The Millionaire's Secret Baby. Crystal Green

But why couldn’t he just enjoy her smile for the time being?

      “What are you waiting for?” he asked.

      She answered with one of those sunburst flashes. He’d never seen a person light up that way, especially the socialites he was normally with.

      “You can swim, right?” He glided nearer to her.

      “I don’t know if I want to get my hair wet.”

      “Priss.”

      “Excuse me?”

      Now he’d done it. She settled her petite body onto the rock’s edge, sent him a dignified glance. In spite of her clothes, retro hippie wear, he decided, she carried herself as if she was wearing silk and diamonds.

      “I get it,” he said, treading water. “You’re going to punish me.”

      “By…?”

      “By judging me from on top of your mountain. Cut a guy a break. I came out here to get away from wheeling and dealing.”

      “I see. You just wanted to clear your brain.” She tilted her head, and something lethal kurplunked into his gut.

      “I’m not cooperating very well, am I?” she asked.

      He ignored his common sense, moved closer, to just below the rock. “I promise I won’t splash you anymore.”

      She swung her shapely legs, leaning forward to see him, small, firm breasts pressed against the near see-through material of her summer top. If he looked hard enough, he could see the faint darkness of her nipples, the way they beaded against the cotton. He yearned for just a touch of them.

      Grasping her slim ankle, he commanded, “Breathe.”

      She’d reared backward, eyes widening. “Don’t you d—”

      Too late. He gently tugged, bringing her into the water, catching her before she went all the way under, holding her body flush against his.

      Neither of them moved, not for a long moment. It was as if she wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing—the cotton puckered to her breasts, outlining every curve as well as the hardened buds in the center of them. Beads of moisture trickled from her collarbone onto his thumbs.

      The contact warmed his blood. It’d been so long since he’d held a woman like this—so innocently, but with a flame of expectation licking the surface of his skin. Something untouched, deeply hidden, stirred inside, competing with the hunger, wanting to be fulfilled, too.

      Hell, no. Juliet had killed that part of him when she’d died. She’d turned out to be someone he hadn’t known at all, and the betrayal had altered him forever.

      In order to sweep that yearning back into its dark place, he purposely allowed Lila to slide down the length of his body, slowly, water making their skin slick, heated.

      There. Lust, pure and simple. Uncomplicated by emotions.

      One of her legs tentatively wrapped around him as they came face to face, those breasts rubbing against his upper chest, tearing him apart from the inside out as that unnamable something refused to die. God, he didn’t want to face it again.

      Both of them were breathing raggedly as he hesitated. He was an experienced guy, at least as far as sex was concerned. He knew what came next. So why wasn’t he doing it?

      Another moment passed, filled with the song of birds, the flutter of a dragonfly’s wings as it beat past them, the smell of juniper, grass and…her. A mixture of cinnamon, sweet spices.

      This was wrong to lead her on when he couldn’t promise anything more than an afternoon of canoodling. He had too much work to worry about and, in one week, he’d even be relocating to New York to oversee business there.

      Lila Stanhope seemed too nice for that kind of love-’em-and-leave-’em charade. Too innocent to deal with his demons. She was the daughter of a corporate associate. A business deal. A commitment.

      He loosened his hold on her, but his hunger for more tenderness didn’t abate. It merely rested. Waited.

      She paused, as if mortified by his silent retreat. Then she braced against his chest, lightly pushing away, creating further distance between them with a deft backstroke.

      “That was mighty assertive of you,” she said.

      He liked her sense of humor. From the moment she’d told him to fetch her water bottle, he’d been drawn to her spirit. “It runs in the family.”

      “Right. The Rhodes clan. Vicious oil tycoons. Claw-wielding corporate devils.”

      “Not straight out of the gate. Edward the First, Great-great-great Granddad, was quite the gentleman.”

      “Do tell.” She’d backed against a limestone cliff face to hold her up. The wet ends of her hair left dark trails near the snail fossils etched into the surface.

      “You want a history lesson?” he asked, relieved by the possibility of small talk.

      She raised her eyebrow and nodded. He’d bet that she was doing everything possible to cool the tension between them. But he couldn’t forget the feel of her leg clenching him against her, the sight of her breasts.

      Might as well humor her before she went running to daddy about the big bad wolf in the woods, just like she used to.

      “All right then. Edward the First was a third son of a duke, so of course he had no hope over in grand ol’ England. He ended up over here in Texas, right before the War Between the States, and managed to finagle some land. He did a pretty decent job of raising cattle. But when the Great Depression rolled around and William Rhodes had the honor of taking over the family business, they had to entertain ‘dudes’ to keep the ranch solvent. We got rid of the city folk about fifty years ago though. No more need for them.”

      “Aren’t we high and mighty?” She was too damned cute with her brow arched like that.

      “Why’re you offended? I’ll bet you could outclass any dude by being able to distinguish one end of a horse from the other. Or maybe you just have a yen for hay rides and sing-alongs.”

      “My sentimental side does cry out for a good square dance every so often, I have to admit.” She paused. “So your fortune wasn’t made off dudes.”

      He’d sidestroked away from her. “Right. Back in the day, we invested in land north of here, and we struck oil. Millions were made, and that’s when the family started acquiring businesses.”

      “And more businesses. And…”

      They both laughed knowingly, and he shook his head. “If I’d known you were so sociable, I’d have straightaway locked my office up tight and hurried back to Wycliffe to meet you again.”

      “Yeah, sure,” she said. “You’ve got the markings of a workaholic. See, you’re even thinking about your next takeover right now. The Stanhopes, right? It’s in your eyes.”

      “What?”

      “There’s a distance about you.” She glanced away. “But what do I know?”

      She’d seen it. His worst fear, hiding, dodging.

      Maybe he was becoming as ruthless as his father.

      Deston’s hands clenched at the water.

      He wouldn’t ever be like Edward Rhodes the Third: a hard man mired in family tradition. A man who would stop at nothing to get ahead.

      Even his marriage had been nothing more than another merger, and Deston could see how the arrangement ate away at the old guy.

      Lila started paddling toward her rock, glancing over her shoulder, pausing before getting out. Modest?

      Her shyness prodded him, made him way too damned impetuous—just like he’d been with Juliet Templeton.

      “Have