Falling For The Pregnant Heiress. Susan Meier
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She took the bags and boxes to the spare room and began sorting through to see what was inside. Two pair of jeans and a pair of shorts—Barcelona was a tad warm—undergarments, and the smallest dress in recorded history.
Her memories forgotten, she marched back to the kitchen, waving the little blue dress. “I can’t wear this.”
“Have you tried it on?”
She sighed.
He opened the suit box. “Don’t forget I’m stuck with this.”
“It’s a suit. You’ve worn them before.”
“And you’ve worn dresses before.” He shook his head. “Come on. Let’s just have some fun tonight.”
The seriousness in his brown eyes reminded her that his childhood might not have been filled with fear, but it had been filled with loneliness. So he wanted to have some fun? Couldn’t she, for once, forget her mom’s voice in her head and do something silly to make someone else happy? Someone whose childhood might have been sadder than hers?
Not wanting him to realize she was capitulating because she felt an unexpected connection to him, she gruffly said, “All right. But I’m tossing this sparkly little thing when we return tonight.”
He shrugged. “Fine by me.”
She huffed back to the bedroom where she showered, fixed her hair, applied makeup. When she couldn’t put it off any longer, she shimmied into the blue dress and stared at herself in the mirror.
It wasn’t god-awful.
Okay. Seriously. She went to the gym three times a week so though she wasn’t waiflike, she had a nice figure. And the dress—damn his hide—looked good. She wouldn’t want to be wearing it walking around with her mother, but she was with a friend.
A male friend who wanted to see her in a tight dress.
She shook her head. This was Ziggy...
No. Actually, she was with Trent. Adult. Sexy. Trent.
She slid into the tall silver shoes the shopper had also bought. Trent had said she made distinctions that didn’t matter? Maybe thinking of him as a different guy was one of them?
Maybe she should go back to thinking of him as Ziggy—Seth’s friend, not hers—to end all this confusion?
* * *
Sabrina came out of her bedroom, and Trent’s mouth fell open. He’d known she’d look good. He assumed Claudine had bought the blue dress to match with what Sabrina had instructed her to get for him—
But wow. Blue was her color and she was born to wear the sparkly fabric that hugged her curves.
“I look like a hooker, Ziggy.”
“No. You look like a woman who wants to have a fun night out on the town. And don’t call me Ziggy.” His voice softened with the familiarity he was feeling with her. “I like when you call me Trent.”
He smiled at her and she weakly returned his smile. He couldn’t imagine why a shift of names seemed to trouble her, so he turned in a half circle, showing off the Armani suit. “And how do I look?”
“Like a guy who forgot his tie.”
He’d nixed the tie and had opened the top few buttons of his shirt in deference to the heat. But he also wasn’t about to wear a suit dancing. And come hell or high water he was taking her dancing.
“Let’s go.”
She stayed right where she was. “If I’m going out in this, you’re wearing your tie.”
He relented. Not because she intimidated him but because he intended to get her on his side so that when he suggested dancing she’d happily agree. But he also had to acknowledge there was a certain boost a person got when wearing expensive clothes. He might like to fish. He might also be very at home in a small-town bar. But he was equally at home with power brokers.
Whether he liked admitting it, Sabrina was a sort of power broker. Smart and savvy, she could hold her own with the best of them. In a way, it was a coup that he’d gotten her to dress sexy.
Now he just had to come up with interesting dinner conversation that would win her over and put her in the mood to dance because if he was in Barcelona he was going to his favorite club.
But the second they were settled in one of Barcelona’s beautiful restaurants and had ordered, she asked about his work.
“I buy stocks. I sell stocks. I buy bonds. I sell bonds. There’s not much else to it.”
“I know you think there’s not much to what you do, but it’s a skill. A gift.” She looked at him over the salad the waiter sat in front of her. “Have you ever considered creating your own mutual fund?”
The horror of the thought almost made him choke. “Why would I do that?”
“I don’t know. To contribute to society? To help other people?”
“Look, I have everything set up so that I do a reasonable amount of work and still have time for fun.”
“I’m just saying you’re the perfect person to create and manage a mutual fund.”
She went on talking about business through the entire dinner. When dessert arrived, Trent felt four IQ points smarter, but not one iota relaxed.
He came to Barcelona to relax. She was ruining that.
“Do you always talk business?”
“No.”
“Just with me, then?”
“It’s the one thing we have in common.” She shrugged. “My father always talked business at the dinner table with my brothers.” She shrugged again. “It just seemed like the right thing to do.”
Her past came into focus for Trent. “Let me get this straight. You talked business at the dinner table every night?”
“Not every night. My dad had business dinners some nights. When he was away, my mom would joke and play with us. But when my dad was around, we talked business.”
“You think men only want to talk business?”
“Not just men. Women like to talk business, too.”
“All the time?”
“Some of my most productive conversations are over lunch or dinner.”
Knowing what he’d been told by Seth about their childhood and adding in this tidbit, even more of Sabrina’s personality clicked for him. “Oh, honey.”
“What?”
“We are so going dancing tonight.”
He rose from the table, walked over and helped her with her chair. “Dancing?”
“I’ve seen you at charity balls. You love to dance.”
And now that he thought about seeing her dancing, he realized he’d never seen her dancing with Pierre. Hell, he’d never seen Pierre.
“I do love to dance.”
“Remember how much fun you had at the art show in Paris last year? The one where you could be Sally McMillan because your family isn’t as recognizable in Europe as they are in Manhattan?”
* * *
Sabrina’s heart stopped. One of her brothers had told him. “All right, who do I shake silly? Seth or Jake? That alter ego is a secret.”
“Seth mentioned it and accidentally.” He winced. “He was telling me how good your work is and how proud he was of you last year in Paris when you could be Sally because you knew you wouldn’t be recognized.”
Unexpected warmth filled her. It surprised her that