How to Have Your Boss' Baby

by Layla Valentine

  She tosses a hand out and wiggles it around. “Everyone knows where you live and you know it. You’re like a rock star in that city. Also, I’m one of your press coordinators. I see what people write about you. So when they publish the building you live in, I get to read it. Even if I don’t want to know.”

  She gives me an arch-browed look that says quite clearly that she knows she won that round, and I tip my head from side to side, conceding the point.

  “It’s not everything you might think,” I say. Then I look up and nod to the waiter, who’s been waiting to the side to take our orders.

  He steps forward, pencil already to pad, and quickly jots down what we’ve chosen. Filet mignon for me, medium rare, and—to my surprise—a cheeseburger with all the toppings for Josephine, with fries on the side and a side order of broccoli.

  “And can you put cheese on the broccoli?” she asks hopefully.

  “But of course, madam,” the waiter answers promptly.

  He turns and glides away while I appreciate the woman in front of me.

  “You like to eat,” I say. Then I realize how that must have sounded, how it could be taken, and immediately put up both hands in an apologetic gesture. “I’m sorry, that came out the wrong way. It’s definitely not what I meant. I didn’t mean to imply—”

  “I love food,” she says, laughing. “It’s one of my great joys in life. I figure God gave us these bodies and these appetites. Shouldn’t we appreciate them while we’re here? We never know when a meal might be our last.”

  “Well I’ve never thought about it like that,” I answer. “But I think you’re right. And do you think that applies… to all appetites?”

  I can’t lie. There’s a sexual undercurrent in my voice. And I don’t even try to hide it.

  She picks up on what I’m putting down and gives me a sly, sideways smile. “I do,” she says simply. “If we have the appetite, why shouldn’t we appreciate it?”

  I watch her twist a bit in her seat, as if she’s seeking a more comfortable position, and I settle in as well. If she didn’t take that particular comment as offensive, then there are other things I want to ask her about.

  And no, they don’t have anything to do with sex.

  Chapter 16

  Joey

  “Tell me about your family,” he says, and I look up at him, surprised. Of all the things I thought he might ask me next, that was the last on the list. He was flirting outrageously only a moment ago, and now he wants to know about my family?

  Talk about a non-sequitur.

  But my family are the most important people in my life, and I have no problem talking about them. I could have talked about them for hours. And that is exactly what I do.

  The food is delicious, perfectly cooked, and the broccoli is so fresh and flavorful that I almost order a second dish of it. Around eating—and drinking—I tell Reid everything I can think of about my family. My mother and father, and the house we had in Queens. My sister, Hannah, who is expecting her first baby soon. My dad’s job as a banker, and his nighttime alias as a writer for one of the local papers.

  “His superhero face,” I say with a laugh.

  He wrote for the true crimes column, and was obsessed with researching unsolved mysteries. And he was really, really good at it.

  And then my mother—a kindergarten teacher who lived in a world full of rainbows and ponies, going in three weeks before school started every year to paint murals on the walls, and changing them once a month.

  “It was where I originally started painting,” I say. “My mom started taking me in to help her, and I just fell in love with it. By the time I was ten I was doing murals all by myself. And yes, they were terrible at first. But I got better and better, and before long other classes started coming around to see them. It was… the start of my own dreams.”

  “And they encouraged it all,” he says wistfully, his eyes on something in the distance. “They allowed you to become who you wanted to be, and they supported it.”

  I frown. “Why wouldn’t they have? Of course they wanted me to be whatever I wanted. They wanted me to be happy. They wanted… the happiness. For me.”

  I’ve had enough wine to know that I’m not making sense. I’ve also had enough wine to keep me from being able to really fix it. I’m feeling a more-than-slight buzz, and the candlelight around us is adding to that pleasantly fuzzy feeling.

  And that feeling is the only reason that, when Reid leans forward and gestures for me to come forward too, I tip my body, glad for the excuse to get closer to him. His eyes are a deep turquoise in this light, darker and richer than I’ve ever seen them before, his dimples clearly cut into his cheeks, though his face is more relaxed than I think it’s ever been. He looks… happy.

  And though I’ve seen him smiling and joking around the office before, I’ve never seen him look this secure in his own skin.

  He puts up his hand, conspiratorially hiding his mouth. “I’ll tell you a secret,” he whispers. “Not all parents want their kids to be happy like that.”

  I frown, confused. “What kind of parents don’t want their kids to be happy?”

  A pause, then I gasp in understanding. “Oh. Your parents didn’t want you to be happy.”

  He shrugs. “I don’t think they didn’t want me to be happy. I do think they didn’t really care, one way or the other.”

  It’s the wine that starts speaking, then. I swear it is. It’s the only explanation for what I do next.

  I put a hand up to his face, caressing his cheek gently, the stubble on his chin rubbing against my palm.

  “But you deserve to be happy,” I whisper. “Anyone who didn’t give that to you was a fool. They couldn’t see how much you were worth. They couldn’t see how much you deserve it.”

  At that, his eyes seem to darken, and in one move, he stands, sweeps me out of my seat, and brings his mouth down over mine, his hands against my back to jerk me against his body.

  Chapter 17

  Reid

  I pull back from her, gasping at what I’ve just done—and then gasping again at the fire rushing through my veins. I feel as if I’ve finally found the one thing I’ve been searching for my entire life, and it isn’t just about the way she looks in that dress.

  No, it’s about a whole lot more than her body. It’s about her brain, too. That way she has of laughing. The fact that she touched my face and told me that I was worth more than my parents had seen.

  That doesn’t mean I had any right to kiss her like that, though. She must be furious with me, ready to flat-out slap me.

  My eyes fly to her face, my heart pounding with dread, expecting to see the fire I feel in my veins shooting out of her eyes as anger. Instead, I see that fire… but it’s burning with a hot, intense need that makes her brown eyes almost black. She takes a deep breath, blows it out through pursed lips, and then grabs the lapels of my jacket and jerks me back in for another kiss.

  And this time I actually let myself slow down and appreciate it. I melt into her soft lips, savoring the way they give and take under mine, and when her mouth opens with invitation I let my tongue follow it, running it over her lips and slowly around her own tongue. My hands slide around her waist to her back and I pull her roughly against me, her body fitting perfectly up against mine, as if it was meant to be there.

  And she doesn’t fight it. Instead, she presses harder against me, rubbing herself up and down as we kiss, sliding her own hands up to tangle them in my hair and pull my head closer to hers.

  This is… heaven. I’ve found heaven, standing right in front of me.

  A sharp clearing of someone’s throat brings me screaming back to the real world and I pull back from her, breathless and wanting more. Instead of diving back toward her, though, I glance to my right, part embarrassed and part furious that we’ve been interrupted.

  The maître d’. Of course.

  Oh God, we’ve been making a scene in the middle of the restaurant—though I don’t feel even a li
ttle bit bad about that.

  “I take it you’ve finished with your meal, sir?” he murmurs, carefully not meeting my eyes. “Shall I put it on your tab, so that you and your date can move on with your night?”

  I smile, fully appreciating his ability to take this so gracefully—while giving me the perfect answer, on a silver platter.

  “Yes, if you please. We’ll, uh—” I shoot a look in Josephine’s direction, trying to gather my thoughts enough for a logical statement, and then look away from her again. Too much looking into those eyes and my thoughts will never come together in a coherent sentence again. “We’ll be staying for an additional night, I believe, so if you could… If you could set reservations up for tomorrow night, same time, that would be wonderful. And we’ll just be on our way.”

  The man nods once, completely unruffled, as if this sort of thing happens every night.

  I wonder if it does. I wonder how often wealthy men come here and completely lose their cool. How often they find that they’ve been falling for one of their publicists for weeks, without even realizing it.

  Well, whether they do or not really isn’t my problem. My problem is the woman still in my arms—the one I’m already thinking about kissing again.

  “Thank you,” I say, trying to keep my cool. I gesture for Josephine to walk ahead of me. Then, when I see her wobbling on those heels, I quickly step forward and take her arm.

  If she’s even half as affected as I am by that kiss, there is no way she’ll be able to handle those shoes on her own anymore.

  Chapter 18

  Joey

  I take his arm gratefully, knowing that I won’t be able to make it three steps—much less out of this dining room—on my own. My legs are shaking so badly that I can barely put one foot in front of the other. What in the ever-loving hell just happened? We were sitting there talking about families, I said that he deserved more than his parents had given him, and he…

  Oh, Lord. The thought of what he did makes my knees weak all over again, and they start threatening to truly give out on me. Reid kissed me in a way I’ve never been kissed before, and it was so much more than words could describe. Intoxicating. Insanely hot. I was left drowning in his kiss, thoughtless of what we might look like to the people around us.

  If it had been a painting, it would have matched the room. Fire and heat and sparks, in all the best ways, and in all the best places.

  And at this point, I only have one thought in my brain. Okay, make that two. Thought one: Hold on to Reid as tightly as possible and pray I get out of the dining room without tumbling onto the ground. Thought two: Get him into my room so we can continue what we started.

  He seems to be in total agreement with me, because neither of us says anything on the way to the elevator. He keeps his arm around my shoulders—security, obviously, nothing more than that—and we stroll quickly toward the elevator bank. When I look up at him, his face is set in firm angles, all business.

  And tonight, I think, that business is me.

  There’s something surreal and dreamy about that concept, something that makes me wiggle a bit with the sudden sensitivity between my legs, but my brain is under the cover of a wine haze, so I put thoughts aside for tomorrow. Tonight, I just want this man in my bed.

  We ride the elevator up to the fifth floor, still not speaking, and a moment later we’re at my door, me juggling the card key as I try to slide it into the slot. I fail three times before Reid takes the key from me, gives me a sideways grin, and slides it easily into place.

  The green light flashes, the door flies open, and before I know it, Reid has me pinned against the wall, his hands on my hips, his mouth crushed down over mine.

  His kiss is deep with need this time, intense almost to the point of pain, and I groan deep in my throat. I’ve never been kissed like this. Never been owned like this. His hands are on my ass now, pulling me against him, and I can feel the hard length of him pressed up against my stomach, the need in his body.

  I rock my hips against him, showing him that I need him just as much, and his hands are just moving down toward the hem of my dress, his tongue dancing with mine, when he suddenly yanks himself back, takes a deep breath, and stares intently into my eyes.

  “Are you sure?” he asks.

  My brain stutters, trying to start again, but refusing to comprehend what he’s doing. What he’s asking.

  “About what?” I breathe, my voice husky with the throbbing of my blood between my legs.

  He looks as though it’s taking more strength than he has to restrain himself, but he grits his teeth together and breathes out roughly through his nose.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks.

  His voice is barely more than a rasp, a growl, a cry of need, and if I wasn’t turned on before, I certainly am now.

  But God love the man for asking.

  I reach up and put my hands on his cheeks, getting as close to him as I can without actually kissing him again. “I appreciate that you’re asking. You get points for that. But I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more in my entire life. If you stop and ask me questions like that again, I might have to kill you.”

  He lets out a sigh that’s also a laugh and bends to my mouth again, going right back to work with his hands. Those talented fingers find the hem of my dress and give it two quick tugs to get it up over my ass and around my waist, and then he reaches down and lifts me up, pulling my legs around to straddle him as he turns and walks toward the bed, still kissing me.

  I gasp into his mouth, delirious with need. His cock is between my legs now, still encased in his pants, but I can feel every inch of it, and I start rubbing against him, groaning with every rotation. God, I need him. More than I even knew I could need someone.

  By the time we get to the bed we’re both panting with that need, and he wastes no time stripping me out of my dress. It falls to the floor, leaving me in the black lace panties and bra I chose for the night, and he gives me a quick look of appreciation.

  “My God you’re beautiful,” he breathes, coming back up against me for another kiss.

  “Your turn,” I say, working at his tie with fingers that don’t seem to want to function.

  He laughs at my struggles and pulls away, taking care of the tie in one smooth motion, and then quickly undoes his shirt and throws it to the floor. His pants follow, and my eyes drop quickly over his naked body.

  Lord, the man is built. I knew his arms were toned, but he has a chest and abs to match, every inch of him etched as if he works out just as hard as he works in the office. His cock is hard and ready, bumping up against his belly, and God, I need it. I sit down on the bed in front of him and duck down, licking the head with one swipe, tasting the tang there.

  But he grabs my shoulders and pushes me back on the bed.

  “I don’t have time for that,” he hisses. “I want you. Not your mouth.”

  I fall back, surprised at his strength, and he slides his body over mine and kisses me deeply again, the scruff of his beard rasping against my chin. I can feel the head of his cock at my opening, and strain up against him, wanting it desperately. Unwilling to wait any longer.

  “Please,” I groan. “Please.”

  He draws back, looks deep into my eyes, and enters me, giving me the full length of his cock on the first thrust. His eyes roll back in his head in absolute bliss and I scream with pleasure. The feel of his body on mine, of my hands tangled in his hair, of his cock filling me so completely in one thrust, is almost too much.

  Then, he starts moving. Pumping in an out, going slowly at first and then increasing his speed as his own need grows. And each time he fills me up, my orgasm grows closer, the waves reaching up as Reid takes me and makes me his.

  It’s all too much. I’m going to explode.

  “Please,” I groan. “Come for me. Come right now.”

  “Oh God, Josephine,” he groans, jaw clenched in an attempt to control himself. “Oh God, oh God…”


  He releases himself a second later, his own orgasm shooting into me with his groans, and I rise up to meet him, my body spasming around him as we reach that peak together, and I cry out again.

  Ten minutes later, and Reid is next to me on the bed, having gathered me in against him and curled around me, his chin resting on my shoulder, his breathing slow and even in my ear. We stay like that for several minutes, caught in the haze of mutual satisfaction, allowing our bodies to recover before, at last, our brains start trying to take over.

  I know the moment his brain takes over because he jerks and sits up, leaving a cold breeze where his body had been.

  “I didn’t use a condom,” he mutters. “I’m so sorry. It’s just that I… Well, I haven’t done this in quite some time. I wasn’t prepared. I wasn’t expecting it.”

  I turn to look at him, noting the way his hair is sticking up from his head and that his lips are swollen. He’s more flushed than usual, panic coloring his eyes.

  “I’m on birth control,” I tell him calmly. “So there’s no need to go out of your head with worry over that.”

  Then I realize what we’ve just done, and sit up myself. We might not have to worry about a baby coming out of this, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’d just—

  He puts a hand out and grabs my arm, then slides his hand down to take mine, threading his fingers through mine and squeezing.

  “Don’t do that,” he says softly. “I can see you already coming up with all the reasons we shouldn’t have done what we just did. Can you do me the favor, just for tonight, of not thinking? Stay with me. Sleep with me. We’ll figure it out in the morning.”

  In the morning. Right.

  Well, I’ve never been against the idea of procrastinating.