Millionaire's Calculated Baby Bid. Laura Wright

Tess asked, staring at Mary expectantly.

      “Ah…both actually.”

      “Sounds great.” Olivia set her own full plate down beside Tess, then promptly rearranged her silverware, napkin and water glass to their proper places, now ready to partake in her own breakfast.

      Her heart slamming against her ribs, Mary stood and grabbed her purse. “I just have to hit the little girl’s room and then I’ll be on my way.”

      “Good luck,” Olivia called.

      Tess nodded. “Yeah, good luck, kid.”

      If they only knew the double meaning in her good wishes, Mary thought, each step toward the bathroom feeling as though she was walking in quicksand. She had no idea what she wanted to see when she tossed aside all that toilet paper and pulled out the test. If it was positive, she’d have to make plans to get away from Minneapolis eventually, away from Ethan—that man would never let her walk away with his child. If it was negative, her father’s life was over. She felt a sickly sour feeling in her stomach. She had lives to protect, and she wasn’t altogether sure how capable she was.

      She locked the door behind her, sat on the floor and opened the cabinets under the sink. The mountain of white rolls pushed aside easily as she reached inside and felt for the thin stick. Her pulse pounded in her ears. God, what did she want here?

      Her fingers closed around the test and she yanked it back. With one heavy exhale she stared at the results.

      It was three twenty-seven and Ethan Curtis was growing more impatient by the second.

      He wasn’t used to being kept waiting. People arrived early for meetings with him, fifteen to thirty minutes on average. They would sit in his massive lobby until he was ready to see them. For six years it had been this way. He knew his employees thought he was an arrogant ass. He liked it that way.

      He punched the intercom button. “Marylyn, when Miss Kelley arrives, have her join me on the roof.”

      There was a slight pause on the other end of the line. Marylyn had never heard such a request, but she recovered quickly. “Yes, sir. Of course.”

      Ethan glanced at the clock. Three thirty-one. Where the hell was she? He stalked over to the elevator and stabbed the button. Mary Kelley was a strong-willed, business-first, no-nonsense type of person—not unlike himself. But if she worked for him, she’d be fired by now.

      He was not generally a nervous man. He didn’t pace, worry or stress before a deal was done. If a client didn’t perform or comply the way he wanted them to, he finessed the situation, made it work to his advantage. However, as he rode his private elevator the short distance to the roof, his gut continued to contract painfully, just like it had the day his father had informed him that his mother had taken up with a new man and wasn’t coming back.

      Ethan walked out of the elevator and onto the rooftop, for which he had hired a world-renowned landscape architect and two botanists to transform into his escape three years ago. The courtyard opened to a Moroccan-tiled fountain and several ancient sculptures, while to the left was a sun terrace, complete with bar and circular planters filled with flax, pyracantha and perennials to keep the urban scene colorful year-round. Red bougainvillea covered several of the arched trellises, and cherry trees flanked the central walkway. It was a strange mixture of ease and exotic, and it suited Ethan perfectly.

      He sensed her, smelled her, before he saw her. Fresh, soapy—yes, he remembered. The lower half of him contracted as his mind played the ever-present film of those nights in July over again. Ethan saw himself lying on top of her, buried deep inside of her, his mouth on hers as he breathed in her scent and she moaned and writhed like a wildcat.

      He glanced over his shoulder to see her walking toward him. She was average height, average build, but Mary Kelley possessed two things that would make any man stop dead in his tracks and stare. Long, toned, sexy-as-hell legs that he could practically feel wrapped around his waist at this moment, and pale blue eyes that turned up at the corners, like a cat’s. “You’re late.”

      She didn’t respond. “What’s all this, Mr. Curtis?” she said, looking around the garden seemingly unimpressed. “Your bat cave?”

      As well as the legs and the eyes, she also had a sharp tongue.

      “A sanctuary.”

      Her brows drew together as she sat in the chair opposite him, the skirt of her pale blue Chanel suit sliding upward to just a few inches above her knees. The late-afternoon sun hit her full force, her blond hair appearing almost white. “And what do you need sanctuary from? All the people you’ve screwed over this week?”

      Yes, a very sharp tongue, though he remembered that it could also be soft and wet. “You think I thrive on making life difficult for others?”

      “I think it may be your life’s blood.”

      There was no disputing the fact that she disliked him. No, he could see that clearly. What he couldn’t make out from her attitude was if she was carrying his child or not, and that was the one thing he desperately wanted to know.

      He walked over to the bar. “Drink?”

      She nodded. “Thank you.”

      “Anything in particular? Martini, soda?” That would give him his answer.

      “Something cold would be nice. It’s pretty warm.”

      “You’re going to make me work for this, aren’t you?”

      “Would you really appreciate it any other way?” she said brusquely.

      “Martini?”

      “Lemonade would be great if you have it. I’m driving.”

      “Mary—”

      “Do you think you deserve an easy answer, Mr. Curtis?” she interrupted coldly. “Think back to how we got here.”

      He had done nothing but, for the past four weeks, though not in the same way as she, clearly. “We made an agreement.”

      She laughed bitterly. “Is that what you’d call it? You blackmailed me and I gave in. Maybe gave up is a better way to put it.”

      Ethan abandoned the drinks and went to stand before her. Her cat eyes were blazing hatred, and her claws were out, but he didn’t give a damn if she was angry. He wanted one thing and one thing only, and he would go to any lengths necessary to get it.

      “Are you pregnant?” he asked bluntly.

      It took her a moment to answer. Several emotions crossed her face, and her breathing seemed shallow and slightly labored before she finally nodded. “Yes.”

      Ethan turned away, his heart pounding like a jack-hammer. He’d wanted this but had never believed it possible. He had no idea how to react.

      “You’ll drop all charges against my father,” Mary said, her tone nonemotional.

      He stood there, his back to her. “Of course.”

      “And you won’t interfere in my life until the baby is born.”

      He opened his mouth to agree, then paused. He turned to face her again. “I don’t know if can do that.”

      “That was our agreement,” Mary countered, coming to her feet, her gaze fierce. “Do you not even have one ounce of honor in your blood, Mr. Curtis? Where the hell did you grow up, under a rock?”

      She didn’t know where he came from, couldn’t know, but her words struck him hard and he frowned. “I will keep my word.”

      Seemingly satisfied, Mary grabbed her purse and started for the elevator. “Good.”

      “But there’s one condition,” Ethan called after her.

      She whirled around, held his gaze without blinking. “There were no conditions.”

      “This has