Baby for the Tycoon: The Tycoon's Temporary Baby / The Texas Billionaire's Baby / Navy Officer to Family Man

“It’s not a good idea.” His voice was terse.

She felt that tension like a solid wall between them. She could feel him building it up. One brick at a time. One brick with each word. Part of her screamed that this wasn’t the time for an argument. That the more they talked about it, the higher the wall would become, but she just couldn’t let it go. It wasn’t in her nature to back down from a fight.

“Not good for whom?” she asked.

“For anyone.” He paused, then turned back to face her. His gaze drifted to her shirt, which hung open, her fingers having stilled midway up on their progress. “I’m afraid it’ll be bad for you.”

“Um, then you weren’t paying attention,” she said snarkily as she hopped off the desk. “Because that was extremely good for me.”

She was naked from the waist down. True, her shirt was long enough that it hit her mid-thigh, but she still felt extremely exposed. Twenty minutes ago, before he’d rocked her world off its axis, that had been a good feeling. Now, not so much.

She swiped her tights off the ground, uncomfortably aware of how his gaze followed her every movement.

“Exactly. And good sex is addictive. You’ll have a problem with that.”

That cool, clinical tone of his made her blood pressure creep up. How the hell did he sound so calm? So rational?

“What kind of problem am I supposed to have with this… this extremely addictive sex?” And damn it, her tights were inside out. She rammed her hand down one of the legs, trying to snag the ankle hem so she could right them, but anger made her clumsy.

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea. It’s not good for Peyton.”

Watching Wendy’s frustration grow as she wrestled with her tights, Jonathon wondered if perhaps he should have taken a different route.

“We’re her parents now,” she snapped, clearly exasperated. “I can’t see how it would possibly hurt her for us to sleep together.”

“You can’t?” Why did she have to be so strongheaded?

Why couldn’t she just make it easier on both of them and agree with him for once?

“No. I can’t. In fact, since we agreed that this marriage could last up to two years, I actually think it’s a good idea.”

“Then you haven’t thought it through.”

Of course, nothing was ever that easy. Not with Wendy.

One of the things that made her such a great assistant was that she never hesitated to give her opinion. No mindless agreeing for her. If she had a better idea, she said so. If she spotted a problem he’d overlooked, she pointed it out. Unfortunately, right now, it made her a pain in the ass.

Because what he really wanted—no, damn it, what he needed—was for her to stop talking about sex.

“Okay, maybe I didn’t think it through.” Finally—thank God—she got her tights right side out and stepped into them. “But now that I am, I don’t know that I see a downside. Two years is a long time. And—” She broke off, appearing to grit her teeth before spitting out her next words. “And I’m not going to tell you that you can’t see other people while we’re married.”

“Wendy—”

“No. Just let me say this, okay?” She swallowed visibly, not quite meeting his gaze, though he could tell she was mustering the gumption to do so. “I’m not going to forbid you from… doing what you need to do. But goodness knows, I’m not going to be registering on eHarmony anytime soon. So, maybe it’s not a bad idea to—”

“What?” he asked. “To hook up anytime either one of us has an itch?”

She rolled her eyes. “What is wrong with you? Are you purposefully being the biggest jerk in history for a reason?”

“What is wrong with me? What’s wrong with you?'” He swept a hand toward his desk, as if displaying the destruction they’d done. “Five minutes ago we were having sex on that desk and now you’re talking about me being with another woman? How is that normal?”

This had to be the most awkward conversation in his entire life. And considering that he sometimes talked to complete strangers about their finances, that was saying something.

She looked stricken by his words. Not for the first time either. She gave a little rapid blink, her eyes not quite reaching his gaze, and then swallowed. “I’m trying to be logical here. Two years is a long time and—”

“And you don’t think I can keep my zipper up?”

Her gaze snapped to his face. “Let’s just say, given that I’ve had a front-row seat to your dating practices for the past five years, I’m skeptical.”

“Trust me. I can keep my zipper up.”

She gave him a searing once-over. “All evidence to the contrary.”

He gave her an icy, wolfish smile. “Is that really a stone you want to throw?”

“What do you want me to say? That I’m so impressed by your monkish fortitude?”

What did he want her to say?

He wanted her to say that she didn’t want anyone else. That she wanted only him. And that she wanted him for some reason other than he was going to be convenient for the next two years.

“Okay, you want the truth? I don’t think we should sleep together again, even if it means two years of celibacy. For both of us. I don’t want you to get hurt, and you’re too emotionally involved already.”

“I’m too emotionally involved?” she scoffed, her voice dripping with sarcasm, but he could see the flash of pain in her gaze and knew he’d nailed it on the head. “I am? That’s funny, because I wasn’t the one just now who couldn’t stop talking about how much I wanted this for the past five years. About how desperately I needed this.”

Of course it would come back to that. He’d sounded like a lovesick fool. But neither of them would benefit from imagining he was some romanticized hero.

“Right,” he said, bitterness seeping into his voice. “I talked about how I wanted your body. How much I wanted you physically. Not how much I loved you.” As he spoke, the tear that had been clinging to her lashes, finally gave up its battle and dropped down onto her velvety cheek. He gently brushed it off with his thumb, then held it up as evidence. “And I’m not the one crying now.”

“You bastard. I can’t believe you said that.” She stepped back, putting some distance between them. “And you’re wrong about one thing. I won’t be begging to sleep with you again anytime soon. Not now.”

She stormed off, but made it only as far as the office door before turning around. Propping her fists on her hips, she said, “I need to know now. Are you in or out?”

“What?”

“Are you in or are you out? Do you still want to do this, or are you wigging out on me?”

“I’m in,” he said slowly. Undoubtedly deeper in than he should be.

“Are you sure? Because two years is a long time. And I’d rather know now if you’re having second thoughts.” “I said I’m in.”

“Good. My family wants to meet yours. They’re planning a reception for us. We leave for Palo Verde on Friday.”

She didn’t wait for his reply. It probably wouldn’t have occurred to her that two years without sex wasn’t nearly as off-putting as the idea of going to visit his family. A second later he heard the door to her office slam as she stormed out.

All alone in the office, he sank into his desk chair. Everything that had once been on his desk now lay scattered on the floor as well as the contents of three drawers. Years of keeping his life meticulously under control, of keeping his emotions neatly compartmentalized, and he’d blown it all in one reckless act.

He propped his elbows on his desk and dropped his head into his hands, ignoring the fact that his own cheeks felt suspiciously damp.

Thirteen

She wanted to stab him on her way out. There were several things in the office sharp enough to leave a nice puncture wound without being fatal. She took it as sign of great personal development that she didn’t use any of them.

Then she sat in her car for several long minutes trying to hash out her feelings. Retrace her steps. Figure out where she’d gone wrong. In the end the only conclusion she could reach left her deeply unsatisfied.

Jonathon was right. She was too emotionally involved. She was up-to-her-tonsils-and-sinking-fast emotionally involved. Damn it.

Worse still, she couldn’t follow her first instinct, which was to run like a rabbit and hole up somewhere until she sorted through her emotions. No, with her family here, watching her like a hawk… Or maybe a pride of ravenous lions was a better analogy? Whatever hungry predator they were, she couldn’t bolt. They’d attack at the first sign of weakness. She had to remember what was important. Keeping Peyton.

Then she thought of what she’d seen just yesterday morning. Jonathon sitting in the rocking chair with Peyton cradled in his arms. He may not know it yet, but she wasn’t the only one who was emotionally involved.

He may not care about her—beyond her body, which he was obviously rather fond of—but he did care about Peyton.

Whether or not he wanted to admit it, he was a good father. He was a better father than he was a husband. Well, she could live with that. For the time being, she had to.

The days before the trip to Palo Verde passed quickly. Jonathon insisted she take the time off to visit with her family. Which seemed counterintuitive to her since the whole point of the marriage was to keep her at work. But every time she brought it up, he just stared at her stiffly and reminded her that taking off work to bond with Peyton would go a long way toward convincing them that she would be a good mother. He assured her that they still had plenty of time to work on the contract proposal. He, however, went stalwartly into work alone. He never again mentioned taking time off himself to play the part of the loving husband. Apparently—after they’d had sex at the office—that would have strained even his resolve. She assumed that when he said she should spend time with her family, what he really meant was that she should spend time with anyone other than him.

Truth be told, she let him put her off over and over, because she wanted to avoid the office too. She wasn’t ready to be in the office where he’d made love to her with such abandon. Scratch that. Made love to her body with such abandon. And she damn sure wasn’t ready to see him sitting behind the desk, working as if nothing had ever happened.

So she spent the days playing tour guide to her family. Mema was determined to hate everything about California and Big Hank flew back to Texas for the week, but her parents seemed to actually enjoy the time she spent with them. Even more shocking, she enjoyed it too.

She assumed that would change by the end of the week, when Big Hank, Hank Jr. and Helen would arrive. Helen had insisted on planning the wedding reception Mema had suggested the Morgans host. Without even leaving Texas, Helen had arranged a venue, invited guests and booked lodgings for the Morgans, which was no small feat to accomplish in just a few days’ time. Whenever Wendy offered help, she was firmly rebuffed. Helen had even located and invited Jonathon’s family. Though, apparently, only his older sister, Marie, had returned Helen’s phone calls.

Wendy could hardly blame Jonathon’s family. By the end of the week, she was sick of talking to Helen. The only thing worse than dealing with her was dealing with Jonathon.

At the end of each day, he’d arrive home and she’d have to—once again—pretend to be a loving wife. With the tension between them as strong as it was, she doubted she fooled anyone. Jonathon, however, did a bang-up job. She could barely turn around without having him there to touch her. To wrap his arm around her shoulder and drop a careless kiss on her forehead.

The nights were the worst. She could make it all the way through the day, she could even pretend in front of her parents, but her stomach knotted every time they closed and locked the bedroom door. She didn’t know if her family found it odd for them to be locking the door, but she didn’t dare risk having them walk in unannounced and seeing his pallet at the foot of the bed, where he’d been sleeping. The closest they came to communicating was the moment each night when she threw the pillow at him. Unfortunately, he always caught it. Damn him.

And before she knew it, it was Thursday. The week had slipped by and they’d be driving out to Palo Verde in the morn ing.

She lay there in the dark, unable to sleep and staring at the ceiling, irritated by the rhythm of his slow, even breathing from the foot of the bed. Thirty minutes passed. Then another twenty. Then she heard him roll over and sigh.

“Are you still awake?” she whispered in the dark.

“Of course. I’m on the floor and you’re tossing and turning so much it sounds like a bounce house over there.”

She bolted upright and snapped on the bedside lamp. “Would you just get into bed.”

He blinked up at her, wedging his elbows under him. “Turn off the light. Try to get some sleep.”

“I’d be able to sleep better if I didn’t know you were uncomfortable sleeping on the floor.”

He lay back down and stared up at the ceiling. “It’s not that bad.”

“It’s two blankets and a pillow. It can’t be good. You’ll be safe sleeping in the bed. I’m not going to attack you or anything.”

“It’s just better if we limit our contact as much as possible. I’m trying to be noble here.”

“Yeah.” She snorted, falling back onto the bed. “I think that ship sailed the day we had sex on your desk.”

“You’re going to wake up Peyton.”

Even though Big Hank had left, they’d decided to keep Peyton’s crib in their room. She’d slept so much better when she was only a few inches away from them.

And though she knew Jonathon had a point—winning the argument wasn’t worth waking Peyton, who would want to be fed in a few hours anyway—it only irritated her more. She yanked her pillow out from under her head and threw it at him. There was a satisfying whump as it landed on his torso.

“I already have a pillow.”

“I know. I just wanted to throw something at you.” “Very mature.”

“I know.” Smiling, she snapped off the light. He brought the pillow back to her, standing next to her side of the bed in the dark and holding it out to her. “I don’t need it.”

“Keep it. Maybe it’ll make the floor a little less uncomfortable.”

“Wendy—” he growled.

“I’m trying to be noble.”

“Fine,” he snapped and went back to lie down.

It was wrong how pleased she was by the irritation in his voice. He may act as if he was completely indifferent to her, but she was still able to get under his skin. That shouldn’t make her happy. But it did.

A few minutes later, she fell asleep smiling. And woke up in the morning with the pillow under her head.

At eighteen, Jonathon had left Palo Verde with $5,168.36 in his checking account—all earmarked for living expenses. His only other possessions were a partial scholarship to Stanford, two suitcases, a desk lamp, a used laptop, a backpack and a veritable mountain of student loans. He’d hitched a ride from their hometown to the coast in Matt’s BMW. Jonathon hadn’t been back since.

Palo Verde was a small but historic town on the highway between Sacramento and Lake Tahoe. When he’d left in the mid-nineties, it was only just beginning to climb out of the economic slump that had cursed it since the gold rush ended more than a hundred years before. Now Sacramento had grown enough—and was expensive enough—for people to commute from Palo Verde. On a purely intellectual level, Jonathon supposed Palo Verde wasn’t such a bad place to live. The town had a certain charm to it. Not the sort that any teenage boy would appreciate, but surely plenty of people liked musty old buildings and the gently rolling foothills of the Sierra Nevada mountains.

Nevertheless, during the drive Jonathon practically itched to turn the car around and get the hell out of there. If someone had asked him a month ago, he’d have sworn that nothing short of the coming apocalypse would have enticed him back to Palo Verde. Maybe not even that. If the world was coming to an end, why would he go there?

As they entered Palo Verde, with Peyton safely nestled in her car seat in the backseat, and Wendy beside him in the front, Jonathon clenched his hands so tightly around the steering wheel that he feared he might snap it in half. Sure, it was unlikely, but if anything was going to imbue him with Incredible Hulk-like powers, it would be this.

Wendy’s family was in the rented minivan behind them on the highway. She sat with her iPhone, carefully dictating directions from the GPS map, as if he hadn’t spent the first eighteen years of his life trapped in this God-forsaken hellhole.

“Okay,” she said in a half whisper since Peyton was asleep. “It looks like this road will merge with Main Street just ahead.”

“I know.”

She ignored him. “And then, a couple of miles into town, Cutie Pies will be on your left.” “I know.”

“It looks like there’s parking on the street, but according to Claire’s email, it fills up pretty quickly, so if we don’t get a spot, we should circle around to the back of—”

“I. Know.”

Wendy dropped the phone in her lap and held up her hands. “Hey, I’m just doing my part as navigator.”

“I grew up here.” He blew out a slow breath, prying the fingers of his left hand off the steering wheel and giving them a flex. “I don’t need a navigator.”

“Things can change a lot in fifteen years.”

He didn’t need her to tell him that. He was a completely different man than the boy who’d left town straight out of high school. He’d always thought it odd that spending his whole life wanting to escape from Palo Verde, he’d end up living in a city with such a similar name. Of course, Palo Alto was a completely different kind of town. The bustling intellectual hotbed of technological development. A city with many brilliant, very rich men. And he was one of them. So there was no reason at all that just breathing Palo Verde air should stir all his rebellious instincts. Yet it did.

It made him twitchy with energy and shortened his already strained temper. As if she sensed his mood—not that he was doing a great job of hiding it or anything—Wendy reached out a hand and gave his leg a stroke that she probably meant to be soothing. “It’s just been a while since you’ve been back. I was trying to help.”

He could feel the heat of her hand through the fabric of his jeans and it made his thigh muscles twitch. Instantly, he knew what he really wanted. The one thing that would expel all the anger and tension roiling inside of him. Sex. Good, clean, emotionless sex would do the trick. He could skip the drive through town to Cutie Pies and head up to the hairpin turns of Rock Creek Road, pull off into the trees, tug Wendy onto his lap and screw her right here in the front seat.

It was a good plan if he ignored the baby sleeping in the back of the car. It’d be even better if he didn’t know emotionless sex was impossible with Wendy.

And then there was the minivan full of in-laws behind them. And the wedding reception Wendy’s helpful cousins had planned for them.

He took little pleasure in knowing that once the wedding reception was over, he could leave Palo Verde and never look back. It didn’t even help knowing that tomorrow Matt, Claire, Ford, Kitty and Ilsa would arrive for the reception. Having his best friends and their families there would make things better, but only a little bit. Before he could get through that reception tomorrow night, he still had lunch at Cuties Pies—that part wouldn’t be bad. But he’d begun to wish he’d refused to come into town the day before the reception. Two whole days in his hometown was way too long.

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