Bound By Their Nine-Month Scandal (The Montero Baby Scandals 3)

She, however, had hardly proved herself to be a thrill a minute, droning on with her dissertation and having to be told to “talk like a human.” She had shown herself to be as boring as every man had ever judged her to be, so it was hardly a shock that he wasn’t interested in anything but the baby and perhaps another quickie if she was going to be easy about it.

She felt stupid for imagining he had been searching for her and might have welcomed the arrival of her card. It wasn’t like her to be naive and romantic. Life was a lot less hurtful when she kept her expectations low, calculated odds and formulated logical steps to achieve her goals. Investing hope and yearning for emotional regard only courted crushing disappointment. She knew that.

Which was what she was experiencing right now, her heart sitting under a thorny weight as she revisited his marriage proposal based solely on the fact she was pregnant with his child.

She had never expected to marry for love, but she did expect to be a full partner with her husband. She brought wealth, reputation, intelligence and practicality to a relationship. She was well-groomed, articulate, and spoke several languages. She might not enjoy being the center of attention, but she could lead a team, run a household and organize the hell out of just about anything. She was a decent sketch artist and played guitar on beaches if someone else wanted to sing.

Sensible, gallant Sebastián would appreciate all of that and bring his own quiet strengths and runt puppies to the relationship.

While unpredictable, Angelo was all threats and demands and brain-erasing passion.

She hadn’t expected that. Not the kiss or the conflagration that had engulfed her the night of the ball.

Having given in to that once was causing a huge detour in her carefully mapped life. She couldn’t let him shake her off her footing any more than he already had.

Yet here she was, in the passenger seat of her own car, arriving where he had driven her. He handed her keys to a valet outside a newly built beachfront hotel with old-world wedding cake architecture.

She scraped herself together and asked facetiously, “This is your home?”

“I bought the chain last year and keep a suite in each of them.”

The one time she resorted to sarcasm and all she got out of it was his gotcha smirk for her trouble.

“I thought your focus was electronics,” she said in a not so subtle, I know things, too way.

“I’ve reached a level of success that forces me to diversify.”

Find places to park his money, he meant. She tried not to be impressed. She came from money, but his story was the sort of rags-to-riches tale she couldn’t help admire.

“We’re going for dinner, aren’t we?” she asked as he steered her from the entrance to the restaurant and toward the elevators.

“You led me to believe you didn’t want us to be spotted together.”

Moments later, he let her into a tower penthouse decorated in muted tones of gray and ivory. There was a full galley kitchen, a master and a smaller bedroom, a dining area, a workspace and a lounge. Two-story windows overlooked a beach populated with pale, English travelers seeking winter sun.

Pia stood at the windows and linked her fingers casually when she actually wanted to clutch her elbows and hug herself. She didn’t enjoy confrontation, but she knew how to frame a dispute and debate it calmly and constructively.

“Marriage isn’t possible, Angelo. Let’s take that off the table and discuss how to make shared custody work.” She hadn’t even begun to imagine that possibility.

“It won’t. We’re marrying.”

Apparently he was less versed in “discussing.” She bit back a sigh.

“If you think threatening a scandal will coerce me, you’re wrong. I’d prefer to avoid one, but we are an extremely formidable family.” She knew her parents would support her in every outward way. She would just have to suffer the rest of her life with the unrelenting knowledge that they’d had to. “You’ll fare better working with us, rather than against us, trust me.”

“First of all, I don’t. Trust you, I mean.” He came to stand next to her, hands pushed loosely into his trouser pockets, shoulders relaxed.

She had a feeling he genuinely was at ease while she was only pretending to be.

“Secondly, if you think threats of ruin will scare me, you’re wrong. Not because I think I’m impervious, but because I’m not afraid to lose everything I own to get something if I want it badly enough.” He turned his head. He was both laughing at her and deadly serious. “Can you and your formidable family say the same?”

Her stomach lurched. “There are no winners in war.”

“Then don’t start one.”

She looked back toward the horizon, mind racing while her body tingled with awareness of his. “I didn’t think one moment would risk my freedom,” she said, voice steady even though she was caught somewhere between disbelief and despair.

“Marrying a man your mother chooses for you is freedom?”