Indestructible - Cassie Miles

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slid down her back and finished with a light swat on her bottom.

      “I brought you a present,” he said. “Direct from Switzerland.”

      “You didn’t have to.”

      “I didn’t have wrapping paper.” He reached into his back pocket and held up a wristwatch. “There was a bit of an accident. It got wet but seems to be working okay.”

      She held the watch in her hand. A plain beige leather band and a silvery face with the red Swiss cross as a logo. “It’s beautiful. And practical.”

      “Like you.”

      “I think I’ll take that as a compliment.”

      “It was this or a Swiss Army knife. I liked the watch better.”

      She peeled off her old watch, replaced it with his gift and held up her wrist. “I’ll never be tardy again.”

      He sniffed the air. “Do I smell pot roast?”

      “And potatoes and buttery rutabaga. We can start with a salad.”

      “I’d rather start with the meat.”

      Not surprising. Drew was definitely a carnivore. He trailed her into the kitchen, opened the drawer beside the sink and found the corkscrew. It pleased her that he knew his way around her apartment.

      “Tell me about Switzerland,” she said.

      “I was covering competitions in extreme skiing. Off-piste is what they call it. These skiers go way out of bounds on glacier ridges with sheer vertical drops. I gave it a try on a snowboard and almost got caught in an avalanche.”

      “Geez Louise, Drew.” She gaped. “Why would you take that kind of risk? Why would anybody?”

      “For the rush.” He pulled the cork out of the wine. “And the views are pretty damn spectacular. Nothing but snow and sky and mountains. In Zermatt, I could see the Matterhorn.”

      “I’d be just as happy to look at a postcard,” she said as she served up the salad.

      “That’s because you haven’t tried the real thing. There’s a thrill that comes from challenging yourself, pushing the limits.”

      While she set the salad plates on the table, he went back into the kitchen. She watched as he reached up to the top shelf in her cabinet for the wineglasses. His broad shoulders tapered to a lean torso and a tight butt. Talk about a spectacular view!

      “The way you live,” she said, “it’s like you’re on a continuous roller coaster. I’m more of a carousel person.”

      He poured two glasses and handed one to her. His head cocked to one side as he studied her. “There’s something different about you. New hairstyle?”

      She shrugged. “Nope.”

      “Your glasses,” he said. “You aren’t wearing your glasses.”

      She reached up to adjust the frames that weren’t there. “I guess I’m not. That’s odd. My vision seems okay without them.”

      “I like it.” He clinked his wineglass against hers. “Let’s drink to your eyes.”

      As soon as the glass touched her lips, she remembered. She shouldn’t be drinking. She lowered the glass.

      “What’s wrong?” he asked.

      She could have made up an excuse, but she’d never been good at lying. Her lips pinched together. She didn’t want to tell him. Not yet. “Golly, I just don’t—”

      “Come on, Melinda. Take a sip. Are you afraid that you’ll get drunk and lose control?”

      “Don’t tease.” She wasn’t in the mood for banter.

      “I promise not to ravish you until after dinner. Have some duty-free wine.”

      “I can’t,” she blurted. “I’m pregnant.”

      The look on his face was one of sheer panic.

      Drew drained his wineglass in one gulp. He made his living with words, describing athletic feats with precision and flair, but he couldn’t think of a damned thing to say.

      His plan for tonight had been to see Melinda one last time before he faced the impending threat to his life. He had no choice but to leave her. If he stayed, she’d be in danger.

      He hadn’t wanted their goodbye to be final. Someday, she could be part of his life. But not now. Not while she was carrying his child.

      “Are you …” His voice strangled in his throat. “Are you …sure?”

      “I’ve taken five pregnancy tests. The result is always positive.”

      “But you haven’t been to the doctor.”

      “I’m sure,” she said angrily. “My periods are as regular as this Swiss watch you gave me. When you left on your assignment, I was a week late. Ten more days after that, I faced facts, peed on a stick and voila!”

      Dumbfounded, he couldn’t help but stare at her stomach. “How did this happen?”

      “Good question. I’m on the pill, and it’s supposed to be ninety-nine percent effective.”

      For a moment, he considered that his seed was as invulnerable as the rest of him. But that couldn’t be. He’d been to bed with plenty of women who hadn’t turned up pregnant. It had only happened once before. “But I used condoms.”

      “Except for that one time,” she said. “There’s no point in second-guessing what we should have done or who was at fault. Spilt milk, you know. No use in crying over it. And it’s pretty clear how you feel about this.”

      “Give me a minute. I’m not sure how I feel.”

      “I’d like for you to leave.”

      He gazed down at her delicate face. The beautiful eyes he’d toasted only a moment ago flared with righteous anger. He couldn’t blame her; he wasn’t handling this well. “I’m not going to abandon you. Whatever you decide is—”

      “Spare me the phony nobility, okay? I’m going to have the baby, and I have no intention of roping you into support payments or anything else.”

      He started to object, to tell her that he wasn’t the kind of man who cut and run. But that was exactly his plan: to leave her until there was no possibility of danger, which might take a long time. Hell, it might never happen. “Let me explain.”

      “No explanation necessary. I told you about my pregnancy because it was the right thing to do. You deserve to know. That’s the end of it.” She went to the door and held it open. “Please go.”

      Hostility crackled around her in a ring of fire. Still, he reached toward her, hoping to connect. “I’m glad you told me.”

      “Don’t touch me.” She had never looked so beautiful, so powerful. “At least show me the respect of doing as I ask.”

      As soon as he stepped into the hallway, the door slammed with absolute finality. Slowly, he trudged up the wooden staircase to his third-floor apartment, fitted the key in the lock and went inside. The halogen lamp on his desk shone down on his battered laptop, which probably wasn’t going to survive immersion in the Mediterranean—the dunking that had taken place when he was being chased by dangerous men who wanted to do him harm. How the hell could he explain that to Melinda? How could he tell her that he was a superhealing machine, and a dark, faceless enemy was after him? He never shared his secrets. If anyone else knew, they might also be targeted. No way could he drag Melinda into the maelstrom of his life.

      Stretched out on the leather sofa, he

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