The CEO's Surprise Family

by Teresa Carpenter

  LEXI PUSHED THROUGH her front door, slammed it shut behind her and threw the bolts. Unable to shake the sense of being pursued, she backed away.

  Pull it together, girl. The man had better things to do than chase her down.

  After Jethro dropped his question bomb, she’d slipped out when Lana and Ethan walked in carrying the piece Ethan had chosen for Jethro.

  Best timing ever.

  Okay, she’d panicked.

  She hadn’t been prepared for his questions.

  In the bedroom she grabbed a nightgown—a lavender bit of silk edged in black lace—and headed into the bathroom for a shower. She’d bolted. What else could she do? He thought she was some femme fatale intent on getting something from him.

  And, in a way, she was.

  He’d been so intense she didn’t know if she’d ever be prepared to face off against him.

  But she would. For Jazi.

  Lexi clung to the fact he gave Miguel a healthy tip when he learned of his new baby. It showed he had some sensitivity for kids. Right?

  During the cab ride home she’d decided she needed to call tomorrow and make an appointment with Jethro. She’d see him before she went into work and get this all straightened out.

  Stepping under the spray, she rinsed her hair, letting the hot water soothe her. As plans went, it lacked finesse and relied heavily on his willingness to see her again. But what she’d learned of him tonight told her an up-front, honest approach was her best bet.

  All the things she could say filtered through her head as she dried off and applied a tropical-scented lotion in honor of Ethan’s Escape painting. The silk of her nightgown glided over her skin in a sensual fall, ending at midthigh. She continued to ruminate while combing and drying her hair. The thick auburn tresses were still damp when she thought she heard a knock on her door.

  Flipping off the hairdryer, she listened and the knocking came again. She wrinkled her nose. The last thing she needed tonight was the distraction of a friend coming over for gossip and coffee, something dancers liked to do. Since she’d left the troupe, she often had people dropping by.

  Or maybe that’s exactly what she needed. To just get out of her head and focus on someone else for a while. By the time she reached the door, she was ready to embrace whoever stood on the other side.

  She swung the door wide. “Hell...’’

  Bug-eyed, she stared at Jethro Calder.

  “What? How?”

  His navy eyes swept over her darkening to near black by the time his gaze met hers. Who knew black could show such heat? He stepped forward, crowding her.

  Instinctively she backed away.

  He kept coming and she kept retreating until he cleared the threshold. He closed the door behind him.

  “Are you crazy?” he demanded. “You don’t answer the door without knowing who’s on the other side.” His gaze made another journey over her as he continued to stalk her. “Especially dressed like that.

  “How are you here?” She meant it as an accusation. It came out in a whisper as she continued to dodge his pursuit. She hit a chair and sidestepped.

  “Does it matter?” He caught her elbow when she tripped over the ottoman and nearly landed on her rump. “You wanted me and, sunshine, you’ve got me.” Lifting her to her toes, he lowered his head and slanted his lips over hers.

  Her hands landed on his chest ready to push him away. But oh, my...

  For all his ferocity, when his mouth took hers, there was no anger, no punishing assault on her senses, nothing but pure passion, undiluted desire. The soft pressure of his lips lured her into opening to him.

  Oh, he took, with a seductive demand that had her lifting farther onto her toes and looping her arms around his neck. Her mind was lost, transferring the cadence of his touch to notes in her head. Grip, glide, soft, firm, thrust, nip—the heat built in body and melody to a place she’d never been before.

  He whispered erotic threats and words were added to the song in her head.

  As she floated on sensation, he became her rock, hard, solid, grounded. His arms were a haven of safety and the orchestrators of the sensation and rhythm surging through her.

  She wanted more. Now. More of his taste, more of his touch, more of his heat. More.

  And then her knees hit up against something and she sat. She blinked and her bedroom came into focus. He’d moved them down the hall and into her room without her even noticing they were moving.

  Eyes liquid with arousal, he watched her as he unbuttoned his shirt. He’d lost his jacket somewhere along the trek to the bedroom.

  And OMG, she’d lost her nightgown. She sat in front of him in nothing more than a rosy blush of need.

  Sanity came rushing back with a roar.

  “Stop. Whoa.” Grabbing the edge of her sunny yellow comforter, she wrapped it around herself. She wasn’t modest, a dancer couldn’t afford the luxury, but she felt too exposed under his ravenous regard. “I’m sorry, but this is not going to happen.”

  His fingers froze on the last connected button. “Excuse me?” Dark brows lowered in a fierce scowl.

  Intimidating, much? Oh, yeah.

  “I’m sorry,” she said again. And she meant it. He’d just lit her up like a torch in every way imaginable, body, mind, soul. And he couldn’t be more off-limits if he were the Pope. “This isn’t what I intended when I sought you out.”

  If anything the scowl deepened. “Explain.”

  The demand was nearly a growl. It occurred to her she should be afraid, but she wasn’t. She’d been in his arms, felt his body resonate with hers. He’d never hurt a woman. Not physically anyway. He had too much control. But there were worse ways he could make her pay. Her mind raced. This needed to be handled carefully.

  Feeling at a disadvantage, she inched to the side and stood up. He stepped back giving her some room. She breathed in relief. “I’d prefer to get dressed for this conversation if you don’t mind.”

  It wasn’t a question and still he looked ready to protest, a signal to her that he was in charge of what happened here. Never mind it was her apartment. Clearly the man was used to being in command wherever he went. Finally, he gave a brief nod and left the room.

  Okay, in no way did his silence reassure her. Anger defined the rigid line of his shoulders as he strode away.

  “There’s wine in the refrigerator and glasses in the cupboard to the right,” she called out, then bit her lip. This wasn’t a date, but she knew if he left, she’d lose all chance of ever talking to him.

  Ready or not the time had come to plead her case.

  She grabbed clothes from the dresser and hurried into them, soft gray sweats and a baby-blue sweater cropped at the waist. In the bathroom she tamed her hair into a ponytail and noticed the pants clung to the curves of her butt and the sweater played peekaboo with her belly button. Dang. Time didn’t allow for another change.

  Tugging at the hem of the sweater she went to wrangle the shark in her living room.

  He leaned against the counter of her kitchen island, sipping a glass of wine. His dark gaze ran over her making her senses tingle.

  “You have five minutes,” he stated in that near growl that just added to his effect on her body.

  Ignoring the urges she could never act on, she helped herself to some wine. She perched on one of the bar stools at the island and took a sip.

  “Four minutes. Don’t try my patience, Ms. Malone.”

  “I really wanted to do this differently. I was going to come by your office—” She slanted him a wry glance and reached for a picture frame at the end of the counter. Handing it to him, she said softly, “Alliyah had a daughter. Her name is Jasmine. She’s twenty-three-months-old.”

  He refused to accept the picture, didn’t even glance at it. “What does that have to
do with me?”

  “You said I targeted you. This is why. In the article I read about Pinnacle, there was a picture included. You and the other executives were holding up the award. I saw your birthmark.”

  One dark brow lifted. “You targeted me because of my birthmark?”

  So cool, so unaffected when her whole life weighed in the balance.

  “Yes.” She hesitated, prayed this was the right decision, that she wasn’t risking losing Jazi to the one person Lexi could never get her back from. “Because Jasmine has the same birthmark.”

  Okay, she had Jethro’s attention. Truthfully, she’d had his attention from the moment she walked into The Beacon in that snug little black dress and he hoped she’d be his date. But never in his wildest imaginings had he considered the night would end up here. He’d been suspicious of her, enough to follow her here.

  The sight of her draped in damp silk, white teeth biting her lush lower lip, had sidetracked him for an irrational moment. A hot, blow-his-mind moment that should never have happened. The lack of discipline was in no small part responsible for his...mood.

  No one ever accused him of being dense. She meant to suggest Jasmine was his daughter. And he dealt with numbers every day, so he could do the math. The timing fit. But not the circumstances. He never had unprotected sex, never.

  “Coincidence,” he stated.

  She groaned and shook her head. “You don’t strike me as a man big on coincidence.”

  She wasn’t wrong. But he didn’t budge. No way was she laying this on him. Family wasn’t in his future. In order to survive, he’d had to shut down his emotions. It was a lesson too well learned to change. Plus, he’d force no one to share his secret shame. All in all he sucked at relationships, lacked the skill set as one woman told him. When he hit thirty, he quit trying. He’d found Excursions about a year later.

  So no, no family for him. And he was fine with that. He’d come to terms with the notion long ago, had made it clear to all who knew him. Jethro wasn’t prepared for that to change now.

  Certainly not on the whim of a woman he barely knew. Even if she turned him so upside down he’d practically jumped her as soon as he’d walked inside the door. What had he been thinking?

  The problem was he hadn’t been thinking; he’d been feeling. Further proof emotions couldn’t be trusted.

  “You have the wrong man.”

  Lexi slid from the stool and held the picture frame up in front of him. “She has your eyes.”

  Don’t look. It’s a ploy. She just wants a rich baby daddy to support the orphan and you’re the lucky dupe.

  The warning blasted through Jethro’s brain. But not even his legendary restraint proved stronger than the compulsion to look.

  The baby was beautiful. A little girl with wild black curls and a smile so big and sweet he felt blessed just seeing it. She danced in the picture, her arms were raised and her tiny butt was cocked to the side and one pink-sandaled foot poised in the air. Jethro spied a smudge on one wrist that could be a birthmark. She had light beige skin, a sharp little nose.

  And midnight-blue eyes ringed by lush black lashes.

  Yeah, the birthmark was iffy, but those eyes, he’d never seen that exact color anywhere but in the mirror. The shape of her eyes, and her straight little eyebrows also matched his.

  “I’m not looking for money.” Lexi broke the silence. “And I don’t expect you to change your life. I read that you don’t want a family.”

  “Then what is this about, Ms. Malone?” He placed the picture facedown on the counter, the better to concentrate on the woman before him. His life just did a one-eighty. He needed to focus. “What do you want?”

  “Can you call me Lexi?” Her cheeks flushed a delightful shade of pink. “We just shared...” She waved her hand in the direction of the bedroom. “...a moment. It seems foolish to be so formal.”

  “I’ve been foolish in more than one regard tonight, Ms. Malone—calling me on it isn’t your smartest move.”

  “Why foolish?” she demanded, crossing her arms over her chest.

  Her position drew attention to her breasts, which were small but plump. And pert, a detail he remembered in vivid Technicolor. Her stance also caused a thin strip of pale skin to show at her waist. His fingers itched to touch that silky skin again.

  “Because you didn’t have control of every moment of the evening?” she went on. “Because you actually enjoyed yourself? News flash, people do it all the time.”

  “Because none of it was real.” Or did her show of attitude indicate otherwise? Was she upset because she, too, had got more caught up in their time together than she’d intended?

  So what if she was? It didn’t matter. Couldn’t matter. She was so off-limits she may as well live on Venus.

  “What do you want from me?” If it wasn’t money or for him to assume care of Jasmine, which would definitely change his life, then what else was there?

  She sighed and relaxed her stance. “I want to adopt her.”

  He lifted both brows. That was a response he hadn’t expected. And why did it give him mixed feelings of relief and disappointment?

  “Sounds like you have it all worked out. So why do you need me?”

  A look of anguish flashed through her pure blue eyes.

  “Even though I’m Jazi’s godmother and it’s what Alliyah would want, I don’t meet the qualifications for an adoptive parent. I’m single and a dancer.” She shrugged as if that said it all. “I need you to assume custody and then we can do a private adoption.”

  Custody. The word sent a rumble of dread down his back. And made him wonder. “Where is she?”

  “Child Protective Services took her away. She’s in foster c-care.” She pressed her lips together and blinked a couple of times. “Alliyah would hate that.”

  The thought of his daughter in foster care burned like acid through his blood.

  Except she may not be his daughter at all. The fact she had a birthmark and his eyes was circumstantial at best. Still, he’d spent too many years in the grueling system to be placid about any innocent being tossed to that merciless grist mill.

  “I get to see her and I go as often as they’ll let me, but if I don’t do something soon, they’ll release her for adoption and I’ll never get to see her again.” In her eagerness, she stepped closer bringing the scent of a tropical night with her. She raised pleading eyes to his. “You have to help me.”

  “I don’t actually.” Time to go. This woman got to him. Had since the moment she walked into his world. If he didn’t leave now, he’d promise her the moon. “I need to consider what you’ve told me.” He moved to the door, grabbing his jacket en route. “I’ll have my assistant call you for an appointment in the next day or two.”

  She nodded. Her arms were crossed over her chest again, but the pose held elements of disappointment and hope, as if she were holding herself together by a thread.

  Damn it. He charged across the room and grabbed up the picture. “I’m taking this with me.”

  This time when he left, he didn’t look back.

  * * *

  There was no going to sleep after Jethro’s visit. She tried. And failed. She tossed and turned, replaying her conversation with him over and over in her head. After two hours, she finally gave up and crawled out of bed still not knowing what to think.

  She dragged herself to the kitchen and the coffeepot. The scent of the fresh-ground beans perked her up. She stood over the machine as it brewed, holding her cup under the spigot to catch the first stream and then switching in the pot.

  She wandered to the couch and curled up with her cup. Dancers by trade tended to be night people. She used to be at her peak at this hour. Tonight her brain barely functioned except it wouldn’t shut off.

  Jethro had pointed out he didn’t have
to help her. But he’d taken the picture. And his assistant would be calling to make an appointment. Did that mean he believed her? Or was his comment just a way to get him out of the apartment without a further scene and she’d never see him again?

  No. She refused to believe he’d just walk away. She’d seen the look in his eyes when he’d stared at the picture of Jazi. He saw the resemblance. And he’d act on it.

  Wouldn’t he?

  Stop. She couldn’t take this vicious Ferris wheel any longer. She drained her coffee and went to change. She needed to dance.

  She’d given up her vocation, but she’d always dance. She needed the release like she needed to breathe. Especially now. The exercise would help her to get out of her head and relieve the tension still lingering in her body from its encounter with Jethro’s. There had to be a gym open somewhere at this hour.

  * * *

  Jethro stood staring out the floor-to-ceiling window of his penthouse suite. The lights and flash of the Las Vegas Strip spread out before him in a glimmering kaleidoscope of color and movement. And he saw none of it.

  He couldn’t get the picture of a dancing baby with midnight-blue eyes out of his head.

  He’d resolved to never have a family. But Lexi’s announcement shook him. If he had a daughter, that changed everything.

  Except it didn’t have to.

  Lexi wanted to raise the baby as her own. She couldn’t be more clear that he wasn’t invited to the party. His money and presence were not needed.

  A knock came at the door and then Clay Hoffman stepped inside. Tall and blond, the man moved with military precision. You could put the grunt in a suit, but you couldn’t take the army out of the man. A foster brother and friend, Clay ran all things security related for Pinnacle Enterprises.

  “I got your summons.” Clay went to the bar and helped himself to a drink. “What’s the emergency?” He dropped down on the brown suede couch and glanced around. “Where are Jackson and Ryan?”

  “They aren’t coming.” Jethro joined his friend in the living area. “This is personal.”

  “Personal?” Clay’s brows rose. “And it couldn’t wait until morning? Do you have an incident with one of your other companies? Cause you know the guys are more than willing to help even when it’s not Pinnacle business.”