The Ruthless Caleb Wilde

She narrowed her eyes. “Will I,” she said flatly.

“And this apartment. You can’t stay here.”

“Were you listening to me at all? I already said—”

“What about your diet? Are you eating the right things?”

“Gruel and alfalfa sprouts,” she said pleasantly. “How about you?”

“We’re not talking about me, we’re talking about …”

She knew the instant he got it. His face, all those gorgeous hard planes and angles, turned crimson.

“Very amusing,” he snapped.

“Look,” she said, relenting just a little, “I appreciate your concern but I’ve done just fine on my own so far, and—”

“When are you moving?”

“Soon.”

“Where?”

“I told you. Queens. Long Island, New—”

“New Jersey. Yes, so you said.”

“If your point is that I haven’t completed my plans yet—”

“You don’t have ‘plans,’ you have ideas. There’s a big difference.”

“Okay. There’s a difference. But—”

“I want plans, not ideas, for the baby.”

“My baby.”

“Our baby.” He watched her as the words sank in—and realized they weren’t only sinking in for her, they were sinking in for him, too.

Her baby.

His baby.

Their baby.

She was carrying his child, and she’d be here and he’d be there, in Texas, a million miles away….

So what?

Distance was nothing, not in today’s world. Cell phones. Skype. Instant messaging. And, of course, the Wilde jets, always at his command.

Caleb folded his arms. “Here’s what I’ve decided.”

“What you’ve decided?”

“Let me finish.”

“Let me save you the trouble. I don’t want your money.”