EXPECTING THE CEO'S CHILD

by Yvonne Lindsay

  “I was just thinking about how different our lives were, growing up.”

  “How so?”

  “You had such stability, such strength behind your family. It’s like everyone has a place and they fit there, y’know?”

  “Uh-huh. It’s not always a bed of roses but we get along pretty well.”

  “Pretty well?” she said, tweaking one of his nipples with a pinch that made him yelp.

  “Okay, very well. But we work at it.”

  “That’s part of what I mean,” she said, smoothing her hand over his chest to soothe his injured flesh. “You do work at it, together. I guess I’ve never had that sense of community within a family. From what I know, my parents were both only children, and their parents died before I was born. It should have made them closer to one another, but instead it always felt like they were tearing each other apart.”

  “Doesn’t sound comfortable, for them or for you.”

  “No, it wasn’t. It was confusing, unstable. I never knew from one day to the next if they’d be happy and loving or morose and picking a fight. When my mother left us, I almost felt a sense of relief, y’know? But by the same token I was distraught because she didn’t take me, too. Dad said she felt like we were holding her back.”

  Dylan sighed. “That was unfair of him for saying it and, if it was true, of her for feeling it. You can’t do that to a kid. Your job as a parent is to nurture, to support and love your children. Yes, that means putting your own needs last a lot of the time, but I reckon there’s a time and a place for everything and everyone, and when your kids are young it’s their time, their place.”

  Jenna closed her eyes as a swell of something rich and true buoyed up inside her. His words were so simple, yet they rang with such a deep certainty about what was right and wrong. Tenets she held dear to her own heart.

  “Well, obviously they didn’t feel that way.”

  “Do you stay in touch with your dad now?” Dylan asked.

  Jenna shook her head. She didn’t want to tell Dylan that her father would be locked up behind bars for at least another two years. He’d probably have been out on parole by now if the prison staff hadn’t discovered he’d begun grooming wealthy widows for future cons during his computer time inside.

  “No. We lead totally separate lives. To be honest, I don’t want anything to do with him,” she said emphatically.

  “Will you tell him about the baby?”

  “No. I don’t want him anywhere near us.”

  “Family is family, Jen,” Dylan said, still stroking her skin, his actions soothing the anger that had risen in her as they discussed her dad. “I wouldn’t be where I am now without mine.”

  She laughed, but it was a bitter sound. “Nor would I. But I’ve learned the hard way that just because someone is family doesn’t mean they have your best interests at heart. My foster mum gave me more care and stability than my parents ever did. Thanks to her, I’ve learned to do very well on my own and I like it that way. I work hard, and what I have is my own. Okay, so I can’t provide luxuries like saltwater ponds with swinging ropes, or private jets and silver spoons. But I can provide what counts—stability and constancy in a loving home. I’ve set down roots here. I finally belong somewhere and I’ll protect that, and my baby’s right to that, with every last breath in my body if I have to.”

  Dylan was silent for a while, but then he spoke. “And do you see any room for me in that life of yours?”

  She rolled on top of him, her legs tangling with his and her hands on either side of his face as she rose up to kiss him.

  “That depends,” she said, pulling away so they were inches apart.

  “On what?”

  “On whether you plan to keep telling me what to do, or whether you want to be an equal partner in what happens in our baby’s life.”

  Tiny twin frown lines appeared between his brows as he looked into her eyes. “I can do partnership,” he said carefully. “But I’d rather do marriage.”

  This time, when he said it, it didn’t send quite the same shaft of anxiety through her. Instead, she felt a sense of curiosity—a need to take his suggestion and examine it more closely instead of rejecting it out of hand.

  “I’ll think about it,” she said, hardly believing it herself as the words fell from her lips.

  “Thank you,” he answered simply.

  His strong, warm arms closed around her and she caught his lips again, letting herself and her fears go in his touch until once more they were lost in each other.

  * * *

  The air had grown cool around them and Dylan shifted to drag the covers up over their naked forms. Jenna had fallen asleep almost immediately after the second time they’d made love, but he’d continue to lie there turning over her words.

  Her family had hurt her, had made her doubt and fear closeness. Chipping away at her barriers would take time and care. And love? Yes, and love. Love and dependability. Those had been the backbone of his upbringing. He wanted those attributes to be the backbone of his kid’s upbringing, too, and to do that he needed to woo Jenna with those promises. He’d known all along that courting her would be a challenge. They’d done everything from back to front, for a start. But he’d get there, he decided as he finally drifted off to sleep. What he and Jenna had between them was far too important. Failure was not an option.

  In the morning Dylan eased himself from the bedsheets without disturbing her. Dragging on his jeans, he padded through to her kitchen to see what he could rustle up for breakfast. He eyed her appliances with interest. Everything was new and in near pristine condition. Either she was a fanatical housekeeper or she didn’t do a great deal of cooking in here. From what she’d said about TV dinners, he suspected it was the latter.

  He opened her fridge and confirmed that she didn’t do a great deal of cooking. His brow furrowed as he considered his options. A quick check of the vegetable drawer revealed a red pepper that was just about past its best by date, and some fresh mushrooms. He made a sound of satisfaction. Further rummaging in the kitchen uncovered potatoes and onions in matching earthenware containers.

  So, with these items combined with the eggs in the fridge, he could do a Spanish omelet with red pepper and a side of fried mushrooms. His mouth was already watering at the thought. But when it came to slicing the potatoes, he eyed Jenna’s knives in despair and wished he was in his own kitchen with his quality steel blades honed to perfection. Still, he’d made do with worse, he thought, testing the blunt edge.

  He fried the potato and onions together in a pan while he went to work slicing mushrooms and beating the eggs. By the time he was ready to turn the halved omelet onto two warmed plates he heard a sound in the hall.

  “Good morning,” he said as Jenna stumbled into the kitchen, wrapped in a fluffy long bathrobe.

  She looked as though she’d forced herself awake. Her hair was mussed and her eyes had a sleepy look about them that almost made him abandon their breakfast and take her straight back to bed to wake her up properly.

  “Good morning,” she said as she went over to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water and screwed off the cap. “Something smells good. Are you feeding me again?”

  “Spanish omelet. You hungry?”

  She groaned. “Hungry? I’m always hungry lately.”

  “Then,” he said, scooping up the sliced mushrooms he’d fried in a little butter, and sharing them between their plates, “you’d better wrap yourself around this.”

  She gave him a puzzled look. “You did this?”

  He waggled his fingers in front of her. “With my own fair hands.”

  “Did I actually have the ingredients or have you been out?”

  He laughed. “You had everything here. I haven’t left you for a moment.”

  Nor did he plan to for the rest of th
is weekend, or any of the time he had free until the official opening of the Grill next week.

  “Hmm,” she said, quickly setting the small table she had in the dining area and transferring their plates onto the table. “Maybe you should give me some lessons.”

  His mouth quirked in a smile. Lessons? Oh, yeah, he’d love to do that. His mind filled with the possibilities, starting with Jenna wearing an apron...and nothing else.

  “Sure. Shall we start today?”

  “I was kidding, but if you’re serious...”

  “I never kid about food.”

  “Okay, today would be fine.”

  “Good, I’ll take you back to my place. We’ll have more to work with there.”

  She returned his smile and he felt as though the sun had just risen again. “Thank you, I’d like that.”

  Dylan heard his phone beep. “Excuse me a second,” he said, sliding it from his pocket and checking the display.

  It was a message from Felicity Sinclair, Lassiter Media’s queen of PR, confirming her arrival in Cheyenne tomorrow morning. He tapped in a quick acknowledgment and turned his attention back to Jenna.

  “Sorry, work,” he said by way of explanation.

  “Do you always work on weekends?”

  He shrugged. “When it’s necessary. With the Grill opening next week everything has become more time sensitive. That was just a text from our PR executive. She’s flying in tomorrow. I’ll bring her by your store and introduce you.”

  “That’d be nice. Hopefully, she can make sure that Connell’s Floral Design’s logo is featured prominently in your advertising,” she said with a cheeky smile.

  Jenna leaned forward as she scooped up a mouthful of omelet, her action making her robe gape open enough to give him a glimpse of one pink-tipped breast. Any thoughts of work and the people associated with it flew from his mind as he allowed his gaze to drift over her. She continued eating, oblivious to his perusal, until her plate was empty and she lifted her attention to him—and realized just what had caught his attention.

  Her eyes darkened, as they had last night, and her cheeks became tinged with pink.

  “Not hungry?” she asked, her voice a little husky.

  “Starving,” he replied, putting his fork down and pushing his plate away.

  He eased from his chair, dropping to his knees and sliding one hand inside her robe to cup her breast. Her nipple instantly tightened against his palm.

  “Ah, now I see why you’re feeding me so well,” Jenna said, drawing in a deep breath. “You want to keep my energy levels up.”

  “Among other things,” he drawled, letting his thumb graze back and forth over the taut nub that just begged him to take it in his mouth.

  Never a man to ignore his instincts, Dylan did just that. Jenna’s fingers tunneled through his hair, holding him to her as he nibbled and sucked her flesh.

  “Well, it’s a good thing I’ve eaten then,” Jenna managed to say before he pushed aside her robe and lavished her other breast with equal attention. “Because I have a feeling I’m going to need the extra calories.”

  “Them and more,” he murmured against her skin.

  * * *

  They didn’t get out to his place until well after lunchtime and by then they were both famished again, for each other and for more sustenance. How they even made it into his high-tech kitchen bemused him, when all he wanted to do was take Jenna to the dizzying heights they’d shared, over and over again.

  Instead, he supervised her as she put together a simple lunch for them both. Jenna surveyed the assembled ingredients on the island in the center of the kitchen.

  “You always buy this extensively from the grocery store?” she commented as she tore up some romaine lettuce and threw it into a bowl.

  “When I’m in the mood for Greek salad, yeah. What’s wrong? Didn’t your family ever cook?”

  As soon as the words were out of his mouth he wished them back again. He already knew talking about her family created an invisible barrier between them, one he’d unwittingly put back in place.

  “I can remember baking cookies with my mom once or twice when I was little, but aside from that, nothing really. Dad was big on takeout, or eating out. He often wasn’t home for meals anyway, so I just learned to make do.”

  It was what she didn’t say that struck him. How old had she been when she’d been left to fend for herself come mealtimes? Dylan moved around the granite-topped island and slid his arms around her waist, pulling her gently back against him.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, pressing a kiss against the back of her neck. “I didn’t mean to bring that up.”

  “It is what it is,” she said, studiously concentrating on slicing the red onion and then the red and green bell peppers she’d laid out in a row on the countertop in front of her.

  “Here, do you want me to do that?” he offered, wanting to do anything to change the subject and shift her focus to something else.

  “Actually, no. I’m enjoying this. I never thought I would, but it’s true.”

  She flung him a smile over her shoulder and kept chopping and slicing until the bowl was filled with the earlier ingredients, together with tomatoes, olives and cucumber. Her hand hesitated over the feta cheese.

  “It’s okay,” Dylan said. “I checked. It’s made from pasteurized milk.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Hey, leave it out if you want to. It’s not a food crime.” To save her the hassle, he swept the packet up and put it back in the fridge, substituting it for a sliced cooked chicken breast. “Use this instead. There’s no reason why we can’t play around with tradition.”

  “Thanks,” she said. “I’m sorry, I just don’t want to do anything that will potentially harm the baby. He or she is all I have.”

  She placed one hand on her belly and Dylan could see the love in her face. He put his hand over hers. “You have me now, too. I want you to remember that, because I’m not going anywhere, Jenna. Not unless you’re coming with me.”

  Eleven

  She wanted to believe him. With all her heart she wanted it to be true. But she’d heard such platitudes from her father’s mouth all the years she’d spent with him. He’d used them with her and also with his many lady friends. He’d always made it sound so sincere, as if the words truly came from his heart, but they’d come from a place far more closely associated with his wallet.

  “Seeing is believing,” Jenna said, trying to keep her words light. But she knew they’d struck to Dylan’s core.

  “You don’t believe me?”

  He reached to take the knife from her and turned her to face him. His hands framed her face and forced her to maintain eye contact with him.

  “I didn’t say that, exactly,” she hedged, knowing to the depth of her soul that she wanted to be certain of him, to be able to trust what he said without looking for an ulterior motive.

  Still, aside from the baby, and obviously the incredible sexual chemistry they shared, what else was there? A marriage took so much more than those two things. Her parents had been the perfect example of that. A marriage needed commitment, togetherness and mutual minds. What motive could he have to want to be with her? It wasn’t as if she had something he needed. He had it all and then some.

  “Jenna, I meant what I said. Yes, I know we haven’t known each other all that long and, yes, we’ve gone at this all the wrong way. If I could, I’d turn back the clock and take the time to woo you, to prove that you can rely on me. Something brought us together, I firmly believe that. And we’re meant to be, Jenna.”

  “I wish it could be that easy.” She sighed.

  “It can be. If you just let it.”

  “I’m trying, Dylan, honestly I am. I...I want to trust you.”

  “Then that’s progr
ess. I’ll take it. We’re halfway there, right? C’mon, let’s get this salad finished and I’ll show you around the house.”

  * * *

  The next morning Jenna was happily reflecting on her day with Dylan when Valerie knocked on her office door and popped her head in.

  “You have visitors. Mr. Drop-Dead-Gorgeous and a woman who looks as if she walked straight off Rodeo Drive. They make a nice couple,” Valerie said, closing the office door behind her as she returned to the showroom.

  A couple? Jenna didn’t think so, not after the very thorough loving Dylan had given her yesterday. But even so, she felt a twinge of jealousy and insecurity. This PR chick, whoever she was, was certainly more suited to Dylan’s world than Jenna ever could be. And she’d lay odds that she didn’t have any dark or shameful secrets lurking in her past, either. Insecurity made Jenna uncomfortable as she rose from her desk and checked her appearance in the mirror that hung on the back of her office door.

  Well, there wasn’t a hair out of place and her makeup hadn’t disappeared since she’d lightly applied it this morning. There was nothing else to do but go out and face them.

  Her heart skipped a double beat when she thought about seeing Dylan. He’d been so attentive yesterday and had made her feel so incredibly special. She wished she was the kind of person who could simply embrace that and not constantly read between the lines of everything he said and did for an ulterior motive.

  There was another knock at her office door.

  “Jenna?”

  It was Dylan. She pasted a smile on her face and reached for the handle. She felt her heart thump as she saw him. He was all sartorial corporate elegance today, dressed in a charcoal-gray suit, white shirt and striped tie. Her eyes skimmed past him to the tall, slim, golden-haired woman who was examining some pink hollyhocks. No wonder Valerie thought they made a cute couple. With the woman’s tailored suit and high heels—Louboutin by the looks of them—she and Dylan looked as if they’d stepped out of the pages of Forbes Magazine. Jenna tugged at the loose-fitting tunic she’d teamed with a pair of stretch pants this morning, and wished her wardrobe had extended to something a little sharper for this meeting.