Boardroom Kings. Catherine Mann

      He tracked her movements as she poured a glass of milk, her silky red hair swinging along her back and inviting his hands to test the texture, to discover if it was as soft as he remembered. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

      “I promise the baby and I are both totally healthy.” She lifted her glass in toast, her back still toward him.

      She was dodging something, he was sure, but he could also sense she wouldn’t share more now. He would be best served by a temporary retreat before advancing his cause again in a few hours.

      He was an ad guy, after all. He knew how to make a pitch, and for now, he needed to back off. The right opportunity would present itself.

      Jason pulled the box out of his pocket and set it on the small butcher-block counter. “Just hang on to this for now. We don’t have to decide anything today.”

      She eyed the box as if it contained a snake. “I already know there’s no way in hell we’re getting engaged, much less married.”

      “Fair enough.” He nudged the box forward until it rested beside an apple-shaped ceramic cookie jar. “Save the ring for our kid.”

      Turning toward him, she sagged back against the counter, her T-shirt with paint splatters hugging her pregnant belly—and her fuller breasts. “You seem sure it’s a girl.”

      His eyes dropped back to her stomach, his own gut clenching tight as an image of a little girl with red curls filled his head. This baby was real and growing inside Lauren just an arm’s reach away. He’d barely had time to process the idea of being a father, much less see the proof so visibly. His hands itched to touch Lauren, to explore the differences in her.

      To feel the baby kick?

      His throat went tight. “It could be a boy, who’ll one day need an engagement ring to give some girl.”

      She tipped her head to the side, her silky hair gliding over the rounded curves of her breasts. “Do you want a boy? Seems that most men prefer to have a son first.”

      “Is that how things were with your dad?” His own father sure as hell had wanted a mini-version of himself, someone to mirror his every move, decision, thought.

      Her face closed up. “This isn’t about my father.”

      “Okay, then.” He gave in to temptation and stroked back a lock of her hair, sliding his hand away before she could protest. “You look beautiful but tired, and I seem to recall you saying something about needing to go to work.” He dropped a kiss on her forehead, resisting the urge to linger and, instead, making a beeline for the door. “Goodbye, Lauren. We’ll talk later.”

      He stepped into the hall, her confused face stamped on his memory, fueling him in his decision to retreat for the moment, keep her off balance. She had doubts and he could play on those.

      She may have said no this morning, but he wasn’t down for the count. Without question, by the time he took the last flight out on Sunday night, Lauren would be coming to California with his child.

      Lauren pushed through the glass door leading into the fourth-floor offices that housed her graphic-design business. Not much space, actually, just a common room with tables, a receptionist desk by the door and her own office in back. Where she and Jason had made this baby.

      At the moment she couldn’t blame the pregnancy for her churning stomach. Her insides swirled around like a Jackson Pollock color extravaganza.

      The small velvet ring box seemed to weigh ten tons in her purse—a sack of a bag made from an old sweater she’d found at a consignment store. She’d packed up the jewelry so she could call Jason, schedule a lunch and return the ring. An engagement was a ludicrous idea.

      She had enough on her plate, anyhow, finding a way to save her business from bankruptcy.

      Franco, her secretary, passed her a stack of memo sheets. “Ms. Presley, your messages.”

      “Thanks, Franco.” She forced herself to smile.

      Lauren shuffled through the inch-thick pile; calls from prospective clients were mixed in with phone numbers from creditors.

      Franco stood, smoothing down his NY Giants tie. “Before you go into your office—”

      “Yes,” she answered, opening her door at the same time. The floral scent wafted out.

      Franco shrugged and leaned back. “They were delivered just before you arrived. And, uh… ”

      His voice dwindled off in her mind as she turned to find her office packed with at least five vases of white rosebuds with pink and blue ribbons. On the corner of her desk, she saw a carafe of juice and basket of muffins. She spun back to hear what else Franco was saying.

      Movement drew her attention to the far recesses of the reception area, where Jason lounged, assessing her with sexy, hooded eyes. How had she missed him when she came in? And why hadn’t Franco told… ? Okay, so Franco had tried.

      Lauren nodded Jason into her office. “Come on. You might as well eat with me.”

      He shoved away from the wall, slowly, lean and lanky, like a predator cougar as he strode toward her. Franco, the new accountant and the two interns from NYU looked from Jason to her with undisguised curiosity.

      Jason slid his arm around her waist. “I wanted to make sure the mother of my child is well fed and happy.”

      She stiffened under his touch. Damn his presumptuous ass. Just that fast he’d announced their relationship to the world. Well, not the world, but to her employees and three waiting clients.

      “The baby and I are fine, thank you.” She planted a hand in the middle of his back and pushed. “Can I speak with you in my office, please?”

      “Of course, dear,” he said with smooth affection and a charming smile that had the two interns giggling and blushing.

      She closed her office door, sealing her in the room with Jason. Alone. With the turquoise sofa. With a host of memories.

      Lauren opened the white metal blinds and let the sun blast through. Not that it did much to defuse her anger. “What the hell was that all about?”

      “Only letting people know I care about you and our child.” He picked up a fat blueberry muffin. “Breakfast?”

      “I’ve already eaten. Don’t you think you should have checked to see if I’d told the folks at work about the baby?”

      He paused. “You’ve told them. You’ve been on sick leave.”

      “Fine, you’re right. But the clients in the waiting area didn’t know, and this is my announcement to make to the world when I’m darn well ready.”

      “You’re right, and I’m sorry.” He waved the muffin closer, near enough for her to catch a whiff. “Now would you like something to eat? The bakery made them fresh this morning. I saw them come out of the oven.”

      She wanted to tell the pushy man what he could do with his muffins. But damned if she wasn’t starving all over again as she looked at those plump blueberries straining at the sides, the sweet crumble topping making her lick her lips in anticipation. While she loved her baby, sometimes she really resented these hormones that seemed to have such Herculean control over her body.

      That same hormonal storm was making her go all teary-eyed over the flowers and food because, God, this was what first-time parents did for each other. The past few months had been so damn hard without the support of a partner. She didn’t even want to think about how difficult the coming months—years—might be.

      For now she just wanted to enjoy her muffin.

      Her feet carried her closer, until she stood toe to toe with Jason. Sniffing back her tears, she could smell him and the flowers and the muffin, and, gracious, but all of it smelled mouthwateringly good. Jason pinched off a piece and brought it to her lips. She parted