Pregnant on the Upper East Side? / The Billionaire in Penthouse B: Pregnant on the Upper East Side?

God, he smelled good. “Alex, you don’t need to do that.”

“This evening will be as important for me as it will be for you. Buy yourself something.”

Definitely bossy and not what she needed. “If I don’t have anything suitable I’ll consider it.”

The hard look he shot her should have sent her scurrying to comply. Instantly. But she ignored it thanks to practice. She’d learned to deal with a similar look from her father. She reached for her fork. “This looks yummy.”

“Aglaia’s is one of my favorite places. Eat. Then we’ll talk.”

The salad was delicious, perfect in flavor and texture, as were the other dishes. They consumed the meal in silence. Unfortunately, the lack of conversation made it far too easy to get hung up on each shift of his body and each bump of his elbow, and it drove her to her wineglass more often than her water bottle.

Had she ever noticed he had great hands? Long fingers, blunt nails, sparse dark hairs on the backs. She couldn’t remember experiencing this all-consuming awareness with anyone else.

Get a grip.

Finally, Alex forked the last bite of moussaka between his lips, chewed and swallowed. “Last night you said we had to choose a theme for the party. What did you have in mind?”

So he had listened before changing the subject.

He angled in his chair, his right thigh nudging her left. His heat penetrated the thin layers of their clothing and her thoughts snarled. She struggled to untangle them. Under the guise of shifting her empty plate out of the way she put an inch or two between them.

“That depends on whether you want a formal, traditional sit-down meal or something more relaxed and fun.”

“Which do you recommend?”

“Your office is formal and conservative. If you want this to be a reward then I’d go for a ‘festive drinks and hors d’oeuvres’ event. You said your employees worked hard. Let them mingle and loosen up a little.”

He reached for his wine, pursed his lips and sipped. She found her gaze locked on his mouth again and pried it away.

You really must stop doing that.

She fumbled for her water bottle, hoping the chilled liquid would satisfy her sudden oral fixation. The last thing she needed was more wine. Her head was already spinning, and she wasn’t sure alcohol was the cause.

“Would you consider a masked ball? You could still have a formal affair, but donning masks allows everyone to let down their guard a little.”

His left eyebrow hiked.

“Not full costume,” she rushed on before he could object. “More of a Mardi Gras in November. We could even have New Orleans cuisine and music, if you like.”

“Sounds like a good plan. Can you get a jazz band?”

“I’ve used a couple of good ones before. This afternoon I’ll call and see if either is available. Since we’ve decided on a theme, I have invitation and decoration suggestions.”

She reached for her laptop, booted up and then picked up the paper file. Inside she’d tucked samples for several different party themes in different pocketed folders. As soon as he made choices she could enter the info online and e-mail it to her supplier.

Alex rose and carried the plates to the wet bar in the corner. When he returned he sat down closer than before, his long legs bracketing her chair and his arm resting along the back of her seat. His position hemmed her against the table. If she leaned back she’d be in his arms—one of the places she’d been avoiding for the past threeplus months and intended to continue avoiding.

She fought to block out his nearness and focused on pulling up the images on-screen. “Here are sample schemes.”

She clicked her mouse, scrolling through each page. He leaned closer. His breath teased her cheek and stirred the hair at her temple. Her mouth moistened and her pulse quickened.

“Stop. Back up.” He spoke quietly, directly into her ear.

It took a few seconds for her brain to relay his words to her fingers. She cleared her throat. “This page?”

“Yes.”

It was no surprise he’d chosen the most conservative of the bunch. She extracted a sample from the folder. “This?”

“Yes.”

She picked up a pen with a hand that wasn’t as steady as she would have liked and made a note, then did the same on the computer. “With that I’d recommend these.”

She flipped to the next item on her list. Thank goodness the program she’d installed prompted her or else she would be floundering. What was wrong with her? She loved planning events. And yet today she could barely connect the dots.

Concentrate. “I’ll make sure to order an assortment of spare masks for the guests who don’t bring their own. Would you like for me to get one for you?”

“Amanda.”

She turned her head at his low-voiced but commanding tone. Their faces and lips were scarce inches apart—the closest they’d been to date. The temptation to close the distance between their mouths streaked across her mind. She forced her gaze to his eyes and dragged a slow breath into her lungs.

Lambent desire flickered in his dark chocolate eyes. “You know what I want.”

Did she ever. Her pulse rate rocketed. She swallowed and nodded. “I have a pretty good idea.”

“I trust you to make the decisions to make it happen.” Firm. Decisive. Not at all seductive.

What? Confused, she blinked and sat back.

“We’ve covered the basics,” he continued. “I’ll leave the rest in your capable hands.”

Work. He was talking about work?

Of course he is. That’s why you’re here. Remember? Get your head out of the ozone, Amanda Crawford.

“I’ll get right on it.” She hastily closed her laptop, then grabbed the file folder and stacked it on top.

Alex shifted again, leaning forward so that his chest and arm pressed her back and shoulder, enfolding her in his warmth and scent. “Before you go, I have something I know you can’t resist.”

Her heart thumped like a bass drum, the beat reverberating off her eardrums and her gaze drifted back to his mouth.

He reached across the table and extracted two small boxes from the take-out bag. “Baklava. Two kinds. Walnut and chocolate. I couldn’t neglect your sweet tooth.”

She wasn’t disappointed. She wasn’t.

Yes, she was.

What is wrong with you? Do you actually miss him trying to get into your pants? How perverted is that?

But she was touched he’d noticed she had a weakness for sweets. Had Curtis? Had any of the men who’d blemished her relationship record in the past decade? Regrettably, no.

And what did that say about her taste in men and her ability to choose them wisely? Nothing good. Which was why her sudden yen for Alex Harper was bad news.

She transferred her attention to the flaky confections cut into bite-size diamonds.

“Go ahead, Amanda. Dive right in. You know you want to.”

Exactly. And that was becoming a big problem.

The police again?

Amanda’s steps faltered on the marble floor as she entered her lobby early Monday evening. She hoped the police presence was more of the same old unsolved investigation and not some new occurrence in the apartment building.

As she passed under the massive crystal chandelier on the way to the elevators she nodded a silent greeting to Detective McGray, who loomed over the doorman’s desk. His green eyes and lean, paunchy body looked tired and harassed.

The detective had been haunting the building since a former resident had been found dead back in late June. At first the police had believed Marie Endicott’s death to be a suicide, but now they suspected foul play. The possibility of someone being murdered in the building gave Amanda the creeps. She shivered and shifted her attention to the doorman.

Poor Henry was sweating and mopping his face with a handkerchief despite the frosty air Amanda brought whooshing in on her heels. She couldn’t blame the guy. The hard-eyed detective could make anyone squirm. McGray had certainly rattled her cage when he’d questioned her after the woman’s body had been found. Amanda hadn’t even known the deceased. But she’d heard everyone in the building had been questioned. And then there’d been an even more uncomfortable Q&A in July when Julia had received a blackmail letter from someone threatening to spill the news of her pregnancy.

Amanda stepped into the waiting elevator. According to her former roommate, the scandals of 721 Park Avenue’s residents could keep the tabloids busy for years. Yet another reason to keep the Curtis situation quiet. She wasn’t ready to involve Alex’s associate and risk exposing her predicament.

Which brought her thoughts back to Alex. As if they’d strayed far from that taboo subject lately. She sighed and leaned into the corner as the elevator shot upward. His enticement with the baklava had almost led her to create a scandal of a whole different kind. How she’d managed not to lick the man from head to toe right there in his office when he’d fed her a bite of chocolate baklava was still a mystery.

Kudos to her for having the good sense to invent another appointment and rush out of there before she devoured him and his baklava. Her willpower was stronger than she’d suspected. But it was worrisomely shaky.

The doors opened. She straightened and prepared to exit but stopped. Jane Elliott, penthouse B’s housekeeper, stood in the opening. Amanda glanced at the floor number. Six. “Hi, Jane. Going up?”

Jane hesitated and then stepped inside and hit the button for the penthouse. “Yes. Good evening, Amanda.”

The doors slid shut. Amanda briefly wondered who Jane had been visiting on the sixth floor and then shoved the question into the “none of her business” category.

She looked longingly at the housekeeper’s long, curly hair and wished—not for the first time—that her babyfine hair would hold a curl. But no. She might have inherited her mother’s height and build, but she’d been cursed with her father’s flyaway locks and pale coloring instead of the thick auburn hair and sultry looks that had made her mother a top fashion model for two decades before she’d traded in that career to become a successful clothing designer.

Bad hair. Just one more way to disappoint her overachieving parents. As if she needed another way.

She shook off the negative thoughts. “Detective McGray is back in the building. I haven’t missed anything new, have I?”

“I’m not aware of any new occurrences,” Jane replied. The doors opened again. “Are you visiting Gage—Mr. Lattimer, I mean?”

Amanda’s gaze shot to the numbers. “Oops. No. My mind was wandering. I guess I forgot to push the button for my floor.”

“Good night, then.” Jane left the elevator.

“Good night.” Amanda stabbed the 9 button. The doors closed. She smacked a palm against her forehead.

Alex had taken over her brain, and she couldn’t afford to mix business with her personal life again. It wasn’t as if she didn’t have a clear pattern to show her the error of her ways.

During her senior year in high school she’d fallen head over heels for Heath, the star quarterback. She’d almost flunked her last semester and that would have cost her her acceptance to Vassar if her father hadn’t bailed her out by having a long talk with the dean. Amanda suspected there had probably been a deep-pocketed donation along with the discussion.

And then while in college she’d met Douglas at an art gallery. Talk about being stupidly distracted. She’d been young, naive and totally trusting. Douglas had been thirty-two, suave and so attentive. He’d swept her off her feet and taken her to Vegas. Instead of marrying her like she’d expected, he’d proceeded to gamble away the majority of the money she’d inherited from her grandmother on her twenty-first birthday. When the money had run out, so had he. She’d had to call home for airfare. Hadn’t that been embarrassing?

By the time Curtis rolled into her life, her parents considered her truly stupid and irresponsible. And she’d proven them right. She’d been distracted by the whole falling-in-love myth and she’d trusted too much. Apparently her hormonal stupors caused her to miss critical details—details that still could cost her Affairs by Amanda.

But the hormonal stupors induced by Heath, Douglas and Curtis were like mild colds compared to the fullblown flu version Alex brought on.

Maybe a little inoculation would cure her.

No. Don’t go there.

She couldn’t afford to lose her business. That meant she couldn’t lose her head. Because if she lost Affairs by Amanda she’d be forced to admit to her parents and herself that she was a failure.

“Alex.” The flash of hunger in Amanda’s eyes when she opened her door later that Monday was gratifying. The frown that followed was not. “What are you doing here and how did you get upstairs without Henry buzzing me?”

“I’m here because I heard you’re a Monday night football fan. And Gage Lattimer brought me up. He lives in the penthouse.”

She gave him a patient look. “I know who Gage is. You took a lot for granted assuming I’d be at home and free tonight.”

“I did, but I brought food, beer and fresh Krispy Kremes to make up for it.”

Her gaze dropped to the bags in his hands. Indecision filled her face. She shifted on her bare feet, drawing his attention to her fuchsia-painted toenails. “I don’t think—”

“And another party proposition.”

He had her. Whether it was the donuts or the party that sealed the deal didn’t matter. He saw capitulation soften her grey eyes before she opened the door wider, albeit with obvious reluctance. “Come in. But only if you’re pulling for the Giants.”

He grinned. “I have season tickets. Box seats. Fifty yard line. Be nice and I’ll take you to a game.”

That earned him a smile. What more could a guy want? Amanda was smart, sexy, a networking genius. And she liked football.

He scanned the place for competition as he followed her in, but he didn’t spot any sign of a date. He had taken a risk showing up uninvited tonight, but his previous strategy wasn’t working. He’d needed an adjustment. The exercise mat on the floor clued him in to her evening plans and explained her T-shirt, cotton pants and lack of makeup. Not that she needed to paint a face like hers.

He handed over the beer—an imported brew that Julia claimed was the only brand Amanda would drink. “Shove that in the refrigerator while I unpack the rest. The game doesn’t start for an hour. That gives us time to eat and talk about my brother’s birthday party.”

His brother. The lie didn’t slide as easily off his tongue with Amanda as it would with anyone else. For some reason he wanted to tell her the truth. He wanted to claim Zack as his son. But revealing that secret would cause nothing but trouble and could possibly hurt Zack. Besides, it was nobody’s business.

“The party you wanted to discuss is for him?”

“Zack’s going to turn eighteen in a few months. I’d like to throw a big bash, one he’ll never forget. And I’ll need your help for that.” He shrugged off his coat and tossed it over the back of a bar stool before extracting the Chinese food containers and lining them up on her kitchen counter, but Amanda’s eyes drilled the donut box. He handed it to her.

“Dessert first?” she asked with a wistful look in her eyes.

How could he deny her? If she would look at him like that they’d both be naked and busy. “Go for it.”

She wasted no time ripping open the top, pulling out a glazed donut and biting into it. Her eyes closed and her head tilted back. “Mmm. Oh, my God, these are amazing.”

Her throaty words hit him below the belt with a kick of arousal that nearly took him to his knees.

She’ll look like that in bed.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away as she greedily consumed the rest of her prize. She didn’t lift her lids until she’d finished the last sugary bite. Her tongue swept her lips, but white flakes of glaze clung to the corners. She lifted one finger to her mouth and licked.

He wanted that job.

Screw strategy. He grabbed her hand, carried it to his mouth and lapped her sticky fingertip with his tongue. Her breath hitched. But she didn’t slap him or yank her hand away. Without taking his eyes off hers he moved from the first sweetened digit to the second. His tongue swirled around the tip, and then he pulled her thumb into his mouth and repeated the process. Her pupils dilated and her lips parted.

He had to have her mouth. Now. Releasing her hand, he closed the distance between them.

“You have more sugar here.” He dipped his head to lick it away.

She leaned into him, lifting her chin in silent invitation. She didn’t have to ask twice. He traced the sugary outline of her lips. It wasn’t enough. He covered her mouth with his and delved into her silky warmth. The sweetness of the donut gave way to the unique flavor of the woman in his arms.

He’d been waiting months for this. He caught her waist and pulled her closer, crushing her against his chest and deepening the kiss. Her hands rested briefly on his shoulders, her short nails digging into his muscles and then her arms slid around his neck. She opened her mouth wider for him and her tongue sought his, slick and sweet, warm and wet.

She fit against him even better than he’d expected. Need rumbled up from his gut to his throat. He mapped her spine, her waist, her hips. She was long and lean and hot. His fingers found silky bare skin between the hem of her shirt and the waistband of her pants.

She gasped and lifted her head. But she didn’t pull away. Her passion-darkened eyes sought his. “I—We shouldn’t do this, Alex.”

“It’s long overdue.”

Her gaze dropped back to his mouth. Regret flickered across her face. “I don’t sleep with my clients.”

“Should I fire you?” he teased.

She stiffened and panic widened her eyes. “You’d do that?”

He rubbed her back soothingly, enjoying the smooth warmth of her skin. “No. I honor my promises. And I promise you, Amanda, this isn’t a mistake. We’re going to be magnificent together. In bed and out.”

Indecision flitted across her features. And then she sighed. Her fingers threaded through his hair. She pulled his face back to hers. Whatever he’d expected, it wasn’t the aggressive, carnal, no-holds-barred kiss she planted on him.

She devoured him with the same intensity she’d given to the baklava at lunch and the donut tonight, and he was more than willing to be consumed. He cupped her butt and pressed her hips to his. If she hadn’t known where he wanted this to go then his growing erection was a dead giveaway. Damn, she was potent.

By the time she lifted her head and slid her hands to his pectorals, his heart was slamming like a wrecking ball against his chest wall.

She licked her damp lips. “This is crazy. I don’t have time for a man in my life right now. For the next few years, my career is my priority. Alex, if you can’t handle this being temporary then we need to stop. Now.”

Her frankness momentarily took him aback. But her willingness to speak freely was one of the things he liked about Amanda. Was she joking? What man would say no to a brief, passionate affair? Temporary was his specialty.

“I can handle it. Where’s your bedroom?”

For a second she hesitated, looking as if she might change her mind, but then she took his hand and led him across the living room. His gaze dropped to her butt in the thin knit pants. Nice. Firm. Rounded.

Her bedroom was as pink and white and feminine as the rest of the apartment. A thick, white faux-fur rug covered the floor. Filmy white drapes, tied back with brightly colored silky-looking scarves, hung behind a platform bed in a makeshift headboard. He’d never been one for bondage, but he couldn’t help thinking those scarves could come in handy later. He would like to tie her up and pleasure her until she begged him to stop.

Right now he was too impatient to play sexy games.

He yanked her hand, spinning her back into his arms. Their bodies and mouths slammed together, lips parting, tongues clashing. She met him stroke for stroke. Her fingers dug into his waist. Her pelvis nudged his. She wasn’t shy or coy, and her boldness was an incredible turn-on. He whisked her shirt over her head. Before he could savor her pale, smooth skin she attacked his shirt without hesitation.

Dressed, Amanda looked deceptively lean, but she had curves. Not overblown. But subtle, exquisite. Perfect. He wanted to linger, to savor her breasts above her lavender lace bra, but he’d wanted Amanda for months and hunger snuffed out patience. The bra gave way with a flick of his fingers. He tossed it aside and caught one puckered pink nipple in his mouth, the other in his hand. She tasted good. Smelled good. Her pale skin was warm and silky soft against his lips.

Her fingers speared his hair, flexed into his scalp with an energizing tug. Then she lightly scraped her nails across his shoulders and down his sides. His muscles rippled in the wake of her touch. Her nimble fingers encountered his belt. The leather gave way quickly, followed by the button and zipper of his pants. She had him so aroused he could barely concentrate.

Apparently he wasn’t the only one in a hurry. Her palms flattened against his hips and shoved the fabric of his pants and boxers over his butt and down his thighs. Her caress sent a shock of need through him, making him grit his teeth and struggle to fill his lungs.

He released her long enough to kick off his shoes and the remainder of his clothing, and then he ripped her pants down her long legs. The tattoo he uncovered when he removed her bikini panties caught him by surprise. “A martini?”

She nibbled her bottom lip as if she expected him to be repulsed by the ink. “An appletini. It’s a reminder that life’s supposed to be fun.”

With one finger he outlined the tilted glass just below her left hipbone and then knelt and sipped from the inked rim. He lifted his gaze to hers and rose. “It’s sexy as hell. Tasty, too.”

Her slow smile and the desire in her eyes decimated what was left of his control. “So are you.”

And that’s when he realized he might be in trouble. A little of Amanda Crawford might not be enough.

Four

Alexander Harper had been hiding a body to die for beneath his custom designer suits.

His wide shoulders, ropey muscles and washboard abs had Amanda salivating for the feel of those brawny arms wrapped around her. She bisected his smooth chest with her fingers, drawing a line between his pectorals to the goody trail below his navel and the dense dark hair surrounding his erection. His stomach quivered beneath her touch and his arousal twitched, begging her to curl her fingers around his thick length. She wasted no time in doing so. His breath whistled.

“Amanda.” The man actually growled.

She grinned mischievously up at him and stroked him from base to tip. “Yes?”

His pupils expanded and his skin flushed. “You’re playing with fire.”

“That’s okay. I like it hot.” She just hoped her desire for Alex didn’t burn her before it burned out.

Experience told her this was a mistake, but she couldn’t stop now. He’d monopolized her thoughts for three long months and she ached for him. Her thumb found a slick droplet pearling on his engorged tip and spread it around. She leaned forward to lick his tiny, brown nipple.

One strong arm banded around her, yanking her flush against his hot torso. His other hand stabbed into her hair, fisted and tugged just hard enough to force her head back. The combination of his scorching heat, his strength and his controlled aggression robbed her breath. His kiss was hard, bordering on rough, his passion barely contained. And she loved it. How long had it been since anyone wanted her so intensely? Had anyone, ever? She couldn’t remember. But she doubted it.

She released his erection, wound her arms around his neck and relished the heady desire racing through her. She loved that Alex was taller and broader than she. Both Curtis and Douglas had been her height. She’d felt like an Amazon with them. But not with Alex. He was bigger in every way, and he loomed over her, making her feel dainty, desirable and feminine and not the least bit delicate.