Rhys wasn't sure what pissed him off more. That another woman duped him, or that he'd been the consolation prize.

He downed his second whiskey and considered his next move. He'd driven by her place earlier but decided he needed to cool off before he confronted her. He'd scared Darcy, and he didn't intend to do the same to Arryn. He needed to think about how to handle the situation. No matter how mad he was, he admitted the timing couldn't be better. Yesterday, he found out he needed a family to save his career, and today one materialized. It had to be a sign of karma or some shit like that.

Elia—Arryn. Damn, I'll have to get used to the new name. Arryn may have wanted Devon, but Rhys was the father of the baby, so she'd have to settle.

He could hear the car ambling down the drive. Ace was right on time—a first for her.

Seconds later, Accalia rushed in out of breath. "I got out of work early for this. Tell. Me. Everything."

He ran fingers through his hair and set the empty glass on the counter. "It's my baby."

Her mouth dropped open. "Are you sure?"

"If I'm willing to take Darcy's word, and right now, I'm not sure I trust anything that comes from her mouth, but yeah, and it wasn't an accident. She lied about everything. Where she lives, works, hell, even her name."

Ace stiffened. "Wait a minute. Did you say it wasn't an accident? As in, she wanted to get pregnant?"

For the next fifteen minutes, Rhys explained everything, including how a wife and child could benefit him, how he'd driven by Arryn's apartment earlier, and fought the urge to confront her. When he finished the saga, he refilled his glass and toasted the air. "Here's the deal. I'll insist we get married. Not just for my job situation, but because it's the right thing to do. I don't want my child to think I didn't want him or her."

"So, you want the baby?"

He frowned at his sister. "Hell, yes! Why would you even ask?"

She held her hands in mock surrender. "Sorry. What if she says no? Having a baby is not a good reason to get married, Rhys."

"She won't have a choice. She'll either marry me, or I'll sue her. I can do that, can't I?"

"I don't know of precedence, but that doesn't mean there isn't one. Exactly what would you be suing for—custody? Because to win, you'd have to prove her unfit as a mother. She was a one-night stand, and a judge or jury will rule you should have been just as responsible for protection. In other words, you should have provided your own condom, and you should've worn one every time." She paused, considering, before plowing on. "Or the judge could think you're both dumbasses and take the kid and put them in foster care."

He emptied his glass and stepped to the work island for more. "Then what are my options?"

She leaned against the bar and eyed the bottle of whiskey. "Here's an idea. Why don't you ask her nicely? Offer to pay all the medical costs for her and the baby. If you want the marriage to last for X amount of time, say until after your promotion is in place, then you can discuss child and spousal support following a divorce."

He snorted. "Alimony? I should give her money after what she's done? You're crazy."

"Let me ask you something. What if she'd not had a condom the night you met her? Would you have had sex?"

Rhys pulled his brows together and gave it some thought. His sister brought up a point he'd not considered. "No need for that hypothetical because it didn't go down that way."

"No, no, little brother. You're not getting off that easy. You take her to court, that's something her attorney will ask. Answer the question."

His shoulders rose with an intake of air. "I don't know."

She cocked her head.

He released the breath. "Maybe."

She raised her brows.

He thinned his lips and faced her. "Probably."

She put her hands on her hips and rolled her eyes.

"Shit. I was so caught up in the moment...ninety percent...possibly." He paused. "I wore one everytime but the morning she left. We had unprotected sex before she left. I was asleep when she woke me and it was the furthest thing from my mind."

Ace looked so pleased with herself at being right, he briefly wondered whose side she was on. "Kind of hard to condemn her when the outcome was the same. Don't you think?"

He sighed. "No. I do not."

"Oh, I guess you could demand she fucks off to Timbuktu. That make you happy?" Ace half-laughed then got serious again. "Regardless of the fact, she's carrying your child. Doesn't that mean anything?"

"A child I didn't ask for, with a woman I don't know."

"So you want to make El—I mean Arryn, suffer?"

He poured a drink, and Ace moved to take it from him. "You're drinking too early and not giving this enough thought. Wait a few days. Let the news soak in and then decide your next move. You could set a meeting and work with her instead of against her."

He frowned at her. "Why are you defending her?"

"I'm not, but she hasn't asked you for child support. She hasn't asked for anything. A judge or jury will give her a lot of points for that. Doesn't sound like she's a conniving or trying to trap you into fatherhood." Accalia waved her hands around the room. "Face it, you're not rich, but this house proves you have resources, and if her apartment is as lousy as you said, why wouldn't she try to get money from you? Besides, Mom and Dad will be thrilled about the baby."

He tugged his hair, exasperated. "No. She didn't give me a choice, and I'm not giving her one. She'll marry me, or I'll threaten a custody suit, and I'll sure Darcy would get fired. That should be enough to convince her."

"Okay, but I'm going on record to say you'll regret this."

"Not likely. I want you to draw up a prenup. I didn't protect myself that night, but by God, I will from now on."

After drinking himself into a stupor the night before, he arrived at Arryn's apartment, still a little hungover and pissed off ten ways to Sunday. When he knocked, no one answered. No lights or sounds came from inside, so he assumed she wasn't home unless Darcy blabbed, and Arryn skipped town to avoid him. If so, she couldn't run forever.

Hurrying back to his car, he hopped in to wait. Rain surged and waned but showed no sign of stopping. He scanned the area. The low hanging clouds made it look worse than yesterday when he'd seen it in the sunshine. Her building needed paint, and the little stretch of lawn in front of it still had summer weeds, now bent and brown. Compared to his house, she should jump at the chance to leave here. It was unsafe with no fences, where would the kid play? Not in the street. That was for damn sure.

Arryn struggled with her umbrella. Why didn't the thing work? She either fought to open it or wrestled prongs to close it. She wouldn't be out in this weather any other time, but when her editor requested a face to face, how could she refuse? She couldn't. Not with the Lovin' the D column on the line. And just as she thought, that was the subject of the meeting, but it'd not gone the way she'd hoped.

As it turned out, her boss had tossed his niece Jilly's resume in for consideration. The girl didn't even graduate college until May, but he'd felt no need to wait. Arryn was out. Not totally out, but the boss demoted her from staff writer to freelance, which meant no regular salary. She'd submit articles, and if accepted, she'd be paid per piece.

What the hell kind of name was Jilly? It was probably short for Jillian, but still. Who wanted advice from someone who sounded so juvenile? They should change the column to Getting jiggy with Jilly. Jibber-Jabber with Jilly. Jack off with Jilly.

Okay, now she was being silly—about Jilly. Damn, she couldn't stop herself. She needed to let it go. There wasn't anything she could do.

A church clock chimed four musical notes. Later than she thought. The costume party began at seven, and it took a while to get into that disco ball. It was the perfect outfit for her bulging belly, but not very comfortable.

No complaints. At least not to Darcy and Yennefer. Since it was a movie theme party, they'd googled to find a film that worked for all of them. Saturday Night Fever fit the bill. Darcy as John Travolta's character, Tony Manero, and Yennefer, his dance partner, Stephanie.

Arryn looked forward to the event. It was the one time a year Arryn got to attend a fancy affair with the best hors d' oeuvres and alcohol. This time she'd have to pass on the drinks, but the finger foods would be excellent. She hoped they had some of those little weenies wrapped in bacon and sprinkled with brown sugar. Her mouth watered.

The wind whipped, and the umbrella didn't keep her from getting wet. It was hard to see through the curtain of rainwater, but she swore she parked in front of the bakery because she'd planned to buy some yeast rolls. Strange, the car wasn't there. She walked almost to the end of the block, thinking she may have been so preoccupied with the meeting, she'd forgotten the location. Nothing. She turned around and went the other way. Maybe she'd parked at a fire hydrant, and gotten towed. Great. Just what she needed. A trip to the impound lot in the middle of a monsoon. Not to mention the extra money she didn't have.

No, she recalled reading the bakery specials in the window as she pulled next to the curb. It should be there. Someone had stolen her relic. She'd had that car since she'd turned sixteen, and before that, it was her father's since they moved to Atlanta from Puerto Rico when she was twelve. There was no other explanation. She ducked into the bookstore to get out of the rain, gather her wits, and call the police.

An hour later, soaked to the bone, she hauled herself out of the Uber, traipsed to her front door, glad to be home. She set her purse on the counter along with her new job description forms and police report, then went to the bathroom to dry off. The pink chenille robe felt good against her damp skin. Once she'd finished with the cops, the job dilemma no longer concerned her. Now she was without a vehicle, and since she only carried liability and comprehensive, there'd be no insurance to collect. This was turning out to be the worst Halloween in history.

Taking a mug from the cabinet, she filled it with water and stuck it in the microwave. While it heated, she grabbed a pouch of instant cocoa. The timer sounded. Mixing the powder into the cup, she took a long sip. Drinking something hot should help get rid of the chill.

Someone knocked on the door, and when she opened it, Yennefer stood in full costume, looking her up and down. "Why aren't you dressed? You're not sick, are you?"

She shook her head, willing herself not to cry again. "Today is pure shit. Shania was stolen."

"That's the best trick ever," Yennefer sputtered a laugh.

Arryn slumped back onto a chair. "I'm not kidding. First, I basically got fired. Then I came out to find my car gone. You know everything happens in threes, so I'm wondering what other bad news is coming. Maybe a meteor will hit me tomorrow, or I'll get my dress stuck in my ass."

Before her friend responded, someone else knocked. "And here we go," Arryn said. "This can't be good unless they've found my car." This time, the landlord stood with a stack of envelopes. He handed one to her.

"What's this?"

"No time to explain. I have to deliver the rest of these. Read it, and if you have questions, there's a number you can call." He moved away and headed toward the next apartment.

She tore it open, then paused as she read. Air rushed from her lungs. "Oh, my God. He's sold the units. The new owner is taking over in thirty days."

Yennefer adjusted the neckline of her dress and swiveled her shoulders as if trying to realign her bra. "That's good news, right? They'll make improvements."

"Yeah, they are, and they're also going up on the rent by two hundred dollars a month." Arryn dug her fingernails into her palm to make sure this wasn't a nightmare. Nope. She felt the pain. It was real. Job gone. Car gone. Apartment gone. "And I have to move while they renovate. I can't believe this. This is bullshit."

Yennefer ran her hand around Arryn's shoulders. "Look on the bright side. That completes the trifecta. Get ready. Let's not deal with this now. Tomorrow, we'll discuss all your options—the job—car—apartment. Tonight, you need a good time."

Arryn added the letter to her stack of bad news. "With everything that's happened, I'm not sure a party without alcohol will be a good time. I'll be right back." She stomped to the bedroom and struggled with her metallic leotard. Gathering her hair to the top of her head, she clipped it and stretched on the glittery silver wig. A wave of nausea turned her stomach into a roller coaster ride. She wondered if the baby experienced the sensation. The room spun as she sat on the edge of the bed and cried. What was she going to do? She had to have a job, car, and housing. Soon, she'd have another mouth to feed. Moving in with Papi wasn't an option. His house wasn't big enough. She couldn't move in with her mother. The state of Georgia wasn't big enough.

Suddenly, she felt drained, but she dried her eyes and straightened her shoulders. There was no need to spoil the evening. Yennefer worked hard on the mirrored costume, so Arryn would try not to be Debbie Downer tonight.

She took the ball into the living room for help. A few minutes later, her mood was better, and she was in full costume. She gathered her purse, but before they could leave, another knock. Maybe the landlord had forgotten something. It couldn't be more bad news. She'd had her quota.

This time, the police officer she'd dealt with earlier stood in the opening, rain dripping from his hat. He looked her up and down, then smiled. "Sorry to disturb you, Ms. Rivera, but I was in the neighborhood so thought I'd come by and tell you we've already located your car, but I'm afraid it's totaled. A couple of juveniles took it joy-riding and wrapped it around a tree."

"Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ. Are they alright?"

"Yeah." He handed her a paper. "Here's where they towed your vehicle. They'll bag everything from inside and the trunk. You can pick up the contents at your convenience."

"Thank you, officer."

"Yes, ma'am. You have a good evening." He took one more cursory glance, smiled, and walked away.

Arryn added the report to the others. "What'd I tell you? Worst Halloween of my life. It even beats the one where we got egged."

Yen rubbed her hand across Arryn's back. "Yeah, those junior high years were hell, weren't they?"

Arryn headed toward the kitchen but stopped when there was another rap on the door.

Yennefer grimaced. "The way your luck is running, it's probably the Grim Reaper."

Rhys sat in his car and watched the rain turn to drizzle again as a car pulled to the curb. A woman exited and trudged up the sidewalk. Her clothes clung to her body, and water dripped from her purse. She wrestled with her umbrella, and he wasn't sure at first if it was Arryn until she turned and he saw her belly.

His pulse jumped. Damn. Just the sight of her stirred feelings he'd not had in months. Rain pelted once more and blocked out everything but gray haze. He settled back against the seat. No hurry. She was in for the night. Nobody in their right mind would get out in this unless they had to. He chuckled. Keywords, right mind.

A few minutes later, a woman arrived and knocked on her door before letting herself inside. Then a man came to deliver something. After him, a cop. Lousy part of town or not, this place was busy. Rhys wondered what the policeman wanted. Since the guy only stayed a few minutes and didn't take anyone into custody, it couldn't have been anything too serious.

Rhys's chest tightened. He didn't understand why he was nervous. He had the upper hand. She'd marry him or else. Or else what? The empty threat made his lungs hurt more, and his plan to punish her gnawed his gut. He closed his eyes and went back to Memorial Day weekend, when they fished in his pond, and how Elia...Arryn had baited her hook without complaint and screamed excitement each time the bobber dipped in the water. The tiny fish she caught thrilled her as much as if she'd landed a ten-pounder. He loved her enthusiasm and the lilt to her voice when she talked to Guinivere.

Heat rushed over Rhys as he recalled how his skin tingled from her touch, and how she lost her breath each time he kissed her. There had been something between them. He thought she'd felt it too. But it turned out that she was just a good actress.

Even her lies didn't belong to him. They were for Devon. He was the one she'd wanted. That's why she bolted when the bartender gave the drink to Rhys.

That was the reason for the crazy rant. She'd been trying to convince him to leave, but he'd been too stubborn. She'd intrigued him, and the attraction was too strong for him to let her go, but he should have.

As much as he wanted to punish her, he needed to be smart. Ace was right. Ultimatums didn't get good results most of the time. He'd be upfront with her, but he wasn't going to roll over and be her bitch, nor did he intend to mistreat her. He got out of the car and strode across the street steeled and ready to face her.

When she opened the door, she gasped, and he spoke the line he'd rehearsed. "Hello, Elia, or whatever the hell you're calling yourself this week."

She stumbled backward. He reached out to her, but her visitor rushed to her side.

Arryn was pale and looked as if she'd been crying. He fought the urge to take her in his arms and comfort her. That surprised him. In all the scenarios he'd played out in his head over the last twenty-four hours, none had included physical contact. But he wanted to hold her.

A disco ball wrapped around her midsection, and the light reflecting off the tiny squares caused iridescent spots to dance across her face. A beautiful face. Even more so in the dim glow.

He looked at the guest, then back at Arryn. "We need to talk."

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," the stranger said, eyeing him warily.

Arryn shook her head at the woman. "It's all right." She focused on him again. "Come in. I'll be right back." She took her friend by the hand, led her down the short hallway, and disappeared into a room.

He gave the counter a quick once over, spying a handful of papers spread out. He glanced them over. Damn. Stolen car. That explained the cop. Job termination and a notice to vacate the premises during renovations. His eyes wandered around the open area. An old sofa covered in some type of nubby avocado fabric looked like it might collapse if he sat on it. In the kitchen, beneath bright yellow cabinets, tiles in at least twenty different colors formed a backsplash. Old stove. No dishwasher. He didn't know much about decorating, but unless she was going for a retro style, he was pretty sure harvest gold appliances went out before either of them were even born. He wondered why she'd not contacted him if she had no other reason than to get out of this dump. She should jump at his offer.

She returned, minus the disco ball, and locked eyes with him. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

God, he wanted to hold her but reminded himself of how he'd meant no more to her than stud service. Not even her first choice. A last-minute substitute. And how she'd kept the baby a secret. Planned to rob him of fatherhood. Keep him from his child, and the fire of revenge burned again. "Is that all you have to say? You're sorry?"

She rested her hand on her belly and worried her lip. "Do you mind if we sit?"

He followed her to the living room. She sat on the old sofa and took a chair as far away as he could get from her. "Don't bother denying anything. I've already talked to your friend Darcy."

Black tracks mixed with the tears that streamed down her cheeks. "I know you hate me, but not as much as I hate myself for what I've done to you. I'm so sorry. How did you find me?"

"My friend. He and my sister in law were the photographers at a wedding you attended. Just a stroke of luck—or bad luck, depending on how you look at it."

She heaved a deep breath, and he thought she would fall to pieces, but she didn't. Instead, she wiped tears with the back of her hand and let her eyes wander over his face, the same way she had that morning in the hotel room. His heart kicked up again, and he wanted to crush his lips against hers. Hold her so close he could feel her heartbeat against his chest. Then she spoke and brought him back to reality.

"I won't keep the baby from you. I'll name you on the birth certificate. I'm willing to share custody without a fight."

To mask the desire burning in him, he grimaced and crossed his arms over his chest. "Oh, believe me, you'll do better than that."

*Mortal Kombat theme*

TEASER: "I'll help you."

Whats going on there?