Emily McKay - Baby for the Tycoon

“I figured… she must have been the one.” “And that’s what you surmised from Claire’s story? That Kristi was the one to break my heart?” “Am I wrong?”

What exactly was he supposed to say to that? Kristi had broken his heart. But he’d only been eighteen. “That was a lifetime ago.”

“What happened with her? What really happened?”

He forced his eyes open and tried to sound casual. “You’re the armchair psychologist. What do you think happened?”

She tilted her head to the side, considering. “I think that you, Jonathon Bagdon, are a pretty intense guy.”

He looked up at her. In the dark of the room, her skin was luminous. Her eyes were so dark they looked almost purple. She was so beautiful, it made his heart ache. As well as plenty of other parts of him.

Damn, but he wanted her. Not just her body. But all of her.

Thinking of her comment, all he could was mutter, “You have no idea.”

“The way I see it, I’m a grown woman. Someone who’s used to dealing with strong personalities. And there are times when even I’m a little overwhelmed by you. So this girl—Kristi?—she probably didn’t have a chance. I’m guessing you falling in love with her must have scared the hell out of her.”

“Yeah. That’s about it.” He let his eyes drift closed again. “This thing between us,” he began, but then corrected himself, “this physical thing between us, it’s pretty intense.”

“Yes, it is,” she agreed softly. He opened his eyes to see her still sitting up, looking down at him. The look in her eyes made heat churn through his body, but it was her words that made his heart pound. “I’m not scared of you, Jonathon.”

“Maybe you should be.”

She tilted her head, studying him in the pink glow of the hippo. Indeed, she looked more aroused than frightened.

“Maybe.”

“Scratch that. You should definitely be afraid. If you knew half the things I want to do to you…”

She arched a brow, her expression a little curious, a little challenging. “You think you’re the only one with pent-up desire and an active imagination?”

Was she purposefully trying to destroy any chance he had of getting some sleep? Ever again?

“I think,” he answered her, “there’s a damn good chance you underestimate how sexy you look in a tank top.” It was hard to tell in the pink light, but he could have sworn she blushed. He couldn’t stop himself from going on. “And I also think you underestimate just how hard it is for me to keep my hands off you.”

Her chest rose as she sucked in a deep breath, highlighting all the wonderful things that tank top of hers did.

“You think you’re the only person this is hard for?” she asked.

“I think I’m the only one who’s a big enough jerk to wait until there was an innocent baby here in the bed between us, just to guarantee I’d keep my hands off you.”

She gnawed on her lip for a second then, looking secretly pleased with herself. He squeezed his eyes shut, blocking out the image of her and that sexy bow mouth of hers.

He felt the bed shift as she lay back down. Then, so softly he thought he might have imagined it, she said, “Don’t be so sure about that.”

She’d fallen asleep with her body fairly throbbing with unfulfilled sexual tension and she woke up alone. The feeling of jittery anticipation stayed with her as she headed for the bathroom and dug through the suitcases she’d left in Jonathon’s closet the day before. She quickly pulled on an oversize gossamer shirt and a pair of black leggings and headed downstairs to search out food and her family.

She walked into the kitchen just in time for her mother to pile her plate high with the last batch of buttermilk pancakes. Peyton was gurgling happily in the high chair beside the table, being cooed to by Mema. The kitchen was as warm and as welcoming as a Hallmark special. The tangy scent of pancakes mingled with the bitter zing of the coffee to stir long-forgotten memories of her childhood. She swallowed back a pang of loneliness and regret. She’d chosen to leave Texas and to distance herself from her family. That didn’t mean she didn’t miss them.

But with all that was going on in the kitchen, there was one thing that was missing. Jonathon.

Or to be more precise, three things: Jonathon, her father and Big Hank.

She didn’t notice at first, so caught up as she was in the pancake-scented time machine. But she paused, that first bite halfway to her mouth, and listened with her head cocked toward the kitchen door, mentally reviewing the walk down the stairs.

She set down the fork, heavenly bite uneaten. “Okay, where’d you send them?”

Mema’s back stiffened. “Why would you assume I’d sent them anywhere?”

Wendy shoved the bite of pancakes into her mouth and chewed out her frustration. “Well, they’re not here, are they? That means you’ve sent them off somewhere. Either so you can ply him for information. Or me, I suppose.”

Her mother and grandmother exchanged a look that made her very nervous. She forked off another bite and crammed it in. Weren’t carbs supposed to be calming? So why didn’t she feel any more relaxed?

She felt a niggling of fear creep up her spine. If she was honest with herself, she knew why she didn’t feel any calmer. When a pride of lions went hunting, they’d separate the weaker members of the pack from the rest to make it easier to pick them off.

Jonathon had just been separated from the herd.

“Where did they go?” she asked, feigning a calmness the pancakes hadn’t provided.

“Seriously, it’s nothing nefarious. Jonathon offered to show them FMJ’s headquarters. It’s not like they’ve taken him out back to beat him or anything.”

No. Maybe it wasn’t like that. But she feared how buddy-buddy they’d be when they got back.

She and Jonathon had only been married for two days and already her family was driving a wedge between them.

It was no easy task slipping out of the house when her mother and grandmother were there hovering. In the end, she lied. She wasn’t proud of it, but she did it.

I just want to run out to the grocery store for a few things, she’d said. Diapers. New formula. Oh, right. There are several cans in the pantry. But Peyton’s been so fussy I want to try a different brand.

Who knew motherhood would provide such ample opportunity for lying?

“I think between the two of us, Mema and I have raised enough children to muddle through,” her mother had said as Wendy headed for the door.

Wendy took the grocery store at a mad dash, storming the unfamiliar baby aisle as if it were the target of a shock-and-awe military campaign. She raked into her cart five different varieties of formula and enough diapers to keep Peyton dry until college. Then, back in the car, she retraced her path, bypassing Jonathon’s street and heading for FMJ’s headquarters.

Stopped at a light—mentally urging it to change more quickly—she took one brief minute to question her motives. Why was she so worried? What was the worst that would happen?

A few hours alone with her family wouldn’t convince Jonathon to revamp his entire life, write a tell-all and travel the country on the lecture circuit. After a single night of tossing back scotch with her uncle, he wasn’t going to quit FMJ and accept a position at Morgan Oil. Or worse, run for office.