The Boss's Baby Bargain. Karen Sandler

it as another finalized business decision. It meant no more to him than that.

      Her gaze dropped to the table and saw a different story in Lucas’s hands. Resting on either side of his plate of swordfish, they gripped his fork and knife so fiercely she wondered if he would bend them in his agitation. Tension popped the tendons out in the backs of his hands, set his shoulders into a stiff, rigid line.

      “Lucas.” She reached out, lightly touched his hand.

      He jerked back from her, dropping the silverware. “Excuse me.” Tossing his napkin on the table, he rose and strode off toward the men’s room.

      Allie watched him go, a thousand questions whirling in her mind. She ate a few bites of her salmon, a little of the fresh broccoli beside it on the plate, all the while forcing herself to sit still and wait for Lucas.

      When he returned, he’d gathered his businesslike shroud around him again. “We can have the ceremony at a church, if you like.” He said it as if it mattered little to him, as if his vehement objection earlier had never happened. “I’ll leave it to you to pick the church.”

      He dug into his swordfish then, finishing it off methodically. No explanation of why he’d left the table, no further discussion of the wedding. Allie could scarcely take another bite, he had her so off-balance.

      Later, when he escorted her to her car, he opened the door for her and waited until she’d climbed inside. “Last Saturday in September,” he said. “The afternoon is fine.”

      She might as well have been scheduling a business trip for him. “Have you considered what we should tell people at work?”

      He shrugged. “They know how closely we’ve worked together the past two years. We’ll announce we’ve decided to marry. They’ll draw their own conclusions.”

      It might be that easy for him. Most of TaylorMade’s employees were too intimidated to ask Lucas any personal questions. But she had a half dozen friends at the office who would grill her mercilessly when they found out.

      He gazed down at her, his expression inscrutable. “That’s it, then.”

      She waited for him to back away, to shut the door. Instead, he bent, leaning into the car, brushing his lips against her cheek. Then his hand cupped her chin, turning her toward him. He pressed his lips to hers, softly, his lingering warmth stealing her breath.

      She couldn’t help herself, she kissed him back, slanting her mouth against his, raising her hand to his rough cheek. She heard a low sound in his throat, felt his fingers on her chin tighten. Then the briefest stroke of his tongue against the seam of her lips easing her mouth open. She parted her lips, ready to welcome him inside.

      He straightened abruptly, backing away from her. “Sorry,” he rasped out before slamming her door. Rounding his car, he wrenched open his door, every movement full of anger. He waited until she’d started her engine and pulled out, but he wouldn’t look her way.

      Her entire body shook in the aftermath of his kiss and the anger that followed it. As she navigated the streets back to her apartment, she kept a stranglehold on the steering wheel to keep from veering off the road.

      She’d thought she could handle this. She’d thought she could marry Lucas and still keep her sanity. But now she realized it was entirely impossible. His kiss had brought home to her the utter lunacy of the notion.

      She’d tell him tomorrow. First thing in the morning, when she walked into his office, she’d tell him she’d changed her mind. She’d just have to scare up another source of money.

      Agitated, she missed the turn at Sunrise and had to double back. As she wended her way through the traffic, she tried to rehearse what she would say to Lucas. But despite all her efforts, her mind kept returning to the feel of his lips on hers, the strength of his hand cupping her face.

      Lucas shut the front door behind him and tossed his keys on the small table in the spacious entryway. Through sheer will he kept himself from flinging his briefcase across the acres of Berber carpeting his living room. He dropped it under the table, unwilling for the moment to open it and pull out the work he’d brought home.

      What the hell had he done? What madness had taken control of him, had driven him to kiss Allie? What had possessed him to suggest marriage in the first place?

      He slipped out of his shoes and padded across the glowing oak hardwood of the entryway to the thick living-room carpet. At the far end of the wide room with its high ceilings and expanse of windows overlooking the three-acre lake below stood a fully stocked wet bar. The housekeeper, Mrs. Vasquez, always filled the ice bucket before she left for the day. Lucas pulled down a tumbler and dropped in a handful of ice.

      An array of liquor bottles crowded the shelf above. Why did he keep so much alcohol in the house when he never entertained? Some damn test he supposed. To prove he could resist what had destroyed his mother, to refute the potential in his own genetic makeup.

      Resolutely, he chose a bottle of tonic water and emptied it into the tumbler. A dish of cut lime waited for him in the small refrigerator under the wet bar. After squeezing a wedge into his glass, he moved to the sofa and sagged into it.

      He took a swallow of the tart tonic water then set the tumbler aside. It had all seemed so logical in the moment. He needed a wife, she needed money, just as he’d said. But it was apparent from his lack of control when he walked her to his car that it had been his libido talking, not his brain.

      He picked up the glass again, glided it back and forth against his brow. What now? There was really only one course of action—tell Allie he’d changed his mind, that after giving the matter consideration, he’d realized a marriage between them would be untenable. He’d loan her the money as he’d promised and work out an arrangement to deduct payments from her paycheck.

      And the solution to his problem—the complete unlikelihood that the county would relent and decide him eligible to adopt? He’d have to find another way, through private agencies or contacts made through his attorney, John. Those prospects were just as bleak for a single father and time was certainly against him. But at least he had the money to pursue that route.

      Rising, he walked to the kitchen to check his answering machine. There were two messages, both from John, both since he’d left his office. Without much hope, Lucas picked up his portable phone and headed out the back of the house. This side faced a grove of oak trees and the small vineyard he’d had put in four years ago. Leaning against the porch rail, he speed-dialed his attorney’s home number and waited for him to pick up.

      After the greetings were out of the way, John cut to the chase. “Did I ever introduce you to my cousin, Angela?”

      Lucas pressed his lips into a grim smile. “I don’t want you fixing me up, John.”

      “But I think you two might hit it off,” John persisted. “She’s in her early thirties, absolutely gorgeous and ready to settle down. I told her about you—”

      “Not interested, John.” Lucas paused, sipped his drink. “Besides, I’ve already made my own arrangements.”

      “What arrangements?”

      His hand shaking, Lucas had to set the glass on the porch rail. His decision of a few moments before might as well have never been. “I’ve asked someone to marry me.”

      Total silence on the phone line. Lucas waited for John to muster a response. After several seconds, his attorney asked, “Who?”

      “Allie Dickenson, my admin assistant.”

      “I had no idea there was anything between you and—”

      “There isn’t,” Lucas said flatly. “I explained the adoption situation to Allie and she agreed to help me out.”

      “Just like that.” John sounded dubious.

      “Not entirely. She’s in a financial bind. I promised her some money in exchange.”

      It sounded