Emma Darcy - The Billionaire's New Year Gift

Twenty minutes later, dressed in shorts, a Coldplay T-shirt Julie had given him along with their newest CD, and his cross-trainers, he pulled into Jansen Park. Although running wasn’t his favorite activity, in the absence of a tennis partner, it would do. He still hadn’t found a gym to join, but he hoped to remedy that soon, too.

He was about halfway through his run when one of the runners coming toward him from the opposite direction looked familiar to him. As she got closer, he realized it was his boss, the prickly P.J. Kincaid.

Well, well.

His gaze took in the riot of red hair inadequately held back by a sweatband, her perspiration-soaked white T-shirt that had molded to her rounded breasts, the navy-blue running shorts that showed off her nice firm butt, and her long, shapely legs with their well-defined calf muscles. Prickly or not, she sure was easy on the eyes.

He knew the exact moment when she realized who he was. Her eyes widened, her nice, even rhythm faltered, and she nearly stumbled.

Recovering quickly, she stopped, and when her breathing had slowed enough to speak, she said, “Hello, Alex.”

“Hi.” Alex mopped his brow with the towel he’d thrown around his neck.

“So you’re a runner, are you?”

Damn, those blue eyes of hers were unnerving. “Not much of one, I’m afraid.”

She shrugged. “You’re here.”

“I need the exercise. You run here a lot?”

“Every day.”

No wonder she looked as good as she did. “How far does this trail go?” he asked to distract himself from just how good she looked.

“If you go all the way around, it’s exactly five miles.” Now her gaze held a challenge. “You plan to do the whole trail?”

“I thought I would,” he said, although he hadn’t planned anything of the kind.

“Good.” She looked at her black sports watch. “Well, I’d better get going. I’m meeting my sister for dinner at seven and if I don’t hurry, I’ll be late.” She gave him a wave as she set off. “See you tomorrow.”

Alex couldn’t help it.

Instead of continuing on his way immediately, he watched her. Yes, she certainly did have a nice butt. In fact, it was one of the nicest butts he’d seen in a long time. It would fit very nicely in a man’s hands.

And those legs!

Alex couldn’t stop himself from imagining those legs twined around a man when making love.

It was at that moment Alex decided maybe he’d forget about playing tennis and joining a gym. Maybe running here in the evenings was a much more sensible choice.

P.J. wanted to turn around and look back in the worst way. Yet the last thing, the very last thing she wanted was for Alex Noble to think she was interested in him like the rest of those silly women at work.

Because she wasn’t.

Not at all.

But, she thought grudgingly, she had to admit he was good to look at. Idly, she wondered how tall he was. At least six-two or six-three, she imagined. P.J. had always had a thing for tall men. Maybe that was because at five-seven she was on the tall side herself. And the rare times she got dressed up, she liked wearing three-inch heels. She also liked looking up when she was with a man. No Katie Holmes–Tom Cruise thing for her!

Will you stop it? Alex Noble is not in the running as an escort or anything else. Remember that. He’s an employee. Your employee. So even if you were interested—and you’re not!—you don’t date employees.

Ever .

Yet no matter how many times she told herself to stop thinking about Alex, she couldn’t seem to wipe the image of him in those shorts and that T-shirt that defined his well-developed pecs out of her mind.

She thought about him all the way back to her condo. She thought about him as she took a quick shower. She thought about him as she dressed to meet Courtney. And she was still thinking about him as she walked into Mackey’s Bar and Grill in beautiful downtown Webber—which was halfway between Seattle proper and Jansen—at exactly one minute to seven.

Courtney was already there and had secured a booth. She grinned at P.J. and stood to give her a hug. Courtney had inherited their mother’s blond hair and green eyes, whereas P.J.’s coloring came from her Grandmother Kincaid. As always, Courtney looked bandbox perfect in creamy linen cropped pants, a short-sleeved black silk summer sweater, and black espadrilles. P.J. couldn’t help but notice the beautifully manicured toenails and fingernails sporting a summery shade of coral. In contrast, P.J.’s own nails were unpolished and desperately needed work. And her jeans and T-shirt weren’t exactly the latest fashion, either.

That’s what happens when there’s no man in your life , an insidious little voice said. You forget to pay attention to yourself . She couldn’t even use the excuse of her job, because most of the women at the center paid a lot more attention to their appearance than P.J. did.

She and Courtney had barely said their hellos and how-are-yous when their waiter approached. “What can I get you to drink?” he asked, looking at P.J.

“What have you got on draft?” she asked.

He named the brands.

“No Black Sheep?” P.J. had a weakness for good English ale.

“No, sorry.”

“Okay. I’ll have a Guinness.” She smiled at her sister after he’d left to fill her order. “What’re you drinking?”

Courtney made a face. “Ginger ale.”

Thinking her sister wasn’t having a beer because she had a fairly long drive back to Mercer Island where she and her husband had bought a new home the year before, P.J. said, “One beer should be okay. I mean, you’re going to eat before you get behind the wheel again.”

Courtney hesitated, her gaze sliding away briefly before returning to meet P.J.’s. “That’s not why I’m not drinking,” she finally said.

“Well, what then—?” P.J. stopped abruptly. She fought against feelings she’d thought she’d conquered long ago. Yet here they were again, still hurtful, still unworthy of her, especially considering how much she loved Courtney. “You’re pregnant again?” she asked softly.

Courtney nodded. “Three months.”

“Three months! And you’ve kept it a secret this long?” P.J. was proud of herself. She sounded just the way she wanted to sound—happy for Courtney and nothing else.

“I wanted to wait till I’d passed the first trimester.” Courtney’s eyes searched P.J.’s. P.J. knew Courtney was worried about how her news would affect P.J.

Reaching across the table, she took Courtney’s hand. “Are you happy about this?” Courtney and her husband already had three kids—a boy, ten, and two little girls, seven and four.

Courtney nodded. “I am. Brad…well, he wants another boy in the worst way.”

P.J. refrained from rolling her eyes or saying what she thought about Brad and his wants . In her opinion, her sister’s husband was a neanderthal. P.J. wouldn’t have put up with him for a minute, let alone the twelve years Courtney’d been married to him. For one thing, he didn’t believe in women holding jobs outside the home.

For another, he was constantly saying things like, “Honey, you wouldn’t understand that even if I did explain it,” when Courtney asked him about anything to do with his job. You’d think he was a rocket scientist, for God’s sake, when he was a lawyer.

Courtney was every bit as smart as he was, probably smarter, P.J. thought. Yet she seemed contented with Brad. His put-downs didn’t seem to bother her at all. In fact, she didn’t even seem to notice them.

To each his own, P.J. thought. Better her than me.