Charlotte Maclay - Expecting at Christmas

Damn, he’d vowed years ago—at his mother’s funeral—that he’d never put a woman at risk by getting her pregnant. Irrational as it might seem to someone else, that’s how he felt. And he’d been especially careful. He’d always played the field, with women who understood marriage and having kids weren’t in the cards if they hung around with him.

Now, to his dismay, he had a pregnant woman on his hands. He didn’t want to be responsible. But he damn well didn’t know how to get rid of her.

Chapter Two

Griffin stretched and untangled himself from the bed sheets. To his surprise he felt a helluva lot better than he had last night. His sore throat was gone, his head clear. Amazing what a good night’s sleep could do for a man. Not for a minute did he attribute his miraculous cure to the herbal tea or chicken soup he’d consumed.

He frowned, recalling the scene at the front door last night and his new butler’s offhanded dismissal of Aileen Roquette. If it hadn’t been for Loretta Santana he might not have awakened alone in his bed this morning.

Rolling to his feet, he strolled to the window. The southern California sun cast early-morning shadows through the oaks and pines that surrounded his property, tinting summer-dried grass to a golden brown. Though less than an hour from downtown L.A., Topanga Canyon had a rural flavor. Along the winding canyon road, houses varied from modest homes to opulent residences sporting ten thousand square feet of living space. His was on the high end of the scale.

Finger combing his sleep-mussed hair, he scanned the redwood decking that circled three-quarters of the house and cantilevered out over the canyon. In a column of cool winter sunlight, Loretta sat crosslegged gazing toward the distant hillside.

Griffin’s lips twitched with the threat of a smile. In this light she looked like a cross between a delicate, dark-haired wood nymph and a chubby Buddha. Grimly he remembered he had to find some way to send her back to wherever she had come from.

He grabbed a pair of walking shorts from the closet, tugged them on and strolled outside. The mild air brushed against his bare legs and chest, promising a day that would grow much warmer, even though the calendar read early December.

Leaning back against the deck railing, he crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you meditate every morning?”

Slowly she opened her eyes and a little smile played around her lips. Kissable lips, he thought, momentarily caught off guard by her serene expression.

“I learned to meditate while I was working as a temp for the Transcendental Psychic Society. The technique’s really helpful to keep your free radicals from escaping.” She frowned and shrugged. “Or maybe they’re supposed to escape. I forget which. But meditation is really good for you.”

He had the distinct impression Loretta spoke an entirely different language than he did. “Is the society where you learned about ions and oxidants?”

“No, I learned that while I was working at a health food store.”

She tried to get up but couldn’t manage the right leverage. Griffin caught her arm to help her up before she turtled onto her back and was stuck there indefinitely. Her bones were so delicate; how could she carry the extra weight of the baby? He was amazed once again by her hidden strength, and a little bit scared by the risk her pregnancy posed.

Why the heck had she showed up on his doorstep?

“Thanks.” She flushed, her voice breathy. Glancing away from him, she dusted the back of her dark pants off with her hand. “I probably would have learned more but they fired me after two weeks.”

“The health food store?”

Nodding, she smiled sheepishly. “They caught me eating a Big Mac and fries in the stockroom.”

He swallowed a laugh. “That does seem a little sacrilegious.”

“They could have given me a second chance, though,” she said seriously. “I’d only been there two weeks and they shouldn’t expect a person to go cold turkey like that when it comes to junk food. I mean, they didn’t even want anybody to eat chocolate.”

“They probably had to maintain their standards.”

“That’s what they told me.” She shrugged, apparently unaware of how that made her breasts rise and fall in a very intriguing way. “I’ll get your breakfast now. I’ve got hand-squeezed orange juice for you, and I sent out early for papayas and strawberries to mix in. That’ll get your enzymes back on track.”

“I’m fine this morning.” Though he’d had an interesting reaction to her reference to hand-squeezed which had nothing to do with orange juice. “Why don’t you just bring me a cup of coffee and we can sit here and talk a minute.”

“Coffee?” She lifted a censuring brow.

“Yes, coffee. Caffeinated, if you please. If you’re offended by my asking you to bring me coffee, I’ll fix it myself.”

“Of course I’m not offended,” she said in a huff. “They taught me—”

“—in your accelerated butler classes. Coffee, Loretta. Now.”

Loretta hustled into the kitchen. Every bit of the calm she’d managed to gain through her meditation had flown right smack off the deck when she’d opened her eyes to discover Griffin standing there.

A man ought to know better than to show up first thing in the morning practically naked. And then to start giving her orders. For pity’s sake! How was she supposed to concentrate while she stared at that broad chest of his with its fascinating swirls of springy brown curls? Or when she surreptitiously glanced at his muscular legs roughened by the same intriguing hair. She wasn’t a saint. For heaven’s sake, the man gave her ideas she shouldn’t even be considering. Not in her advanced state of pregnancy. Not at all, she sternly reminded herself while trying to forget the warm feel of his hand on her elbow, steadying her.

She knew he was a megamillionaire, which didn’t trouble her one way or the other. The fact that he’d been plastered on the cover of grocery store tabloids as a big-time playboy did. Maybe she hadn’t recognized his name or his face immediately. But the truth had come to her the moment Miss Redheaded-Doll-Face had shown up at the door.

Some impulsive, protective instinct had made her want to close the door in the woman’s face. He deserved better than a bit actress who was about to be written out of a minor role in a mediocre soap by the hunky, dark-eyed villain popping her off in a fit of jealous rage. Loretta was certainly familiar with the storyline of the soap in question and could see what was coming.

Griffin Jones would simply have to be more discriminating about whom he dated while Loretta was in his employ. No doubt he would thank her eventually.

Which he would never have a chance to do if she didn’t get his breakfast out to him in a hurry and he fired her before he got his mainline morning dose of caffeine. Rodgers had indicated their employer could be a grouch before he got his coffee. Loretta wasn’t eager to test the waters.

Minutes later she carried a tray out to the deck—a generous pot of strong, black coffee, juice and homemade whole wheat date muffins slathered in let’s-pretend butter. Now was assuredly the time to impress her boss.

“There you go, sir. The perfect beginning to your day. Fifty-two percent of your daily minimum requirements for A, C, E, B—”

“It looks delicious.” Griffin waved her to sit down. Breakfast did look good and smelled even better. He took a sip of coffee. The caffeine jolted him with a sharp wake-up call, and he relaxed momentarily to enjoy the scenery—including his dark-eyed butler. “You’re not eating?”

“I had my breakfast ages ago. I’m usually an early riser.”

“I see.” He broke off a bite of muffin and watched the steam rise. She might not be acceptable as an employee of a health food store, but she knew a helluva lot about baking bread. “Do you live somewhere, Loretta? I mean, do you have an apartment where you stay when you’re, ah, not here?”