* * *
I was a nursing student, not a clueless teenager, for crying out loud! About to graduate with my degree, and I had still let myself get pregnant?
And how would Grant react when I told him?
I already found my hands caressing my belly. Me, a mom. The image made me smile a little. I’d always thought about having kids someday. I’d just thought they’d be with Avon.
My stomach twisted. No. I wasn’t going down that route. Avon had made his choices, and so had I.
I found Grant’s business card in my coat pocket and dialed his cell phone. After five rings, a prerecorded message played. Just the sound of Grant’s sexy baritone sent shivers all through me. “You’ve reached Grant Beal’s personal line. I’m afraid I’m away having too much fun right now, but please do leave a message, and I’ll get back to you when I can. Ciao!”
I hung up. What was I going to say, anyway?
Maybe it was better if I didn’t tell him. I’d take care of this myself. Somehow.
A thought crashed over me. And if I didn’t have money to take care of myself right now, how on God’s green earth was I going to be able to afford a baby?
No, I had to call Grant. I had to tell him.
I dialed his number again, and when it went to voice mail, I left a message. Even though I felt like throwing up—maybe that was just the morning sickness starting, but I knew it wasn’t as simple as that—I schooled my voice into being cool. “Mr. Beal—Grant—this is Zenobia Jones. I need to talk to you as soon as possible. It’s—uh—it’s a matter of prime importance. An urgent matter.” I added my phone number and then clicked off.
I let my head drop into my hands. Oh, God, what was I going to do?
But part of me insisted it was excited—really, really excited—to have an excuse to see Grant again, even if it was this particular excuse.
Maybe it was just pregnancy sensitivity, but I could feel the ghost of his hands all over me again, and I sighed. The patch between my thighs grew hot and wet. I could picture the way he had looked, all muscular and solid in that golden skin of his, his big, manly hands making my body do what he wanted, the way his blue-green eyes had drunk in every bit of my brown body like he was a parched man in a fiery desert and I was his oasis.
Ohhh.
I couldn’t lie! That night with Grant was the one highlight in a string of dark, hopeless months. He’d made me feel desired. Not just desired, but enjoyed. Savored, like a dessert. It had finally broken the spell of rejection I’d felt after finding Avon with the neighbor. More than that, he’d made me forget.
If nothing else, we had made this baby together. Grant needed to know.
And I needed to see him.