The Heiress's Pregnancy Surprise Page 2

  He reached out and touched her upper arm. “Miss Pemberton.”

  She snuffled and burrowed deeper into the sofa.

  “Miss Pemberton,” he said, more firmly. Still nothing, and he gave her arm a little shake. “Charlotte.”

  Her eyes opened and she blinked, confusion clearing as she looked into his face. “I fell asleep.”

  “Yes, you did. I thought you’d be more comfortable in your room. I just don’t know which one that is.”

  “Oh. Right. And you’d probably like to sleep, as well.” She yawned and then sat up, lifting her arms and stretching a bit. The way she moved her body was languorous and sensual, and Jacob sat back on his heels a bit.

  This would be much easier if she were a fifty-something man with a paunch and a bald spot. Oh, he’d be professional, but the attraction he felt was a pain in his ass.

  “Come on, then. I’ll show you your room first.”

  She led him down the hall and gestured to the first room. “This one is yours. I’ve always liked the other one better.”

  Either one suited him fine. The room was more like a suite than a simple bedroom. There was a small sofa and chair and a coffee table, where another bouquet of fresh flowers sat. The bed was king-size and covered with a gold-and-green brocade spread, the green the same deep color as the upholstery on the sofa and chair. He didn’t have to go to the window to know that he had a terrific view of the park. “Wow,” he said quietly. “This is very nice.”

  “What did you think, I was going to make you sleep in the closet?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Your job is VIP security. Surely this isn’t a novelty.”

  “Usually my accommodations are a few steps up from a closet. Not my own suite.”

  She leaned against the doorframe. “Well, it’s either feast or famine. We don’t have anything in the midrange here at Hotel Aurora.”

  He appreciated her sense of humor, especially since she could find humor when she had to be exhausted. “Sorry. Anyway, thank you. I’ll be more than comfortable here.”

  She nodded toward another door. “Your bathroom is in there. There’s a shower and a jetted tub if you’re cramped up from sitting in the plane.” Her gaze ran from his toes up to his eyes. “You’re a bit tall to be jammed into those seats. Even the first-class ones.”

  He was six three. And apparently she had noticed, because as he held her gaze, her cheeks turned a charming shade of pink.

  She pushed away from the doorframe. “Right. I’m next door. I’ll be drawing the curtains and sleeping until about noon. I have a meeting here at three with my assistant, who arrived a few days ago.”

  “She’s not staying here?”

  “She’s staying at the hotel with the rest of the staff.”

  Interesting. “I’ll see you at noon, then.”

  Charlotte disappeared from the doorway and he heard her go inside her room and shut the door. A few minutes later, he heard the muffled sound of the shower running, and tried not to think of her long legs and slight curves under the hot spray. He wasn’t a monk, for God’s sake. He could appreciate a beautiful woman and still keep his head for the job.

  And to prove it, he opened up his bag, plugged in his laptop and retrieved his file on Charlotte’s assistant, Amelie. Once he’d read it over twice, he was satisfied. He stripped off his suit, jumped in the shower and then crawled into the plush bed.

  It was heaven. And if he was in it alone, it was no more than he deserved. It was his last thought before drifting off to sleep.

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHARLOTTE CHOPPED FRESH strawberries and dumped them over a bowl of yogurt. She wasn’t up for a full meal right now; her internal clock was all messed up with the time difference. She had coffee brewing in the French press, and she looked at the blueberry muffins and turned up her nose. American muffins were so...cakey. And also seemed too heavy right now.

  But she was ready to meet with Amelie and go over details. Amelie was her boots on the ground and she was incredibly good at her job. They’d go over the itinerary, any new invitations, interview requests and coverage for Aurora’s show. Then there was the guest list for the party Charlotte was hosting at the Waldorf. There were always last-minute additions.

  It was all terribly exciting. She’d been along for the trip twice, but both times her mother had been in charge and Charlotte had ridden on her coattails. Charlotte was thrilled to have this chance, bodyguard or not. She had always been Aurora Germain’s daughter or William’s twin sister or the youngest daughter. Sometimes she wanted to be herself, and recognized for her own achievements and not anyone else’s.

  Being a part of Aurora Inc.’s empire meant there were limitations to that desire. And she wouldn’t leave the company or the family. But she desperately wanted to put her own stamp on something. Create her own legitimacy.

  It wouldn’t happen overnight, but this trip was a good start.

  Her stomach growled and she turned her attention back to her light meal. Yesterday the housekeeper had stocked the fridge and pantry in anticipation of Charlotte’s arrival. Her favorite Icelandic yogurt and fresh berries were the perfect pick-me-up. She hadn’t seen or heard anything from her bodyguard, which she counted as a blessing. Maybe he was still sleeping. Either way, it felt odd having a stranger in the apartment.

  After the yogurt was gone, she poured her coffee and set up her laptop and a few files on the dining room table. The doorbell rang, and before she could go to the door and open it herself, Jacob strode past the kitchen to the foyer.

  So he was up.

  He stepped back into the kitchen with their guest, Amelie, who sported a raised eyebrow and an amused expression, and Jacob frowning. Again.

  “Did the doorman call up and announce Ms. Beauchamp’s arrival?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “He’s supposed to. It’s part of the security measures.”

  “It’s just Amelie.” She gave a little laugh and held out a cup. “Coffee?”

  “Oui,” Amelie answered. “Do you have to ask?”

  Jacob was still standing and scowling, and Charlotte sighed. “What?”

  “It was Amelie this time. But we do not want strangers having access to this apartment. I’ll have to speak to the door staff to make sure this doesn’t happen again.”

  “Jacob, it’s fine.”

  He bristled. “Let me do my job, okay?”

  “Fine. If you want coffee, fix it yourself. It sounds as though you could use a shot of caffeine.”

  She led Amelie into the dining room, and gestured to the empty chair. “Sorry about that. Apparently he goes everywhere I go.”

  Amelie’s blue eyes darkened with worry. “But why? Is something going on I should know about?”

  Charlotte debated how much to tell her assistant and her staff in general. She didn’t want to scare her, and didn’t want staff gossip, either. As much as she trusted her people, rumors did get out. At the same time, it wasn’t fair to leave her next-in-command in the dark.

  “Do you remember the strange letter I got last fall?”

  “The one that said you were a viper and that your day would come? Of course. It was not only odd, but vicious.”

  “It wasn’t the only one. I haven’t said anything because nothing has escalated, really. No real threats, nothing violent. But Maman would only let me take point on this trip if I agreed to a bodyguard, so there you have it. Jacob Wolfe, who is going to be a thorn in my side until I get back to Paris.”

  Amelie took a sip of her coffee and lowered her voice. “I don’t know, Charlotte. He’s terribly good-looking.”

  She wasn’t wrong, and it wasn’t like Charlotte hadn’t noticed. Even standing in the kitchen with a scowl on his face, he cut an impressive figure. He’d ditched the suit and now wore jeans and a sweater, the first fitting
his long legs and fine butt perfectly and the second managing to make his shoulders look even more forbidding. His hair was rumpled as if he’d run his fingers through it, and his eyes had been icy fire as he’d told her to let him do his job.

  He was an intense man. She kind of liked it, not that she’d admit such a thing. Besides, she had to focus on the job at hand. “Well, looks aren’t everything,” she responded. “Now, let’s look at the schedule. You can bring me up to date with the various preparations, and we can decide what I need for my own appearances. I’m particularly nervous about the interview with Vogue.”

  Amelie opened her case and took out her laptop, and as she set it up, Charlotte heard noises coming from the kitchen. She really should have been more gracious and fixed him a coffee. Or told him to help himself to the food in the fridge. Instead she’d put her nose in the air.

  Charlotte swallowed tightly as she recalled the letter that had accused her of being a “stuck-up bitch.” Was she? Or was she just trying to find her way and sometimes failing?

  “Charlotte?” Amelie’s voice cut into her thoughts. “What do you think about the interview with Vogue tomorrow?”

  “Oh. Right.” Charlotte shook her head and reminded herself to focus on the job at hand. She couldn’t let herself be distracted. “Let’s go over the details again.”

  They spent three hours and drank tons more coffee before they were through it all. Aurora’s show wasn’t until Wednesday, at Spring Studios, and there was already a team in place preparing for that. All Charlotte had to do was be the face of the company, the representative on the ground if anything went wrong, and show up at all the sparkling engagements. It sounded easy, but she felt a lot of pressure to do her mother and the company proud. To look her best. To be effervescent and lovely and smart in the interviews. To be herself and yet be all things Aurora. The balancing act was sometimes tough to execute.

  The interview prep was the biggest thing. She had a document that was fifty pages long of talking points and highlights of each division’s key initiatives. When six o’clock arrived, Amelie looked at her phone and then at Charlotte.

  Charlotte grinned; she recognized that look. “Dinner plans?”

  “At seven thirty.”

  “And you need to change.”

  Amelie smiled back, her eyes twinkling. “Something like that.”

  “Go, we’ve covered lots of ground this afternoon. We’ll pick you up in the morning, so we can be in Tribeca at eight thirty.” Charlotte shuddered. That sounded so early, though with the jet lag she’d probably be up at four in the morning anyway.

  “Perfect. See you then.” Then Amelie leaned over and murmured, “I suppose you’re bringing your Mr. Wolfe with you?”

  Heat rushed into Charlotte’s cheeks. “He’s not my Mr. Wolfe. And yes. This week, he goes where I go.”

  Amelie’s eyes twinkled again and Charlotte laughed. “Go, or you’ll be late.”

  She heard Amelie wish Jacob a good evening, and his lower response. The deepness of his voice set something off in her belly, something unexpected and a bit wicked. Ugh, she hadn’t had time for romance in ages, and most would be surprised how quiet her social life was. Now she was shacked up with Jacob for a week and she’d need to keep it totally professional.

  That didn’t mean she was blind and didn’t have an imagination, though. And not for the first time in her life, she knew her imagination had the potential to get her into trouble.

  * * *

  Jacob saw Amelie to the door and then let out a breath when he closed it behind her. He was alone with Charlotte now, and while he had always been a consummate professional, he’d also never had a client so...lovely. It seemed an innocuous word, but it suited her. He could have said beautiful or stunning, but it wasn’t just her looks. Even when she was a little on the annoyed side of things, there was a gentleness to her that he liked. Not to be mistaken for weakness, though. He was good at reading people, and he knew instinctively that Charlotte might have an innate sweetness, but she knew her mind and knew how to get things done. He was sure she could tell off any of his men and they’d all say, “Aw, thanks, love.”

  He smiled a little at that. She was lovely, and not to be underestimated. He’d caught bits and pieces of her conversation with Amelie and very quickly understood that this week wasn’t about being a social butterfly, but representing a multinational company during one of the biggest weeks of the year.

  So what if fashion wasn’t his thing? Clearly it was big business, and he respected that.

  She was still in the dining room, clicking away on her laptop, so he figured he might as well start some dinner. The fridge was well stocked, and he was surprised to find some of his favorites among the offerings. Aurora had been very thorough, hadn’t they? He took out some chicken and vegetables and started making a simple stir-fry.

  He popped his head into the dining room and asked, “You’re not vegetarian, are you?”

  She looked up, through her glasses that made her seem damned sexy. “What? Oh, no, I’m not. I don’t eat much red meat, but truthfully I’ll eat almost anything.”

  “Music to my ears. Dinner in twenty minutes.”

  “Jacob, you don’t have to cook—”

  “I don’t mind. Not much else to do when we’re here. Besides, I’m hungry.” He flashed her a smile and then dipped back into the kitchen.

  Cooking was something he knew how to do and he enjoyed. His mother had died when he was twelve, leaving him with his dad, a Met police officer. The two of them had learned to cook together, first simple stuff, and then more involved. He could make a wicked cottage pie, and a more than passable butter chicken. For years he’d eaten in mess halls and MREs in the field, but at home he liked indulging in cooking for himself.

  A stir-fry? He could do that with his eyes closed.

  The scents of garlic and ginger wafted up as he went to work chopping peppers and mushrooms. He found broccoli in the crisper and a bag of bean sprouts. As the chicken sizzled, he searched the pantry for what he needed to make a simple sauce, and then a bag of rice and a steamer. Perfect. It was all on the go when Charlotte finally stepped inside the room.

  “That smells amazing.”

  He looked up and smiled. “I can cook. Surprised?”

  “To be honest? Yes.”

  “I was brought up by a single dad. We either had to learn to cook, starve, or eat ramen for the rest of our lives. We picked cooking.”

  She moved farther into the room while he stirred the mixture in the stir-fry pan. “A single dad, huh?”

  “And a police officer. Lots of shift work.” He remembered back to the early days when they’d been alone, trying to manage the simplest things while dealing with their grief and loneliness, as a husband and as a child. “My mum died when I was twelve. My dad said we were going to be a team and that we had to rely on each other. And so we did.” He shrugged and reached for the sauce he’d mixed together. “It set me up well for the SAS. If you don’t operate as a team, you’re screwed.”

  Charlotte picked up a stray piece of red pepper and nibbled on it. “And you left the military because...”

  It wasn’t an easy question to answer. He’d left at age thirty-three, still young. The wound to his leg had set him back, but he could have resumed. After that last mission, he’d lost the taste for it. He’d lost his faith—in himself, in a lot of things. His heart had told him to walk away. His dad had told him to find a way to use his skills so he could pay his rent. Now he more than paid his rent. He ran an agency with over fifty operatives worldwide and an exclusive clientele, and he was expanding every day.

  He’d hesitated too long and Charlotte looked away. “Forget I asked. It’s none of my business.”

  “The most important thing for you to know,” he said, stirring the vegetables again, “is that I’m very good at what I do.”

 
“Including cooking.” She looked up again and caught his eye, and her lips quirked a little, hinting at teasing.

  “Including cooking.” He tried a smile back, but when they smiled at each other something happened. It wasn’t just polite. It felt as though it fed this strange connection between them. And being friends with a client wasn’t a good idea, either.

  He poured the sauce over the stir-fry and checked the steamer. “This is almost done, if you want to grab a few bowls.”

  “All right.”

  She got out dishes and cutlery and glasses and put them on a counter with barstools on the other side, rather than in the formal dining room. He was glad about that. As he spooned rice into two bowls, Charlotte filled glasses with iced water from the fridge dispenser. He was surprised. No wine? No cocktails? Maybe he was misreading Charlotte. Maybe she was not as high maintenance as he’d originally thought.

  They sat together and Charlotte was the first to dig in.

  “This is delicious.” She fanned her mouth. “And hot.” The words were slightly muffled.

  He laughed, then made a show of scooping up some food and blowing on it before putting it in his mouth.

  Charlotte reached for her water and took a substantial sip. “So, about tomorrow. I told Amelie we’d pick her up at her hotel. I’m thinking right around eight, shortly after. The shows start at nine and even with weekend traffic being lighter, that doesn’t give us much of a buffer.”

  “I’ll contact our driver and make sure everything’s arranged.”

  “I have an interview with Vogue at one thirty. We’ll be doing lunch.”

  “I saw that in your schedule.” He ate more of the stir-fry and his stomach gurgled in approval. He hadn’t eaten all day. This was definitely hitting the spot.

  Charlotte went quiet for a few minutes and he finally looked over at her. She was picking at her food, a slight frown marring her smooth face. “What’s wrong? Did I put something in you don’t like?”