Emilie Rose - Forbidden Passion

His gaze met hers and then traveled slowly over her breasts to her flat belly. His child—his daughter—could be growing inside Lynn. His chest tightened, and he lifted his gaze to hers once more. She worried her bottom lip with her teeth. Her lipstick was long gone. The need to lean across the distance and touch his mouth to the softness of hers blindsided him. He sucked in a slow breath and sat back in his chair.

Neither of them spoke of the baby she might be carrying, but the knowledge and the tension stretched between them. He couldn’t explain the mixture of emotions clogging his throat. Fear? Excitement? Dread? Anticipation?

Lynn’s fingers curled on the edge of the tabletop until her knuckles turned white, and then she stood and carried her cup to the sink. “If you ever have a daughter, I’m sure she’d be proud to wear the locket. It’s lovely.”

The other items in the box held less value, but Sawyer found a favorite pocket knife he thought he’d lost in high school and the ID bracelet his ex-fiancée had given him. Why did Brett have these? And why had he tossed each piece in a cheap box like yard-sale junk?

Lynn paused behind his shoulder. “These are your memories, Sawyer. They should stay in your family.”

“The Riggan family will end with me—unless you’re carrying the next generation. When will you know if you’re pregnant?”

Eyes wide, she stared at him and then her gaze darted away. Her face paled as quickly as it had flushed. “In a week or so, but let’s not borrow trouble.”

“You’ll tell me as soon as you know.” It wasn’t a question.

She hesitated and his heart stuttered. “Yes.”

“Do you want a baby?”

Worry clouded her eyes. She took a deep breath. “I’ve always wanted children, but the timing couldn’t be worse. And not knowing who—” She bit her lip and tucked her chin.

“I’ll stand by you, Lynn—no matter whose child it is.”

“Um…thank you.” She didn’t look reassured.

The doorbell rang. She frowned and turned.

“That should be dinner. I called the Chinese place while you were upstairs.” Sawyer rose and strode past her to the front door. She remained in the kitchen while he paid and tipped the delivery man and returned. He set the bag on the counter and opened it. Tantalizing aromas filled the room.

“You didn’t have to buy dinner.” Lynn inhaled deeply and then licked her lips.

Hunger for Lynn replaced his need for food. He gritted his teeth and reminded himself why he’d called the restaurant. “You need to eat. You’ve lost weight.”

Her spine stiffened. “That’s not your concern.”

“I’m making it mine.”

A polished woman in her fifties guarded the closed door with Sawyer Riggan, CEO, engraved on the name-plate.

Lynn swallowed her nervousness and crossed the threshold of the office. “Excuse me. I’m Lynn Riggan. I’d like to see Sawyer.”

The woman’s frank appraisal made Lynn want to fidget. She clutched her purse tighter when what she really wanted to do was smooth her French twist and straighten the skirt of her fitted emerald-green dress. She shifted her weight in her three-inch heels, hating the clothes Brett had chosen for her, but until she could afford to replace them she was stuck.

The woman rose. “I’m Opal Pugh, Sawyer’s assistant. I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs. Riggan.”

“Thank you. It’s nice to meet you, Opal.” This was the woman Brett had referred to as Sawyer’s dragon lady.

“I’ll see if Sawyer’s free.” Opal tapped on Sawyer’s door before disappearing inside.

Lynn hated depending on Sawyer for a job, but everywhere she’d gone the answers had been the same. Not hiring. Twisting the strap of her purse, she examined the tastefully decorated office. Thick steel-gray carpeting covered the floor. An oak coffee table gleamed in front of a burgundy-damask-covered loveseat and chairs, and the landscapes on the wall looked like originals.

Before she could step nearer to read the artists’ signatures, the door opened and her stomach dropped. Opal motioned her forward. “He’ll see you now.”

Lynn’s legs trembled as she closed the distance. She wished she could blame her fluttery nerves and agitated stomach solely on her dismal financial situation, but the man rising from behind the wide oak desk in front of her contributed more than a little. Sawyer seemed larger than life here on his own turf—every inch a mastermind who’d taken an idea and turned it into an internationally renowned company. He’d shed his suit coat and rolled up the sleeves of his white dress shirt. The loosened knot of his tie and opened top two buttons of his shirt revealed a glimpse of his dark chest hair.

“Good morning, Lynn.” His baritone voice sounded deeper than usual. It skipped down her spine like a caress. His intense blue eyes glided over her slowly, thoroughly assessing her.

“Good morning.” Her dry mouth made it difficult to form the words. She cursed the heat flaring in her face and other places she’d rather not acknowledge and tugged at her dress. She’d always tried to ignore her clingy clothing, but after her steamy dreams last night—dreams featuring Sawyer—her skin was hypersensitive to the brush of the fabric against her breasts, hips and thighs.

With a subtle lift of his square chin, he motioned for Opal to leave them. The door closed and the room suddenly seemed smaller, more intimate. Airless. She cleared her throat. “I’ve decided to take you up on the job offer…if it’s still open.”

“Certainly. Welcome aboard.” Leaning across the desk, he offered his hand.

If she could have thought of a polite way to avoid the handshake, she would have. Instead, his long fingers closed around hers. She tried to focus on something besides the memory of how those warm, long-fingered hands had cradled her bottom while he thrust deep inside her, first in her foyer and then again in her dreams last night.

A hint of his spicy aftershave teased her senses, and an image of his passion-glazed eyes flashed in her brain. Her heart jolted into a faster rhythm, and her cheeks weren’t the only parts of her that were growing warm. Brett had accused her of being a prude, but her thoughts certainly weren’t prudish now.

She pulled her hand free and blurted, “I need to make it clear that I’m only looking for a job…not anything else.”

He reared back. The nostrils of his straight nose flared, and she cringed with embarrassment. “I’m sorry. That was—”

“We agreed that what happened was a mistake.” He gestured for her to take a seat in one of the leather chairs in front of his desk.

Feeling utterly foolish, she collapsed into the visitor’s seat. Of course he didn’t want more of her. No man did.

“And your job here will never be based on…fringe benefits, but you’re a co-owner of the business, so we will be working closely together. Will that be a problem for you?”

Would it be a problem to work beside him every single day? Yes. “No.”

Sawyer settled in his chair behind the wide desk and laced his fingers on the polished surface. “When would you like to start?”

She swallowed to ease the dryness in her mouth. “Today? Tomorrow? But first, I’d like a little time in Brett’s office…if that’s okay?”

Sympathy filled his eyes, and she felt like a fraud. She wasn’t a brokenhearted widow. She’d done her share of grieving over her marriage months ago. Now she just felt foolish for having wasted more than four years of her life on what had obviously been a losing proposition.

“You know where it is?”

“I think so.” Brett had rarely brought her to the office and never during regular business hours.