“Apparently. Your mom said she was like that with you, so I guess it makes sense.”
She saw the color drain from his face.
“Calm down, Paris. Your mom knows that I’m pregnant, but I didn’t tell her it was yours. I didn’t even know it was yours. All she said was that her youngest made her ill. You’re the youngest, so I connected the dots.”
“We should tell her.”
“If you want.” Corinne raised her shoulders up, in a halfhearted shrug. “But if we tell her, won’t she be mad? I’m just getting settled here. I don’t want her to think I’m a gold digger or anything.”
“Stop, Corinne.” Paris closed the distance between them. His hands hovered over her stomach, and his eyes searched hers, looking for permission. She gave him a small nod, and he placed his hands on her stomach. “She would never think that of anyone, least of all you. But maybe you’re right. We shouldn’t tell her until we figure out what’s happening between us.”
“What’s happening between us?” Corinne asked. “What do you mean? Nothing is happening between us. We had a one-night stand, with loads of protected sex, and I still wound up pregnant. There is nothing between us but this little Peanut. You can be as involved as you want, but I have no expectations. Obviously. I mean, I was sure I would never find you, so I was pretty resolved at doing this on my own.”
Shit. Corinne hated that she was a motormouth, who couldn’t shut up when she was nervous. And she was nervous. This was the very last thing she had expected when she agreed to paint for—and live with—Johanna.
“If you think I’m letting you do this alone, you’re insane.”
Corinne threw daggers at him with her eyes, but Paris must have seen the anger flaring in her gaze. He shook his head.
“That came out wrong. I didn’t mean it like that. I just want you to know that you aren’t going to be a single parent. I want this baby.” He swallowed hard and opened his mouth to say more, but whatever he was going to say next, he gulped down the words.
Paris stepped away from her and pulled his phone out from his back pocket. “What’s your number?”
Corinne gave him a questioning look.
“I want to know what your number is. I’ll text you, so you have mine. If anything happens, if you need anything, I want you to call me. Okay? Let me help you with this. With our baby.”
Corinne inhaled deeply before rattling off her number.
She didn’t know if she could trust him. Not that he had given her a reason not to trust him. The fake name thing? She couldn’t hold that against him. He was a Warwick. That meant he had to deal with a lot of women who slept with him just for his name. Corinne knew his brother London had gone through something like that. She went by a fake name, too, so she understood.
Paris was Johanna’s son.
The older, elegant woman was the very definition of nice and caring. There was no way she had raised an asshole.
If Paris wanted to be involved in her kid’s life, who was she to stop him? It would be good for Peanut to have a dad. A rich dad who could protect him or her.
If Corinne had to run again, she would leave Peanut with Paris. Hell, it might even be better that way.
Chapter Eight
Paris
Paris rubbed his hands over Corinne’s still flat stomach. With his shifter ears, he could hear the little flutters of life being created. It wasn’t quite a heartbeat yet, but there was definitely something there. Paris swallowed hard and cleared his throat. His eyes were burning with tears, and he didn’t want to cry.
But we found our mate. And she is carrying our child. This is a miracle. Hold her. Kiss her. Thank her. This is the best day ever.
Paris had to ignore his dragon.
There was too much happening all at once. But a moment ago, he had been convinced that he wanted to stay far away from his mate because he was scared of losing her.
The baby changed everything.
There was no more pain in his head or in his heart.
For the first time in weeks, Paris felt whole. The thought that he could stay away from Corinne was beyond him now. He would never let her go now that he had found her again. Especially not when she wasn’t just his mate, but the mother of his child.
Speaking of mothers, Paris thought of his own. What were the chances that Johanna ended up hiring the woman he had gotten pregnant? His mate?
He and his brothers had to be right. Johanna had some kind of psychic ability. How else could she have stumbled into a pregnant Corinne and given her a safe place to live? Shit. That was his job. He was the one who was supposed to take care of Corinne. And their baby.
He had fucked up.
In a big way.
He couldn’t even remember why he had thought it was a good idea to stay away from his mate.
He had been scared that she would die, like his sister-in-law had done. Like his father had done. But now that Paris had found Corinne again, now that she was his baby mama, there was no way on God’s green earth that he would let her get away. He would never let anything bad happen to her or their little one.
His hand settled over the baby, and he closed his eyes, inhaling deeply.
“I will never let you down,” he said out loud.
“I’m sure the baby appreciates that,” Corinne whispered. Her blue eyes were lined with unshed tears; Paris kept one hand on her stomach and cupped her cheek in the other.
“I’m not just talking to our baby, Corinne. That was a promise to you, too. You will never have to worry. About anything ever again.”
Corinne nodded, but she didn’t understand. Not really, but she would. Paris struggled with what he should tell her. That he’s a shifter, that their baby would be one, too. That she was his mate.
But that was a lot for one person to take in.
Especially, a woman in her condition.
Paris didn’t mean her pregnancy, but rather, the condition Corinne had mentioned. He was going to look that up and learn every little thing that he could about it.
“Um, Paris?” Corinne asked, taking a step away from him. “I need to brush my teeth or something. I was sick, and I feel gross. And I have a shift at the cafe this afternoon.”
“You can’t possibly mean to waitress in your state,” he said forcefully.
Corinne narrowed her eyes at him. “Excuse me? You might be the kid’s daddy, but I am still my own woman. I said I have a shift at Gateaux, and I am going to go to work. You can’t wrap me up in bubble wrap and keep me here. Women have been working while pregnant since the dawn of time.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her that those women weren’t his. That they hadn’t been carrying his child, while fighting against some clinically diagnosed nausea. He thought better of it. He didn’t know Corinne all that well, but he could tell that she had a rebellious streak, and a strong spirit, that wouldn’t take his words too kindly.
“Fine,” he said with a nod. “But you call me the second you don’t feel well, and I will come to get you. Oh, and if you think you’re walking or taking public transportation, you’re high. I’ll bring you to work myself. When does your shift end?”
“Three,” she answered, still staring him down.