just want to get this over with. You know, get myself moving forward again.”

He tucked his hands in his trouser pockets. “Okay. I’d give you the keys, but if jets have keys I’m pretty sure my pilot has them.”

She laughed and impulsively hugged him. “Thanks.”

The strangest feelings rattled through Trent. She was softer than he’d thought she’d be. Of course, he rarely dated women with curves, so that explained the surprise that hit him. But he felt a warmth, too. Probably the result of doing a good deed. It couldn’t be attraction. She wasn’t his type.

He wasn’t exactly sure why he needed to remind himself of that.

But he did.

Twice.

CHAPTER TWO

THEY WAITED UNTIL Seth and Harper left their reception at ten o’clock that night. Trent told Sabrina he would arrange for a flight crew while Sabrina said goodbye to her mom and Jake and Avery. Lighter now that she had a plan, she strode over to say her goodbyes, then Trent escorted her through the hot August night to the limo and they rode to the Park Avenue building housing her condo.

He exited the limo with her, but she shook her head. “No need to come with me. I won’t be but a minute.”

“A minute to pack?” He laughed. “I’ve seen how you dress. Everything coordinates. You’re probably going to have a suitcase just for your shoes.”

Offended because it sounded as if he thought her trite or spoiled, she strode to her building. “I’m not that picky.” She wasn’t picky. She simply had a standard to uphold. If her mother had drilled that into her head once, she’d drilled it a thousand times.

You are a lady. Act like a lady. Dress like a lady. Speak like a lady.

With a quick push of her hand on the door, they entered the climate-controlled comfort of the lobby. Trent pulled a draft of frosty air into his lungs. She couldn’t tell if he was happy for the cool air or uncomfortable about having to explain himself.

“I didn’t say you were picky. I’m just saying you always look nice.”

She worked to stifle a smile. It shouldn’t please her that he thought she looked nice or that he cared that he’d insulted her.

But it had.

Puzzled, she led him to the elevator. She took out a key card to start it. “That’s okay.”

“Are we going to a penthouse?”

“No. Just an exclusive floor. Two condos. Half a floor each. I don’t need a whole floor.”

“Nice.” He winced. “I still sometimes marvel at luxury.”

She didn’t ask him what he meant. She knew his beginnings. Her brother had told her Trent had blue-collar roots and had worked his way through university alongside Seth. Then he’d quit the job Seth had found for him to invest on his own. She admired him. It had taken guts to leave his convenient job and trust his genius. She should probably tell him that—

A funny feeling invaded her chest and brought her up short. She shook her head to clear it of the desire to figure out why she wanted to talk about that. Right now, she should be focused on throwing some clothes into a travel bag, driving to the airport, flying to France and facing Pierre—

Because she was pregnant. Pregnant. About to be a mom.

She pictured herself holding a tiny baby the way Avery had held Abby right after she was born. The sweet little thing would snuggle against her and, like Avery, she would marvel that she had created a life.

Warmth filled her, along with a sudden desire to cry. Happy tears. Now that she’d adjusted to it, being pregnant was like a dream come true. Her life was busy but established. She could take time off, create a nursery in her big condo, set playdates, take her baby for long walks in Central Park.

The elevator reached her floor. She stepped into the lobby with two doors. One to her condo. One to the condo of a nice, recently retired couple who traveled a lot. She had breakfast with them once a month when they were home, and if they ran into each other at the elevator, they chatted happily. They’d raised four kids and adored their three grandkids.

They’d be the perfect neighbors for a single mom.

She punched a code into her alarm to disable it, then pressed her key card to the lock and opened the door onto her pristine home.

Wide-plank hardwood floors ran through the open floorplan that included a white kitchen, formal dining space and living room with a long sofa in the center of three conversation areas.

She faced Ziggy with a smile. She’d already decided which room would be the nursery and that she could dismantle the third bedroom and turn it into a playroom.

“Okay. Now that you’ve nudged me, you can go. Thank you for the use of your jet. Honestly, I’ll be happy to compensate you for the flight crew and the fuel when I return.”

His head tilted. “Oh, you think I’m just going to hand over my jet?”

“You’re not?”

He laughed. “No. I’m coming with you. You’re my best friend’s little sister and you’re pregnant. I’m not letting you fly across an ocean alone. What if you get sick? Or just faint? For at least the first trimester, I don’t think it’s wise to travel across an ocean alone.”

She was surprised he even knew the word trimester, let alone that that could be a scary time for a woman, but she let that go in favor of her real concern. “I don’t need help.”

“Never said you did. My coming is more of a just-in-case thing. Just in case you get sick. Just in case you faint.”

She wanted to argue, but she wanted to get to Paris more. It was night. She and Trent were both tired. They’d undoubtedly fall asleep for the entire seven-hour flight. When they woke in the morning, he’d be in a tux and she’d be in jeans and a shirt, suitably dressed to find Pierre.

Before Trent could buy proper clothes for a morning in the city, she’d be at Pierre’s apartment, telling him about the baby. He’d undoubtedly say he didn’t want to be a dad and she’d say that was fine. She’d just thought he had a right to know he was about to be a father. Then she’d go back to the airport to fly home.

There was no point in arguing with Ziggy because she could make the timing work for her.

“Fine. Come to France with me, but all you’ll be doing is sleeping on the jet. We won’t even talk.”

“I know the drill. I always fly at night.”

“Great.” Without another word, she walked to her bedroom to throw enough into an overnight bag to get her through a flight and a day in Paris.

When she returned to her main room a few minutes later, Ziggy stood by the wall of windows, staring at the twinkling Manhattan skyline. He’d removed his jacket and rolled his shirt sleeves to the elbows, revealing strong forearms peppered with black hair. He’d also taken off his bow tie and opened the top few buttons of his shirt. Now he was just a guy in black trousers and a white shirt. He could go with her to Pierre’s condo.

It didn’t matter. Even if he begged, she wouldn’t take him to Pierre’s. Surely, he could keep himself busy for a few hours in the most glamorous city in the world.

He took her overnight bag. “Ready?”

She slid the strap of her purse over her arm. “Ready.”

She’d chosen jeans and a peach-colored T-shirt with brown wedge-heel sandals for the flight and had combed out her long hair. Because of the curls of the up-do, it flowed in gentle waves to her shoulders.

Ziggy’s gaze traveled from her hair down her T-shirt and along the line of her jeans to her sandals. When his eyes met hers, a little jolt of electricity zapped her.

Now she knew what was going on. She was attracted to him. Sort of. The man was good-looking. But electricity? Sparks? She didn’t believe in those. Never had.

Forcing herself to ignore the firestorm rolling across her nerve endings, she smiled her most professional smile at Ziggy and headed for the door. “Let’s go.”

“Sure.”

They drove to a private airstrip and boarded the jet. The front of the cabin had four cream-colored leather seats. Behind those were two rear-facing blue leather recliners angled toward an enormous TV. It wasn’t the kind of luxury she was accustomed to. Her family’s biggest plane had two bedrooms, a kitchen and a formal dining room. But Ziggy’s little jet was obviously expensive with plush carpeting, lush leathers. And it was convenient. With no unnecessary bells and whistles, it was almost cozy.

“All the seats recline.” He pointed to a cabinet tucked behind the television. “Blankets are in there.”

She tossed her bag into one of the empty chairs and got herself a blanket. “Great. I’m exhausted.”

“Me, too.”

But when she sat on one of the pale seats, he walked back to the blue ones in front of the TV. Glad he hadn’t sat beside her—she didn’t care to feel the crazy jolt of electricity she got when he was too close—she reclined the seat, snuggled into her blanket and almost instantly fell asleep.

She slept deeply and eventually dreamed she had twins who sometimes morphed into triplets, and every time she took them to the park, Ziggy followed her, walking a big, furry dog on a leash that sometimes got caught in the wheels of her babies’ stroller.

The chaos of it jolted her heart. She woke with a start to discover they had landed in Paris, and decided her dream was an extension of Ziggy’s following her around all day at the wedding. With a long drink of air to wake herself completely, she rose from her padded seat, grabbed her overnight bag and turned to go to the private area of the small aircraft.

Rushing to the door in the back, which she assumed was a bathroom, she didn’t look right or left, not wanting to accidentally make eye contact with Ziggy. Or worse, wake him. The sooner she got out of here, the better her chances of leaving alone. All she needed to do was change her shirt, refresh her makeup and maybe take a minute to think about what she’d say to Pierre—

She opened the bathroom door and gasped.

Standing in the middle of the compact room, wrestling a shirt over his head was Ziggy—Trent.

A broad chest with well-defined muscles that led down to six-pack abs?

That was Trent. Adult. Sexy. And oh, so male. She’d never be able to think of him as her brother’s college friend Ziggy again.

She spun away, her heart doing something that felt like a samba in her chest. “Sorry.”

“No, wait. I’m done.” He slid out of the room into the main cabin and tossed a duffel bag onto one of the empty seats. “Didn’t want to be wearing a wrinkled tux around Paris.”

“How’d you get an overnight bag?”

“There’s always a go bag in my office. Had one of my assistants bring it to the plane while you were packing.”

She worked not to glance down at his chest, now covered by a gray T-shirt. But the vision of his pecs and abs was firmly planted in her brain. “I didn’t think you would be going to Pierre’s apartment with me.”

“I told you. You’re my best friend’s sister. I’m not going to let you go to some guy’s house alone and tell him you’re pregnant. God knows how he’ll react.”

“He’s not going to hit me.”

“You’re damned right, he’s not. I’m not going to let him.”

The electricity she’d felt the night before came back with a vengeance as his dark eyes held hers. It took all the strength she could muster to keep her breath from stuttering when she said, “No. Really. You can’t come with me. This is private.”

“Oh.”

The disappointed expression on his face knocked the electricity off her nerve endings but it tugged at her heart. This was a man who took his responsibilities seriously.

“Look. It’s okay. He’s going to say he doesn’t want to be a dad. And I’m going to say fine, then fly back to New York and raise my child alone.”

He gaped at her. “You don’t want your baby to know his dad?”

“I do want my child to know her dad. But Pierre’s not going to want to be a big part of her life. I won’t be cruel. Pierre can visit anytime he’s in New York. But I doubt that he will.”

His forehead puckered. “He’s not going to want his child?”

“Pierre’s a narcissist. His parents had a marriage as bad as my mom and dad’s and he vowed to make up for that by giving himself everything he’d wanted but didn’t get as a child. I have to be practical. And honest. He told me he didn’t want to have children and my being pregnant probably won’t change that.”

Trent shook his head. “You can’t know that. You saw what happened to Jake. He about went crazy when Avery didn’t want anything to do with him after she learned she was pregnant. Now he’s so smitten with Abby it’s almost funny. Then there’s Seth. A confirmed bachelor until Harper walked into his life with Crystal.”

“There was hope for Jake and Seth.”

“No, there wasn’t. Your dad had soured them both on relationships and made both wonder if they could be good dads...yet they pulled through.”

“Neither one of them is a flighty artist like Pierre.”

“But you loved him?”

“We had a relationship, based mostly on our common love of art. We also had the same kind of childhood. Pierre’s not the kind of guy a smart woman falls in love with.”

His eyes widened. “Wow.”

“I’m just saying that Pierre and I had a lot in common and we had a great couple of years together. But we never wanted anything serious.”

“Okay. I get that. But don’t write him off.”

She sighed. “Trent, I’m a planner. I teach other people how to look down the board and see the future. I’ve already played this all out in my head.”

“I’ll bet not all of it. You’re going to want to get married someday. And when you do your baby’s going to have a stepfather. I had a stepfather. He was a wonderful dad to my half brother and sister, the kids he had with my mom, but he never seemed to warm up to me. I was the boy my mom had with another guy. The one who came into the marriage. I wasn’t blood.”

Gobsmacked by the admission of something so personal and saddened for the lost little boy she pictured him to be, she said, “That’s terrible.”

He pulled in a breath. “Not really. The truth is he tried. I tried. We just never seemed to bond.”

She stared at him. She’d always had the impression he’d come from one of those perfect, close-knit blue-collar families. “But now you get along?”

“Depends on what you mean by get along. When I left home, my mom, stepdad and half sister and brother became a tight little unit. I’d see it every time I came home for a holiday and feel more left out. When I became wealthy, I bought them a house and insulted my stepdad, who refused it and accused me of thinking I was better than they were now that I was rich.” He shrugged. “So I kind of stay away.”

She absolutely did not know what to say. Particularly since he’d just confirmed her decision to never marry. Even if her parents’ marriage hadn’t warned here off, she’d heard enough horror stories from her friends at private school, whose parents had gone through divorces. From middle school through high school she’d heard tales of wicked stepmothers and grouchy stepfathers. Having a child just guaranteed she’d never marry. She would not put her son or daughter through that.

He caught her gaze. “What I’m telling you is, if I had a choice between being raised by my real father or my stepfather, I know which one I’d choose.”

Sabrina stared at him. He wasn’t upset, more like resigned, but to Sabrina that made his situation all the sadder.

When she didn’t respond, Trent turned her toward the small dressing room again. “Go. Change. Fluff out your hair. Do whatever it is women do to get ready. I’ll be right here waiting for you.”

She almost pivoted to face him again. He’d shifted gears from his own troubles to hers so easily it was as if his didn’t matter.

With her problems being the ones in the forefront, she supposed they didn’t. At least not now. At some point she’d circle back, ask him if he really was as okay as he sounded. But right now, she had to get dressed to tell Pierre he was about to be a dad.

She walked into the bathroom, splashed her face and slipped into her clean clothes. Though she knew what she intended to say, there were three or four ways she could approach Pierre. Strong and confident. Soft and loving. Matter-of-fact. And even strictly professional, like a lawyer stating the facts.

All the options had merit. Even after a few minutes to think them through before she left the bathroom, none of them stood out.

Trent’s staff had a limo waiting. The driver opened the back door for them, and she told him the address of Pierre’s apartment. As they drove along the streets, she only got glimpses of the Eiffel Tower. But it didn’t matter that she couldn’t see the usual sights. She loved the everyday hustle and bustle of Paris. Brick and stone streets. Tourists studying maps or ogling buildings. And the scents. Croissants. Madeleines. Éclair. Wonderful crusty bread. And that rich, dark coffee she loved so much.

But she couldn’t have coffee. She wouldn’t drink coffee for nine months.

When they reached Pierre’s apartment building in a residential section of the city, Trent followed her out of the limo.

She stopped him with a hand to his chest. His very solid chest. She almost groaned at the whoosh of attraction that rolled through her. Instead, she shook off the woozy, fuzzy feeling and said, “This part is private.”

“I’ll tell you what. You let me walk you up to the door and see what kind of mood he’s in. If he seems okay, I’ll let you talk alone.”

She wanted to argue. She wanted sexy, handsome, electricity-inspiring, nice guy Trent to disappear so she could tell Pierre he was about to be a dad.

Except, what if Trent was right? What if Pierre reacted badly? It wouldn’t hurt to have tall, buff Trent in the loose gray T-shirt and nice-fitting jeans at her side.

“All right. You stay for a minute or two. Then the rest of the discussion is private.”

He grinned. Her heart tumbled. How had she not noticed before how gorgeous he was with his unruly hair and seductive smile?

“Absolutely.”

They entered the building and climbed the two flights of stairs to Pierre’s apartment. It wasn’t the best building in the world. But Pierre didn’t make as much money as she did from her art. And that wasn’t a lot. She lived on her salary from the nonprofit and an extremely generous trust fund.

Still, her leg muscles became rubbery when she remembered how angry he’d been when her art had outsold his at their last showing. Her steps faltered.

“You okay, there, Skippy?”

She pasted on a bright smile as she turned to face Trent, who was on the step below her. “Yes. Fine.”

“If you want to turn and run, just let me know. I’m up for that, too.”

Surprisingly, she laughed. For such a smart guy, with such a sad past and a serious way of making money, he had a great sense of humor.

They finally reached Pierre’s floor and walked to the third door on the right. Forcing her fingers to stop shaking, she pressed the doorbell.

No answer.

After a few seconds she pressed again.

Trent sent her a confident smile and thumbs-up.

She hit the bell a third time. Pierre’s door didn’t open, but the one next to it did.

Pierre’s short, dark-haired neighbor, Danielle, whom Sabrina had met a few times, came out of her apartment, smoking a cigarette. “He’s not here.”

Speaking French, Sabrina said, “Oh. Where is he?”

Danielle brought her cigarette to her lips, inhaled and blew a long stream of smoke. “He’s at his house in Spain.”

“Spain?” Confusion rippled through her. “He has a house in Spain?”

“He goes there at the end of every August. Pretty much spends the winter there.”

Trent put his hands on her shoulders, reminding her of his presence to reassure her. “You wouldn’t happen to have the address?”

Because he’d spoken English, Sabrina repeated the question in French. Danielle held up one finger. The universal symbol for “wait one minute.”

She returned with the address written on a scrap of paper.

Trent said, “Thanks,” took the paper, then turned Sabrina toward the steps again.

They walked down the thin stairway, her optimistic hope of telling Pierre and getting it over with, vanishing. Still, it wasn’t like she had to wait forever. She just had to get to Spain.

When they reached the street, she took the slip of paper with the address from Trent’s hand. “I can get a commercial flight. I don’t want to bother you.”

“It’s no bother. Besides, I have a condo in Barcelona. We’ll fly there, buy a change of clothes, eat a nice dinner and head to Pierre’s tomorrow morning.”

A weird kind of relief poured through Sabrina. Calm, cool and collected Trent had a plan.

Still, she didn’t want to get accustomed to depending on anyone. Not ever. Her mom had been so dependent on her dad that she’d lost the biggest part of her life. Now that Sabrina was in Europe, away from her family’s curiosity, she would have the privacy to do what she needed to do. She could go on without Trent.

“Thanks, but I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. You’re mad. The guy has a house in Spain that you clearly didn’t know about. You dated him, probably told him everything about yourself but he had a house in Spain and apparently spent lots of time there, yet he never thought to mention that. How much did you guys date anyway?”

She drew in a breath. She was mad. “We didn’t date date. We spent weekends together, took trips, did exhibits together.” She paused long enough to think through how to phrase her explanation. “Our homes were on two different continents. Our relationship was long distance. So there were stretches of time in the winter when we didn’t see each other.”

“Okay. I get it. That’s how long-distance relationships are. You see each other when you can.”

Once again, his answer relieved her. Most of her anger with Pierre melted away. But that didn’t mean she needed Trent to fly her to Spain. “Thanks. When I tell Seth and Jake about being pregnant, I’ll also tell them how much you helped me these past two days.”

Trent’s brows drew together as he frowned. “You do realize that what you’re saying is that when Seth hears I brought you to France, I’ll have to explain to my best friend why I dumped his little sister in Europe.”

“It’s not like that.”

“That’s exactly how a man would hear it. Especially when your brothers find out you didn’t see Pierre in Paris. You saw him in Spain.”

When she said nothing, he sighed. “Look, I’m offering a plane and some companionship. You could catch a cab to the airport and then wait two days before a seat opens up on a commercial flight. My jet’s just a few miles away.” He caught her hand. “And once we get to Barcelona I have friends, a condo, a club I like to go to. I might just ditch you.”

She laughed. Again. He seemed to always say the right thing to make her feel better. He did have a plane. Here. Waiting. He also had somewhere for them to crash overnight. If he’d owned his condo in Barcelona for any length of time, he probably did have friends he’d want to go clubbing with.

And she’d have a few hours alone tonight for a bubble bath. She could chill and get her perspective back.

Because it had hit her all the wrong ways that Pierre had a home in Spain and in their years together he’d never mentioned it.

She needed some time to unwind and Trent was offering it.

How could that possibly go wrong?

“All right. Let’s go.”

CHAPTER THREE

TRENT CALLED HIS PILOT. Having an international cell phone, as Trent obviously did, she was tempted to call her mom but decided against it. When he finished his chat with his pilot, they climbed into the limo and headed to the airport. They landed on a private airstrip in Spain a few hours later, but it took another hour to get from the rural airstrip to Trent’s condo.

When he opened the door for her and she stepped inside, she gasped. The place was amazing. Built in an old factory, the condo retained the original brick walls, but they’d been scrubbed to clean perfection. A row of four tall, thin windows brought in light that accented peach-colored club chairs across from a modern gray burlap sofa. The coffee table was a shiny wooden rectangle. Its open middle would have been the perfect place to stack magazines or books. But there were no magazines or books. Not in the open space of the table or strewn around. There wasn’t a personal item anywhere.

“Let me guess. You don’t come here often.”

He tossed his keys on the long island of the spotless kitchen. Sturdy wood cabinets had been painted sage green. Shiny green, white and gray geometric-print tiles created the backsplash. Stainless-steel appliances completed the kitchen.

“No. I’m here all the time.”

She glanced around. Even as particular as she was, she had magazines, books, pictures, scattered about.

“It’s just all so...clean.” Sanitary. As if he didn’t have a personality. Or a family—

He had told her that he was distanced from his family.

The thought of not having pictures of Jake, Avery and Abby on her mantel or Seth, Harper and Crystal on the end table by her sofa squeezed her heart. The thought of not having her brothers and their families in her life or being in theirs almost brought tears to her eyes.

“I’m not one for having things lying around.”

Okay. She’d give him that. But it had to be sad, difficult, having a mom but not being able to call her with questions or brothers and sisters-in-law to laugh with.

Before she could ask him about his family, he said, “Here’s the plan. I’ll contact my personal shopper. We’ll have her send over some jeans, a few T-shirts and something nice to wear tonight so we can go out.”

Not hardly. Her plan was for a soothing bubble bath. “We can go out?”

“For dinner. You do have to eat.”

“Oh. Okay.” She fought the urge to squeeze her eyes shut, dismayed with herself for jumping to conclusions. She was so uptight about Pierre that she kept assuming Trent was as bossy as her ex. She had to relax.

He picked up his phone, hit the screen three times and after a few seconds he said, “Claudine. I’m back in Barcelona. Unfortunately, it was an unexpected trip and I’ll need clothes for at least another two days. Make it three.”

He paused as Sabrina assumed the person on the other end of the call spoke. He laughed. “Yes, everything, including something nice to wear out to dinner tonight.”

He paused again, chuckling. He clearly liked his personal shopper.

A sliver of jealousy wound through her, surprising her. First, she had no claim on Trent—didn’t want one. Second, the woman he spoke with was in his employ. She laughed with her employees all the time.

“I’m traveling with a friend. She’ll need three days’ worth of clothes and something pretty for dinner.” He caught Sabrina’s gaze and grinned devilishly. “Yes. You know my taste. Get her what one of my dates would usually wear.”

Sabrina’s eyes widened. She’d seen his dates in sparkly little red dresses that clung to their bodies but looked okay because they were wafer-thin. She, on the other hand, had boobs and hips.

“I can’t wear what your girlfriends wear!”

Trent ignored her. “About a size eight.”

Shocked that he’d hit her size on the head, she nonetheless stormed over to him. “I’m not wearing something you’d get for one of your girlfriends!”

He clicked off the call. “Oh, sorry. You said that two seconds too late.”

“No, I didn’t! You deliberately hung up, so I couldn’t change what you’d told her!”

He ambled over to the sofa. “Is that so bad?”

“Yes! Your dates are thin as paper! I have curves.”

“Exactly. Curves that you never show off. You’ll look great.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I do. Besides, wouldn’t it be fun to be someone different for a night?”

She shook her head. “I don’t do things like pretend to be someone different.” It had taken her too long to become the perfect McCallan daughter to step out of character.

“You just made my point. You don’t do things like this, things that are fun just for the sake of having fun. You need to loosen up a bit. If you don’t like the outfit, it won’t matter. We’re in a city where no one knows you. You can toss the dress when we get home.”

Seeing she wasn’t changing his mind, she marched to the Carrara marble island and grabbed his phone.

“What are you doing?”

“You think it’s so fun to dress like someone else.” She hit the redial button on his phone. “I’m calling your shopper and... Claudine? This is Sabrina McCallan. I’m Trent Sigmund’s friend...the woman you’re buying the dress for.”

He sighed. “Seriously. I think you’ll look great in something...”

Putting her hand over the phone she said, “Cheap? Sleazy?”

“Just a tad more sparkly.”

She shook her head once, quickly, in disbelief. “Are you ashamed of me?”

He laughed. “Actually, I want to show you off.”

Her breath stalled. He wanted to show her off—

She caught that thought before it could run away with itself. She was a McCallan. Her mother always said they had more dignity than to “show off.” Still, she wasn’t the one showing off. Trent wanted to show her off. Like someone who was important to him—

She’d never been important to anybody but her mom. She’d certainly never been important to a man. Her heart filled with warmth, but she fought it. She didn’t need a man to show her off.

Still, one look at Trent’s face and she knew she wasn’t changing his mind. But the craziest idea popped into her head. “And what if I want to show you off?”

He shrugged. “Have at it.” He took the phone from her hands. “Claudine. I’m going to put Sabrina back on the line. Get me whatever she says.”

He handed the phone back to her.

She looked from the top of his curly black hair, down the chest and flat abs she remembered from the morning, to his feet.

“I think Armani. A charcoal-gray suit with a pale blue shirt... I want it to be such a pale blue that it’s almost white...and a silver print tie.”

He made a gagging noise.

She said, “Thanks, Claudine,” then also asked for a curling iron and hair-dryer before she hung up the phone. “Now we’ll see who likes dressing like someone else.”

He shook his head. “I don’t hate suits. I just don’t wear them often.” He grinned. “This is going to be a fun night.”

She sighed. “You really need to get out more.”

* * *

They bummed around for most of the afternoon, eating lunch, walking under the leafy canopy created by the trees lining the streets of Barcelona. She marveled at the simple beauty of the city. She’d never been to Spain before, let alone walked the streets of one of its fabulous cities. It was easy to see that Trent spent a lot of time here because he knew the best restaurants, said hello to passersby, was casually comfortable walking along.

When they returned to his condo around six, the purchases of Trent’s personal shopper sat in two stacks of boxes and bags on the marble top of the kitchen island.

“Our clothes have arrived.”

She strode over, running her hand along the first box. Pink-and-white-striped with a black bow, it reminded her of coming home from school and discovering her mom had been shopping that day. It usually meant her dad was traveling and dinner that night would be happy.

Sensation after sensation poured through her. Relief. Joy. Expectation.

“Want to look at what’s inside or take everything to the spare bedroom and try things on?”

“I think I want a few minutes to myself with the red spandex dress.” A few minutes to get her heart to settle down and to savor the good memories flitting through her brain. She hadn’t had the horrid childhood her brothers had, but a river of caution and fear had run through their Upper East Side penthouse. Good memories had been few and far between. When they came, she enjoyed the feelings they brought with them.

She took the bags and boxes to the spare room and began sorting through to see what was inside. Two pair of jeans and a pair of shorts—Barcelona was a tad warm—undergarments, and the smallest dress in recorded history.

Her memories forgotten, she marched back to the kitchen, waving the little blue dress. “I can’t wear this.”

“Have you tried it on?”

She sighed.

He opened the suit box. “Don’t forget I’m stuck with this.”

“It’s a suit. You’ve worn them before.”

“And you’ve worn dresses before.” He shook his head. “Come on. Let’s just have some fun tonight.”

The seriousness in his brown eyes reminded her that his childhood might not have been filled with fear, but it had been filled with loneliness. So he wanted to have some fun? Couldn’t she, for once, forget her mom’s voice in her head and do something silly to make someone else happy? Someone whose childhood might have been sadder than hers?

Not wanting him to realize she was capitulating because she felt an unexpected connection to him, she gruffly said, “All right. But I’m tossing this sparkly little thing when we return tonight.”

He shrugged. “Fine by me.”

She huffed back to the bedroom where she showered, fixed her hair, applied makeup. When she couldn’t put it off any longer, she shimmied into the blue dress and stared at herself in the mirror.

It wasn’t god-awful.

Okay. Seriously. She went to the gym three times a week so though she wasn’t waiflike, she had a nice figure. And the dress—damn his hide—looked good. She wouldn’t want to be wearing it walking around with her mother, but she was with a friend.

A male friend who wanted to see her in a tight dress.

She shook her head. This was Ziggy...

No. Actually, she was with Trent. Adult. Sexy. Trent.

She slid into the tall silver shoes the shopper had also bought. Trent had said she made distinctions that didn’t matter? Maybe thinking of him as a different guy was one of them?

Maybe she should go back to thinking of him as Ziggy—Seth’s friend, not hers—to end all this confusion?

* * *

Sabrina came out of her bedroom, and Trent’s mouth fell open. He’d known she’d look good. He assumed Claudine had bought the blue dress to match with what Sabrina had instructed her to get for him—

But wow. Blue was her color and she was born to wear the sparkly fabric that hugged her curves.

“I look like a hooker, Ziggy.”

“No. You look like a woman who wants to have a fun night out on the town. And don’t call me Ziggy.” His voice softened with the familiarity he was feeling with her. “I like when you call me Trent.”

He smiled at her and she weakly returned his smile. He couldn’t imagine why a shift of names seemed to trouble her, so he turned in a half circle, showing off the Armani suit. “And how do I look?”

“Like a guy who forgot his tie.”

He’d nixed the tie and had opened the top few buttons of his shirt in deference to the heat. But he also wasn’t about to wear a suit dancing. And come hell or high water he was taking her dancing.

“Let’s go.”

She stayed right where she was. “If I’m going out in this, you’re wearing your tie.”

He relented. Not because she intimidated him but because he intended to get her on his side so that when he suggested dancing she’d happily agree. But he also had to acknowledge there was a certain boost a person got when wearing expensive clothes. He might like to fish. He might also be very at home in a small-town bar. But he was equally at home with power brokers.

Whether he liked admitting it, Sabrina was a sort of power broker. Smart and savvy, she could hold her own with the best of them. In a way, it was a coup that he’d gotten her to dress sexy.

Now he just had to come up with interesting dinner conversation that would win her over and put her in the mood to dance because if he was in Barcelona he was going to his favorite club.

But the second they were settled in one of Barcelona’s beautiful restaurants and had ordered, she asked about his work.

“I buy stocks. I sell stocks. I buy bonds. I sell bonds. There’s not much else to it.”

“I know you think there’s not much to what you do, but it’s a skill. A gift.” She looked at him over the salad the waiter sat in front of her. “Have you ever considered creating your own mutual fund?”

The horror of the thought almost made him choke. “Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know. To contribute to society? To help other people?”

“Look, I have everything set up so that I do a reasonable amount of work and still have time for fun.”

“I’m just saying you’re the perfect person to create and manage a mutual fund.”

She went on talking about business through the entire dinner. When dessert arrived, Trent felt four IQ points smarter, but not one iota relaxed.

He came to Barcelona to relax. She was ruining that.

“Do you always talk business?”

“No.”

“Just with me, then?”

“It’s the one thing we have in common.” She shrugged. “My father always talked business at the dinner table with my brothers.” She shrugged again. “It just seemed like the right thing to do.”

Her past came into focus for Trent. “Let me get this straight. You talked business at the dinner table every night?”

“Not every night. My dad had business dinners some nights. When he was away, my mom would joke and play with us. But when my dad was around, we talked business.”

“You think men only want to talk business?”

“Not just men. Women like to talk business, too.”

“All the time?”

“Some of my most productive conversations are over lunch or dinner.”

Knowing what he’d been told by Seth about their childhood and adding in this tidbit, even more of Sabrina’s personality clicked for him. “Oh, honey.”

“What?”

“We are so going dancing tonight.”

He rose from the table, walked over and helped her with her chair. “Dancing?”

“I’ve seen you at charity balls. You love to dance.”

And now that he thought about seeing her dancing, he realized he’d never seen her dancing with Pierre. Hell, he’d never seen Pierre.

“I do love to dance.”

“Remember how much fun you had at the art show in Paris last year? The one where you could be Sally McMillan because your family isn’t as recognizable in Europe as they are in Manhattan?”

* * *

Sabrina’s heart stopped. One of her brothers had told him. “All right, who do I shake silly? Seth or Jake? That alter ego is a secret.”

“Seth mentioned it and accidentally.” He winced. “He was telling me how good your work is and how proud he was of you last year in Paris when you could be Sally because you knew you wouldn’t be recognized.”

Unexpected warmth filled her. It surprised her that her brother bragged about her, but it surprised her even more that Trent remembered something from a year ago. Some years Pierre forgot her birthday. He never remembered her showings, and even if he did remember to come, he wouldn’t be able to recall what had happened an entire year later.

“I do remember how much fun I had that weekend.” There had been an after-party where she’d danced and danced with Avery and Harper.

He smiled. “Then let’s go dance.”

She nodded as his argument sank in. Just as in Paris the year before, no one in Barcelona would know her. Why not have fun the way she had in Paris? There’d be no one to tell her mom if she looked just the tiniest bit unladylike in the shiny blue dress—

Except she didn’t feel unladylike.

She felt—

Actually, she felt young. Carefree—

A woman who was going to have a baby felt carefree?

She couldn’t explain it. But the reminder that she was a soon-to-be-mom about to go dancing didn’t make her unhappy. If anything, new joy filled her.

So, yeah. She was going dancing.

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