The Pregnancy Test (NY Girlfriends #1)(12)
Author: Erin McCarthy

Mandy didn’t even try to stifle the snort that flew out of her mouth. "No, don’t have either one of those."

And she was grateful for it. If Ben had stuck around and given his half-hearted support to their relationship and their child, it would have been nothing but a burden. The clean break was better, and this baby was hers and hers alone.

"Good." Then he frowned. "I mean, that it wasn’t a problem for you to travel."

She smiled and adjusted her blanket, so the whole front of her was covered. "Not a problem at all."

"I didn’t think about what it would look like, though. There are rumors running around the office now, and I’m sorry."

"Rumors?" She touched the swelling bubble of her stomach, panic rising up into her throat. "What kind of rumors?"

"Some people seem to think I invited you because we’re having an affair."

Damien hadn’t meant to bring that up. Ever.

Especially since it didn’t look like that thought had occurred to Mandy. At least he figured that’s why she was curling her lip back in horror.

"Who thinks that?"

"A friend of mine just mentioned it." And Damien shouldn’t have. "It’s no big deal," he said, trying to backpedal and reassure her.

Mandy was an enigma to him, a blend of prissy efficiency, sly humor, and intense vulnerability.

Damien was glad she had draped that blanket over her like a tarp, covering every inch of her from neck to ankle. He was ashamed to admit that when she had been shivering with cold, he had been painfully aware of the effect on her chest. He’d gawked at her nipples like a teenage boy with a Victoria’s Secret catalog.

It was disturbing, an uncomfortable awareness growing in his body again. Something he’d really and truly thought was dead was rising back to life, no pun intended.

He was horny.

For Mandy.

She licked her lips nervously. "That’s a little awkward."

"I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable in the office." No, he hadn’t meant for that to happen. He had just wanted to corner Mandy, trap her into his presence, force her to look him in the eye.

Why, he wasn’t sure.

But she was here with him now, and he was sexually attracted to her, and intellectually attracted to her, and he now wanted to pursue both and yet knew he wouldn’t, couldn’t, because of his past. And he was acutely aware that she was his assistant and this was supposed to be a business trip.

The only person he’d backed into a corner had been himself.

Mandy had soft brown eyes, expressive and poignant, compassion sprinkled in them like the amber flecks around her pupils. "That’s okay." She smiled, a sweet, secret, slightly wicked smile that did all kinds of riotous things to his gut. "Besides, they could be thinking worse things about me. I’d rather people envy me than feel sorry for me."

"What makes you think they would envy you an affair with Demon Sharpton?" He’d overheard that moniker one afternoon when he’d stepped into the break room for a cup of coffee. It had mildly irritated him then, but now he didn’t care what anyone else called him – he just wanted to know what Mandy thought of him.

She laughed a soft, rich, tinkling sound. Her head tilted toward him, the blanket slipping down to the swell of her breasts. "Oh, come on, Damien, you have to know that they call you Demon Sharpton because you’re tough, yes, but also because you don’t pay attention to any of the women. It frustrates them."

He liked the way she said his name, her accent giving it a sophistication it had never had before. "Actually I think they call me Demon because asshole doesn’t rhyme with Damien."

A startled laugh flew out of her mouth, her lips splitting in a wide, genuine grin. "I don’t think that’s it at all." Then she studied him, curious, fingers gripping the fuzzy blue edge of the polyester blanket. "Why do you let them think that about you? I don’t think you really deserve either appellation."

How could he tell this woman, with her honest and direct eyes, that it was easier to let people think he was an asshole? That it kept people away from him, who would infringe on his time, his friendship, his emotions, drawing him back into entanglements that he no longer had the strength to deal with. There was no way to describe how he’d crawled back out of a raw agony, and the only means to keep the crushing fear at bay, to protect his sanity, was to prevent anyone from getting close to him.

When Jessica had been murdered, he had retreated into a carefully constructed house of cards. If he let people start flicking their fingers at the shaky walls, it was possible it would all fall around him.

So he shrugged. "I don’t care what people think."

Two months ago he would have said that and meant it.

But now it felt like he was skirting the edge of truth. He definitely cared what the woman next to him thought.

"Well, bully for you," Mandy said softly with a smile, resting her head on the back of the seat. "If we should all be so mature."

He shifted, turned more fully toward her, disturbing her blanket in the process. Damien twitched it back into place, careful not to touch Mandy’s bare arm. "Maybe it’s not maturity. Maybe it’s arrogance. I’m just a jerk, like everyone says."

If she believed it, she would retreat, leave him alone, stay outside the bitter bubble he lived in. Because if Mandy started to look at him with softness in her eyes, he wasn’t sure he was going to be able to resist.

And he had nothing of value inside his soul to offer a woman like her.

But she already was gracing him with a lazy smile and a sweet understanding shining in her eyes. "I don’t believe that, Damien Sharpton. I think there’s much more to you than meets the eye."

Then hers drifted closed, and in a minute, her breath evened out as she dozed.

His attraction, that interest in her, grew exponentially.

Damien bent over and got out his laptop, careful not to disturb her. Determined to work and push her out of his mind, he reread a report he was working on, proofreading it for errors.

But every few minutes, his gaze scuttled over to Mandy, sleeping peacefully, her pink lips parted on a sigh, her bangs tumbling down over her eyebrows.

Damn it. Damien slammed the lid closed on his computer. It was impossible to type when the thing was rocking back and forth, destabilized by his massive erection.

He let down his tray table and set the laptop on it, but he didn’t accomplish a whole lot.