Not the Boss's Baby

by Sarah M. Anderson

  He had looked at her then the same way he was looking at her right now...like she was far more than the most important worker in the company. More like she was the most important woman in the world. “You were honest with me. And what’s more than that, you were right. It’s hard to expect loyalty if you don’t give people something to be loyal to.”

  She’d been devoted to him from that moment on. When he’d been named the new CEO a year later, she’d applied to be his assistant the same day. She hadn’t been the most qualified person to apply, but he’d taken a chance on her.

  She’d been so thankful then. The job had been a gift that allowed her to take care of herself—to not rely on Neil to pay the rent or buy the groceries. Because of Chadwick, she’d been able to do exactly what she’d set out to do—be financially independent.

  She was still thankful now.

  Still in slo-mo, he leaned down. His lips brushed against hers—not a fierce kiss of possession, but something that was closer to a request for permission.

  Serena took a deep breath in satisfaction. Chadwick’s scent surrounded her with the warmth of sandalwood on top of his own clean notes. She couldn’t help it—she clutched him more tightly, tracing his lips with her tongue.

  Chadwick let out a low growl that seemed to rumble right out of his chest. Then the kiss deepened. She opened her mouth for him and his tongue swept in.

  Serena’s knees gave in to the heat that suddenly flooded her system, but she didn’t go anywhere—Chadwick held her up. Her head began to swim again but instead of the stark panic that had paralyzed her earlier, she felt nothing but sheer desire. She’d wanted that kiss since the very first time she’d seen Chadwick Beaumont. Why on God’s green earth had she waited almost eight years to invite it?

  Something hard and warm pressed against the front of her gown. A similar weight hung heavy between her legs, driving her body into his. This was what she’d been missing for months. Years. This raw passion hadn’t just been gone since Neil had left—it’d been gone for much longer.

  Chadwick wanted her. And oh, how she wanted him. Wanted to forget about bosses and employees and companies and boards of directors and pregnancies and everything that had gone wrong in her world. This—being in Chadwick’s arms, his lips crushed against hers—this was right. So very right. Nothing else mattered except for this moment of heat in his arms. It burned everything else away.

  She wanted to touch him, find out if the rest of him was as strong as his arms were—but before she could do anything of the sort, he broke the kiss and pulled her into an even tighter hug.

  His lips moved against her neck, as if he were smiling against her. She liked how it felt. “You’ve always been special, Serena,” he whispered against her skin. “So let me show you how special you are. I want to buy you all three dresses. That way you can surprise me on Saturday. Are you going to refuse me that chance?”

  The heat ebbed between them. She’d forgotten about the dresses—and how much they probably cost. For an insane moment, she’d forgotten everything—who she was. Who he was.

  She absolutely should refuse the dress, the dinner, the way he had looked at her all afternoon like he couldn’t wait to strip each and every dress right off her, and the way he was holding her to his broad chest right now. She had no business being here, doing this—no business letting her attraction to Chadwick Beaumont cloud her thinking. She was pregnant and her job was on the line, and at no point in the past, present or future did she require three gowns that probably cost more than her annual salary.

  But then that man leaned backward and cupped her cheek in his palm and said, “I haven’t had this much fun in...well, I can’t remember when. It was good to get out of the office.” His smile took a decade of worry off his face.

  She was about to tell him that the champagne had gone to his head—although she was painfully aware that she had no such excuse as to why she’d kissed him back—when he added, “I’m glad I got to spend it with you. Thank you, Serena.”

  And she had nothing. No refusal, no telling him off, no power to insist that Mario only wrap up one dress and none of the jewelry, no defense that she did not need him to buy her anything because she was perfectly able to buy her own dresses.

  He’d had fun. With her.

  “The dresses are lovely, Chadwick. Thank you.”

  He leaned down, his five-o’clock shadow and his lips lightly brushing her cheek. “You’re welcome.” He pulled back and stuck out his arm just like Mario had done to escort her to the dais. “Let me take you to dinner.”

  “I...” She looked down at the droopy green dress, which was now creased in a few key areas. “I have to get back to work. I have to go back to being an executive assistant now.” Funny how that sounded off all of a sudden. She’d been nothing but an executive assistant for over seven years. Why shouldn’t putting the outfit back on feel more...natural?

  A day of playing dress-up had gone right to her head. She must have forgotten who she was. She was really Serena Chase, frugal employee. She wasn’t the kind of woman who had rich men lavish her with exorbitant gifts. She wasn’t Chadwick’s lover.

  Oh God, she’d let him kiss her. She’d kissed him back.

  What had she done?

  Chadwick’s face grew more distant. He, too, seemed to be realizing that they’d crossed a line they couldn’t uncross. It made her feel even more miserable. “Ah, yes. I probably have work to do as well.”

  “Probably.” They might have been playing hooky for a few hours that afternoon, but the world had kept on turning. The fallout from the board meeting no doubt had investors, analysts and journalists burning up the bandwidth, all clamoring for a statement from Chadwick Beaumont.

  But more than that, she needed to be away from him. This proximity wasn’t helping her cause. She needed to clear her head and stop having fantasies about her boss. Fantasies that now had a very real feel to them—the feeling of his lips against hers, his body pressed to hers. Fantasies that would probably play out in her dreams that night.

  She couldn’t accept dinner on top of the dresses. She had to draw the line somewhere.

  But she’d already crossed that line.

  How much farther would she go?

  Six

  Chadwick did not sleep well.

  He told himself that it had everything to do with the disastrous board meeting and nothing to do with Serena Chase, but what the hell was the point in lying? It had everything to do with Serena.

  He shouldn’t have kissed her. Rationally, he knew that. He’d fired other executives for crossing that very same line—one strike and they were out. For way too long, Beaumont Brewery had been a business where men took all kinds of advantage of the women who worked for them. That was one of the first things he’d changed after his father died. He’d had Serena write a strict sexual harassment policy to prevent exactly this situation.

  He’d always taken the higher road. Fairness, loyalty, equality.

  He was not Hardwick Beaumont. He would not seduce his secretary. Or his executive assistant, for that matter.

  Except that he’d already started. He’d told her he was taking her to the gala. He’d taken her shopping and bought tens of thousands of dollars worth of gowns, jewels and handbags for her.

  He’d kissed her. He’d wanted to do so much more than just kiss her, too. He’d wanted to leave that gown in a puddle on the floor and sit back on the loveseat, Serena’s body riding his. He wanted to feel the full weight of her breasts in his hands, her body taking his in.

  He’d wanted to do something as base and crass as take her in a dressing room, for God’s sake. And that was exactly what Hardwick would have done.

  So he’d stopped. Thankfully, she’d stopped, too.

  She hadn’t wanted the dresses. She’d fought him tooth and nail about that.

  But the kiss?

  She’d kissed him back. Tracing his mouth with her tongue, pressing those amazing breasts against him—holding him j
ust as tightly as he had been holding her.

  He found himself in his office by five-thirty the next morning, running a seven-minute mile on his treadmill. He had the international market report up on the screen in front of him, but he wasn’t paying a damn bit of attention to it.

  Instead, he was wondering what the hell he was going to do about Serena.

  She was pregnant. And when she’d come out in those gowns, she’d glowed. She’d always been beautiful—a bright, positive smile for any occasion with nary a manipulating demand in sight—but yesterday she’d taken his breath away over and over again.

  He was totally, completely, one hundred percent confounded by Serena Chase. The women in Chadwick’s world did not refuse expensive clothing and jewelry. They spent their days planning how to get more clothes, better jewels and a skinnier body. They whimpered and pleaded and seduced until they got what they wanted.

  That’s what his mother had always done. Chadwick doubted whether Eliza and Hardwick had ever really loved each other. She’d wanted his money, and he’d wanted her family prestige. Whenever Eliza had caught Hardwick in flagrante delicto—which was often—she’d threaten and cry until Hardwick plunked down a chunk of change on a new diamond. Then, when one diamond wasn’t enough, he started buying them in bulk.

  Helen had been like that, too. Oh, she didn’t threaten, but she did pout until she got what she wanted—cars, clothes, plastic surgery. It had been so much easier to just give in to her demands than deal with the manipulation. In the last year before she filed for divorce, she’d only slept with him when he’d bought her something. Not that he’d enjoyed it much, even then.

  Somehow, he’d convinced himself he was fine with that. He didn’t need to feel passion because passion left a man wide open for the pain of betrayal. Because there was always another betrayal around the next corner.

  But Serena? She didn’t cry, didn’t whine and didn’t pout. She never treated him like he was a pawn to be moved until she got what she wanted, never treated him like he was an obstacle she had to negotiate around.

  She didn’t even want to let him buy her a dress that made her feel beautiful.

  He punched the treadmill up another mile per hour, running until his lungs burned.

  He could not be lusting after his assistant and that was final.

  This was just the result of Helen moving out of their bedroom over twenty-two months before, that was all. And they hadn’t had sex for a couple of months before that. Yes, that was it. Two years without a woman in his arms—without a woman looking at him with a smile, without a woman who was glad to see him.

  Two years was a hell of a long time.

  That’s all this was. Sexual frustration manifesting itself in the direction of his assistant. He hadn’t wanted to break his marriage vows to Helen, even in the middle of their never-ending divorce. Part of that was a wise business decision—if Helen found out that he’d had an affair, even after their separation, she wouldn’t sign off on the divorce until he had nothing left but his name.

  But part of that was refusing to be like his father.

  Except his father totally would have lavished gifts on his secretary and then kissed her.

  Hell.

  Finally his legs gave out, but instead of the normal clarity a hard run brought him, he just felt more muddled than ever. Despite the punishing exercise, he was no closer to knowing what he was supposed to do when Serena came in for their morning meeting.

  Oh, he knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to lay her out on his desk and lavish her curves with all the attention he had. He wanted her to straddle him. He wanted to bring her to a shuddering, screaming climax, and he wanted to hold her afterwards and fall asleep in her arms.

  He didn’t just want to have sex.

  He wanted to have Serena.

  Double damn.

  He threw himself into his shower without bothering to touch the hot water knob. The cold did little to shock him back to his senses, but at least it knocked his erection down to a somewhat manageable level.

  This was beyond lust. He had a need to take care of her—to not fail her. That was why he’d bought her nice things, right? Sure. He was just rewarding her loyalty.

  She’d said that her ex hadn’t responded to her email. There—that was something he could do. He could get that jerk to step up to the plate and at least acknowledge that he’d left Serena in a difficult situation. Yeah, he liked that idea—making Neil Moore toe the line was a perfectly acceptable way of looking out for his best employee, and it didn’t involve kissing her. He doubted that Serena would hold Neil responsible for his legal obligations—but Chadwick had no problem putting that man’s feet to the fire.

  He shut the water off and grabbed his towel. He was pretty sure he had Neil’s information in his phone. But where had he left it?

  He rummaged in his pants pocket for a few minutes before he remembered he’d set it down on his desk when he came in.

  He opened the door and walked into his office—and found himself face-to-face with Serena.

  “Chadwick!” she gasped. “What are you—”

  “Serena!” It was then that he remembered the only thing he had on was a towel. He hadn’t even managed to dry off.

  Her mouth was frozen in a totally kissable “oh,” her eyes wide as her gaze traveled down his wet chest.

  Desire pumped through him, hard. All he’d have to do would be to drop the towel and show her exactly what she did to him. Hell, at the rate he was going, he wouldn’t even have to drop the towel. She wasn’t blind and his body wasn’t being subtle right now.

  “I’m...I’m sorry,” she sputtered. “I didn’t realize....”

  “Just checking my phone.” Just thinking about you. He glanced at his clock. She was at least an hour ahead of schedule. “You’re early.”

  “I wanted...I mean, about last night...” She seemed to be trying to get herself back under control, but her gaze kept drifting down. “About the kiss...” A furious blush made her look innocent and naughty at the same time.

  He took a step forward, all of his best intentions blown to hell by the look on her face. The same look she’d had the night before when he’d kissed her. She wanted him.

  God, that made him feel good.

  “What about the kiss?”

  Finally, she dropped her gaze from his body to the floor. “It shouldn’t have happened. I shouldn’t have kissed you. That was unprofessional and I apologize.” She rushed through the words in one breath, sounding like she’d spent at least half the night rehearsing that little speech. “It won’t happen again.”

  Wait—what? Was she taking all the blame for that? No. It’s not like she’d shoved him against the wall and groped him. He was the one who’d pulled her into his arms. He was the one who’d lifted her chin. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I thought I was the one who kissed you.”

  “Yes, well, it was still unprofessional, and it shouldn’t have happened while I was on the job.”

  For a second, Chadwick knew he’d screwed up. She was serious. He’d be lucky if she didn’t file suit against him.

  But then she lifted her head, her bottom lip tucked under her teeth as she peeked at his bare torso. There was no uncertainty in her eyes—just the same desire that was pumping through his veins.

  Then he realized what she’d said—while she was on the job.

  Would she be “on the job” on Saturday night? Or off the clock?

  “Of course,” he agreed. Because, even though she was looking at him like that and he was wearing nothing more than a towel, he was not his father. He could be a reasonable, rational man. Not one solely driven by his baser needs. He could rein in his desires.

  Sort of.

  “What time shall I pick you up for dinner on Saturday?”

  Her lower lip still held captive by her teeth—God, what would it feel like if she bit his lip like that?—he thought he saw her smile. Just a little bit. “The gala starts at nine. We should arrive
by nine-twenty. We don’t want to be unfashionably late.”

  He’d take her to the Palace Arms. It would be the perfect accompaniment to the gala—a setting befitting Serena in a gown. “Ms. Chase,” he said, trying to use his normal business voice. It was harder to do in a towel than he would have expected. “Please make dinner reservations for two at the Palace Arms for seven. I’ll pick you up at six-thirty.”

  Her eyes went wide again—like they had the day before when he’d informed her he was sending her to Neiman’s to get a dress. Like they had when he’d impulsively ordered all three dresses. Why was she so afraid of him spending his money as he saw fit? “But that’s...”

  “That’s what I want,” he replied.

  And then, because he couldn’t help himself, he let the towel slip. Just a little—not enough to flash her—but more than enough to make her notice.

  And respond. No, she didn’t like it when he flashed his wealth around—but his body? His body appeared to be a different matter entirely. Her mouth dropped open into that “oh” again and then—God help him—her tongue flicked out and traced over her lips. He had to bite down to keep the groan from escaping.

  “I’ll...I’ll go make those reservations, Mr. Beaumont,” she said breathlessly.

  He couldn’t have kept the grin off his face if he tried. “Please do.”

  Oh, yeah, he was going to take her out to dinner and she was going to wear one of those gowns and he would...

  He would enjoy her company, he reminded himself. He did not expect anything other than that. This was not a quid pro quo situation where he bought her things and expected her to fall into bed out of obligation. Sex was not the same as a thank-you note.