The Boss's Baby Bargain

by Karen Sandler

  “Black,” he said, fingers curled around the edge of the counter. “And strong.”

  As his gaze locked with hers, the very air seemed to thicken, to caress her skin. She broke the visual contact, stared down at her hands as if they held the secrets of the universe.

  When she looked up again, he’d turned away, opening the refrigerator to retrieve two bowls. Setting them on the counter by the coffeemaker, he unwrapped the plastic from the bowls and set a spoon inside each one.

  “It’s called brazos,” he said, bringing the bowls over to the island. “Custard covered with meringue. One of Mrs. Vasquez’s specialties.”

  “Mrs. Vasquez?”

  “My housekeeper. She’s from the Philippines.” He turned to pull two mugs from the cupboard. “She’s been with me for several years, but you can choose your own housekeeper if you’d rather.”

  Mrs. Vasquez had been with him for years, was undoubtedly a loyal employee. Allie knew what loyalty meant to Lucas, had seen him time and again reward employee devotion to TaylorMade with salary increases and bonuses. Yet he’d offered to dismiss his housekeeper if Allie wished it.

  His offhand tone implied it didn’t matter either way. But she saw the stillness in his body; saw how tightly he gripped the mugs he’d just taken down.

  “I’m sure I’ll love her.”

  He relaxed then, set the mugs down on the counter. “Did you want to eat in here or in the living room?”

  “The living room.” She picked up the bowls. “Shall I take these out?”

  He nodded as he poured the coffee. Allie carried the bowls to the living room, set them on the table next to the sofa.

  She’d gotten only a brief look at the room when she’d first come into the house. It was obviously professionally decorated, with oatmeal-colored Berber carpet, a sleek taupe sectional sofa, occasional tables in glowing oak. Subdued track lighting illuminated the artwork on the walls, pricey lithographs and original oils.

  She didn’t doubt everything here was the best money could buy. But there was nothing of Lucas in any of the furnishings, no touch to make the room seem real. It all coordinated perfectly, as if order and structure mattered more than making this place a home.

  Except for one small watercolor squeezed between two floor-to-ceiling bookcases. Allie crossed the room for a closer look, smiled in delight at the vivid splashes of color that filled the neatly framed piece. The staid mahogany that surrounded the abstract image seemed barely able to enclose its energy.

  She looked for a signature in the lower right hand corner of the painting and saw with a shock the familiar, hastily scribbled L.

  She turned to Lucas when he entered with the coffee. “This is wonderful.” She gestured at the watercolor. “I didn’t know you painted.”

  “I don’t.” He set one mug on the table with the brazos, color rising in his face. “Sit. Your coffee’s getting cold.”

  He seemed embarrassed by the uncharacteristic burst of creativity, which only heightened Allie’s curiosity. She returned to the sofa, slipped off her shoes and took a seat. Curling her legs under her, she picked up her bowl.

  Lucas remained standing. His strong hands curved around his mug, he didn’t drink, didn’t pick up his bowl to eat. He just watched her.

  Feeling edgy under his appraisal, Allie took a bite of the brazos. The delectable sweetness caught her off guard and she closed her eyes, moaning in appreciation as the meringue and custard melted on her tongue.

  “It’s delicious,” she said as the luscious taste faded. She opened her eyes, smiling at Lucas.

  The intensity of his gaze sent sensation lancing through her. She had to force herself to drag in her next breath, to quiet the trembling in her hands.

  She tipped her head down to her bowl, focusing on another bite. “I’d love to know how to make this,” she said, dipping in her spoon for more.

  He still hadn’t taken a sip of coffee, just stood holding it in his hands. “I’m sure Mrs. Vasquez would be glad to show you.”

  “It must be nice having a housekeeper to cook for you. Especially when you entertain.”

  “I don’t entertain.”

  She blinked in surprise. “Never?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t like bringing clients into my home.”

  That she knew, since she usually made the arrangements at a local restaurant. “You must have friends who visit.”

  “My attorney, John, has dinner with me from time to time.”

  His attorney…that was his only friend? “And when you date—”

  “I never bring them home.”

  “Never?” The realization stunned her. “Then I’m the first woman—”

  “Besides Mrs. Vasquez and the professional decorator you’re the only woman I’ve had here at the house.”

  She tried to absorb what he’d said. He owned this big, beautiful house, never entertained, scarcely brought friends here to visit. She looked around her at the stark living room and saw something new in its featureless perfection—loneliness.

  The brilliant hues of the watercolor caught her eye. “When did you paint that?”

  Lucas swung his head toward the painting, his jaw tightening. “A long time ago.”

  An urgency arose in Allie, to touch him, to soothe him. “Lucas.”

  He turned to face her. Despite the danger she invited by having him nearer, Allie patted the seat beside her. “Come sit with me.”

  For a moment he didn’t move, then he set aside his coffee and lowered himself beside her with a sigh. She put down her bowl, laid her hand on his arm.

  It seemed the most natural thing in the world that he turn to her, that he pull her to him. She slid her hands around his waist as he wrapped his arms around her. She reveled in the warmth of his broad chest against her cheek, the feel of his powerful arms around her. And although he didn’t completely relax, she could feel at least some of his tension released with a long exhalation of breath.

  His heart thrummed against her ear, a steady beat. She tipped her head back to look up at him. “This will all work out, Lucas. Our marriage. The adoption.”

  He shook his head. “Maybe this is all wrong. What the hell do I know about children?”

  She smiled. “You’ll figure it all out. Every new parent has a lot to learn. And babies don’t come with instruction manuals.”

  Dipping his head down to her, he skimmed his lips lightly across her brow. “But I have to know now. I have to do it right.”

  She stroked his back. “You’re allowed a few mistakes, Lucas.”

  “Not with a child.” He shook his head again and she could feel the motion ruffling her hair. “Never with a child.”

  Drawing back, Allie looked up at him. “No parent is perfect.”

  “They can be.” His cheekbones stood out as his jaw tightened. “I can be.”

  “Lucas…” She brought her hands up to his face. “You’re going to do it wrong sometimes. Every parent does. Mine did, I’m sure yours…”

  The bleakness that entered his eyes shocked her. She saw pain distilled there, pain so deep it must go straight to his soul. She tried to remember what he had said about his parents, could only recall that they were both gone.

  “Lucas,” she said softly, fingertips grazing his hair lightly. “We both survived whatever errors our parents made. Your child will, too.”

  The gray of his eyes darkened, a storm raging in them. As Allie watched, a fire ignited there, burning away the pain. He pulled her closer to him, pressing her so tightly to his body she could barely breathe.

  He bent his head to her, his fingers tangling in her hair, his mouth descending on hers. Her heart jolted into overdrive at the first touch of his lips, the first feel of his tongue tasting her. The passion she’d struggled against exploded like a flash fire when his tongue thrust inside her mouth.

  She wanted to touch him everywhere at once, along his muscled back, down his hair-roughened arms, his throat, the angles of his face. She tugged at
his shirt, pulled it free from his slacks, slipped her hands underneath to feel his warm skin. He groaned in her mouth as she skimmed her palms to his sides, then his chest, and she could feel the sound as well as hear it.

  Gripping her hips he lifted her into his lap. She could feel his arousal against her hip and ached to have him inside her. He need only pull her down with him on the couch and they could have paradise.

  Caught in the mindless passion, the strident voice deep inside her that had urged she keep her distance from this man had quieted. Her body had taken over, squirming against him with its own imperatives.

  Suddenly, Lucas tore his mouth from her. “I’m sorry,” he rasped. Hands on her waist, he slid her from his lap, sprang from the sofa. “Sorry.”

  Allie sat weak and breathless on the sofa. His arousal still pushed against the fly of his khakis; the sight of it sent her mind spinning in a thousand different erotic directions.

  Covering her face with her hands, she willed the images away. “We can’t keep doing this, Lucas. It confuses everything, confuses…me.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said again.

  She swung her head up. “I was just as much a part of that as you were.”

  Hands shoved in his pockets, he turned away from her, stared out at the lake now shrouded in blackness. “Nevertheless, I damn well ought to have better self-control.”

  “Lucas.” She rose on shaky legs. “I’m not placing blame. It’s just…” Fingertips against her brow, she tried to frame the words. “I can’t become sexually involved with you,” she finally stated baldly. She looked up at him, to judge his reaction.

  His profile could have been carved in granite for all his expression changed. “Of course not. It wasn’t part of the deal.”

  He made it sound so cold-blooded. But how could she tell him the real reason they had to keep their distance? That if they made love, there would be nothing to hold her heart back. Even now it would take very little convincing for her to interpret the feelings she’d been harboring for him as love.

  It wasn’t love at all. It was only respect for his dignity and honesty, sympathy for the troubled emotions he could neither express nor completely keep inside him.

  There were no words for her feelings, so she simply agreed with his assessment. “No, it wasn’t part of our deal.”

  “I promised you a platonic relationship. I apologize for breaking that pledge.” He turned toward her. “Look—I brought home work this weekend and still haven’t gotten to it. I’ll see you out.”

  His abrupt dismissal left her reeling. She nearly reminded him he’d promised her courtesy, too. But as he picked up the bowls and picked up the mugs, she could see the tremor in his hands. In that moment, he needed her gone, needed the space of his solitude.

  She picked up her purse, waited for him to return from the kitchen. He didn’t touch her as he handed over her car keys, then escorted her outside. Although she longed to, she resisted the urge to hug him goodbye.

  In the cool darkness of the autumn night, she slipped inside her car, cranked down the window. “See you Monday, then.”

  He tipped his head in assent, then reached in his pocket again. “I nearly forgot.” He dangled a set of keys.

  Allie held out her hand and he dropped them into her palm. At her questioning look, he said, “For the house, the garage, the boathouse. I haven’t had the car keys duplicated yet.”

  He stepped back from the car then, one hand up in a wave, the house lights behind him backlighting him into silhouette. Setting his keys on the seat beside her, she started the car.

  As she pulled away, she knew he watched her. When she reached the end of the drive, just before pulling onto the street, she looked in her rearview mirror. He still stood there, a tall, lonely shadow.

  Chapter Six

  Soft autumn light filtered through the stained-glass windows on either side of the sanctuary, washing the floor in reds, blues and greens. Beside her sister in the vestibule, Allie peeked around the open doors.

  Lucas stood at the altar, impeccable in a charcoal-gray suit. She couldn’t make out his expression, couldn’t see if it was calm or anxious, if the emotions roiling inside her were mirrored in him.

  Sherril leaned in close and whispered in Allie’s ear. “You’re sure about this?”

  No! a voice screamed inside of Allie. “Of course I’m sure,” she said aloud.

  “We could still make a run for it.” Sherril tipped her head toward the exit doors, her hands resting on her swollen belly. “Although in my case it would be more like a waddle.”

  Allie giggled, a slightly hysterical sound. “My luck, you’d go into labor halfway through our escape.”

  Sherril smiled, laid her fingers lightly on Allie’s bare shoulder. “Truly, you can change your mind if you want.”

  Her sister’s earnest expression was nearly Allie’s undoing. She blinked away the temptation of tears. “We’re in the church, Sherril. It’s a little late for cold feet.”

  “No.” Sherril turned Allie toward her. “Allie, if there’s anything…” She looked away a moment, then back at Allie, her expression troubled. “I noticed at the rehearsal dinner…he doesn’t touch you, barely looks your way. Are you positive—”

  “I’m positive,” Allie assured her sister. How could she tell Sherril the truth, that Lucas kept his distance to avoid setting off a wildfire? “We’re both sure.”

  Unable to meet her sister’s gaze any longer, Allie turned to look up the center aisle of the church again. Lucas stood motionless, head up, shoulders pulled back, arms at his sides. Only his hands moved, alternately curling into fists, then straightening as if all his energy centered there.

  Allie pulled back from the door, smoothed the pale-gray satin of her skirt, tugged at the dove-gray lace bodice of the Empire-style dress. “Is my zipper zipped?” she asked her sister. “Are my hooks hooked?”

  “Yes. You’re an exquisite bride,” Sherril told her, touching the tendril of hair that curled by Allie’s ear.

  Would Lucas think so? Allie wondered as she lowered the gray tulle veil over her face. “Then I’m ready.”

  Sherril poked her head around the doors, nodding to the organist. The elderly woman broke off from Pachelbel to start the wedding processional. Another touch Lucas would just as soon have eliminated. If Allie had left it up to him, there would be no music, there would be no flowers flanking the altar, and the ceremony would be just long enough to allow them each to say “I do.”

  At least he’d left the dress up to her, would see it for the first time today. As Sherril’s seven-year-old daughter, Lisa, headed down the aisle with her basket of rose petals, followed by her five-year-old brother, Daniel, with the pillow holding the ring, Allie agonized over her choice of wedding dress. Far from traditional, the bodice rose to a standup collar and left her shoulders completely bare. The long A-line skirt had a slit up the back that ended just below her knees.

  Sherril gave Allie a smile and a quick squeeze on the arm before following her son. So close to her due date, Sherril’s hands holding her small bouquet rested on her belly. Her dress, borrowed from a pregnant friend, swirled in soft shades of rose and gray, a perfect match for Allie’s gown.

  Now the music swelled, cueing Allie. One mass of nerves, she dragged in a long breath, wishing for the hundredth time her father could be here, his hand on her arm. She’d gone as far as to call the nursing home yesterday, to see if there was any possibility of bringing him down for the ceremony. But the nurse at the care home told her French was going through a bad patch and there was no telling whether his mind would be clear enough for Allie’s wedding.

  So she would walk up the aisle alone. Filling her lungs one last time, she rounded the door, stepped into the aisle. Clutching her bouquet of baby’s breath and pale-pink roses tied with gray ribbon, she tried to still the trembling in her hands. She kept her gaze fixed on Reverend Harmon up by the altar, too cowardly to look at Lucas yet. Ridiculous as it seemed, she craved
his approval of her dress, her hair, even the gray slippers on her feet.

  Sherril had reached the altar, turned to stand on the reverend’s left, opposite Lucas’s attorney friend, John. When Allie had met John last night at the rehearsal dinner, his warm, outgoing nature had surprised her. How such dissimilar men as he and Lucas had managed to become friends in college, Allie couldn’t understand.

  Now…she had to look at him now. Her crossed fingers hidden by her bouquet, she lifted her gaze to Lucas. She nearly stumbled as her heartbeat lurched into high speed. Then tears pricked her eyes.

  He looked stunned, his mouth slightly open, his eyes wide, their gray so soft her heart melted. The yearning in his face, like a child whose greatest wish has just been granted, reached deep inside her. As Allie stepped up beside him, turned toward him and reached for his hand, a suspicion flared within—that there was more to this marriage than either of them might want to admit.

  She shoved the thought aside, not wanting to consider the feelings that begged for recognition. It was only the ritual, the ceremony that filled her with such longing, her own wish that the vows they were about to speak could be true.

  Lucas’s warm hand enfolded hers. She clung to the bouquet of roses as if it were a lifeline, telling herself again and again this was only pretend. It wasn’t really the beginnings of love she felt in her own heart, or adoration she foolishly persuaded herself she saw in Lucas’s eyes. It was just the music, the church, the presence of her family around her, her fervent wish her father could be here. It was the tumultuous emotions that confused her, led her to believe the impossible.

  She dimly heard the words Reverend Harmon spoke, then Lucas’s low quiet voice repeating the wedding vows. He said each phrase with characteristic intensity, never mind this union’s built-in time limit. When it was her turn, she found herself caught up in the magic of the ritual. Her voice quavered over the final “I do,” tears threatening to close her throat.