Pregnant by the Playboy Tycoon. Anne Oliver
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for some inexplicable reason Steve Anderson called to her on some primal level. Inexplicable because why she’d be attracted to someone who changed women as often as he changed underwear, she didn’t have a clue.
So she had no intention of letting him accompany her halfway across the country. She was leaving Tuesday. Tomorrow. Staying one day ahead. ‘Sorry, Cindy,’ she murmured. ‘I don’t care how trustworthy you think your brother is, or how concerned you are for me.’
Discovering the real Anneliese, taking charge of her life was something she needed to do alone. Avoiding hot-looking men that unbalanced her equilibrium while she searched was another.
Only a few stars pricked a sky heavy with clouds as Anneliese loaded the last bag into her car early Tuesday morning and closed the rear door on the hatchback.
‘Bunnykins.’
She turned at the familiar name, her heart aching at the sight of her father in his striped pyjamas framed by the light spilling from the hallway onto the veranda. His greying hair stood up in spikes, his breath fogged the crisp pre-dawn air.
‘Daddy, it’s freezing and you haven’t got your dressing gown on. Go back inside. I told you last night I wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye. Go on, Dad,’ she said gently. ‘I’ll be there in a minute.’ As she watched him shuffle back inside guilt flooded her and she considered forgetting the whole thing. Until five weeks ago her life had been on track, her world safe and secure. She could never have imagined leaving the sanctuary of her parents’ love and the only home she’d ever known to travel seventeen hundred kilometres to a remote place she’d never seen.
But that safe, secure world had crashed.
Her whole life had been a lie.
Her parents, the two people she’d trusted, who’d taught her that truth was gold, had lied to her. Betrayed her. Lying by omission was still a lie. She owed it to herself to uncover it all before she talked to her father.
She found him in the kitchen emptying the teapot to make a cup of tea. ‘Let me do that.’ Taking the pot from his hands, she opened the tea caddy and dumped in two scoops of leaves. ‘Remember, I’ve cooked up a dozen meals. They’re labelled and in the freezer for you. I’ve done all the ironing and stocked the pantry.’
‘Your mother would be so…’ He trailed off, spreading his hands.
‘Don’t, Daddy.’ Tears pricked at her eyes, hot points of pain. Snuggling against his chest, she curled into his warmth and familiarity one last time. She’d have done anything to spare him pain, but she was hurting, too. Hurting because she couldn’t yet tell him the truth about why she had to leave. Aching because that made her as guilty as he. But she had to do what she had to do, and it had to be now.
‘When I come back, we’ll talk.’ She straightened. ‘I have to go now to beat the traffic. I’ll be careful, Daddy. I’ll be okay.’
‘I know you will, Annie.’
He sounded more convinced than she was herself, and she breathed a sigh of partial relief in his confidence and kissed his cheek. I love you hovered on her tongue, but somehow she couldn’t bring herself to say the words that had always come so easily.
He squeezed her arms, stepped back.
She picked up her handbag, then walked through the house, not allowing herself even a glimpse of the antique furniture and the porcelain art pieces in the formal lounge, the crystal chandelier gracing the entrance hall. Not even her mother’s straw gardening hat on the stand by the front door. Especially not her hat—one of the few items Anneliese hadn’t been able to remove when clearing out her mother’s things.
She climbed into her car, took a breath as she set the vehicle into motion, pressing the remote to open the gate as she followed the curved lawn-edged drive.
Could she really do this? All those kilometres. All by herself. She’d never had to be independent. But she’d wanted to be—needed to be—and she was starting right now. Her heart sat like a lead ball in her chest, but she tightened her grip on the steering wheel and focused on the view ahead.
That was when she saw the figure of a man in the middle of the driveway as the gates swung open. Her headlights caught the glint of dark hair, the outline of long muscled denim-clad legs, brown eyes…and that familiar black vest. He smiled and his teeth gleamed in the light’s beam as he bent down and swung a backpack over one shoulder.
Oh, no. Her breath catching, she hit the brakes. He set his hands on the bonnet of her car. Strong and tanned and big, and she had the weirdest sensation that Steve Anderson wasn’t putting those hands on the curves of her car so much as laying claim to her body.
CHAPTER TWO
STEVE had the passenger door open and was tossing his bag in the back before Anneliese could lower her window to tell him to get out of her way. Scooping her jacket and handbag off the seat before she could think about where the accelerator was, or remember to lock the passenger door.
‘Good morning, Anneliese.’ Grinning at her, he checked his watch. ‘Right on time. Two minutes past six. I like a woman who’s punctual.’
‘It’s Tuesday.’
He smelled of the wind, damp and male and she knew his jaw would feel cold and bristly against her palm if she slapped it right now as she wanted to. Or if she curled her fingers around it and simply felt.
When he didn’t reply, she gritted her teeth. ‘We were leaving on Wednesday.’
‘But you changed the schedule, I see.’ With that grin still in place, he hauled the seat belt over his shoulder. ‘Well, then, let’s get going—we want to beat the rush hour. Or are you waiting for me to drive?’
‘Oh, no. You are not getting your hands on this baby.’ She blew out a breath, super aware of the silence and his gaze on her, as if he were asking whether she was referring to her car or her person. Both, she thought, pressing the remote to close the gates behind her.
He didn’t speak again, which gave her time to get her brain into gear. And perhaps it was better this way. She wasn’t alone any more. Already her anxiety had slipped a notch. If he kept to his side of the car and didn’t talk to her in that sexy deep voice, she could handle it. If nothing else, Steve Anderson’s presence alone would divert her focus away from all she was leaving behind.
She told herself she was calm, calm, calm. But she accelerated, turning into the road with a screech of tyres on bitumen, and felt the sudden movement as he gripped his seat belt. ‘And no handy hints on how to drive.’
A few moments of silence prevailed. ‘Just an observation…’ he ventured. ‘We should’ve turned right at the last intersection if you want to get onto the interstate before lunch.’
And she realised the waver in his voice was more of a vibration. Of amusement. ‘Habit,’ she muttered, checking her rear-vision mirror and furious with herself for allowing him to make her forget. She turned off, then doubled back.
‘I imagine it is,’ he drawled. ‘All those exclusive Toorak Road boutiques just down the way.’ She felt his gaze slide over her lemon silk blouse and grey light wool trousers. There was probably a sneer somewhere in there, but it was hard to tell because she was so engrossed with the sound of his deep voice rumbling in his chest.
‘The way to my father’s consulting rooms,’ she corrected icily. ‘Where I work.’ And desperately switched the conversation to him. ‘I imagine this trip is seriously impinging on your social life.’
‘Not at all,’ he said comfortably.
Was he between relationships, then? Did he even do relationships, or were they all one-night stands? She felt her face heat and changed topics fast. ‘So you camped outside my house all night?’
‘Heck, no. But I had this gut feeling you might change your mind about the day and forget to call me. Weird,