Dear Aunt Bossy,

It’s no secret that my world turned upside down when I learned an impulsive night of passion left me pregnant. And the dad? He’s the devil-may-care brother of my former fiancé. He’s a heartbreaker of a man who swept me off my feet—again—before he learned I was in the family way. But our romantic reunion might not have been as unplanned as I thought.

Aunt Bossy, I don’t want a man who’s with me just because he feels it’s his duty. I want him to be as smitten with me as he is with the idea of becoming a father. As head over heels with me as I am with him...

“It’s a vanilla milk shake.”

“You made me a milk shake?” She couldn’t keep the surprise from her voice as she reached out to take it from him, careful not to let their fingers touch in the exchange.

He cocked his head to one side and smiled that toe- curling grin. “Well, you said you didn’t want coffee. I couldn’t find the ingredients for hot chocolate and you don’t like tea, but of course you had ice cream.”

“You remembered I don’t like tea?” The surprises just kept coming.

He nodded, his gaze trained on hers. “Of course. We’re friends, aren’t we? Friends remember each other’s likes and dislikes.”

She swallowed. Friends? Was that what they were? Friends with benefits? Friends who accidentally made a mistake and slept together? Friends who just happened to have conceived a baby?

* * *

The Mckinnels of Jewell Rock: There’s no formula for finding true love!

Pregnant by Mr Wrong

Rachael Johns

www.millsandboon.co.uk

RACHAEL JOHNS is an English teacher by trade, a mum 24/7, a chronic arachnophobe and a writer the rest of the time. She rarely sleeps and never irons. A lover of romance and women’s fiction, Rachael loves nothing more than sitting in bed with her laptop and electric blanket and imagining her own stories. Rachael has finaled in a number of competitions, including the Australian Romance Readers Awards—Jilted, her first rural romance, won Favourite Contemporary Romance in 2012. She was voted in the top ten of Booktopia’s Australia’s Favourite Author poll in 2013. Rachael lives in the West Australian hills with her hyperactive husband, three mostly gorgeous heroes in training, two fat cats, a cantankerous bird and a very badly behaved dog. Rachael loves to hear from readers and can be contacted via her website, www.rachaeljohns.com. She is also on Facebook and Twitter.

To Scarlet Wilson, Helen Lacey,

Fiona Lowe, Melissa James and Leah Ashton

for holding my hand as I wrote this book!

Love you all for all your various help.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Prologue

As Bailey Sawyer stepped into the warehouse at McKinnel’s Distillery, goose bumps painted her arms and her stomach twisted as if doing some elaborate macramé. She glanced around the quiet space, looking and listening for signs of Quinn.

This had always been her favorite part of the distillery. Its walls were lined with new American oak barrels, stacked up one on top of another, almost up to the high ceiling, and there were rows upon rows of barrels down the middle as well, all printed with the famous McKinnel’s logo on the end. The thick wooden floorboards almost matched the color of the barrels and the scent of whiskey at various stages of the aging process blended together in the air.

She inhaled deeply, experiencing a heady rush as memories of this place washed over her. She’d been coming to the distillery for as long as she could remember. McKinnel’s Distillery, a local institution, had become famous for creating one of America’s best boutique whiskeys long before boutique distilleries, breweries and wineries were all the rage. As a child and teenager, she’d hung out here because her mother was best friends with Nora McKinnel. Bailey and the seven McKinnel kids had spent many a day running rampant through the warehouse, chasing each other, playing hide-and-go-seek, making mischief and memories. It had been better than a playground.

For the past five years, she’d been a regular guest due to the fact she’d been dating and then (briefly) engaged to Nora’s oldest son, Callum. Their moms had been ecstatic about the union, then dumbfounded and devastated when Bailey had ended it a couple of weeks ago.

But they didn’t know the half of it.

The macramé in her stomach tightened as she stepped farther into the building, her knee-high boots echoing as they struck the floor. Today, the familiar scent and the innocent childhood memories didn’t calm her. Instead, guilt warred with desire as she called out “Quinn” (before she lost her nerve) and remembered the last time she was in here with him. Although it was late November, the day after Thanksgiving, and the air in here was even cooler than the temperature outside, her whole body, from her fingernails right down to her tippy-toes, heated at the recollection.

She hadn’t been cold that night a few weeks ago, either. Quinn’s hot bare skin against her own had provided more warmth than an electric blanket, and however wrong it may be, she hadn’t been able to get him out of her head since.

“What are you doing here?” Quinn stepped out from behind a row of barrels, jolting her thoughts and almost scaring her half to death.

Her heart quivered at his less than enthusiastic greeting, but her hormones jumped up and down in excitement at being so close to him again. He wore only jeans ripped at the knees and a black T-shirt, indicating he’d been doing some physical labor before her arrival. She licked her lips, garnering the courage to speak, the wisdom to know what exactly to say, and tried not to stare at the way his lovely arm muscles peeked out from the sleeves of his T-shirt. He was ripped—that was for sure.

“I thought we should talk about, you know, what happened...” She didn’t need to finish her sentence. It didn’t take a genius to work out what she was referring to.

Quinn let out an irritated sigh and ran a hand through his thick dirty-blond hair. Despite his obvious annoyance at her presence, Bailey’s fingers twitched as she remembered how it had felt when she’d knotted her hands at the back of his head while he’d thrust into her. Her cheeks flamed.

“What’s there to talk about?” he asked.

“Well...” she began, swallowing, “I can’t stop thinking about what we did that night and wondering what it meant. You and I, we...”

He held up a hand as if scared she might try to come nearer to him. “It meant nothing, Bailey.”

“Nothing? We slept together.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “We had sex. That’s all it was. It shouldn’t have happened. But it did. End of story. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got work to do.”

He gestured toward the door, dismissing her as if she were nothing more than a pesky child. Her cheeks burned, but it was a different kind of heat than before, and inside her organs felt as if they’d turned to ice. What had she been expecting? That Quinn would decorate the warehouse with balloons and crack open a bottle of expensive champagne on her return? That maybe they’d repeat their shenanigans of that fateful night?

As if. A few weeks ago, she’d been engaged to his brother. Yesterday, when she and her parents had stopped by Nora’s place to wish their old friends a Happy Thanksgiving, it hadn’t been the awkwardness between her and Callum that got to her, but the way Quinn had barely met her eye. Except for one question about how she knew the woman Callum had brought as his date, Quinn had barely spoken to her. And that hurt more than she’d imagined it ever could.

Was this the way things would always be between them from now on? Perhaps it would be easy if she could just walk away from the McKinnels, once and for all, but due to the friendship of their moms and the small size of Jewell Rock, that was unlikely. She could always move to Bend, the nearby town where she worked at one of the best hotels. It might only be a short drive away, but Bend was like a metropolis compared to small-town Jewell Rock, and she and Quinn would be far less likely to run into each other.

The problem was, she’d realized over the last few painful weeks, she didn’t want to walk away from Quinn McKinnel. What had happened between them against a whiskey barrel had been explosive. Mind-blowing. Frenzied. Until then, she honestly hadn’t understood all the hype about sex.

It was the thought of never experiencing that kind of sex again that had compelled her to swallow her fear and doubts and come here to face him today. To find out if he’d felt it, too. That earth-shattering, soul-changing connection, that shift inside when they’d climaxed together and she’d opened her eyes and seen him looking right into hers.

But now, looking into his eyes for one final moment, Bailey could see it had meant nothing at all to Quinn. It was clear that she was just another notch on his bedpost (or rather his whiskey barrel), and even if he wasn’t such a jerk, the idea of them together was laughable. Unable to stand another moment in his presence, she turned and fled in the direction he’d pointed. She’d never felt more mortified in her life. And if she never saw Quinn McKinnel again, it would be too soon.

Chapter One

Dear Aunt Bossy:

Although I’ve been reading your sage advice for years, this is the first time I’ve ever had reason to write to you myself. And I must admit, I’m terribly ashamed to have to do so, but I’m in a quandary and I need your wisdom.

I’ve always been a hardworking and sensible woman who prides herself on being organized, planning ahead and making good choices. Until about two months ago, I was with a wonderful man—he was kind, dependable and hardworking—but then I lost my head. I slept with someone I shouldn’t have—a sexy devil-may-care playboy who hasn’t had a steady girlfriend in as long as I can remember. And I’ve known him all my life. Please don’t think too badly of me, I already hate myself enough and the first thing I did was end my relationship.

But, as if my one-night severe lapse of judgment wasn’t bad enough, somehow, despite using protection, I’m pregnant and I don’t know what to do about it. Oh, I’m keeping the baby, don’t get me wrong. Getting rid of it is not an option. Having a baby might not have been on my immediate agenda, but it was in my five-year plan. Granted I was hoping to be in love and married, but I can’t wait to be a mom. What I’m undecided about is whether or not to tell my baby’s father.

He’s not the type to marry me out of a sense of obligation (at least I don’t think so, and I wouldn’t say yes, even if he proposed such a ridiculous arrangement), but I’m worried about him being an unsettling influence in my baby’s life.

What do you think, Bossy? To tell him or not to tell him? That is my question.

Yours sincerely,

Pregnant with Mr. Wrong

Her heart beating like a brass band, Bailey read her letter over once more, glanced around the office to make sure she was alone and then pressed Print. Her stomach churning, she hurried over to the printer, snatched the piece of paper off as it shot out, and then quickly folded it up and shoved it into an envelope. With a deep breath, she took the envelope back to her desk, picked up her pen and scrawled the address of the Bulletin on the front. Snail mail was anonymous in a way email never truly was.

She couldn’t believe her life had come to this—asking some faceless advice columnist for help—but she’d known about her pregnancy for almost a month now and was still no closer to coming to a decision about what to tell (or not to tell) Quinn.

In a cruel twist of fate, she’d discovered she was having his baby the day she had been supposed to be marrying Callum. Thank all the stars in the sky she’d broken that engagement a month before or this situation could be worse and even more complicated than it already was. Everyone had thought her crazy, breaking up with the oldest McKinnel brother, but they’d lost their spark—if it had ever been there in the first place—and Callum was more in love with his work at the family distillery than he’d ever been with her. He’d also met Chelsea and they were already engaged—that fact only reinforced Bailey’s belief that she’d made the right decision.

But it hadn’t done much for her ego. Why hadn’t Callum been as head-over-heels crazy for her? Was there something wrong with her or did she just have zero talent at choosing the right guy? Either way, it didn’t make her current situation any better.

Four weeks ago, when she’d first seen the two little blue lines on the pregnancy test stick, she’d gone through a roller coaster of emotions.

Shock—that fireworks hadn’t been the only thing she and Quinn had created that night.

Denial—that one night, one time, when they’d used a condom, could actually result in this. Five more pregnancy tests later, she’d had to concede it had.

Terror—that she didn’t know the first thing about babies. Or motherhood.

Acceptance—that whether she was ready or not, whether Quinn was father material or not, this was real. In eight months’ time, she’d be a mom.

Excitement—that in eight months’ time, her life would change irrevocably for the better, because she’d be a mom.

And then confusion—because...well...Quinn.

If she were honest with herself, she’d had a crush on him years ago in high school—back then pretty much every girl her age in Jewell Rock had crushed on Quinn McKinnel. He’d been that guy; he skipped classes, took girls down to the lake at night to make out, drove way too fast, stayed out too late and came to school hungover. He’d been like Danny in Grease and every girl in their year had been desperate to play Sandy. He’d dated almost every one of those girls in their final year at school. At least, it had felt like that to Bailey when she’d been standing on the sidelines watching, wishing and hoping he’d notice her.

And he hadn’t slowed down any since.

But Bailey had grown up, and she knew that although Quinn might be charming and good in bed—heck, yeah, he was good in bed—he wasn’t the type of guy she should fall in love with. She’d almost forgotten that in the aftermath of the best sex of her life, but he’d set her straight and made it more than clear. He was way too much like her father for that to be a smart idea. And the last thing she wanted for her son or daughter was an unreliable dad like she’d had. It was this fear that wreaked havoc within—ethically, she knew it was wrong to keep the baby from Quinn, but her mama bear instincts had kicked in and she wanted more for her child than she’d had. She wanted stability and love without question, without obligation—the kind of love her stepfather, Reginald, had given her and her mother, the kind of love her younger brother and sister had been born to.

She pressed her hand against her stomach, something she’d been doing a lot these last few weeks, and closed her eyes, trying to imagine the tiny life inside. A site on the internet told her the baby was about the size of a lentil, but that its sex-defining parts were beginning to develop. Would it be a girl or a boy? Would it have dark hair and a pale complexion, like her, or dirty-blond hair and big brown eyes you could get lost in, like Quinn?

Her tummy still flat, Bailey was struggling to get her head around the fact that she was growing a real live human inside her, but she knew she was on borrowed time. Within a matter of months, she’d need a new wardrobe and would no longer be able to conceal her secret from the world.

If she decided not to tell Quinn, then she would have to come up with another story, because otherwise people would assume the baby was Callum’s. And while he was without a doubt better father material than Quinn and would not hesitate to stand by her and their child, it wasn’t his. Due to the timing of her cycle and the fact they’d drifted apart before the breakup, she knew this to be true. Thank God.

Oh, why did life have to get so complicated?

Of course, she knew the answer to that question, also. Even after their awkward meeting, Quinn had made no effort to contact her or apologize for his behavior.

Dammit, Bailey, why didn’t you just get drunk or go buy a puppy or something? Wasn’t that what normal people did when they were unhappy?

As a tear sneaked down her cheek, she once again contemplated the possibility of leaving town. Of starting afresh, someplace far away from Jewell Rock and Bend, someplace that wasn’t populated with McKinnels. That could be the answer, but, in addition to all her reasons for wanting to remain in Jewell Rock, she’d definitely need the assistance of her family. Only what would her mom and stepdad think of this situation? They’d be so disappointed in her, and her mom was sure to tell her best friend, Nora.

No doubt both their families would weigh in on the situation, offering suggestions and eventually support—but also a sweet dosage of judgment at the fact she’d been so stupid.

And there she went again. Problems and scenarios going round and round inside her head, intensifying her morning (or rather all-day) sickness but not making anything clearer. That was why she needed the advice of Aunt Bossy. Decision made, she shoved the envelope into her purse, switched off the lights in the office, as she was the last to leave, and then headed outside into the cool January evening to her car.

* * *

Quinn poured himself a measure of his family’s finest bourbon, grabbed the large yellow envelope he’d collected from the post office today, then took it and his drink across to the couch. He dumped the envelope on the coffee table, picked up his television remote with his free hand and aimed it at his big-screen TV. As the picture came to life and the sounds of tonight’s basketball game filled the room, he sat down and leaned back into the couch, taking a long sip of his drink.

Ah. His family might drive him insane sometimes—arguing about what was best for their little empire—but there was no doubt about it, they knew how to make good whiskey.

It was Friday night, and while usually he’d be out on the town with the guys, carousing or actually at a game, he hadn’t been in the mood for either of those options tonight. At the ripe old age of twenty-seven, maybe he was getting old.

Shaking out the contents of the package, he picked up the first letter and started to read about a woman who felt like she was playing second fiddle in her husband’s life to her mother-in-law.

Marriage—how many letters about marriage problems did he receive? Those and neighborhood disputes were biggies. And while he might not have any professional qualifications to fix such issues, he had an innate talent for telling things how they were, and this woman needed to take her husband’s balls in hand and give him an ultimatum.

He chuckled, looking forward to writing that letter. What had started as a dare six years ago when his friend from school was interning at the paper had become a large, important part of Quinn’s life. No one, aside from his friend, who had since moved on to a much bigger newspaper in Seattle, knew that he was the writer behind the popular Aunt Bossy column. All his exchanges with the local paper were anonymous and that was the way he intended it to stay. He could just imagine the ribbing he’d get if his older brothers ever found out about his secret side business, not to mention what women might think of it, but strangely he enjoyed this gig and felt like in some bizarre way he was doing good in the world.

He took another swig of his bourbon and picked up the next letter. He was halfway through reading about a woman who found herself unexpectedly pregnant, when something about the wording gave him pause. He went back a few lines and read it again.

I slept with someone I shouldn’t have—a sexy devil-may-care playboy who hasn’t had a steady girlfriend in as long as I can remember. And I’ve known him all my life.

No. It couldn’t be. He chuckled out loud at the absurdity of his thought, tossed the letter aside, took a sip of his drink and began to read the next one. But he read the first sentence about five times before he tossed it aside and went back to Pregnant with Mr. Wrong.

The paper starting to shake in his hand and his heart beating a mile a minute, Quinn read her letter again, over and over, and the more times he read it, the more he began to feel as if he knew the writer. Personally. Intimately.

His gut tightened as he thought back to that night in the warehouse when he and Bailey had consummated a relationship that wasn’t meant to be. Although Pregnant with Mr. Wrong didn’t go so far as to say she’d been engaged to the “good” brother, her descriptions of what happened fit his and Bailey’s situation to a T. Was the devil-may-care brother with commitment issues him or was he being paranoid?

He wasn’t offended by this label, as some might be—such an accusation would be true and he had good reasons for the way he was—but if it was him, there was a much bigger issue in play.

Bailey was pregnant. With his baby. He was going to be a dad. Something he had never planned on being.

His rib cage squeezing in around his heart, Quinn picked up his glass again and downed the rest of the contents. If he wasn’t in such a state of shock, he’d have gotten up and walked the short distance necessary to refill it, but his brain was too full with this news to send such messages to his legs.

A baby. He and Bailey had made a baby.

Or had they? How could she be certain it was his? How could he be so certain this letter was from her? They’d had sex one time—granted it had been more explosive than anything he’d experienced before—but they’d used a condom. It hadn’t broken, and he was pretty damn sure it hadn’t been out-of-date. Didn’t most people take months to get pregnant, even when they were actively trying?

This question was quickly forgotten as more of the letter sank in. In his heart of hearts he knew the letter was from her, which meant Bailey believed the baby was his and she wasn’t sure whether she should tell him or not. His fist tightened around his glass and he hurled it across the room. It smashed against the wall, scattering glass all over the carpet. Now he had a mess in his house to clean up as well as a mess in his life.

But who the hell did Bailey think she was, even contemplating keeping him in the dark?

She might be the incubator, but if he was the sperm donor, as she appeared to believe, no way was she going to cut him out of their baby’s life. So what if he prided himself on being the life of the party? So what if he didn’t believe in the institution of marriage? So what if he’d made a decision long ago that commitment to a woman wasn’t for him? That didn’t mean he would shirk his responsibilities and it wasn’t her right to decide he would. He thought of his brother Lachlan’s ex-wife, who had walked away from her son—he would never, could never, do that, and it riled him that had he not read this letter, Bailey might have made that decision for him.

What made her think she would be a better parent than he would, anyway? His dating history had no bearing on this issue.

Enraged, Quinn stood. Abandoning the other letters and the broken glass, he strode toward his front door, where he grabbed his leather jacket, helmet and motorcycle keys before storming out of the house. Thankfully he’d had only one drink, so he was safe to ride.

The bitter winter wind sliced into his cheeks, burning his skin, as he rode the short distance to Bailey’s apartment block on the other side of Jewell Rock, but consumed with anger, he barely registered it.

Just wait till he saw her. He revved the engine and took a curve fast, suddenly realizing just how much his life was about to change.

Late nights on the town would be exchanged for long nights walking up and down the hallway with a restless baby—he’d been around enough when his nephew, Hamish, was little to know what the future held. He could kiss goodbye to sleeping in on the weekends, and perhaps he’d have to exchange this bike for a more family-friendly vehicle, something that had room for car seats.

His chest tightening at the enormity of it all, he slowed the bike in front of Bailey’s town house and parked. Fueled by a weird cocktail of fury and fervor, he strode toward the building, ready to confront her—to find out if it were true that she was pregnant with his kid.

Moments later, he lifted his fist and rapped hard on her front door, tapping his boot on the floor as he waited for her to answer. That wait seemed like an eternity, but after a few minutes he finally heard footsteps approaching, and then the door peeled open. Bailey stood there in pink flannel pajamas, her eyes and mouth wide-open, as if he were the last person she expected to see, and her hair wet, as if she’d just stepped out of the shower.

“Quinn?”

If he’d had any doubt in his heart that Bailey was pregnant, one look at her eradicated that possibility. She looked utterly exhausted, yet at the same time she glowed. Bailey with her pale skin, cute button nose, sleek black hair and luscious curves had always been beautiful in a classic kind of way, but in this moment she took his breath away. He couldn’t think of any woman as gorgeous as she was and something shifted inside him.

“Quinn?” she said again. “What are you doing here?”

He opened his mouth to tell her that he knew and to ask her what the heck crazy game she was playing at. But the words caught in his throat as two awful thoughts struck. Confronting her would expose Aunt Bossy, but more important, did he really want his baby to be welcomed into the world by feuding parents?

His mind drifted to his niece and nephew. Or, more to the point, to his sweet niece, who because of her parents’ bitter divorce was shuffled between her dad, who lived in Jewell Rock, and her mom, who lived in Bend, while her twin brother lived permanently with his dad. Quinn didn’t want that conflicted life for his kid. He wanted only the best for his baby and that meant two parents, all of the time—even if that went against all the rules he lived by.

He rubbed the side of his jaw, racking his mind for a reply. However angry he might be at Bailey, however misguided she was, he understood one thing. And that was that her intentions were honorable—the desire to love and protect their baby. Two minutes ago he wouldn’t have considered marriage if someone had offered him a billion dollars, but now, seeing the vulnerability in her eyes as she stood in front of him, imagining the new life growing inside her, he wanted to love and protect their baby, as well. And the most logical solution was getting married so they could parent one hundred percent together.

But Bailey had made it clear in her letter that she wouldn’t marry the Quinn she knew simply because they were going to be parents.

So, it was his job to show her the side of himself she didn’t know—the side that knew, if he was given half a chance, he could take care of both her and their baby.

Bailey’s glare, followed by her attempt to shut the door in his face, reminded him he’d been staring at her, possibly for minutes. He put his foot out to stop the door closing and summoned his most charming smile. “I’ve got a proposition for you.”

Chapter Two

What the heck was Quinn doing on her doorstep on a Friday night? Bailey wondered. Didn’t he have someplace better to be? Like a bar, hitting on anything with a skirt.

Her heart thrashed wildly at the sight of him, wearing faded jeans, a long-sleeved white T-shirt and a leather jacket that should be an illegal combo where he was concerned. His hair was mussed up from his helmet, which only amplified his sex appeal. Her mouth went dry and her grip on the door loosened as he nudged it open again with his boot-clad foot and hit her with a smile that left her dizzy.

And what had he just said about a proposition? She couldn’t voice any of these questions because her tongue had tied when her eyes locked with his dark, dangerous gaze. Not dangerous because he would ever physically hurt her, but because when she looked into those big brown pools of seduction, it wasn’t only her heart that quivered.

And any kind of visceral reaction to this guy was a bad idea.

Yet here he was, standing before her looking hotter than any man should have a right to, and she was standing before him wearing her favorite old pj’s that had seen better days, feeling as if she might collapse from exhaustion at any moment. She hoped she didn’t have sauce on her chin from the pizza she’d all but scoffed.

Maybe this is a nightmare, she thought as her hand drifted up to wipe her face. Maybe in her early-pregnancy fatigue she’d come home, collapsed on the couch and fallen into a deep slumber that had led her straight to him. Since the news of the baby, her thoughts had never drifted far from him, no matter how much she tried to direct them elsewhere.

She pinched herself. It hurt, and Quinn frowned down at her odd behavior.

“Are you okay?” He reached out a hand and laid it gently on her arm.

Bailey flinched, not because it didn’t feel good—damn her hussy hormones—but because she couldn’t let down her guard. She and Quinn hadn’t spoken since that awful day after Thanksgiving, and she couldn’t think of any logical reason for his sudden appearance now. Unless...he knew.

Her errantly beating heart stopped altogether for a few long moments. A chill spread over her at this impossible thought. No. She hadn’t told anyone except the doctor in Bend (where she’d chosen to go in case anyone in Jewell Rock saw her at the hospital) and the local paper’s advice columnist. She thought of the letter she’d scribbled and hastily posted yesterday afternoon—Aunt Bossy might not even have it yet, and it certainly hadn’t appeared in the paper, so... She needed to take a chill pill before Quinn suspected something was off aside from the awkwardness that already simmered between them.

“I’m fine. You’re just the last person I expected to see.” She wrapped her arms tightly around herself and stared at him expectantly, trying to channel the look he’d given her when he’d all but thrown her out of the warehouse. “Did you say something about a proposition?”

“Are you going to ask me inside?”

She swallowed at the thought of being alone in her apartment with all six feet of Quinn McKinnel. He was without a doubt the sexiest of the five McKinnel brothers—that was quite a feat—and he knew it. From the way he swaggered when he walked, to the way he wore that leather jacket like leather had been invented for him, to the way he smiled at all the local ladies...he knew it.

Callum had always joked that whenever Quinn stepped into the tasting room at the distillery, their sales hit the roof. He just had to smile at a potential female buyer and they fell over their own feet in their hurry to buy McKinnel’s famed whiskey.

Maybe he’d changed his mind? Maybe he was looking for a hookup? Desire curled low in her belly at that ridiculous thought and she almost laughed out loud. He might be all about no-strings-attached sex—he’d made that clear in those few postcoital moments—but she could never be that girl. Especially not now there was another little person involved. Her hand went to her stomach instinctively; she didn’t even notice until his eyes followed it.

“Are you not well?”

“I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?” She snapped her hand back and stepped aside, gesturing for him to come in. The last thing she needed was one of her neighbors seeing him and starting rumors.

Quinn raised one sexy shoulder as he stepped inside and shut the door behind them. He was so close she could smell the well-worn leather of his jacket and just a hint of whiskey. All the McKinnels smelled of whiskey—not in an alcoholic I’ve-drunk-too-much kinda way, but in a way she guessed folks who worked and owned a distillery would. Quinn managed the warehouse, which, because he was hands-on in every aspect of his life, she guessed involved a lot of heavy lifting and manual labor, just one of the things that contributed to his muscular physique.

“Can I get you a drink?” she asked, trying to lure her thoughts from the way he’d been hands-on with her, and hoping he’d decline and simply get to the point about what was so urgent that it couldn’t wait until the morning. Or couldn’t be conveyed in a telephone call.

He smiled. “You look tired. How about I make you a drink? What do you want? Coffee?”

Befuddled by his offer, she shook her head. “No, if I drink caffeine at this time, I’ll be up all night.” And I’m steering clear because of the baby. The last month had been torturous without her morning coffee hit, not to mention her midday and afternoon ones. Lack of caffeine on top of the dreaded morning sickness made every day difficult.

“I’ll see what I can find. You go sit.” And Quinn actually put his hands on her shoulders, swiveled her around and gave her a light push in the direction of her lounge room. Despite the layer of flannel protection, awareness skittered across her skin at his touch.

Bailey could already hear him clattering about in her tiny kitchen by the time she flopped down onto the couch. Her eyes landed on a pile of magazines on her coffee table—three copies of Vogue and one about pregnancy. Sheesh! She leaned forward, snatched up the magazine and shoved it under the cushion on which she sat. She’d picked it up yesterday on her lunch break and had been careful to keep it in her bag so no one at the hotel where she worked saw it, but she hadn’t considered the need to hide things in her own home.

As she took deep breaths in and out, she glanced around for anything else that might give her state away. Thank God the pregnancy test kit was long gone, and when Quinn saw the empty pizza box in the kitchen, he’d likely just think her a lazy glutton. If she didn’t slow down on the eating front, she’d be the size of a cow by the time this baby arrived.

She needed to spend less time eating and more time tidying her apartment, she thought as she took in the chaos around her. Her apartment, which was normally neat and ordered, was anything but that right now. Exactly like her life. How had everything gone so downhill so quickly?

Hopefully Quinn, who hadn’t been inside in a long while, wouldn’t notice anything amiss. Tapping her sock-clad feet on the carpet, she frowned as a noise like the blender started up in her kitchen. What on earth was he doing in there? While part of her wanted to get up and go check, her eyelids felt so heavy and the couch was too comfortable. She curled her legs up beside her and...

* * *

“He’s always working. He never wants to spend any time with me. We’re supposed to be getting married in under two months and he can’t even find the time to talk to me about it.” Bailey hated crying, hated sounding so needy, but now the words were spilling from her lips, and she couldn’t seem to stop them.

“He’s a fool,” Quinn said, sliding his hand up her neck and into her hair. He twisted her head so they were looking into each other’s eyes. The way he looked at her sent ripples of awareness through her, and for a second she forgot what she was so upset about. All she could think about was how close he was and how good he smelled.

“You’re gorgeous, Bails,” he whispered, his hot palm still resting against her bare neck. “Don’t let anyone ever make you feel otherwise.”

Her nipples tingled as she wished his hands on them, as well. Then, as if he were a genie granting her every desire, he leaned forward and kissed the lone tear that, in her rage and upset, had trickled down her cheek.

He pulled back, and their eyes met again as he licked his lips, tasting her on them. They stared at each other a few long moments, Bailey’s heart was pounding so hard she’d have sworn he could hear it, as well. And then he dipped his head and kissed her again. This time full on the lips. All notions of right and wrong flew out the window. All Bailey could think about was how amazing Quinn’s lips felt on hers.

He dropped his hands to her ass and pulled her tighter against him, kissing her like she’d only ever dreamed of being kissed. Having been neglected of late, her hormones stood to attention, begging her to up the ante and kiss him back.

A tiny voice in the depths of her mind tried to tell her that getting naked with him wasn’t a good idea, but Bailey ignored it, helping Quinn by shrugging off her jacket as he pushed it down over her shoulders. The blouse she’d been wearing for work came next. Their mouths parted as he whipped it over her head and she shivered momentarily as the cool evening air hit her skin.

Not a word was said between them. Not a thought to where they were and who might happen to stumble upon them. Instead, Quinn dipped his head and took one of her nipples into his mouth. Despite the lace of her bra, she bit down on a shriek as he twirled his tongue around her bud, the sensations shooting right to her core.

“God, Quinn.” She reached out to steady herself on his shoulders as he took her other nipple and gave it equal attention. With each flick of his tongue, he drove her a little more insane, a little more desperate. She wanted him, she needed him. Not just his mouth on her, but all of him, inside her.

She reached her hand out and slid it down the front of his trousers. He groaned as her fingers closed around the prize, his warmth and hardness only increasing her desire. She was wet for him, her knees shaking, her toes quivering and her breath coming hard and fast in anticipation.

He snapped his head back up and kissed her again, simultaneously raking her skirt up to her hips. Unsteady on her feet, she leaned back against a whiskey barrel for support and spread her legs, desperate for his touch. And Quinn gave her exactly what she wanted. He hooked one finger beneath her panties and slid the finger inside her. All it took was a few deft strokes and his mouth back on her nipple, and she was panting like she’d never panted before.

As the pressure built up inside her, all she could think about was having him. “Do you have a condom?” she whispered.

In reply, he conjured one out of his back pocket and held it up. Of course Jewell Rock’s chief Casanova would carry a condom. While she snatched the little foil packet and ripped it open with her teeth, Quinn yanked down his trousers. Smiling like someone about to win the lottery, she reached for his naked erection and rolled on the protection.

Then, also grinning, Quinn lifted her atop the barrel and removed her panties, dropping them to the floor beside them. Desperate, Bailey wrapped her legs around him and anchored her hands on his shoulders, her head falling back as he thrust into her.

* * *

“Bailey? Bailey?”

She blinked her eyes open and shook her head, shooting up into a sitting position at the sound of Quinn’s voice. He was perched on the edge of her coffee table, only a foot or so away from her, holding out a large glass with white liquid inside. How long had she been out cold?

Long enough to have a sordid dream.

Her cheeks burned and she hoped he couldn’t read her mind.

“What is that?” she asked, her tone perhaps a tad accusatory, but having Quinn so close set her on edge. Awareness and guilt warred within her.

“It’s a vanilla milk shake.”

“You made me a milk shake?” She couldn’t keep the surprise from her voice as she reached out to take it from him, careful not to let their fingers touch in the exchange.

He cocked his head to one side and smiled that toe-curling grin. “Well, you said you didn’t want coffee. I couldn’t find the ingredients for hot chocolate and you don’t like tea, but of course you had ice cream.”

“You remembered I don’t like tea?” The surprises just kept coming.

He nodded, his gaze trained on hers. “Of course. We’re friends, aren’t we? Friends remember each other’s likes and dislikes.”

She swallowed. Friends? Was that what they were? Friends with benefits? Friends who accidentally made a mistake and slept together? Friends who just happened to have conceived a baby?

“Thank you,” she managed and then took a sip of her drink. The cool sweetness slid down her throat. The man was not only hot and good in bed, but he could also make a mean milk shake.

“Did you make one for yourself?” she asked, leaning back into the couch, trying to look relaxed—even though she felt anything but.

“No. And I won’t keep you long. You look exhausted.”

“Jeez, thanks. Way to make a girl feel good.”

“Looking exhausted is not mutually exclusive to looking gorgeous, not where you’re concerned, anyway.”

Her insides heated at his compliment, but common sense immediately reminded her that sweet-talking was simply Quinn’s way. It didn’t mean anything. “Why are you here, anyway?”

He cleared his throat, and dammit, even that sounded sexy. “Well...um...” She’d never heard him sound anything but confident before and this stammering was strangely endearing.

“Yes?” she prodded, wishing he’d just spit it out and leave. Somehow, while she’d been dating and then engaged to Callum, she’d managed to control her attraction to his younger brother. But now that she and Quinn had done the horizontal mambo, she couldn’t be within twenty feet of him without remembering how explosive they’d been together. Even the thought of how he’d treated her afterward, even the thought of his baby inside her wasn’t enough of a cold shower.

“You probably know it’s my mom’s sixtieth birthday soon?”

“Of course.” Before she’d ended her engagement, Bailey had been trying to work out the perfect present for her future mother-in-law’s big six-oh, but now she wasn’t sure Nora would want anything from her.

“As you know, the last six months hasn’t been easy on her. Hell, it hasn’t been easy on any of us, but I don’t want to let this slide by without a celebration. My family’s all so busy with the building of the new restaurant and Callum’s expansion plans that I was wondering if you would organize a party for her?”

He didn’t mention his dad’s death in the equation, but Bailey suddenly wondered if grief over the shocking loss of his father was part of the reason Quinn had broken the rules and slept with her. Maybe none of them had been thinking straight.

When she hesitated, he added, “We’d pay you, of course. I just want to do something really special for Mom.”

She’d been going to refuse, but his heartfelt words and obvious love for his mother got to her. And, if she were honest, surprised her. Also, this was the grandmother of her baby they were talking about. She felt guilty enough about her secret, but, even if she did come clean eventually, right now it was too soon after she and Callum had broken up. She needed time to get her head around this situation herself and didn’t want to be the cause of family disharmony, so perhaps the least she could do was help make Nora’s birthday special.

“And,” Quinn continued, sounding like a salesman who thought he was in danger of losing a sale, “it’ll be a chance for you to show the others your impeccable talent for creating magical events. That way, when the restaurant opens and we start holding functions at the distillery, everyone will be more favorably disposed to throw the business your way. I know you were interested in the McKinnel event contract.”

She was interested in working with the famed McKinnel distillery—was, as in past tense, pre-baby. Now she wasn’t so sure working in such close proximity to Quinn was a good idea. He did crazy things to her insides. Then again, just because he’d approached her, just because he’d be paying the bills for the birthday bash, didn’t mean they’d need to spend much time together. Attending parties might be Quinn’s thing, but he generally left the organizing to others.

“Okay. What kind of event were you thinking?”

He slowly shrugged those big sexy shoulders and she tried not to stare. “Intimate but special. A few of her closest friends and family. A band, maybe a small dance floor. I was thinking we could hire a small marquee and hold the party at the distillery. If it’s still cold, we’ll also hire some heaters for the marquee. I’m sure Lachlan would be interested in catering and testing out some of his new recipes.”

“You haven’t asked him yet?”

He rubbed his lips one over the other. “I wanted to run the idea past you first.”

“Why me? There are other event planners in the vicinity.”

“Because you’re the best.”

The way he said best, and the way he stared intently at her as he did so, wreaked havoc with her already errant hormones. It was almost as if he wasn’t simply referring to her work, but that thought was ridiculous. She tried to push it out of her mind.

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” she joked.

His lips curled into another grin. “Is that a yes?”

She nodded while silently questioning her sanity. “Have you decided on a date yet?”

“How about we meet for lunch tomorrow and talk details then? You can tell me what else you need from me to get started.”

Lunch? He sounded like he might be a whole lot more involved in the planning than she’d imagined. Her stomach flipped at the thought of spending too much time with Quinn, but maybe working with him to organize this party would help her body and her hormones settle down. Because if she did tell him about the baby, they’d be linked forever and she’d need to be able to talk to him about their child’s welfare without harboring a head full of dirty thoughts.

“Sure, lunch sounds great. Why don’t we meet in Bend and we can choose a theme and then go to the stationers to select the invitations.” Needing to keep in control of this situation, she made it sound like a statement, not a question. If they met in Bend, it would also be less likely that they’d be seen together by someone who knew them.

“I’ll swing by and pick you up on my way.”

“No.” That would make it more like a date—not that Quinn McKinnel did dating, but she needed to protect her own emotions. And being squished against Quinn on the back of his motorcycle would be like throwing her emotions to the piranhas. This was purely a business deal. “I’ll probably do some shopping before or after.” She named a lesser-known café in Bend and a time.

For a moment Quinn looked as if he might argue about not picking her up, but in the end he conceded. “Okay. Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He pushed himself off the coffee table and towered above her. Lord, he was tall—all the McKinnels were tall and good-looking, but if they were giving out awards, he’d win.

She put down her milk shake and went to stand.

“No, don’t get up.” He put out a hand to stop her. “I’ll see myself out. You get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Too tired to fight, Bailey let Quinn go and thankfully fatigue consumed her so that she fell asleep quickly and didn’t have time to worry or think about Quinn, the baby or what she’d just agreed to do.

* * *

“Well, hello there.” Callum looked up from behind the tasting bar as Quinn strolled toward him. He had the smug smile on his face—the smile that had been permanently in place since he’d shacked up with Chelsea—and Quinn guessed that one word about the baby would wipe it off. He’d have to tell his brother eventually, but announcing he’d gotten Bailey pregnant was probably not the smartest news to divulge when she hadn’t even told him yet.

Especially as he was still coming to terms with it himself.

Usually, he’d still be in bed at this time on a Saturday morning, but he hadn’t been able to sleep, his head too full with thoughts of Bailey, thoughts of a baby and thoughts of whether or not he really had it in him to be the type of dad he wanted to be.

“We don’t usually see you round here on the weekend,” Callum said as he rubbed at a smudge on the bar with the cuff of his shirt.

Since the warehouse shut down on the weekends, Quinn got Saturdays and Sundays off, whereas Callum and his other siblings who worked at the distillery—Sophie and Blair—worked pretty much 24/7. But that was their choice; he wasn’t going to be made to feel guilty about his. Their dad had been a workaholic (among other things) and in no way did Quinn want to emulate him. Ever since he was sixteen and walked in on his dad fucking a woman who wasn’t his mom, Quinn had vowed to never be like his father. But, in sleeping with Bailey, who hadn’t been available at the time, he’d been just like him.

And now they both needed to face the consequences.

“Is Sophie around?” he asked, ignoring his older brother’s observation.

“She’s grabbing coffees,” Callum said, jerking his thumb down the corridor in the direction of their small staff kitchen.

Before Quinn could say anything more, their sister appeared carrying two steaming mugs. Although she looked surprised to see him, unlike Callum she didn’t verbalize this surprise.

“Hey.” She handed Callum his coffee and then stretched up on tippy-toes and kissed Quinn on the cheek. “How are you today, brother mine?”

He forced a smile. “I’m surviving. And you?”

“Much the same. What brings you in here?” she asked, not sounding accusatory in the slightest.

“I wanted to let you guys know I’m organizing a surprise party for Mom’s sixtieth.”

“Oh, that’s a wonderful idea.” The smile on Sophie’s face showed her approval.

Callum raised an eyebrow. “And you didn’t think to run this by the rest of us first?”

“I’m telling you now,” Quinn said, knowing his brother was only annoyed because he hadn’t been the one to think up the brilliant idea. “I’m also telling you that I’ve commissioned Bailey Sawyer to plan it for me.”

Sophie blinked at this news and Callum’s eyes looked positively dark.

Before either of them could say anything, Quinn spoke again. “You know she’s good and we agreed to throw some of our new event business her way. I thought this was as good a place as any to start. I’m meeting her for lunch later today, so let me know if you have any special requests for the party and I’ll pass them on.”

At that moment the door opened and their first customers waltzed in, bringing a gush of cool winter air with them. Their eyes lit up at the sight of the log fire crackling in the middle of one wall, and Sophie went over to greet them.

“Welcome to McKinnel’s Distillery,” she said in her eternally friendly tone. “Cool day out there. Warm yourselves by the fire and allow me to fetch you a taste of our finest bourbon to heat your insides.”

“What game are you playing at, Quinn?” Callum asked, his voice low as Sophie wooed the gray-haired couple.

Truth was, Quinn didn’t know what game he was playing at—he was making it up as he went along. Last night, when he’d stormed over to Bailey’s place, the last thing he’d expected was to ask her help to throw a party, but then she’d looked so tired and vulnerable, and something inside him had shifted. A party for his mom had been the first excuse that came into his head when she’d asked why he was there.

He held up his hands in surrender. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just trying to do something special for Mom.”

Callum’s expression said he didn’t buy this excuse for one second. Well, Quinn didn’t care—as long as Bailey did. He needed to spend as much time as possible with her. He needed to win her trust and respect so that she would feel comfortable inviting him into her life—and their baby’s.

“Are you interested in Bailey?”

Quinn crossed his arms and tried to ignore the guilt he felt at Callum’s accusatory tone. “What if I was?”

“I’d tell you to be careful,” Callum replied, his serious eyes meeting Quinn’s.

He couldn’t tell if his big brother was warning him off for his well-being or for Bailey’s; probably the latter, but either way he could take a hike. Callum had had a chance with Bailey and he’d blown it—if he hadn’t made her feel so alone and unloved, she wouldn’t have come crying to Quinn in the first place. But he had and she did.

Now Callum was with Chelsea, and Bailey was Quinn’s business—even if no one knew it yet.

“You worry too much,” Quinn said, reaching out and patting Callum patronizingly on the chest. Inside he didn’t feel so light and carefree, but he played the part expected of him. “You should be putting all your energies into your gorgeous future wife.”

The fight in Callum’s eyes dimmed at the mention of Chelsea, and Quinn took the chance to escape. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got things to do.”

Callum opened his mouth as if to state his objections, but Quinn walked away, knowing that Callum would never make a scene when they had customers. “Bye, Sophie.” He waved as he headed for the door, then stepped out into the chilly morning air and strode over to his bike.

Next stop was his mom’s house, only a short distance from the actual distillery, also on their family’s estate. He’d lived there with his parents and all six of his siblings growing up, but now his dad was gone and only two of his brothers still lived at home. Lachlan had moved back in with his newborn son years ago when his wife had left them. Mom loved having her grandson under her roof, and Lachlan had been grateful for her help. Blair had moved home two years ago when he’d split with his wife, who’d also been his high school sweetheart. Although he kept making noises about moving into a place of his own, Quinn reckoned he liked Mom’s home cooking too much.

He parked his bike out front, hooked his helmet on the handlebars, walked the small distance to the house and let himself inside. The smell of blueberry pancakes hit him immediately, and his stomach growled in enthusiastic anticipation.

“Looks like I arrived just in time,” he said as he entered the big, country-style kitchen to find his mom laying the pancakes on the table. Lachlan and his son, Hamish, sat at the other end playing chess.

“Morning, sweetheart,” Nora said as Quinn hugged her. “Has your stomach got some kind of homing beacon on it?”

He laughed and then went over to ruffle Hamish’s hair. “Hey, dude, how’s it hanging?”

“Hi, Uncle Quinn.” Hamish’s words slurred slightly as usual. “I’m beating Dad at chess. Want a game?”

Quinn’s heart swelled with love and pride for his nephew, who, with cerebral palsy, hadn’t had an easy time in his short life but was always happy and positive. A lot of that was to do with his dad; none of the credit could go to his mother, who hadn’t been able to handle a special-needs child.

“Why not?” he said. “But I warn you, I’m worse than your father.”

“Hey!” Lachlan objected, a grin on his face. “Anyway, to what do we owe the pleasure?”

As his mom had turned back to the stove, Quinn moved closer to his brother and whispered, “I want to talk to you about Mom’s birthday. Where’s Blair?”

“In the shower, then I think he’s heading over to the distillery to run a tour.”

Quinn devoured four pancakes, chatted to his mom, brother and nephew about stuff Hamish was learning at school, lost a game of chess, and then stood and made his excuses. “I’ve got to head into Bend for a meeting. I’ll catch you all later.” He made eye contact with Lachlan, indicating he should see him out.

“You’ve got a meeting?” Nora asked.

He smiled at her. “Don’t sound so surprised.” Then he leaned down to kiss her on the forehead, before exiting the kitchen.

Lachlan followed. “I’ll see Quinn out,” he called over his shoulder.

Once they were safely outside, Quinn relayed his party plans.

“That’s a great idea,” Lachlan said, not making any comment about Bailey’s involvement. “And of course I’ll cater.” He had that gleam in his eyes he got whenever he was talking about food, and Quinn could tell he was already conjuring up a menu. “So that’s what your meeting is about? You’re seeing Bailey?”

Quinn nodded once and hoped Lachlan didn’t notice his Adam’s apple move slowly up and down. He felt bad lying to Lachlan, although technically he wasn’t. “Can you fill Blair in when you see him? I’ll try to catch Annabel this afternoon.”

“I’m glad you’re getting her involved.”

“Who? Annabel?” Of course he’d include their sister in any decisions.

“No, idiot. Bailey.”

“Ah. Right.”

“She’s been such a big part of the family for so long, even before she and Callum were together, that it seems wrong not to have her around anymore. Callum’s moved on and it was her decision to end things, so I’m just hoping everything won’t have to change too much. Hamish misses her, our families are so linked, and I think hiring Bailey to help is a good plan to fix any rifts caused by her breaking up with Callum. Is she cool with helping now Chelsea is on the scene?”

Quinn had no idea what Bailey thought of Callum’s new fiancée—their night had happened before all that and he’d steered clear of her since—but he guessed Chelsea was the least of her problems now. “Yes, seems to be. Bailey’s a professional.”

Lachlan nodded. “Yes, you’re right. She is.”

For a moment Quinn considered confiding in his brother—he and Lachlan had always been closer than he and Callum, and as Lachlan was a dad, he’d be more likely to understand the mixed feelings consuming Quinn right now. Panic, guilt, anger—he had them all. He wanted to ask how Lachlan had felt when he’d first discovered his ex-wife was pregnant. If he’d ever doubted his abilities as a father. If he instinctively knew what to do when his babies were first placed in his arms. If there was any parenting how-to book he absolutely should buy.

But he swallowed his questions, summoned a carefree grin onto his face and punched Lachlan playfully on the arm. “We’ll chat soon and Bailey will probably be in contact, as well.”

“Okay, I’ll look forward to it.”

As his brother slipped back inside the house, Quinn wondered how Bailey had managed to keep her pregnancy a secret so far, because he’d known less than twenty-four hours and was already desperate to confide in someone.

Chapter Three

Arriving early, Quinn paused outside the café in downtown Bend and peered in through the window, checking to see if Bailey had arrived yet. He immediately located her at a table in the corner, leaning over a newspaper as if it had the answers to world peace scrawled across the pages.

And man, she was beautiful. Her dark, shiny hair fell slightly across her eyes, and without the pajamas of last night, she was back to her immaculately dressed self—black leggings, knee-high boots to match a long knit sweater thing, bright chunky jewelry hanging around her neck. She looked together, refreshed and pregnant.

No one else might be able to tell, but to him the differences were obvious. Her skin definitely glowed, and even from this vantage point, he noted her breasts had increased at least a cup size. Quinn swallowed at the recollection of exactly how those breasts had felt in his hands, her nipples growing tight as he’d swiped his tongue over the top of them. He hadn’t had sex like that in a long time.

Quinn caught himself. Was this the way he should be thinking about the mother of his child? Despite the cool temperature of the day, a flush crawled up his neck at the thought. Then again, maybe this was exactly the way he should be thinking—it wouldn’t be a hardship getting serious with Bailey, as his libido was already a hundred percent behind the idea. He might not have planned on committing to anyone, but he’d make damn sure he never did to his child what his dad had done to him. And that meant doing right by the kid’s mother.

The door to the café opened as a group of women emerged, giggling. He straightened as they all paused to give him the once-over. The two blondes, the brunette and the redhead were dressed as if they’d just come from a dance club or yoga class. Normally, presented with four hot women, he’d take a moment to flirt a little and get a phone number or two for his little black book, but today he barely gave them a second glance.

As they giggled off down the sidewalk, Quinn turned back to look at Bailey. She was still engrossed in the newspaper, but pretty soon she’d start wondering where he was. He couldn’t remember feeling nervous about anything in his life, but his stomach was churning and his palms sweating.

Nothing had ever mattered as much as this did. He couldn’t afford to mess it up.

Telling himself to get a grip, Quinn strode the few steps to the door and pulled it open. He made a beeline for Bailey, but she didn’t look up until his shadow fell across the table. He glanced down at the newspaper and saw exactly what had captured her attention.

“Hello, Bailey.”

“Oh. Hi, Quinn.” She looked up at him, slammed the paper shut and then shot him a guilty grin, as if she’d been caught in a criminal act. “Have a seat.”

She failed dismally in sounding professional and he smiled knowingly as he unwrapped his thick scarf from around his neck. He folded and placed it over the back of the vacant chair, then peeled off his leather jacket and did the same with it. He didn’t think much about the act of doing so, but Bailey’s eyes widened as if he were some stripper in a male revue and her cheeks grew pink when he caught her looking. It appeared the attraction was still very much present for both of them and the knowledge pleased him immensely.

If Bailey thought she could fight this kind of chemistry, she had another think coming. If she thought he wasn’t going to be involved in his kid’s life, she needed her pretty little head read.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said. I would have been early except I was outside giving myself a hard-on by looking in at you. How was it possible to be angry with and attracted to someone at the same time?

She shook her head. “You’re not. You’re right on time.” She sounded surprised by this fact and he had an urge to reach out and tuck the hair that had fallen across her face behind her ear. Then to swipe his thumb across her forehead and smooth her creased brow.

Instead, he gestured to the closed newspaper between them. “Was that Aunt Bossy you were reading?” he asked, casually picking it up. He opened it exactly to that page and smiled down at the caricature of an old woman that topped his popular column—the image about as unlike him as you could get.

Bailey’s face turned a pale shade of green. “You know about Aunt Bossy?”

He shrugged one shoulder slowly as he leaned back in his seat. “Of course. Who doesn’t? I read her column every week. She sounds like a very wise woman, offers top-notch advice in my opinion.” He shut his mouth before she got suspicious about his effusive praise.

Now, in addition to her sickly pallor, panic danced in her eyes. “Really?” she whispered.

Yes, Bailey, I read the column and so does almost everyone else in Jewell Rock and all the surrounding regions.

Really, what had she been thinking sending such a letter? Did she think no one would recognize their situation? Their illicit night together might still be secret, but with the other clues she’d sown, it wouldn’t be too hard for anyone who knew them both to put two and two together. Especially once she started to show. That was if he chose to write a public reply, something he hadn’t decided yet.

This would be the perfect moment to come clean. He could add flippantly that if Aunt Bossy replied to her letter (and she didn’t have time to reply to every one she got), the answer wouldn’t appear until next week’s edition at the earliest, and then he’d watch as realization dawned.

Maybe he should just tell her the truth. Take the high ground and demand she marry him. But there were two major problems with that scenario: one, she’d know he was Aunt Bossy, and two, she’d refuse his proposal on the grounds he didn’t love her, but would start calling the shots anyway. Bailey didn’t excel at event planning for no reason; she was born a control freak and he wasn’t about to be pushed about by anyone. Not when his baby was involved.

The way he was playing things might be untoward, but he needed Bailey to confide in him on her own terms, or at least think she was.

While he deliberated, she recovered her shock and said, “I thought you only opened the paper for the sports news.”

It was supposed to be an insult and he felt it twist inside him like barbed wire, but he refused to let his hurt show. “Just goes to show you don’t know everything about me, Bailey Sawyer,” he said, his tone half amused, half suggestive.

Her eyes widened, color darkened her cheeks and for a second there he thought she was going to confess, but before she could say anything, a waitress with a badge announcing her as Daphne appeared at their table.

“Hey, y’all.” She obviously didn’t come from around here. “What can I get for you?”

Quinn looked to Bailey; Bailey looked to the waitress. “Can you give us a few more moments?”

All smiles, Daphne nodded and retreated. Bailey picked up the menu and Quinn did the same. It took him all of two seconds to decide on the chicken gorgonzola sandwich, but Bailey deliberated longer than she usually did over anything. He watched her brow furrowed in serious contemplation and wondered what she was thinking? Was she trying to work out if there was anything on the menu pregnant women shouldn’t eat? Or was she feeling queasy?

He’d been up half the night researching pregnancy on the internet, so he could have helped her make an informed decision, but as he’d already established he wasn’t ready to come clean, he sat patiently waiting while she made her choice. The second she put down her menu, Daphne swooped back to the table and smiled again, her pen poised over her pad ready.

“I’ll have the veggie frittata, please, and a Diet Coke,” Bailey said.

“Good choice.” The waitress scribbled, then looked to Quinn.

Before he could give his order, Bailey spoke again. “Actually, scrap the Diet Coke, I’ll have a club soda instead.”

He smiled his approval. She was doing everything she could to protect their baby. Including keeping him at a distance. This last thought killed his smile.

“Okay. Sure.” The waitress looked to Quinn. “And what can I get for you?”

Quinn ordered his sandwich and was glad when the other woman retreated. “Thanks for agreeing to meet me today,” he said, “especially on a weekend.” He stretched his legs out, pretending the brush against Bailey’s legs was accidental.

“It’s a pleasure,” she said, snapping her legs away from his, her cheeks reddening again. “Now, shall we get started?” Without waiting for a reply, she got out her notebook, diary and a pink pen and got straight down to business. “First things first. Have you got a date in mind?”

“Well, her birthday is March fifteenth, so I guess a weekend either side of that. What works best for you?”

Bailey stuck her pen between her teeth as she flicked through the pages of her diary. “We’ve got Saturday the eleventh or Saturday the eighteenth? I’m free either. Have you checked with...with your brothers and sisters yet?”

“Yep—I’ve spoken to everyone this morning. They’re really excited. And happy that you’re going to be involved.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Really? All of them?”

He reached across the table and took her hand—he could tell the action surprised her, but he didn’t retreat and neither did she. Her skin felt soft and her hand fit perfectly in his. “Yes. We all consider you part of the family. No one wants the fact that you’ve broken up with Callum to change that.”

Or what happened between you and me.

He could tell by the way her gaze met his and her cheeks turned slightly redder that she was also thinking about that night. She rubbed her lips one over the other and finally removed her hand. “Okay. Well, let’s go with the eleventh. If you want it to be a surprise, before the actual date is always better. She’s less likely to get suspicious or think you’ve all forgotten her birthday.”

Quinn chuckled. “I don’t think Mom would ever let us forget.”

The first smile of the day cracked across Bailey’s face. “No, Nora definitely wouldn’t let that happen. She’s going to be delighted by all this. I have a list of questions to ask you to give me a better idea of what you want. Ready?”

He nodded, although party plans were pretty low down on the list of things he’d like to be discussing with her right now.

“We’ve chosen a date, so next is the time of day. I’m guessing you’d prefer an evening event when the distillery has closed?”

Truthfully, he hadn’t given the finer details any thought, but he nodded all the same. He’d pretty much go along with whatever she suggested where the party was concerned, but he didn’t plan on being so obliging about their baby. “Sounds good. Say, about seven o’clock?”

Bailey scribbled that down. “You’ll have to work out how to get Nora out of the way for the afternoon while we set up.”

“I’ll put Annabel and Sophie in charge of that. They can invite her out for a late lunch or something.”

“Good thinking,” Bailey said as Daphne arrived with their drinks.

“Your meals won’t be long,” she promised, before turning back to the kitchen.

Bailey took a sip of her club soda and immediately returned to business. “Do you want a theme?”

“What? Like fancy dress?”

“I was thinking more like a special color or motif. You know, like butterflies, her favorite flower or something. But fancy dress could be fun.” She paused a few moments, then her eyes positively sparkled. “She was born in 1957, right? So let’s have a 1950s theme.”

“What? Like 1950s glamour?” Quinn imagined Bailey dressed as Audrey Hepburn, who had to be one of the sexiest women of all time. He’d always thought the resemblance between them uncanny. “That’s a brilliant idea. Mom will love that.”

“Glamour or rock ’n’ roll. There are a few different ways we could go with 1950s!”

As much as he’d liked the idea of Bailey as Audrey, rock ’n’ roll held more appeal when he thought of his family. They weren’t really the formal type. And Bailey would look just as sexy in one of those poodle skirts. “Let’s go with rock ’n’ roll.”

She nodded. “Good idea. Rock ’n’ roll costumes are easier and less expensive for people. This will be so much fun. You’ll have to grow some sideburns, but your leather jacket is pretty much perfect already.” Then suddenly her face fell. “Hey, when are Callum and...and Chelsea getting married? We’re not going to overshadow their celebrations, are we?”

To be honest, that thought hadn’t even entered Quinn’s head, but he could only imagine how uncomfortable the prospect of Callum’s upcoming nuptials must be for Bailey. She might have been the one to end the relationship, but he’d moved on so fast, and his engagement to the woman Bailey had hired to break up with him for her had surprised them all. “Nope. They’ve fixed a date for the end of May. He’s hoping the restaurant will be finished by then and they can be the distillery’s first wedding.”

“Guess they won’t be asking me to handle that event,” Bailey said wryly.

By May, Quinn realized, Bailey’s bump would be well and truly showing, and if he had his way, everyone would know the baby was his. “Might be a little awkward,” he agreed.

She sighed and Quinn wondered if she regretted losing Callum. It had to be hard for her seeing him (or, at least, hearing about him) being so happy with Chelsea just months after Bailey broke up with him. Part of Quinn wanted to ask and the other part of him didn’t want to know the answer. He knew she thought sleeping with him had been one of her less clever moments, but he didn’t regret it. He couldn’t. Sitting across from her now brought up feelings he’d been trying to ignore for years—since he was a horny teenager and she was his mom’s friend’s daughter, meaning deflowering her wasn’t an option. Not if he wanted to live to see adulthood. Sitting across from her now, he really wanted to sleep with her all over again, which just went to show his lack of scruples—the woman was lying to him by omission, for goodness’ sake, and he was here only because of the baby.

“How is the restaurant planning going?” she asked, an obvious attempt to direct the conversation elsewhere.

“Really good. Mac’s submitted the plans for building approval and is ready to start as soon as they get the go-ahead. Lachlan’s already cooking up a storm creating a new menu.”

“Those brothers of yours don’t let the grass grow when they get an idea, do they?” Bailey said with an affectionate smile.

Quinn tried to smile back, but it was clear she didn’t include him in the same category as his aspirational siblings. No wonder she didn’t think him father material. Having no idea how to respond, he was glad when Daphne arrived with their meals.

“Thanks,” they said in unison.

“You’re welcome. Shout if you need anything else.”

As Daphne left again, Quinn picked up one half of his sandwich and took a bite. It was good, but he couldn’t fully enjoy it. He glanced across at Bailey and saw that she seemed to be having similar issues. Although she’d torn off a piece of frittata with her fork, she didn’t look too keen on the idea of putting it in her mouth.

He nodded toward her plate. The frittata looked and smelled amazing, but she’d turned a little green again. “Is something wrong?”

“No.” She shoved the fork in her mouth and looked as if she might gag.

“So,” she said when she’d swallowed that mouthful, “1950s rock ’n’ roll. Do you want me to talk directly to Lachlan about the food? See what he can do in keeping with the theme?”

When he nodded, she continued. “Would you like a band or a DJ? I know a group that specializes in music from that era. They are the best, but they might be a little pricey.”

“Money isn’t an issue. I want this night to be special for Mom. Can you see if this band is available?”

She nodded and jotted down another note. “Do you still want to hire a marquee?”

“Yes, I think so. Pity the new restaurant won’t be ready in time.”

“I’ll also need a guest list for numbers. And we’ll need to work out tables and chairs and...” She continued listing off various things.

Quinn’s head spun with the decisions to be made, but he didn’t want her to think he couldn’t even handle a simple birthday party, so he attempted to keep up.

“If you have time, we can head on over to the stationers after lunch and select the invitations, or would you prefer to use the Paperless Post app?” Bailey took another sip of her soda.

“Nah, let’s do proper invitations.” He continued with his sandwich as she chattered on about other things they needed to decide on. He tried to sound enthusiastic, but he guessed that later he likely wouldn’t be able to remember half of the things they’d discussed. His head was too full of baby. Bailey pushed her food around on her plate, but he couldn’t help noticing she didn’t eat any more. He bit his tongue to stop himself from asking her how bad the morning sickness was and suggesting she try some ginger tea.

As he swallowed the last bite of his sandwich, a woman with a pram approached their table. It took a second for Quinn to recognize her, as he was so focused on the baby. He guessed it was about six months old and it had thick, dark curls framing its cute, dimpled face.

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