Expecting the Boss’s Baby (12 page)

To what they had been. Before the clearing.

Why wasn't that working for her? Why couldn't she just make an agreement and stick to it, for pity's sake?

Because you're hopelessly in love with him, that's why.

There
was
an email—two, as a matter of fact.

At 9:06:
I was going to pretend I needed to get with you about the feature story. But that would be a lie. I do need to get with you, Zoe. And it's not about the feature.

And at 10:08:
You're out with some other guy, right? And I'm making a fool of myself. Okay, enough. Please disregard previous email.

She didn't want to feel overjoyed and triumphant. But she did. On both counts. Her heart was suddenly light as a moonbeam in her chest.

Her thumbs flew over the BlackBerry's keys.
I just got in. I was out with some girlfriends. I don't want to disregard your email of 9:06. What I want is you, Dax. Here. In my arms.

She hit Send before she could stop herself, before she let herself start remembering all the very valid reasons why she shouldn't.

Fifty-three seconds later, her cell rang. Now her bright moonbeam of a heart was lodged firmly in her throat.

Her hand shook as she punched the talk button.

Before she could even get out a hello, he asked, “Now?”

She had to cough to make her windpipe open up. “Um. I don't know if we…”

“Just answer the damn question, Zoe.”

“I…”

“Say it.”

What else was there to do in the end, but follow the dictates of her desire, of her foolish, yearning heart?

“Zoe, you're driving me crazy here. Just make up your mind.”

“Sorry. Yes, Dax. Now.”

W
hen she let him in the door, he braced his cane against the wall and reached for her.

She went into his arms, but then got a hand up between them and put it over his mouth so he couldn't kiss her. “We have to talk first.”

He looked at her over the mask of her own hand, his eyes darker than ever, stormy as the afternoon their plane went down.

Sheepishly, she added, “Okay?” as she lowered her hand.

He made a noise in his throat. It was not a happy sound. “As if you even need to ask. As if
I'm
the one running this show.” His arms felt like heaven around her. So good. So right.

Her body, accustomed to the feel of him, had been starved for his touch. It was everything, just to be held by him, just to breathe in the wonderful, sexy, delicious
scent of him, to have him watching her with frank desire—and considerable annoyance.

“I have to say this, Dax.”

“Get on with it, then.”

“I thought I could do it, go back to the way it was before. I honestly did.”

He tenderly caught a red curl that had fallen against her cheek and smoothed it back. “I know.”

“But…well, for me, this thing between us is just too strong. I know you never want to get married or have kids, both of which I realize now I definitely do. I know that when it ends I will probably suffer on a number of levels. I'll be without you and I'll be out of a job I love. I know this is a bad idea. But I…I want you anyway. I want you really bad.”

“Good.” He put his hand under her chin, rubbed her lower lip with his thumb. It felt wonderful. Exciting. “And can you stop predicting what's going to happen later? Can we just go with what's happening now?”

He had a point, she thought. Who knew what might happen? She looked up into his beloved face and longed to ask him if he might, possibly, someday, be able to rethink his stance on marriage and kids.

But she didn't ask him any such thing.

If he was rethinking the whole family thing, he would tell her.

And she certainly didn't want to box him into a corner over it, the way his ex-wife had. She didn't want him to lie. He was…who he was. And she seriously needed to be mindful of that. She
would
be mindful. But she wouldn't give him up. Not now.

Not yet.

She said, “And I think we should agree to keep it professional at work.”

“Yes. I think so, too—are you going to let me kiss you now?” He dipped his head, tried to capture her mouth.

She turned away so it didn't happen. “And while it lasts, I want it to be exclusive. Just you and me. No other women.”

He released her, took a step back. “I think I'm insulted.”

“Dax.” She closed the distance he'd put between them, laid her hands against his broad chest, felt the warmth of him—and the strength. “It needed to be said. I know women are constantly making plays for you. Beautiful, sexy, fascinating women. I want to know for certain that you can resist them. I want to know that, while you're with me, you're
only
with me.”

“It's not an issue. Not after what happened, after what we've been to each other. I would be dead but for you. And if I hadn't been on that trail with you when you needed me, that big boa might have had you for dinner. I don't want some
stranger,
Zoe. I've been there and done that and believe me, I can resist. I want only you.”

“Well.” The word came out on a trembling sigh. “I guess that about says it all, doesn't it?”

“I damn well hope so.” He lowered his head again.

That time she didn't turn away.

He took her mouth. She gave it up willingly, letting her hands slide up the hard contours of his chest to clasp around his neck, pressing her yearning body against him, tasting him,
knowing
him. Again.

Inevitable—it truly was. She saw that now. How futile and foolish of her to try to deny this.

There was no denying this. No judging the wisdom of it, no weighing the cost.

It simply was. Elemental. The way it had been in the clearing between them. The way it
had
to be, between them. Frank and real.

And burning hot.

His tongue speared into her mouth, grazing her teeth. She sucked on it hungrily. And when he retreated, she followed him. She relearned the slick flesh beyond his lips, shivered in arousal at the feel of his teeth, biting down just enough to excite her all the more.

It was so good, so exactly what she needed, what she'd been longing for…. And then he was scooping her up high against his chest.

“Your ankle!” she warned.

“It's fine,” he growled.

She pointed the way to her bedroom and he took her there.

He set her down on the thick rug by her bed. And he undressed her, swiftly, peeling off the layers, tossing them aside, dipping to a knee to get her out of her Jimmy Choos, sweeping instantly to his feet again, hardly favoring his injured ankle at all now. He took down her short skirt and her panties. He pulled up the silk tank top she'd worn for her night out with the girls. She raised her arms and he took it away.

Her pink satin bra was the last to go.

“At last,” he whispered, bending his head to her breast, sucking the nipple in, working it with his lips and his clever tongue, pinching it between his teeth so that she groaned and clutched him closer.

It felt so fine, as deeply satisfying as it was arousing, to hold him close to her, to gaze down through low-lidded eyes at his dark head against her breast in the
pool of light from the bedside lamp. He was so good at lovemaking, he made her wild.

He guided her back onto the bed, joining her there, kicking his shoes off—she heard them thud onto the rug, one and then the other—as he went on kissing her breast.

She wanted him naked. Wanted to feel him, the whole strong, hot, muscled length of him in her arms, against her nude body. So she tugged at his shirt. He tried to ease her hands away.

She refused to let him do that.

“Off,” she moaned, gripping handfuls of his shirt in tight fists. “I want your clothes off you. Now.”

He let go of her breast and he looked up at her through those eyes that seemed to know every last one of her feminine secrets. His mouth was red, wet. He smiled. “You are the bossiest woman.”

“Yes, I am.” She gave a hard yank on the bottom of his knit shirt. “Now get out of this.”

And he did. Just like that, he quit teasing her, quit putting her off. He raised his arms so she could pull the shirt off him, so she could reveal every delicious inch of his broad, tanned chest, his washboard belly. She gained the top position and she pushed him down onto the pillows. She unzipped his fly, pulled off his socks, took his trousers and his boxer briefs down.

He was so hard, curving up thick and strong out of the nest of dark hair. She wanted to touch him, to do everything to him, to imprint herself on his senses.

Until there was nobody else for him, until no other woman would ever do. So that later, when it was over, he would always remember, how right they had been together, how perfectly suited.

How very, very good.

“Satisfied?” One dark brow quirked.

“I plan to be.”

He almost smiled. “I kind of figured that.”

She touched him, traced the thick bulge of a vein that made a winding path along the length of him. And she watched his face as she did that. He wasn't smiling now. His eyes were softer suddenly, and his mouth, too. His breath came faster.

He said her name on a whisper, “Zoe…”

She wrapped her fingers around him, slowly, taking her time about it. She felt his groan as he tried to swallow it back. And then she stroked him, encircling him firmly, possessively—long and slow. Then faster. Then slow again. Varying the rhythm, purposely drawing out the sensual torture, watching his face as she played with him.

His eyes drooped closed. He gave himself up to her, to her touch, to her command.

She lowered her mouth to him, licked him, one long, tasting stroke.

He lifted his hips, groaned her name for a second time, whispered, “Yes. That. Yes….”

So she took him inside, in a slow glide, going down to the base of him, relaxing her throat so she could get him all the way in.

By then, he didn't even try to stifle his moans of pleasure. He clutched the sheets, lifted his hips to her, eager for her, for the heat and wet of her mouth all around him. For the way she moved on him, up to the tip and down all the way—and then back up again, using her tongue and even her teeth just a little.

Until she knew he was close, right on the brink of his climax.

He went very still then. And he growled her name,
urgently, “Zoe. Wait.” He touched her hair. “Be with me…please…”

Eager to feel him within her, she listened. One last wet stroke of her mouth and she let him go.

But then she remembered. “Condom. We forgot the—”

He lifted his right hand off the bed and turned it over. There it was, waiting in his palm.

She should have known.

He grinned. She grinned back.

And then he had it out of the wrapper and rolled down over him before she could stop him and tell him that she wanted to do it this time.

“Come here,” he said rough and low. “Now.”

She didn't argue. Not right then. They wanted the very same thing after all. She rose up to her knees and hitched her leg over him, straddling him.

He touched her then, and she allowed that. His knowing fingers stroked along the inside of her thigh, dipped between the neatly trimmed patch of chestnut hair, parting her.

Finding her already wet. Definitely ready.

Still, he eased a finger in, and then two. She rocked her hips, meeting and retreating from the skilled slide of his caress.

“Now?” he whispered.

“Oh, yes, Dax. Now…”

And he clasped her hips between his lean hands. She felt her own heated wetness on his fingers, cooling against her flank. She reached down to position him.

And then, with slow, deliberate intent, she lowered her body onto him, taking him into her, deep. And then deeper still.

She was primed for him, ready. She loved the way he felt within her, how perfectly he filled her.

He was watching her, his midnight gaze on her face. She met those eyes of his. She didn't look away.

Until the pleasure crossed the barrier into that place too close to ecstasy. Then, she let her head fall back. She let him slide his hands into the curve of her waist and upward, to cup her breasts, to tease them as she rode him.

And she let him pull her down onto him, breasts to chest. She accepted his kiss, a soul-deep kiss, and made no objection when he rolled her under him at the finish, claiming the dominant position.

She lifted her feet and hooked them around his rocking hips. She let him lead the way, over the edge.

Into the sparkling, endless free fall. Her body pulsed around him and he surged deep in answer.

As he spilled his climax into her, she lost herself in the spangled darkness of her own shattering fulfillment.

 

He stayed at her place that night. They slept as they had slept in the yellow tent, his body wrapped around hers, cradling her.

In the morning, she made them breakfast. She showered and dressed for the day. And he drove them to his place just outside SA, in an exclusive gated community.

His house was a mansion, sixteen thousand square feet, with a media room, private spa and exercise room, a master suite bigger than her whole condo—and just about every amenity known to man. His garage was the size of an airplane hangar, large enough to house his collection of classic and one-of-a-kind vehicles.
He had a gorgeous pool. The grounds were beautifully landscaped. There were ponds and charming winding paths, a roomy guest house, a tennis court.

When they went back into the main house, she teased him that he was the ultimate in conspicuous consuming.

He said, “You continue to fail to be impressed enough with all I have—not to mention all I am.”

“Just remind me how you give a lot away to people who need it.”

“You know that I do.”

“Yes,” she said softly. “I do know.” He
was
a generous man. He wrote whopping checks to more than one of the foundations her mother supported. Like the Texas State Endowment Fund, which provided needed goods and services for struggling families all over the state.

He took her hand. “Come up to my office. I want you to have a look at the Chiapas feature before I give it to Lin so she can chop it to pieces.”

She read the feature while he had his shower. Reading his description of their forced landing, she felt like she was living through it all over again. And he'd done a truly stellar job of putting the reader in the story—without ever revealing their very personal relationship.

He came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders just as she was finishing up the final paragraph. She felt his lips in her hair, smelled the moist, fresh-shaved scent of him.

“Well?” he demanded.

She sighed. “I would tell you all the things that are wrong with it….”

“I'm sure you will.”

“I wish I could. Just to keep you humble.”

He chuckled. “Me, humble? Like that's gonna hap pen.”

“My thoughts, exactly.” She spun the chair around, braced herself on the arms and pushed herself out of it enough to capture his mouth.

He did the rest, wrapping those heavenly arms of his around her, pulling her up and into his embrace.

They kissed. That took a while.

When he finally raised his head, she told him, “It's perfect. I wouldn't change a word.”

 

They spent the rest of the day and that Saturday night together. And Sunday morning as well, returning briefly to her place so she could shower and change for the day.

In the afternoon, at the ranch, nobody seemed the least surprised that they arrived together. It turned out that everyone had already met Dax at one social or charity event or another, so it was more a matter of them all greeting him, thanking him for helping Zoe to get home safe, than of his being introduced.