Millionaire’s Calculated Baby Bid

Laura Wright

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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For Lucca Elliott, my sweet baby boy…

Contents

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

Prologue

One hour ago Mary had expected to lie back on the king-size bed in the most exclusive bed-and-breakfast in Long Lake, Minnesota, and let Ethan Curtis make love to her, with no emotion, zero response from her body. At that very same time, she’d wondered if he’d be rough, cold, like the unfeeling bastard she’d met in her family’s former offices a week ago—the offices he now controlled and ran like a well-oiled, profit-gouging, soul-sucking machine.

His mouth moved over hers, slowly, seductively coaxing her back to the present. Every time his skin brushed against hers, every time his teeth raked lightly over her neck or back or shoulder, she mewled so loudly with desire she was sure the entire inn heard her and knew exactly what she was doing.

Ethan Curtis might’ve been a bastard, but he was anything but cold.

Moonlight spilled into the room, making it impossible not to see Ethan’s face as he pushed into her again, his cut cheekbones, hard mouth, and tanned neck taut with exertion and damp with sweat. His cobalt gaze slipped from her eyes to her mouth, and he lowered his head. Mary’s heart hammered in her chest as she tried to force back the rush of desire in her blood when his full mouth found hers and nuzzled her lips open.

The reality of why they were here in bed together, so that her father was now free from any threat of prison, scratched at the door of her mind. She wished she could crawl out from underneath Ethan and leave the room, but her body continued to betray her. Maybe it was because she hadn’t been with a man in two years. Maybe she just craved the weight and the closeness and the surge of adrenaline, but she wanted this man so badly she ached with it.

Ethan drifted lazily from her mouth to her cheek, then to her ear. She felt the tip of his tongue against her lobe and shivered, her back arching, her hips arching, her body taking him deeper. Her ears were surprisingly sensitive, and she hated that he knew it, that he was having this power over her—yet loved it at the same time. His tongue flicked back and forth as though he were tending to more than just the lobe of her ear, and she trembled again with sudden spasms she couldn’t control. Outside their door, she heard voices, heavy footfall in the hallway, then a door closing. Had they heard her as she moaned with desire, her body begging him for more?

The urge to touch Ethan, grab his lower back and buttocks, sink her fingers and nails into his muscular flesh was almost overwhelming and she fisted the sheets at her sides. It was the one thing she’d promised herself—not to touch him. But the pledge was hurting her far more than it was hurting him, she imagined. His tanned, thickly muscled chest and shoulders had erotic voices of their own and were calling to her as he rose for a moment, then settled back against her breasts.

How could you sleep with a man like this? she heard herself say, though the only sound her throat produced was a deep moan of satisfaction as he lowered his head to her breast and suckled deeply on one hard, pink nipple. How could you desire a man like this?

He’s a demon.

Shuddering with the electric heat, she wrapped her legs around him and arched her back, pumping her hips furiously. She was close, so close. It had been two incredibly quiet years since she’d been with a man she’d dated for only a few months, two long years since she’d faked release before breaking it off and wandering back into hermit territory and remaining there as the eternal businesswoman. She’d felt the real charge of climax only in her dreams—those dreams of faceless strangers pleasuring her body until she woke up sweaty and frustrated. But there was no faking anything tonight.

Again her thoughts were seized and cast aside by Ethan’s touch. He slipped his hand between them, his fingers inching downward until he combed through the pale curls between her spread thighs. As he stroked her, flicked the tender, aching bud, Mary gulped for air. She didn’t want to give in to him. He didn’t deserve her desire, her complete and utter surrender. But her head fell back anyway as the heat of his hand and the skill of his fingers took her over the edge. She knew how loudly she cried out as he played her, as he sank deeper, but she didn’t care. Wounded, desperate and totally unaware of time, she clawed at the white sheets, pretending they were his skin.

Ethan watched her, his gaze feral yet brushed with uncharacteristic concern. Then with a growl of hunger, he pushed deeply inside her, his rhythm steady, his breathing anything but. The force of his release made him shake, made his body hard as iron, and when he dropped gently on top of her, he buried his head in the damp curve of her neck.

It was only moments before Mary’s skin started to cool and her rational mind returned, along with her anger. No matter how much her body craved this man, in the light of day this had been little more than a transaction.

A wave of nausea moved through her as she recalled the day Ethan Curtis had made her an offer she hadn’t been able to refuse.

“You’re one arrogant son of a bitch, you know that, Curtis?” she had said to him.

Ethan had sat back in his leather chair and regarded her with cold eyes. “I think we’ve established that. Are you going to take the deal or not?”

With his short black hair, sharp blue eyes and hooked nose, Ethan resembled a hawk more than a man. Mary had never seen a man with more arrogance or more presence.

She had stood in his massive office of glass and metal, with its hard, uncompromising edges, and tried to be as much of a hard-ass as him. “I told you I would agree to artificial insemination.”

“If I felt that you would actually honor—”

“Honor?” she said, appalled. “We’ve leaped way beyond that now.”

“True.” His sapphire gaze had missed nothing, especially the intense desire she had to thwart him in any way possible. “But to make certain your end of the bargain is upheld, we’ll do this the old-fashioned way.”

“Not a chance in hell.”

He’d looked amused. “You may even like it.”

She’d given him a derisive glance. “Maybe. But we’ll never know. I’m not going to bed with you, Mr. Curtis.”

The look of amusement had disappeared and he’d replied gravely, “You want your father cleared of all charges. I want a child. It’s very simple.”

Simple. The word now crashed around in Mary’s brain as the man who’d uttered it one week ago rolled off her in one gentle movement. Nothing was simple about this situation. She ventured a quick glance at him as he sat up, his back to her, ropes of thick muscle flexing as he moved. Was it possible to despise someone yet be intrigued by them at the same time?

His voice cut through her silent query. “Do you want me to go?”

Despite her efforts to remain indifferent, she felt anger bubble up within her. At herself and at him. “Yes.”

His jaw tight, he let out a slow breath. “I will see you again tomorrow.”

Without answering, she got up from the bed and headed straight for the bathroom. She wasn’t about to turn over and lie there, sheet pulled up to her chin like a naive girl who’d just been taken advantage of. She’d known exactly what she was doing and why, and had admittedly enjoyed herself.

She turned on the shower to drown out any sound of him getting dressed and walking out, then threw back the shower curtain and stared at the water as it dropped like rain onto the virginal white surface of the porcelain tub. She placed one foot over the tub, but quickly stepped back on the mat. Why the hell wasn’t she getting in there, getting clean, getting rid of any sign of him? What kind of woman didn’t want to wash off the scent of a man she had sworn to hate—a man who wanted her only to procure a blue-blooded child? Not any kind of woman she would respect.

Mary let go of the curtain and went to stand in front of the full-length mirror on the bathroom door. With nervous fingers, she ran a hand down her torso, over her belly. Had they made a child tonight? A shiver of excitement went through her, accompanied by an intense feeling of dread. A baby. She sighed. There was nothing in the world she wanted more than to build a family of her own, but not this way.

Feeling ashamed, she looked away. Her priorities were what they had always been, ever since she was a child: to fix the lives of others before her own. And right now having all charges dropped against her father was the most important thing. She wasn’t getting a family out of this deal, she was keeping her father out of prison.

Her hands splayed on her belly once more and she shook her head. Impossible. The whole damn deal. She was a fool for thinking it would work, just as Ethan Curtis was a fool for thinking that if she did get pregnant, the baby would ever be raised by anyone but its mother.

One

Four Weeks Later.

“Whose idea was it to install a kitchen in the office?” Tess York inquired, the words slightly muffled by a massive bite of eggs Benedict.

Olivia Winston flipped a yellow dish towel over her shoulder and walked her petite, though incredibly curvaceous, frame over to the table with the grace of a movie star. “Ah, that would be me.”

“Well, you’re a genius, kid.”

Beneath a rim of shaggy brown bangs, Olivia’s gold eyes sparkled. “This I know.”

Tess laughed at her partner’s mock display of arrogance, her long mass of red curls hopping about her back like marionettes. “All I want to know is where my mimosa is.”

“No drinking before ten o’clock.” Mary Kelley sat across from Tess, her wavy blond hair falling about her face as she absentmindedly drew slash marks through the hollandaise with her fork. “Unless disaster strikes.”

“I’d say a two-week dry spell qualifies,” Tess said slyly, making Olivia laugh.

“It’s August.” Mary looked from one of her partners to the other. “We’re always a little slow at the end of the summer.”

“Slow, sure,” Olivia retorted, holding a piece of perfectly cooked bacon up like a white flag. “But we’re bordering on drought.”

Barring these two weeks in August, No Ring Required was normally buzzing with activity. The premier wife-for-hire company in the Midwest had zero competition and one hell of a brilliant staff. With Mary’s creativity and business sense, Olivia’s culinary skill and Tess’s wise budgeting and decorating style, NRR was a highly successful company. The problem, Mary had to admit, was that all three of them were such intense workaholics who cared nothing for a private life that they had no idea what to do with themselves on their downtime. And each time the end of summer came aknocking, the women panicked in their own ways.

“Well,” Mary continued, putting down her fork and dropping her napkin over an untouched plate of food. “Clearly this is no time to be picky about clients.”

“Yeah, Olivia,” Tess murmured with a grin.

Olivia raised her brows questioningly. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

“I think she’s referring to your problem with trust-fund clients,” Mary offered, laughing when Tess cleared her throat loudly.

Olivia scowled, then reached down and grabbed Mary’s plate. “I don’t like them, and nothing’s going to change that. Trust-funders are boorish, brainless, self-obsessed jerks, who think they not only own the world, but everyone else along with it.”

Tess flashed Mary a grin. “Tell us how you really feel.”

“Yes,” Mary agreed. “I’m not entirely clear on your opinion regarding the rich.”

As her partners chuckled, Olivia sighed. “It’s not the rich, it’s—Oh, forget it.” Clearly looking for a way to end the current conversation, Olivia glared at Mary’s untouched plate. “Mary, you’re not on a diet, are you?”

“What?” Mary said, sobering.

Olivia tossed her an assessing glance before she turned and sashayed back to her beloved Viking range. “You know that I feel as though diets are a total affront to all those in the culinary world.”

“I do know that.”

“Besides, there’s not a grapefruit or bowl of cabbage soup in my fridge, I’m afraid.”

As a shot of nerves zipped through her, Mary shook her head. “No diet, Olivia. I guess I’m just not very hungry.”

Tess paused long enough to swallow. “As much as I hate to side with Olivia, that’s been going on for a while now.”

“Yep,” Olivia agreed.

“And, well,” Tess began awkwardly, “we’re here if…well, you know.”

Mary nodded and forced a smile. “I know.”

Among the three of them, talking about business was an easy, playful and spirited adventure, but when the conversation turned to anything emotional or personal, the women of NRR seemed to transform into the Stooges—a bumbling, uneasy mess. From the inception of No Ring Required there had been a sort of unspoken rule between the partners to keep personal matters to themselves. Odd, and perhaps against every female cliché, for three women to abstain from discussion about history and feelings, but there it was.

“So, what’s on the agenda today, ladies?” Tess asked, pushing away from the table and a very clean plate.

“I have a meeting with a potential client,” Mary informed them, her gaze drifting over to the clock on the wall. Okay, five minutes were up. The test was done. The zip of nerves from a moment ago turned into a pulse-pounding elephant-sitting-on-her-chest type of situation.

“Maybe not such a dry spell after all,” Olivia remarked gaily, her good mood returning. “I also have a client coming in at two whose fiancée ditched him a week before the wedding and he wants help with what he referred to as a “screw her” dinner party.”

Tess laughed. “Should be fun.”

Mary hardly heard them as the muscles in her legs tensed painfully, as though she was on the verge of a charley horse. The pregnancy test was hidden behind fifty or so rolls of the insanely soft Charmin Ultra that Olivia insisted on buying. Would there be one line or two? One line or two?

“Big name or big business for you?” Tess asked, staring at Mary expectantly.

“Ah…both actually.”

“Sounds great.” Olivia set her own full plate down beside Tess, then promptly rearranged her silverware, napkin and water glass to their proper places, now ready to partake in her own breakfast.

Her heart slamming against her ribs, Mary stood and grabbed her purse. “I just have to hit the little girl’s room and then I’ll be on my way.”

“Good luck,” Olivia called.

Tess nodded. “Yeah, good luck, kid.”

If they only knew the double meaning in her good wishes, Mary thought, each step toward the bathroom feeling as though she was walking in quicksand. She had no idea what she wanted to see when she tossed aside all that toilet paper and pulled out the test. If it was positive, she’d have to make plans to get away from Minneapolis eventually, away from Ethan—that man would never let her walk away with his child. If it was negative, her father’s life was over. She felt a sickly sour feeling in her stomach. She had lives to protect, and she wasn’t altogether sure how capable she was.

She locked the door behind her, sat on the floor and opened the cabinets under the sink. The mountain of white rolls pushed aside easily as she reached inside and felt for the thin stick. Her pulse pounded in her ears. God, what did she want here?

Her fingers closed around the test and she yanked it back. With one heavy exhale she stared at the results.

It was three twenty-seven and Ethan Curtis was growing more impatient by the second.

He wasn’t used to being kept waiting. People arrived early for meetings with him, fifteen to thirty minutes on average. They would sit in his massive lobby until he was ready to see them. For six years it had been this way. He knew his employees thought he was an arrogant ass. He liked it that way.

He punched the intercom button. “Marylyn, when Miss Kelley arrives, have her join me on the roof.”

There was a slight pause on the other end of the line. Marylyn had never heard such a request, but she recovered quickly. “Yes, sir. Of course.”

Ethan glanced at the clock. Three thirty-one. Where the hell was she? He stalked over to the elevator and stabbed the button. Mary Kelley was a strong-willed, business-first, no-nonsense type of person—not unlike himself. But if she worked for him, she’d be fired by now.

He was not generally a nervous man. He didn’t pace, worry or stress before a deal was done. If a client didn’t perform or comply the way he wanted them to, he finessed the situation, made it work to his advantage. However, as he rode his private elevator the short distance to the roof, his gut continued to contract painfully, just like it had the day his father had informed him that his mother had taken up with a new man and wasn’t coming back.

Ethan walked out of the elevator and onto the rooftop, for which he had hired a world-renowned landscape architect and two botanists to transform into his escape three years ago. The courtyard opened to a Moroccan-tiled fountain and several ancient sculptures, while to the left was a sun terrace, complete with bar and circular planters filled with flax, pyracantha and perennials to keep the urban scene colorful year-round. Red bougainvillea covered several of the arched trellises, and cherry trees flanked the central walkway. It was a strange mixture of ease and exotic, and it suited Ethan perfectly.

He sensed her, smelled her, before he saw her. Fresh, soapy—yes, he remembered. The lower half of him contracted as his mind played the ever-present film of those nights in July over again. Ethan saw himself lying on top of her, buried deep inside of her, his mouth on hers as he breathed in her scent and she moaned and writhed like a wildcat.

He glanced over his shoulder to see her walking toward him. She was average height, average build, but Mary Kelley possessed two things that would make any man stop dead in his tracks and stare. Long, toned, sexy-as-hell legs that he could practically feel wrapped around his waist at this moment, and pale blue eyes that turned up at the corners, like a cat’s. “You’re late.”

She didn’t respond. “What’s all this, Mr. Curtis?” she said, looking around the garden seemingly unimpressed. “Your bat cave?”

As well as the legs and the eyes, she also had a sharp tongue.

“A sanctuary.”

Her brows drew together as she sat in the chair opposite him, the skirt of her pale blue Chanel suit sliding upward to just a few inches above her knees. The late-afternoon sun hit her full force, her blond hair appearing almost white. “And what do you need sanctuary from? All the people you’ve screwed over this week?”

Yes, a very sharp tongue, though he remembered that it could also be soft and wet. “You think I thrive on making life difficult for others?”

“I think it may be your life’s blood.”

There was no disputing the fact that she disliked him. No, he could see that clearly. What he couldn’t make out from her attitude was if she was carrying his child or not, and that was the one thing he desperately wanted to know.

He walked over to the bar. “Drink?”

She nodded. “Thank you.”

“Anything in particular? Martini, soda?” That would give him his answer.

“Something cold would be nice. It’s pretty warm.”

“You’re going to make me work for this, aren’t you?”

“Would you really appreciate it any other way?” she said brusquely.

“Martini?”

“Lemonade would be great if you have it. I’m driving.”

“Mary—”

“Do you think you deserve an easy answer, Mr. Curtis?” she interrupted coldly. “Think back to how we got here.”

He had done nothing but, for the past four weeks, though not in the same way as she, clearly. “We made an agreement.”

She laughed bitterly. “Is that what you’d call it? You blackmailed me and I gave in. Maybe gave up is a better way to put it.”

Ethan abandoned the drinks and went to stand before her. Her cat eyes were blazing hatred, and her claws were out, but he didn’t give a damn if she was angry. He wanted one thing and one thing only, and he would go to any lengths necessary to get it.

“Are you pregnant?” he asked bluntly.

It took her a moment to answer. Several emotions crossed her face, and her breathing seemed shallow and slightly labored before she finally nodded. “Yes.”

Ethan turned away, his heart pounding like a jack-hammer. He’d wanted this but had never believed it possible. He had no idea how to react.

“You’ll drop all charges against my father,” Mary said, her tone nonemotional.

He stood there, his back to her. “Of course.”

“And you won’t interfere in my life until the baby is born.”

He opened his mouth to agree, then paused. He turned to face her again. “I don’t know if can do that.”

“That was our agreement,” Mary countered, coming to her feet, her gaze fierce. “Do you not even have one ounce of honor in your blood, Mr. Curtis? Where the hell did you grow up, under a rock?”

She didn’t know where he came from, couldn’t know, but her words struck him hard and he frowned. “I will keep my word.”

Seemingly satisfied, Mary grabbed her purse and started for the elevator. “Good.”

“But there’s one condition,” Ethan called after her.

She whirled around, held his gaze without blinking. “There were no conditions.”

“This has nothing to do with my child, Mary. This is business.”

“I was under the impression that the child was business,” she said dryly.

Despite the dig, Ethan pressed on. “I want to hire you.”

She looked confused for a moment, then broke out laughing bitterly. “Never.”

“You’d turn away business so you don’t have to be around me? I thought you were way tougher than that.”

“I have enough business. I don’t need yours.”

The foolishness of that statement made him smile. “Being the heads of two successful companies, we both know that’s not true.”

“Look,” she began impatiently, “my deal with you is done. Unless you plan to go back on your word and not drop the charges—”

“No,” he cut in firmly. “But perhaps you also want that sculpture your father risked so much to retrieve?”

“I couldn’t give a damn.”

“No, but your father does.” He gestured to the courtyard and the small sculpture of a woman and child that Hugh Kelley had almost gone to jail for. It had been a gift from the Harringtons, part of their courtship when Ethan took over the company. They’d hated him for buying controlling shares in Harrington Corp., but the company was floundering under their care, and because they still wanted to be involved, they’d forced themselves to act nicely. If Ethan had known the rare sculpture belonged to a family member, he probably would’ve rejected the piece. For as much as he wanted to be accepted and welcomed into the old money of Minneapolis, he hated family drama. He hadn’t been too keen on having Hugh Kelley arrested for wanting the sculpture back, either, but he also wouldn’t allow breaking and entering at his company for any reason.

“Why are you doing this?” Mary asked, her cat eyes inspecting him as though he were a pesky rodent. “Why would you care if my father has that sculpture back? You have what you want.”

A pink blush stained her cheeks. She was so beautiful, and her temper and passion only made her more so. She was kidding herself and him if she thought they were done with each other. Two things had come out of their nights together: a baby and the desire to have her in his bed again. Both would take time, but he’d get what he wanted.

“I want to be there,” he said simply. “I want to be around you and see what’s happening to you. I want to see this child grow. That’s all.” When she said nothing, he moved on. “I have several parties to give and to attend over the next month. And one trip—”

“Trip?” she interrupted.

“To Mackinac Island.”

“Not a chance.”

“You don’t travel with clients?”

“You’re not a client.”

“Listen, if it were simply a business meeting, I’d go alone, but I have to stay a few days and I’m planning on throwing a party as well.”

“And you could find someone to help you with that anywhere,” she said. “Some woman you know? And I’m sure you know several.”

His mouth twitched with amusement. “I do.”

“A girlfriend.”

“No.”

“How about a call girl then?” she suggested, flashing him a sarcastic grin.

“I want the best. A professional—and NRR has a sterling reputation. And, quite honestly, it wouldn’t hurt having a Harrington by my side to—”

“Right,” she said quickly, then shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

She was so damn stubborn. “Do you know the circles I run in?”

“I could guess.”

“The kind that are really good for your business.”

She shrugged, shook her head again.

He stepped closer, studied her, then grinned. “You’re afraid of what might happen if you’re around me.”

“Try concerned.” She walked away, over to the bar where she poured herself a glass of iced tea. “Listen, Mr. Curtis, I won’t deny my attraction to you, just like I won’t deny my abhorrence of you, either.”

“I appreciate your honesty. But that’s still—”

“A no.”

“Well your refusal doesn’t take away from the fact that I need help. I could ask one of your partners—”

She fairly choked on her tea. “No.”

Ethan hesitated. It was the first time he’d seen her ruffled during their conversation. Sex didn’t shake her up emotionally, and neither did money, business or the subject of her father, but just mentioning her partners at NRR had her sweating.

“You have two partners, isn’t that right?” he asked casually.

“They know nothing about you…or this,” she said in a caustic tone. “And I want it to stay that way.”

“I see.”

She put down her glass and stood at the side of the bar. “You want your eyes on me all the time…”

“For starters.”

She nodded slowly, as though she were thinking. “All right, Mr. Curtis. You get what you want once again. I’ll take the job.” She turned away then, and walked to the elevator. “But understand something,” she added as the door slid open. “What happened at the lake will never happen again.”

“Whatever you say, Mary,” Ethan said with a slow grin as the elevator door closed.

It was seven o’clock on the nose when Mary walked into the little Craftsman house at 4445 Gabby Street. She’d grown up there, happy as any girl could be with two parents who adored her and told her so every day. With two such gentle souls guiding her, she should have been a softer, sweeter personality, but clearly there was too much Harrington in her. Instead of hugs, she loved to argue and battle and win. Today at Ethan Curtis’s office she’d done all three fairly well. She’d won her dad’s freedom, though she’d paid a high price for it.

Mary walked through the house, then out the screen door. She knew where her father was. During sunset, Hugh Kelley always sat in the backyard, his butt in dirt and under a shifting sky, he patted the newly sprung string bean plants as though they were his children. He was sixty-five, but lately he looked closer to seventy-five, far from the strapping man he used to be. Today was no different. He looked old and weathered, his gray hair too long in the back. For the millionth time Mary wondered if he would ever recover from her mother’s long illness and death and the arrest that followed. She hoped her news would at the very least remove a few layers of despair.

He glanced up from his beans and grinned. “Never been late in your life, have you, lass?”

Her father’s Irish brogue wrapped around her like a soft sweater. “If there was one thing you taught me, Pop, it was punctuality.”

“What a load of crap.”

Mary laughed and plunked down beside him in the dirt.

“Watch yourself there.” Hugh gestured to the ground. “That suit will be black as coal dust by the time you leave.”

“I’m all right, Pop.”

He snapped a bean from its vine and handed it to her.

“And you know I haven’t been on time a day in my life. Neither had your mother. Not you, though. Born right on your due date, you were. Neither your mother nor I ever understood where your timeliness came from. Well, no place we’d admit to, certainly.”

Hugh wasn’t being cryptic, just matter-of-fact. The rift between Mary’s father and her grandparents was old news—though old news he loved to drum up again and again. Not that she blamed him. The Harringtons had never approved of him, and had made him feel like an Irish peasant from day one. Mary just wished things could’ve been different all around. Bitterness and resentment were such a waste of time.

She took a bite of her bean as the late-summer breeze played with her hair. “So, I have some news.”

“What’s that, lass?”

“Ethan Curtis has dropped the charges.”

Hugh didn’t look surprised. “So my lawyer informs me.”

“You already knew?”

“Yep. Teddy called me half an hour ago.”

Mary studied his expression. Unchanged, tired, defeated. She shook her head. “Why aren’t you happy, relieved, something?”

“I am something.” His pale blue eyes, so like her own, brightened with passion. “I’m pissed off.”

“What? Why?”

“I know you, lass. I know you better than anyone. What did you do to make this happen?”

Her heart jumped into her throat, but she remained cool as steel on the outside. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Mare.”

“Pop, I talked to the man.”

Hugh snorted. “Ethan Curtis is no man. He’s a devil, a demon with no soul.”

Mary was all set to agree when a memory of the cozy room on Lake Richard flashed into her mind. Ethan was a demon, yes, but there was another side to him—a deeply buried side that held a surprising amount of warmth and tenderness. She’d seen it when he’d talked about his child.

She closed her eyes. His child.

“Well he’s decided to let it go,” Mary forced out. “He agreed that the sculpture wasn’t really worth his time and is even willing to give it back to you. After all, it was just a gift from Grandmother, with zero sentimental value to him and—”

“A gift that old woman had no right to give,” Hugh pointed out gruffly.

Mary gave a patient sigh. “I know, Pop.”

The basket beside him strained with vegetables. No doubt he’d been out here picking for a few hours. Lord only knew what he was going to do with it all. “Promise me you’re not in any trouble.”

Mary’s chin lifted. She’d lied, yes, but she’d done what she had to do. She was no more pregnant than a box of rocks, but her father was free, and protecting him was all she cared about right now.

“I have nothing to fear from Ethan Curtis,” she said tightly. As long as he didn’t find out the truth, she amended silently, as she picked up the basket of vegetables and walked inside the house.

Two

Mary wondered for a moment if she’d fallen asleep and was, God forbid, snoring. Every once in awhile NRR got a client who was so dull one or all of the partners would actually find themselves nodding off while discussing contracts.

Today it was Mary’s turn to down a third cup of coffee and pry her eyes open with toothpicks. She shifted in her chair and focused on Ivan Garrison, a new client who had hired her to design a menu for a party he was throwing aboard his yacht, Clara Belle. For the past thirty minutes the forty-year-old wannabe boat captain had been sorrowfully telling Mary that he’d named the boat in honor of his dead wife, who he’d married for her “outstanding boating skill and formidable rack.”

It had taken Mary a good thirty seconds to realize that Ivan was referring to his wife’s chest and another ten seconds to contemplate passing him on to Olivia, since the job mainly consisted of culinary planning. But he was one of those trust-fund jerks who made Olivia’s skin crawl, and the risk of having her abide by NRR’s seventh vow, Do No Harm might be asking too much.

Who knew? If he took Olivia for a ride in his yellow Lamborghini and insisted she call him Captain like he did everyone else, Olivia just might bop him on the head the night before the party and serve him to his guests with an apple in his mouth the next day.

“The date for the regatta gala as you know is the twenty-fifth,” he said, touching the brim of the snow-white captain’s hat he had worn to both meetings. “I’ll have my secretary send over the guest list. Please make sure to refer to me as Captain on the invitation. That’s how my friends and business associates know me.”

Aye aye, sir! Mary nodded. “Of course.”

“I’d like to really pack this party. We always get enough entrants for the race, but the galas aren’t as well attended.”

“We could make it as a charity event,” Mary suggested.

“I’ll think about that.” He leaned back in his chair and sighed. “Now, have I told you how I came to be called Captain?”

“No.” If Ivan was going to come around every week, she’d have to invest in some NoDoz.

“As you know, it’s not my given name,” he said. “When I was six—wait, no, closer to eight, my nanny, her name was Alisia and she was the one who bathed me—”

“Excuse me. I’m sorry to interrupt.”

Mary glanced up and smiled thankfully at her partner. “No problem, Olivia. We were just finishing up here.”

Olivia acknowledged Ivan with a quick nod. “Hello, Captain.” Then she turned back to Mary. “Your next client is here.”

“I don’t have—” Mary stopped herself. What the heck was she doing? Her savior, Olivia had clearly noticed her drooping eyelids and coffee-stained teeth, maybe even heard the beginning of the creepy nannyand-the-eight-year-old’s-bath story and was giving her a way out.

“We can discuss the rest on the phone, Captain,” Mary said, standing and shaking his hand. “Or if you’d prefer, we could e-mail.”

The captain sighed wistfully. “My Clara Belle loved the e-mail. Did I tell you she had twelve computers, one for every bathroom? She wanted to stay connected. I haven’t had the heart to remove them.”

After one more minute of commiserating about the impracticality of expensive technology in damp places, Mary told Ivan where to find the little captain’s room and walked toward the lobby with Olivia.

Mary released a weary sigh. “Thank you so much.”

“For what?” Olivia asked.

“The ‘your next client is here’ save. I’m thankful for the business, but sadly Ivan is only eccentric and strange in an uninteresting way. There’s nothing worse.”

Olivia looked confused. “Mary, I’m always happy to help with tedious clients, but in this case, you really do have someone waiting.” She nodded toward the man sitting in one of the lobby’s artfully distressed brown leather chairs.

Mary’s breath caught at the sight of him, and she wanted to kick herself for the girlish reaction, but she walked toward him instead. Ethan Curtis wasn’t the kind of handsome you’d see on the pages of a Businessman Weekly. No three-piece suits or slicked-back hair, no calm, refined demeanor. He looked edgy and ready to pounce, his severe blue eyes alert and ready for a battle. Dressed in tailored pants and an expensive, perfectly cut black shirt, his large frame ate up the leather chair as around them the air crackled with a potent mixture of desire and conflict.

“We didn’t have an appointment today, Mr. Curtis,” Mary said in a gently caustic tone.

Amusement flashed in his eyes. “Yes, I know. But this is urgent.”

Obviously she wasn’t getting rid of him anytime soon. “Let’s go into my office.”

“No. I need to take you somewhere.”

“Impossible,” she told him sharply.

“Nothing’s impossible.”

“I can’t.” Didn’t he see that Olivia was still lurking around? If she overheard them, she’d get the wrong idea…well, the right idea, and Mary didn’t want that. “I have insane amounts of work—”

“This is work.”

Mary pressed her lips together in frustration. She felt caught in a trap. If she refused, made even the smallest of scenes, Olivia would be out here, wondering what was up. That could bring Tess, too. She eyed Ethan skeptically, lowered her voice. “You say this is work?”

“Of course.” He spoke the right words, but he stared at her mouth while he said them.

“Better be.” She tossed him a severe gaze before heading into her office for her purse.

Mary stepped into the world of trendy layettes and custom chintz toddler chairs and felt her heart sink into her shoes. It was the last place in the world she wanted to be. The fact that not only was she lying about being pregnant but that it would be a long, long time before she came into this type of store for any real purpose weighed on her like an anchor. She eyed the blue and pink bookcases and dressers with cute custom airplane and unicorn knobs.

“This is a baby shop, Mr. Curtis,” she said quietly, sidestepping a beautiful whitewashed Morigeau-Lepine changing table.

Ethan dropped into a pale-green gliding chair. “Can we drop the ‘mister’?”

“I don’t think so.”

He raised one brow in a mocking slant and whispered, “Hey, I’ve seen that tiny raspberry birthmark right below your navel.”

A wash of heat slipped over her skin and she could only mutter, “Right…”

“Come sit down.” He motioned for her to take the yellow duckie glider beside him. “You never seem to get off your feet.”

“I’m fine. I’ll stand.”

“Ethan.”

“Fine. Ethan,” she ground out. “Now, are you going to tell me why we’re in a baby shop?”

He picked up a lovely piece of original artwork from a nearby table and studied the drawing of two frogs sailing a boat. “I’m thinking we could add one more item to your workload.”

“Like?”

“A nursery in my house.”

Mary’s pulse escalated to a frenetic pace. “You want me to design a nursery for the…our…”

“Baby, yes. I may have unlimited resources, but you weren’t far off when you suggested I grew up under a rock. It was a trailer park actually. Dark, dirty and decorated with the curbside castoffs of the rich people on the other side of town. So, I have zero taste. And as you can see, I’m a guy.”

She stared at him, not sure how to feel about what he’d just revealed to her. She hadn’t meant to insult him with the “rock” comment. Well, maybe she had a little, but now she felt pretty damn snobby. Although, his need to be accepted by the Minneapolis bluebloods, have a child with one, made way more sense now. Not that his actions were in any way forgiven. “Look, I’m sorry about what I said…the rock thing—”

He waved away her apology with his hand, his jaw a little too tight. “It’s not important. What is important however is that my child has a place to sleep. So? Is this agreeable to you?”

This wasn’t a bizarre request for an NRR client. She’d designed over twenty nurseries and children’s rooms over the past five years. Single fathers, gay fathers who had to admit they had no taste, even busy moms on occasion.

“I thought you might enjoy this,” Ethan said, coming to his feet.

“Did you?” He wanted her to decorate her own child’s room. A child that didn’t exist.

She turned away from Ethan and closed her eyes, took a deep breath. What was she thinking? What was she thinking lying to someone about something so important, something as sacred as having a baby? This was getting out of hand. Yes, she’d had to protect her father, and now that he was out of danger, wasn’t it time to tell Ethan Curtis that he was not going to be a daddy, suffer his censure, his threats, and get on with her life?

Fear darted into her gut. But what if he refiled charges? That was entirely possible—maybe even probable given how angry and spiteful he’d be if he learned the truth. Her father couldn’t survive another arrest. No, there was no way she was allowing that to happen.

Mary fingered a swatch of green gingham fabric. It would work wonderfully for a boy or a girl. Tears sat behind her throat. She wasn’t the most maternal person in the world, but she wanted a child. Someday. With a man who loved her…

“Mary?”

She turned and looked at Ethan. “Okay.”

“Hello, there.” A very perky blond sales clerk appeared before them, her round brown eyes wide with excitement. “So, when’s our baby due?”

Before Mary could even open her mouth to say that they were just looking around, Ethan chimed in with “Early to mid April.”

Mary’s head whipped around so fast she wondered if she’d given herself whiplash.

Ethan shrugged. “I did the calculations.”

“A spring baby,” the salesgirl said, beaming at Ethan as though he were a candidate for father of the year already. “How about we start with a crib?”

Ethan gestured to Mary. “The lady’s in charge.”

The girl looked expectantly at Mary. “Traditional? Round? Any thoughts?”

“No thoughts,” Mary said, feeling weak all of a sudden. “Not today.”

The girl looked sympathetic and lowered her voice. “Mom’s tired.”

You have no idea, lady.

“I tried to get her to sit down,” Ethan said with a frustrated shake of the head.

The girl nodded as if to say, I’ve seen many a pregnant woman and understood their moods. “We can do this another day.”

Mary nodded. “Another day is good.” Another year might be good to.

Ethan checked his watch. “It’s after one.” He eyed Mary with a concerned frown. “Have you eaten lunch?”

Mary shook her head. “Not yet, but I’ll get something back at the office—”

“You need to eat now. You wait here. I’ll go get the car.”

“I have my car,” she said, but he was already halfway out the door.

To make matters worse, the salesgirl sidled up to Mary, clasped her hands together and sighed. “You’re so lucky.”

“Why?”

She looked at Mary as though she was crazy or just plain mean. “That man is going to make a great daddy.”

“If he can stop ordering people around long enough,” Mary muttered to herself.

“Excuse me?”

Mary smiled at the girl, shook her head, then followed Ethan out the door.

“You know, there was an iffy-looking Thai place next to that baby store,” Mary said, sipping lemonade and munching on perfectly tender chicken picata and fresh spinach salad.

Across from her, Ethan waved his fork. “This is better.”

Mary shrugged, a trace of a smile in her voice. “Well, sure, if you like quiet, great food and a killer view.”

Under the guise of work, Ethan had taken her to his home for some lunch. Worn-out from the experience at the baby shop, and more than a little bit curious about what kind of home a man like this one would choose, she hadn’t put up much of a fuss. And her curiosity was well rewarded.

She had expected Ethan’s home to mirror his office—glass and chrome and modern—but maybe she should’ve taken a clue from his rooftop garden instead. There was absolutely nothing modern about the estate. It was enchanting and secluded, complete with a charming wooded drive that led straight up to the massive French-country style home.

Inside was nothing less than spectacular, but not in a showy, uptight way. Though it was sparsely furnished, the rooms were warm and rustic with lots of brick and hardwood.

Mary sipped her lemonade, taking in the soft summer afternoon on the sprawling deck that nestled right up to the edge of a private lake.

“I thought you should see the space you’ll be working with,” Ethan said, finishing off his last bite of chicken.

Mary nodded. “You’re nothing if not helpful, Mr. Curtis.”

A breeze kicked up around them, sending pre-autumn leaves swirling over the edge of the deck into the water.

“Hey, I thought we talked about this back at the baby shop. You were going to call me Ethan—”

“I only agreed to that to get you to stop talking.”

“What?” he said, chuckling.

“You were bringing up the past and I wasn’t interested in going there.”

“The very recent past.”

She attempted to look confused. “Was it? Feels like ages ago, like it didn’t happen at all.”

He glared at her belly. “Oh, it happened, Mary.”

Heat flooded her skin, but she forced her expression to remain impassive.

His gaze found hers again and he studied her. “You’ve got quite an attitude on you.”

“With you, yes.”

“I’m sure I’m not the only one,” he said, one brow raised sardonically.

“Don’t you have a room to show me?”

He sighed. “Come on, Mary, can we make peace here? Maybe even start again? Friends?”

Inside the confines of his office, where she could remember who and what he was, Mary felt safe. She had her walls up, double thick. Even on his rooftop or at the baby shop, he still seemed arrogant and ever the dictator. But here, in his home, with nature and softness surrounding him, it was different. His skin seemed bronze and highly touchable, his eyes glistened like two inviting lakes beckoning her to jump in, and his clothes seemed highly unnecessary. Mary felt her defenses slipping. Forget being friends; she wanted him to kiss her again—just once so she could prove to herself that it wasn’t as good as she remembered. Sure, he had more depth than he let on, but she could make no mistake about it—Ethan Curtis was a selfish, misguided man, who was solely out for himself.

She put down her napkin and tried not to stare at the lush curve of his lower lip. “I won’t pretend that we’re friends, or even friendly.”

“Fine, but can you really despise me? For wanting a child?”

She laughed, shocked at how obtuse he was being. “Is that a serious question? Of course it’s understandable and wonderful to want a child—blackmailing a woman you know nothing about to get one is not.”

He leaned forward and with a trace of a growl said, “True.”

“You have no excuse for your behavior?”

“None whatsoever.”

They stared at each other in stubborn silence, sparks of heat, of desire, flickering between them.

Finally Ethan spoke, “Let’s go see the room.”

They walked side by side through the house and up the curving staircase to the second floor. Ethan had run these stairs a hundred times, alone of course. He hadn’t invited many people to his home, and the ones that had made it past the foyer had never been allowed upstairs. He normally took women back to their place after a date. Less complicated that way.

These upcoming parties were going to be the first time he’d invited a large group to his home, and the thought alarmed him somewhat, though he knew it was the right business decision. If a person was going to switch insurance companies for their billion-dollar business, they would want to see the man who’d be taking it over in his natural habitat—simple as that.

“I chose the room next to mine,” Ethan explained as they walked down the long hallway. “If he or she needs me in the middle of the night…” He paused at the door to the nursery and looked at her. “That’s how it goes, right? They wake up at night and you go to them?”

“I wouldn’t know.” Her skin had taken on a grayish pallor as she stared into the empty room with its beamed ceilings and white walls.

“Your womanly instincts must tell you something—” Ethan began, but was quickly cut off by Mary’s soft laughter. “All right, I’m a little nervous about this whole thing. I want a child more than anything, but I know absolutely nothing.”

“You’ll get help.”

“I don’t do therapists.”

She released a heavy sigh and turned to face him. “No, Ethan. Not that kind of help.”

“What? Like a nanny or something?”

“Or something.”

He shook his head. “All this child will need is me.”

“Two seconds ago you were saying you didn’t know a thing.”

“I’ll learn.”

“Maybe you won’t be able to give a child everything. I mean…”

“What? What do you mean?”

She gritted her teeth. “Well, you were just talking about womanly instincts. I mean, don’t you think that a child needs a mother?”

Ethan felt his whole body go numb at her query and tried to shake it off, but the more he tried to control the feeling, the anger building inside him, the harder it attacked him. He heard himself mutter a scornful sound, then say, “Not from what I’ve noticed.”

Mary’s face was impassive, except for the frown lines between her brows. “What have you noticed?”

His head was swimming, his thoughts as jumpy as his skin. But why, dammit? Why was he reacting this way? The truth was he’d done just fine after his mom ran off. Sure he got into trouble with the law, but he’d gotten a hold of himself, and look at where he was today—no thanks to a mother. No, he and his kid would do just fine.

Mary felt the conflict start deep in her gut. She didn’t want to give a damn about Ethan or his past or his feelings on his family, but the stark pain etched on his face was very telling and intriguing. She would never have imagined seeing the hint of a suffering boy behind the overconfident glare of the man. “Ethan,” she began softly. “I’m not going to push you on this, but—”

Turning away from her, he lifted his chin and stared into the nursery. He was not about to discuss his past with her. “What do you think of the room?”

“It’s great,” she said in a soft voice. “Perfect. Any kid’s dream.”

“I’d like to get started on it right away.”

“Sure.”

He looked down at her once again, his eyes so dark blue and impassioned she felt her breath catch. “Mary?”

“Yes?”

“Would you mind…” He broke off, shook his head.

“What?”

“Can I touch you?”

Her self-control, always to be counted on, melted like the last bits of snow on a warm spring day. “We agreed—”

“No.” He moved closer, until they were nearly touching. “Your stomach.”

“Oh.”

He cursed darkly. “I know it’s ridiculous. Way too early. All of that. But, I…”

Her gaze dropped to her belly. “It is early.”

“I know, but I just…” His mouth was close to her ear, that sensual, cynical mouth.

“All right,” she heard herself utter foolishly.

Mary closed her eyes, afraid of what she might say or do when his hand gently cupped her stomach. Heat surged through the light cotton fabric of her shirt, and she was flooded with emotions. There was no child here, yet there was an ache so intense she thought she’d collapse if he didn’t move his hand up toward her breasts or down between her thighs. Frustrated weakness overtook her and she wobbled against him.

“Are you all right?” he asked, holding her steady.

She had never run from anything in her life, but at that moment she had to get out of his house, away from that room, far from him. “I have to get back to the office.”

“I’ll drive you back.”

She ignored the concern in his voice and pushed away from him. “I followed you over here, remember?”

“Maybe you should sit down for a minute. You seem—”

“The first party is Friday, correct?” she said, running her fingers through her hair, as if that would help quiet her shaking body. “If you can send me the guest list.”

“Of course.” He attempted to touch her again, but she moved away.

“Thank you for lunch, Ethan.” Brushing past him, she walked quickly down the hallway, down the stairs and out the front door, only remembering to breathe once she was safely inside her car.

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