A Baby for the Boss

by Maureen Child

  At work, he kept his distance, knowing it was best for everyone. Coming here, into her place, being alone with her in the lamp-lit dark was dangerous. He knew it, and still he didn’t leave. Instead, he took a single step toward her and stopped because her scent clouded his mind and he couldn’t afford to addle his brain any more than it already was.

  “That’s not a fair question,” she answered. “You made up your mind about me in an instant and never once listened to any side but your own.”

  “What other side was there?” he countered. “Hell, your uncle is still running Snyder Arts.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” she snapped, setting her wineglass onto the table with a harsh click.

  “Tell me I’m wrong.”

  “How can I? He does own Snyder Arts. He doesn’t own me.”

  “He’s family.” Mike shrugged.

  “Yeah, and he thinks enough of me that he’s never asked me to do what you continue to imply I’ve already done.” She sucked in air, then blew it out. “Sean’s never questioned my integrity.”

  “Sean’s more trusting than I am.”

  “News flash,” she muttered, then asked, “Would you lie and cheat for your family?”

  “No, I wouldn’t.” Mike had grown up knowing exactly what kind of damage lies could do. As a kid, he’d promised himself he’d avoid lies and the people who told them. That’s why he couldn’t trust Jenny. First time he met her, she’d lied. No going back from that.

  Her eyes flashed. “But you assume I would.”

  “Don’t have to assume a damn thing,” he reminded her.

  “My God, you have a thick head.” She huffed out a breath. “At least come up with a new crime to accuse me of. I didn’t use you then. I’m not using you now.”

  “I’m pretty sure every thief claims innocence.”

  She pushed out of her chair, stalked toward him and was forced to tip her head back to meet his eyes. “Name me one thing I’ve stolen. Give me one reason you have the right to call me a thief.”

  “Fine,” he said, staring into her eyes until he could actually see her anger churning and burning. “You haven’t stolen anything that I know of. Yet. You’re a prethief.”

  “Then why haven’t you fired me or told Sean to?”

  “I do my own firing,” he said. “And if I ever have proof that you’ve betrayed us, then I will fire you so fast your head will spin. Suspicion isn’t proof.”

  She laughed shortly and shook her head. Then she took a long step back, and folded her arms beneath those magnificent breasts. “Boy, you’re really reaching. Being a prethief is like being prepregnant. Or prepublished. All that means is you’re not something. Like I’m not a thief, so I’d appreciate it if you’d quit throwing accusations around that you can’t back up.”

  Damn, the angrier she was, the hotter she got. Bright spots of color dotted her cheeks and her blue eyes were flashing dangerously. What did it say about him that her temper only fueled the need inside him?

  Most of the women in his life agreed with him, smiled coyly, flirted outrageously and in general made sure they were pleasant company. Jenny didn’t give a damn about any of that. She had an opinion and wasn’t afraid to share it and that was just as sexy as the way her eyes glittered.

  And sexy wasn’t the point.

  “We both know what’s going on here, Jenny,” he argued. “You might not want to admit it—and who could blame you—but the fact is, your uncle owns a company that would like nothing better than to have a contract with Celtic Knot. You meet me ‘accidentally,’ go to bed with me and try to convince me you’re not colluding with your uncle?” She opened her mouth to argue, but he rushed on before she could. “Then months later, you come to work for us, grab a job as head designer.”

  “I didn’t ‘grab’ anything,” she snapped. “Sean came to me and offered me the job.”

  He’d never told Sean about his time with Jenny. Maybe if he had, his younger brother wouldn’t have hired her in the first place. Which, Mike was forced to admit, would have been a damn shame. As much as she managed to irritate him, she was a hell of an artist.

  “Sean asked, but you took it.” He tipped his head to one side and studied her. “So the question is, why? You miss me? Or are you some kind of corporate spy now?”

  “Now I’m a spy? Wow,” she said, slowly shaking her head. “Paranoia reaches new heights.”

  He snorted. “I’m not paranoid if you really are a spy.”

  “You’re amazing.”

  “So it’s been said.”

  She threw her hands up. “There’s no talking to you. So think whatever you want,” she told him, voice as icy as her eyes were hot. “You have from the beginning.”

  “Right. When we met at the gaming con in Phoenix. Another coincidence?” His eyebrow lifted. “You just happened to be at my hotel?”

  “Or,” she countered, “you arrogant jackass, you happened to be at my hotel.”

  Surprise almost had him laughing. Almost. But she was too furious and he was too sure he was right. There was nothing funny about being cheated. Lied to. Old memories of his mother crying, his father shamefaced, rose up in his mind, and Mike deliberately quashed them. Not the time or the place for memories, other than the ones he and Jenny had created the first time she’d lied to him.

  “Right. I went looking for you that night.”

  “You’re the one who approached me in the bar,” she reminded him. “Not the other way around.”

  “You were beautiful. And alone.” And somehow she had looked insulated, cut off, as if she’d been alone so long that she hadn’t expected anything else from her life. Intrigued, Mike had watched her sip a single glass of wine for nearly an hour, as bar patrons came and went. As the bartender flirted with her and she ignored him, apparently oblivious to her own allure.

  Mike wasn’t unaware, though. She was tiny, making a man want to step up and be her protector. She was beautiful, making a man want to see her smile to know what that smile would do to her eyes. And she had so many curves in all the right places, any man would have wanted to get her out of the short red dress and high, needle-thin heels she had worn.

  How the hell could he have resisted her?

  She flushed at the unexpected compliment and he watched, fascinated, as a stain of deep rose filled her cheeks. She looked away from him then as if hoping to regain her sense of balance. He knew how that felt because damned if he didn’t feel off his game every time he was around her.

  “Look,” she said, her voice cool and even, “the past is done. All we have now is the present and the future.” Lifting her gaze to his, she said, “I’m not walking away from the hotel project. Not only is it my job, but it’s going to be fun.”

  “Not how it looks from where I’m standing,” he muttered.

  “Well that’s how I’m looking at it. So you can either deal or switch hotels with Sean.”

  “You don’t make the calls in my business,” he pointed out, irritated that she could try and order him off his own damn project.

  “Sean put me in charge of the art design,” she argued. “Not you. If you have a problem with that, talk to him.”

  “I did.” He pushed one hand through his hair and started pacing, more to get away from the scent of her than because he needed to move. “But he doesn’t know what happened in Phoenix so he doesn’t get it.”

  “So tell him,” she shot back. “If you’re so sure I’m a thief and untrustworthy, tell him and let him fire me.”

  “I’m not telling him that I let myself get used by a woman who looks more like one of the fairies she paints than she does a damn spy.”

  “Wow. Thief and spy,” she mused. “I’m really notorious, aren’t I?”

  “Why the hell else would you come and work for my company if it wasn�
�t to be a spy for your uncle? You had to know that we’d be thrown together and clearly that thought didn’t bother you. The only answer I can come up with is you’re still trying to use me—now us, for your uncle’s sake.” That one question had been simmering inside his brain for months. Ever since the day he’d walked into the graphic design room and seen the woman he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about sitting at one of the computers.

  Damn it, he wanted her to convince him he was wrong, that his thoughts were baseless. He wanted to know that she really was the woman she’d seemed to be when he first met her.

  “Listen up, you unbelievably suspicious...man. I took that job in spite of you, not because of you. Sean offered me a great position doing something I’m damn good at and I should have turned it down because I might see you?”

  “I don’t buy it. I think I’m the reason you took the job,” Mike said, his gaze spearing into hers from across the narrow room. “You were hoping to get me into bed again.”

  Her head jerked back as if she’d been slapped. Gulping a deep breath, she muttered, “You pompous, arrogant... You know, sex with you wasn’t that good.”

  He laughed shortly. “Now I know you’re lying. It’s amazing what a talent you have for it.”

  “Get out,” she said flatly, holding up both hands toward him as if warding him off. “Just get out of my house and go away. Far, far away.”

  Mike shook his head.

  “That night we had was incredible,” he said. “And I know you felt the same way.”

  “Please.”

  His body churning, his brain racing, Mike stalked back to her, grabbed her and pulled her in close. “Since you asked so nicely...”

  He kissed her, drowning in the taste and scent and feel of her. Not since that hot, amazing night in Phoenix had Mike felt so completely right about anything. She squirmed halfheartedly against him for a second or two, as if she might actually try to deny what was happening between them as thoroughly as she’d lied about their past.

  But then the moment was gone, hesitation evaporated and she wrapped herself around him, arms locked about his neck, her short, shapely legs hooked around his waist. His hands dropped to the curve of her behind and held her there, tight against the erection straining and pulsing with the need to be buried inside her.

  Had he known what would happen when he’d decided to come here tonight? Had he guessed that he wouldn’t be able to deny himself—as he had for months—the sheer glory of her body? Didn’t matter, he told himself as his tongue swept into the heat of her mouth. Nothing mattered but the now. The feel of her surrounding him, pulling him deeper.

  No other woman had ever affected him like this. It was as if his brain and his body weren’t even linked. He knew this was a bad idea, but his body just didn’t give a damn. All it wanted...needed was her. One more night of being in her, on her, under her.

  He tore his mouth free of hers, then shifted to taste her at the pulse beat in her throat. Her heart hammered in time with his own.

  “Mike...” She sucked in a gulp of air and shivered in his arms when he nibbled at her skin. “We really shouldn’t do this—”

  “Yeah, I know,” he whispered against her neck. “Do you care?”

  “No.”

  “Good.” His grip on her tightened and she ground her hips against him, her heels digging into the small of his back. He groaned and hissed in a breath. “You’re killin’ me here.”

  She lifted her gaze to his and a slow, sensual smile curved her mouth. “Killing you, not really the plan.”

  “There’s a plan?”

  That smile widened as she leaned in and kissed him. “Oh, yeah.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know why...”

  “Why what?” she murmured, then gasped as his hands kneaded her behind.

  “Why it’s you who does this to me,” he said on another groan as his mind shut down and his body simply took the lead.

  “Ditto,” she whispered, then kissed the side of his neck, trailing her lips and the edges of her teeth along his skin.

  “Oh, yeah.” He held her tighter to his groin. “Bedroom. Where?”

  “Down the hall,” she whispered, her breath blowing hot against the dampness of his skin. “Hurry.”

  “On that.” Thankfully, her place was so small, it didn’t take him long to carry her into the bedroom. Like the rest of the apartment, the room was tiny. A double bed, covered by a brightly colored quilt, stood against one wall. Pale yellow curtains were parted over a window that opened onto the backyard where a soft, violet glow heralded twilight.

  A narrow cushioned chair sat alongside the bed, and the dresser on the opposite wall boasted a wide mirror that reflected the two of them as Mike dropped her onto the mattress.

  He stretched out over her, braced himself on his hands at either side of her head and bent to kiss her. Jenny’s hands scraped up and down his arms as her mouth fused to his. God, she tasted good. Almost as good as she felt.

  Quickly, he pulled her shirt up and off, then sent it sailing to a corner of the room. With just her lacy white bra standing between him and what he most wanted, Mike couldn’t wait. He flicked the clasp open, then slid the straps down her arms. His gaze locked on the feast that was Jenny Marshall. He groaned and bent his head to take first one hardened nipple and then the other into his mouth.

  Her hands fisted in his hair, holding him to her as his teeth and tongue lavished attention on those full, beautiful breasts. She came up off the bed when he suckled her and the groan that shot from her throat seemed to roll around them, echoing off the walls and ceiling.

  Not enough, his brain screamed at him. More. Take more.

  He dropped his hands to the snap and zipper of her jeans and undid them quickly. With her help as she wriggled eagerly beneath him, he scraped the worn denim down her legs, taking the flimsy scrap of lace panties with them. Then she was there before him, naked, willing, as desperately hungry for this as he was, and Mike couldn’t wait another second to claim her.

  “Too many clothes,” she muttered as she ran her hands over his chest in frantic strokes, unbuttoning his shirt as she went, tearing at the tiny white buttons, muttering, “I hate buttons, why are there so many buttons?”

  “No more buttons,” he said tightly as he shrugged out of his shirt and tossed it over his shoulder. “I’ll make a note.”

  “Good, good.” Her fingers stroked his skin then and each tiny stroke of her nails felt like fire dragged over flesh, burning, branding.

  He took a breath and held it, calling on every ounce of control he’d ever possessed, knowing it wouldn’t be enough. If he didn’t have her soon, the top of his head would explode. But Mike dragged it out. It had been too long since he’d had his hands on her and he wanted to savor the moment.

  He ran his hands down her body, breast to the heat of her and back up to her breast again. He explored every curve, every line, and with each caress he gave her, she reached for him, fingers grabbing at his shoulders, trying to pull him in closer, tighter. Her hips arched and rocked when he dipped one hand to the heart of her and cupped her heat.

  “Mike!” Her head dug back into the mattress as she lifted her hips into his touch. “If you don’t get out of those slacks and come to me soon, I—” She broke off, dragged in air and whimpered when he drove first one finger and then two into her damp heat. “Mike, please!”

  He worked her, driving himself and her to the edge of control and beyond. It took everything he had to keep from giving her just what she wanted. Just what he wanted. But first, he would torment them both. It had been a long year and a half.

  His thumb brushed over that one tiny bud of sensation and the deliberate caress had her shout his name. Again and again, he touched her, deeply, outside, inside, across that sensitive piece of flesh until she groaned and
whispered broken pleas for a release that he kept just out of reach. Her eyes glazed over, her body continued to twist and writhe, chasing a climax he refused to give her too early.

  Then he couldn’t bear it anymore. Pulling away from her, he stood, stripped out of the rest of his clothes and kept his gaze locked with hers as he did. She licked her lips, rocked her hips again in silent invitation and held up her arms to welcome him.

  “Almost,” he murmured and she groaned again, frustrated. Until he knelt on the floor and dragged her body toward him. When she was close enough, he covered her heat with his mouth and felt the crash of the climax that slammed into her. She reached down, held him to her as her body convulsed. His tongue flicked over her, into her and he tasted her as she exploded, crying out his name over and over like a mantra designed to prolong the pleasure rocking her.

  When she was limp and her gasping breaths were shuddering in and out of her lungs, he joined her on the bed and she rolled into his arms. One leg tossed across his hip, she brushed the tip of him against her heat and Mike almost lost it. Then she slid her hand down and her fingers wrapped around his hard length, working his flesh as expertly as he had hers.

  He hissed in a breath, squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and then opened them again to look down into hers. “Tell me you’ve got condoms.”

  “Yeah, oh, yeah. Bedside drawer.” She wiggled her hips, grinding her body against his. “Hurry.”

  “Right.” Mike didn’t think about why she had condoms. About the other men she must have invited into her bed. None of that mattered now. All that was important was this moment. He grabbed a condom, tore it open and sheathed himself, then looked back to the woman waiting for him.

  She was like a damned nymph, straight out of one of the fantasy games his company designed. Like one of her drawings—blond curls rumpled, blue eyes heated and languid all at once, curvy body lush and waiting for him.