“I don’t want to do anything that jeopardizes the baby,” Ivy said. “If there’s no medical reason to do an amniocentesis, then I won’t have one.”

“What’s an amniocentesis?” Clinton asked.

“A thin needle is inserted into the uterus through the stomach and a small amount of amniotic fluid is taken,” Dr. Conrad explained.

He went so pale, Ivy worried he was going to pass out. “Are you all right?” she couldn’t help but ask.

“Fine.” He sounded and looked anything but. “Just...the thought of it...” He shook his head. “No. We don’t want to do that.” He looked at her. “I would never ask you to do that. I would never ask you to do anything that would endanger the baby or cause you pain in any way.”

He sounded so sincere, she had no choice but to believe him.

“There are other options,” Dr. Conrad said. “The most accurate, noninvasive way to establish paternity before birth is to take a blood sample from both of you. The lab can analyze the baby’s DNA found naturally in Ivy’s bloodstream.”

“It’s safe?” Clinton asked. “For both of them?”

“Perfectly safe,” the doctor assured him. “As I said, we’ll just need blood samples from both of you. And it’s 99.9 percent accurate. It can be done now, since Ivy’s past her first trimester.”

“When can we have our blood drawn?” Ivy asked, not wanting to delay the inevitable.

“I can get the lab orders printed out within five minutes,” Dr. Conrad said.

Ivy stood, not looking at Clinton. “Sounds good. The sooner this is done, the better.”

The sooner she could prove to Clinton he was her baby’s father, the sooner they could both move on with their own lives.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CLINTON UNROLLED HIS sleeve as he and Ivy stepped out of the hospital’s front entrance. It had gotten cloudy, the sky ominous and gray, reminding him a bit of how the storms rolled in over Houston.

They crossed the street to the parking lot. He glanced around. Hills, hills and more hills, all lush and green. He hadn’t seen much of Shady Grove, but what he had seen, he had to admit, was pretty.

Ivy stopped next to an old car with rust above the wheels and dents on the bumper.

“That’s not your car,” he said.

“If it’s not, then someone out there is driving an exact replica of my vehicle.”

“It’s a piece of crap.” And couldn’t possibly be safe.

“Yep. But it’s all mine. Bought and paid for with my hard-earned money.” She studied him. “Wonder if you can say that about anything you own.”

He resented the accusation, though he wouldn’t let her see it. He worked damn hard for what he had, and he wasn’t going to apologize for being born into wealth and privilege. Not when he busted his ass every day to keep his father’s company running, to keep it growing. “You can’t drive that.”

“I can and I do,” she said, unlocking the door. She turned back to face him, the wind picking up the ends of her hair. “Since the doctor is going to let each of us know the results, I guess we’re done until we hear from her.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You do realize we’re heading to the same place?”

She smiled. “Sorry, cowboy, but I’m not following you back to your room this time. I’ve got things to do, places to be and all that.”

He edged closer, couldn’t seem to help himself. Pregnant women shouldn’t look so sexy, should they? But Ivy did, with her blowing hair and that knowing, sexy smirk. “Have a drink with me,” he heard himself say before he thought better of it.

Now she laughed. “Been there. Done that. Besides, I don’t think Junior here should be drinking. Not until he’s a few years older at least.”

“You said you didn’t want to know if it was a boy or girl,” C.J. said. He knew he sounded accusing, but he wasn’t sure he trusted her not to have already discovered the sex of the baby and not have told him on purpose. Plus, he felt like an idiot for suggesting a drink. Of course she couldn’t drink. It was as if when he was close to her, his brain shut down.

“I don’t like referring to my baby as it,” she said, not bothering to try to contain her blowing hair, just letting it wrap around her throat, the strands tickling her cheek, “so on even days I use he. Odd days she. Although...”

“What?” he asked when she trailed off.

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I just... I have a feeling I’m having a boy.” She shook her head. Looked embarrassed. “But then, what do I know? I don’t have any experience with pregnancy or motherhood, so I’m probably wrong.”

She looked worried, as if she was nervous and unsure about being a mother. “Have dinner with me,” he said, wanting to spend more time with her. He told himself it was because he should get to know her better, but he had that envelope on his bed back at Bradford House. Anything and everything he needed to know about her would be in there.

He hadn’t opened it yet, though.

And he wasn’t ready to let her go.

“Sorry, cowboy, but I have plans.” She cocked a hip. “If you want to take me to dinner, you need to ask a lot earlier. My dance card fills up quickly.”

“You have a date?” he asked, incredulous. “You can’t date.”

“Really?” she asked in a purr that he was smart enough to recognize wasn’t as innocent as it sounded. “And why is that?”

Because she was his.

Mine.

Hadn’t that been his thought the first night he met her? He’d told her he’d meant that she was his for one night. Had tried to convince himself he was speaking the truth, but he’d wondered, and worried, about how badly he’d wanted to claim her as his forever.

He fisted his hands. No. That wasn’t right. He didn’t believe in love at first sight. Lust. Hell yes. They’d had that in spades. But he wasn’t some gullible teenager confusing his attraction to her as anything more than physical.

“You’re pregnant,” he pointed out. “With my baby.”

“Oh, but you’re not sure you’re the father, remember?” she asked, throwing his logic back at him. “So until you get proof—proof you demanded, by the way—there’s still that little bit of doubt, that little bit of hope that this is all a big scam, some elaborate plan to get your money. One that ends when you get the all-important evidence the baby isn’t yours. That I’m nothing but a lying, scheming tramp.”

His head snapped back as if she’d slapped him. “I don’t think you’re a tramp.”

Her lip curled and she crossed her arms. “Just a liar, then?”

He paced. “I don’t know what to think. I’m just doing the best with the information I’ve been given. But I don’t think you’re a tramp, Ivy.”

He wanted her to believe that. What was wrong with him? He was known for his ability to talk his way into any deal, his ability to charm anyone, handle any problem, but this whole situation, Ivy herself had thrown him for a loop, and he’d reacted like...like...

He’d reacted like his father.

He stopped in front of her. “Have dinner with me. Please,” he added, knowing he’d need to use every bit of charm he had to convince her. He wanted to spend more time with her, and he hated the thought of her going out with some other man, of smiling at him, flirting with him. Letting him touch her.

And he couldn’t fight the fact that the possibility she really was carrying his child was getting bigger and bigger. She hadn’t even blinked when the doctor had said they could do the paternity test right away. If she really was trying to trick him, wouldn’t she delay the test as long as possible?

But she was right, too. He needed that proof.

“Why bother?” she asked. “Why spend any time together? You’re still not convinced I’m telling the truth.”

“The more I’m with you,” he admitted, “the more I believe you.”

“But you’re still not convinced.”

He couldn’t deny it. Wouldn’t lie to her. “No.” He exhaled. “There are reasons for it.”