The Millionaire's Pregnant Mistress. Michelle Celmer

need.”

      Orders she would follow, but not happily. But Tess was determined to remain marginally polite. She had the sneaking suspicion she would be running into this woman an awful lot over the next five months. Meaning that if she were so inclined, she could make Tess’s life a living hell. “Thank you.”

      “I’ve taken the liberty of removing anything of value.” She flashed Tess that condescending, distasteful look. As if Tess were not a houseguest, but something she’d scraped from the bottom of her shoe. Ben obviously hadn’t instructed her to be nice.

      Tess wouldn’t give the old bird the satisfaction of knowing she’d bruised her pride. “Aw darn, my fence will be so disappointed.”

      With the ferocity of a mother bear protecting her cubs, she all but growled at Tess, “After all that Benjamin has been through, he doesn’t deserve this. I won’t let you hurt him.”

      Tess didn’t point out that it took two to tango, and if Ben didn’t want to be in this situation, maybe he should have become a monk. At the very least he shouldn’t have taken Tess up to his room.

      But what good would it do to try to defend herself when she was sure the frigid woman believed Tess had gotten pregnant on purpose? And Tess couldn’t deny her own background. There was no escaping her social status. She’d been the last born in a long line of uneducated blue-collar workers. She hadn’t even gone to college.

      At least with her child Tess would be breaking the cycle.

      “Dinner is at seven in the dining room,” Mrs. Smith said in that cold, annoyed tone, then she turned and left, shutting the door behind her.

      Tess let out a long, tired sigh and looked around, deciding the sooner she got herself settled in, the better. But she didn’t see her bags. Across the room, through a second set of doors—ornate and gaudy of course—Tess found herself in an enormous bedroom. Not surprised that it was dark, she crossed the room and flung open the curtains, letting in a wash of golden sunshine. To her delight, the bedroom had been decorated in the same warm, earthy tones. She opened a set of French doors and stepped out onto the balcony, filling her lungs with fresh air. The view of the gardens below was breathtaking. Spring flowers exploded with color and rolling green grass seemed to stretch for miles. The white tips of the Scott Bar Mountains towered in the distance underneath a clear blue sky.

      Wow.

      This she could definitely live with.

      She stepped back inside and found her bags waiting for her by the king-sized bed. She carried them to the cavernous walk-in closet, set them down then continued on into an enormous bathroom decorated in soft yellows with a Jacuzzi tub big enough for a family of four and an enclosed glass shower stall with two heads.

      So this was how the other half lived. It was even more impressive than the presidential suite at the resort.

      She rubbed her aching back and gazed longingly at the tub, then at her bags. Unpack first, bath later. But by the time she’d emptied her duffels and hung up all her things, she wanted nothing more than to lie down and rest.

      Just a quick nap, she decided, then she would go exploring.

      She stripped down to her birthday suit and pulled back the fluffy leaf patterned comforter and slipped beneath the cool, silky-soft vanilla-white sheets. She felt herself sinking as the mattress conformed to her body.

      It was like curling up in a bowl of whipped cream. Within minutes she was sound asleep.

      Ben pushed aside the drapes covering his office window and stood in a column of bright light, gazing out across acres of pristine rolling green grass and gardens blooming with vibrant shades of deep orange, sunny yellow and royal purple.

      Jeanette would have loved this. It was exactly what she had envisioned when they bought this house. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine her out there, playing with their son. He would have been nearly a year old now. Maybe even walking. Saying his first words. In his imagination his little boy always had Ben’s dark hair and his mother’s pale blue eyes and bright smile. He was always happy and laughing.

      The door opened and he turned to see Mrs. Smith standing there, saving him from a landslide of painful memories. He let the curtain drop.

      “Your guest is all settled in,” she said.

      “Thank you.”

      “Is there anything else?”

      “No, nothing—oh wait, yes there is. I need you to go through the house and get rid of anything alcoholic.”

      She frowned. “Whatever for?”

      “A condition of her staying here was that I stop drinking. She thinks I’m an alcoholic.”

      “And you let her believe—”

      “It doesn’t matter what she believes, I want her to feel comfortable here. Just do it please.”

      Mrs. Smith didn’t look happy, but she didn’t argue. “I’m going to say, again, that I don’t like this arrangement.”

      “I know you don’t.” She hadn’t liked Jeanette, either, but they had learned to coexist. She was so protective of him, the truth was, she would never think anyone was good enough.

      “I know you still feel guilty, Ben, but it wasn’t your fault.”

      He didn’t have to ask what she meant. She had never said it to his face, but he knew she blamed his wife for his son’s death. She’d always considered Jeanette spoiled and self-centered.

      Her career had just been taking off when she found out she was pregnant. She’d been more annoyed than excited at the prospect of becoming a parent, by the physical limitations of her pregnancy. Afraid it would affect her career negatively—God forbid she get a stretch mark or two—she’d even talked briefly about terminating, but thankfully he’d managed to talk her out of it. He had been sure that given time to adjust, she would have enjoyed motherhood. At least, that had been his hope.

      In the end, none of it had mattered.

      “Have you called your parents?” Mrs. Smith asked.

      His parents.

      Having to explain this to his family was another problem altogether. They had never been overbearing or judgmental—quite the opposite in fact. He hadn’t seen or heard from either of them since last Thanksgiving. That didn’t mean it wouldn’t be difficult for them to understand. In so many ways, they barely knew him. “Not yet.”

      “Don’t you think you should?”

      “Why? There’s no point in getting them excited about a grandchild they’re never going to see.”

      Four

      Ben knocked on the door to Tess’s suite, curious as to why she hadn’t shown up for dinner. Why, in the three and a half hours since she’d arrived, she hadn’t even ventured out of her suite.

      No. He wasn’t curious. He was downright worried.

      According to Mrs. Smith she’d only had two bags and a couple of small boxes, so it couldn’t have possibly taken her all this time to unpack. What if something was wrong? What if she was sick?

      He knocked again, harder this time. “Tess, are you there?”

      Knowing he probably shouldn’t, he eased the door open. The sitting room was flooded with pinkish light from the setting sun. He’d always been fond of the color scheme, and Tess staying there seemed oddly appropriate somehow. Much like her, it was refreshing and cheerful and almost whimsical in its simplicity. And homey. That was what being with Tess had felt like.

      Like coming home.

      He stepped past the doorway and listened for the sound of movement. The suite was dead silent.

      “Tess,” he called, expecting an exasperated reply. In fact, if it meant