Wanted by the Boss: Sleeping with the Boss / Cowboy Boss / Billionaire Boss

Now, suddenly, the rules had changed on him again. Now there was a tiny life inside Eileen that existed because of him. Whether or not they’d wanted this to happen, it had. And he wouldn’t brush it aside. Wouldn’t walk away. He’d be damned if he’d abandon his own child as his parents had done to him.

And since walking away wasn’t an option, there was only one thing left.

‘‘Eileen,’’ he said, staring down into the eyes that had haunted him since first seeing her walk into his office more than a week ago, ‘‘marry me.’’

She blinked, shook her head and blinked again. ‘‘What?’’

‘‘You heard me.’’

‘‘I know what I think I heard, but pregnancy must affect your hearing.’’ She tried to pull away from him, but he held her tight. ‘‘You’re just reacting—you’re not thinking rationally.’’

He laughed shortly and let her go. ‘‘You? Teaching me about rational?’’

‘‘Somebody has to.’’ Eileen reached up and scooped her hair back from her face. She felt trapped. Standing with her back to the wall, the fridge on one side of her, the table on the other and Rick blocking the way out, she suddenly couldn’t catch her breath. Pent-up emotions charged through her body, closing her throat and sheening her eyes with tears she didn’t want to cry.

She needed time to herself to figure this out. To deal with everything that was crowding her mind and her heart. She was pregnant. She had a baby inside her. Living. Growing. Oh, my.

‘‘Marry you?’’ she repeated, and pushed him out of her way so she could walk past him, ‘‘God, Rick. I’m about ten minutes pregnant and you want to plan a wedding?’’

‘‘It’s the right thing to do.’’

‘‘Sure,’’ she said over her shoulder as she stalked into the living room, ‘‘if you’re living in a movie from the fifties.’’

He was right behind her. And suddenly, her living room seemed a lot smaller than usual.

Grabbing her forearm, he turned her around to face him. ‘‘Eileen, that’s my baby you’re carrying.’’

‘‘Rick, it’s too soon to talk about this.’’ She needed quiet. She needed to think. To feel. To plan. Good God. She, Eileen Ryan, needed a plan? The woman who hadn’t planned anything in years? If she wasn’t so scared, she might have laughed at the idea.

‘‘Fine,’’ he said, and let her go, taking a step backward as if to keep himself from reaching for her again. ‘‘It’s too soon. But—’’ he waited for her to meet his gaze before continuing ‘‘—I have to know you’ll talk to me before you decide anything.’’

His features were taut, strained, and Eileen knew he was feeling the same turmoil racing through her, so she smiled as she reached up to cup his face in her palm. ‘‘I promise. Just…give me a little time, okay?’’

A few hours later, Eileen let herself into Larkspur, shutting the front door quietly behind her. Instantly she was enveloped in the commingled perfume of flowers. The scents of chrysanthemums, roses, sweet peas and dozens of others filled the small shop.

Strings of tiny white lights outlined the two large windows that fronted Pacific Coast Highway and threw shadows around the small showroom. Galvanized buckets of water crouched in the center of the room, holding the flowers that didn’t need refrigeration to retain their freshness. Across the room were the glass refrigerator cases, where the roses, orchids and other more fragile flowers stood waiting their chance to be admired.

She hit the overhead light switch and a bank of fluorescent lights flickered to life, dropping shadows around the room. Eileen walked into the back room where the florist supplies were kept. Glass vases in varied shapes and sizes and colors were stacked on a series of shelves. Nearby, there was florists tape and shears and green foam and everything else required to build the fantasy flower arrangements Larkspur was known for.

Everything was neat as a pin. The floor was freshly swept and the cuttings from the day had been carried out to the trash can behind the shop.

Flipping on the radio, Eileen listened to a slow, sad song about love and loss. Then she shrugged out of her sweatshirt and reached for one of the vases. Working with the flowers always relaxed her, gave her a chance to think. To let her mind wander while her hands were busy.

And boy, did she need to think.

Rick’s apartment was dark. Empty. He stood with his back to the room, staring out a bank of windows at the ocean below. Off shore, oil derrick islands were lit up like a tropical paradise and a few boats bobbed in the harbor, their running lights twinkling on the dark surface of the water.

The quiet was starting to get to him. But he was used to being alone and he couldn’t remember it bothering him much before this past week and a half.

Now, whenever he was in this place, all he could think about was leaving it. Going to work, where he’d see Eileen—or better yet, going to her house, where he could be with her. Being there, in her house, he felt…alive. There was warmth there. And laughter. There were long hours cuddled together on her couch watching old movies. There was music, drifting from her neighbor’s backyard and the sound of kids playing hoops down the street.

Here…he turned from the windows and raked his gaze across the narrow, sparsely furnished room. After his divorce, he’d moved into this apartment, thinking it was a temporary thing. Then the days and weeks and months had slipped past and he’d stopped thinking about moving. Stopped living—beyond his work. Until Eileen.

Fear chewed at his insides, though he didn’t want to admit it even to himself. When she left, as he knew she would, she’d not only be taking the warmth he’d only just discovered—she’d be taking his child.

He couldn’t allow that.

Taking a sip of his twelve-year-old Scotch, he felt the fiery liquid spill heat throughout his body and knew it wouldn’t last. The chill gripping him since leaving Eileen was bone deep.

And it was only going to get worse.

The ball whizzed past his opponent’s ear and Rick winced as the man ducked. ‘‘Sorry.’’

‘‘Man, who’re you trying to kill?’’ Mike Taylor asked. ‘‘Me? Or just a poor innocent ball?’’

‘‘Neither,’’ Rick said, and stalked to the sidelines where he’d dropped his towel and a quart-sized bottle of water.

The early morning game of racquetball wasn’t going so well. He’d thought that a quick game would clear his head. That working up a sweat would somehow help him clear things in his mind. But it wasn’t working. Hell, he wasn’t even winning. Usually he was way ahead of Mike by now. Instead, he was six points behind and fading fast.

Wiping his face with the towel, he slung it over his left shoulder and watched his friend approach. He and Mike had been college roommates. And that was the only thing they had in common. Rick studied the market and Mike built custom motorcycles for the idle rich. He was so damn good at it, he’d become rich himself—though far from idle. He still built the bikes himself, preferring to stay in the ‘‘pit’’ as he called it.

‘‘So what’s goin’ on?’’ Mike reached out for his bottle of water and unscrewed the cap.

‘‘Nothing.’’

‘‘Sure.’’ Mike took a long drink, then capped the bottle again. ‘‘You never play this bad, man. Something’s on your mind.’’

Rick looked at his old friend for a long minute. ‘‘I asked Eileen Ryan to marry me.’’

Mike was so damn impassive, Rick wasn’t really sure his friend had heard him. Until he said, ‘‘Are you nuts?’’

‘‘Entirely possible,’’ Rick muttered.

‘‘Thought you swore off marriage after Allison left you bloody and broke.’’

‘‘I did.’’

Mike snorted a laugh and slung his towel around his neck. ‘‘Proposing’s a weird way to avoid marriage, man.’’

‘‘She’s pregnant.’’

Mike’s blue eyes went wide as he scraped one hand across his jaw. ‘‘You sure it’s yours?’’

That was the one worry that had never crossed his mind. Eileen was too honest and outspoken to lie about something like this.

‘‘Yeah, I’m sure.’’

Mike nodded. ‘‘Is she keeping the baby?’’

‘‘Don’t know.’’ Rick shifted his gaze toward the plate-glass wall that divided this racquetball court from the one beside it. The gym was crowded, with everyone trying to get in a workout before heading off to their jobs. But he wasn’t paying attention to the people surrounding him. Instead, his mind was focused, as it had been all during the sleepless night, on Eileen. And his child.

He’d never wanted to be a father, but now that the baby existed, he couldn’t stand the idea of losing it. And if she decided to end this pregnancy, there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. His hands fisted helplessly at his sides.

He didn’t want a wife.

But he damn sure wanted his child.

By the end of the week, Rick was holding on to his unraveling temper with a tight fist. Somehow or other, Eileen had managed to avoid him for the last few days. Oh, she showed up for work every morning, right on time. She was polite, efficient, and completely shut him out anytime he tried to talk to her about what was happening. About the baby. About them. Hell. About anything other than work.

Rick had tried to give her space. He’d swallowed his impatience and buried his concerns. He looked into her soft green eyes and read no welcome there, so he didn’t force the issue. He hadn’t stopped by her place after work, even though it was killing him to stay away. He missed her, damn it. He’d driven down her street and paused long enough to look at her lamp-lit windows, but he hadn’t stopped, not sure if he’d be welcome or not. And to be honest, he didn’t think he’d be able to stand it if she opened the door and told him to leave.

But he’d waited as long as he could. Today was the last day she’d be working for him. By Monday, he’d have some anonymous temp in the outer office and Eileen would be back in her flower shop—as far away from his world as if she were on Saturn.

So it was now or never. Standing up from behind his desk, he crossed the room and stood in the open doorway leading to the outer office. Eileen had been here only two short weeks, but her presence had been made known. There were sweet-smelling flowers in a glass bowl on her desk, colorful throw pillows on the plain, dark blue couch and a small watercolor in a pale yellow frame hung near the file cabinets. With just a few minor changes, she’d lightened up his reception room—made it more welcoming for clients.

Just as, simply by being her, she’d made changes in his life.

He used to be content to spend his evenings alone, mapping out the next day’s work. He’d focused all of his energies on the business that had been his whole life. Now, when he wasn’t with Eileen, he was thinking about her. He couldn’t sleep at night because her image kept him awake. His bed felt empty and the quiet was deafening. He’d never considered having a family—now he was worried about a baby that wasn’t even the size of a pencil eraser.

His gaze locked on Eileen as she sat with her back to him, the phone held to her left ear. Morning sunlight drifted through the tinted windows and lay over her like a gentle haze. She almost seemed dreamlike. But Rick knew, only too well, just how real she was.

‘‘Okay, Paula,’’ she was saying. ‘‘I’ll be back at the shop on Monday.’’

Monday, he thought, realizing that was just a few days away. When she wasn’t here, in the office every day, how would he get her to talk to him? How would he prevent her from slipping out of his life and taking his child with her?

‘‘That’s great!’’ Eileen’s voice hit a high note. ‘‘The Baker wedding? That’s terrific.’’

Joy filled her voice, and when she laughed it was like music. Rick leaned against the doorjamb and folded his arms over his chest, just enjoying the sound of it. When she was gone, the emptiness she’d leave behind would be impossible to fill. Damn it, she hadn’t even left him yet and he already missed her.

Eileen half turned in her chair to reach for a pad and a pen. That’s when she spotted him. ‘‘Um, Paula? I’ll call you back later, okay?’’ She smiled into the phone, shifting her gaze from his. ‘‘Yeah, I’ll do that. Okay. Bye.’’

He waited until she hung up. ‘‘Paula?’’

‘‘She’s the manager of my flower shop.’’

Rick didn’t give a good damn who Paula was, but at least Eileen was talking to him. ‘‘Problem?’’

‘‘No,’’ she said, and turned away, rummaging through her desk aimlessly. Finally she grabbed another of the chocolates Margo had left behind and quickly unwrapped it. Popping it into her mouth, she bit down hard and said, ‘‘Actually, it’s good news. We landed a big wedding.’’

‘‘Congratulations.’’

‘‘Thanks.’’ Her fingers twisted the scrap of silver foil candy wrapper.

She wouldn’t even look at him and the tether on Rick’s temper strained to the breaking point. ‘‘I’m the boss here,’’ he said. ‘‘You can’t ignore me.’’

She glanced at him, then away again. ‘‘I’m not ignoring you, I’m overlooking you. There’s a difference.’’

‘‘Funny, feels the same.’’

‘‘Yeah, I guess it would.’’

He came away from the doorway, walked up behind her and gave her chair a spin hard enough to turn her around.

‘‘Talk to me,’’ he said.

She nodded and stood up to face him. She was close, really close. Trapped between the chair and his body. Typical Eileen, she didn’t try to run, just stood her ground. She reached up, and for a split second he thought she was going to touch his face and his heart stopped. But all she did was tuck her hair behind her ears, displaying her simple silver hoop earrings. They winked at him in the sunlight. ‘‘You’re crowding me,’’ she said, then reached out and casually pushed against his chest until he stepped back out of her way. ‘‘I appreciate you not pushing me this week, Rick.’’

‘‘It wasn’t easy.’’

‘‘I can see that,’’ she said, and lifted one hand to briefly touch his cheek. ‘‘You look like you’re ready to implode.’’

He blew out a breath, pushed his suit jacket back and shoved his hands into his pants pockets. ‘‘Close.’’

‘‘Well, don’t. Everything’s fine. Or—’’ she thought about it for a moment ‘‘—will be fine. I’m keeping the baby.’’

Rick’s heart started beating again. Now that he knew that, the rest would fall into place. It would be all right. ‘‘So you’ll marry me.’’

Nine

Eileen blinked at him. In the past few days, she’d thought about little else but the baby inside her and the panicked proposal he’d made. She was positive it had been nothing more than a knee-jerk reaction to a situation neither of them had been prepared for. In those first few hours, she’d actually considered what it might have been like if he’d meant that proposal. If he’d really loved her. If they’d met, and fallen in love and then slept together and then got married and then got pregnant.

Briefly she’d entertained the image of she and Rick and baby made three, all living happily ever after in her tiny cottage in Laguna. But reality had reared its ugly head in time to splinter that vision and remind her that a temporary affair wasn’t exactly the best basis for a marriage even if Rick had meant the proposal.

And of course he hadn’t. It was a knee-jerk reaction. Which said a lot, she guessed, about his character. But she didn’t want to be the good deed he was forcing himself to do.

‘‘You have to stop saying that,’’ she said.

‘‘I want to help.’’

‘‘Helping is doing the dishes, not proposing.’’

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