Classified Baby. Jessica Andersen

      

      “It’s not like I can get pregnant all over again.”

      “This is a bad idea.”

      “Probably,” Nicole said with a fleeting smile that did strange things to his insides. “But at the moment I can’t say I care. We’re both adults and, given the situation, I think it’s only natural that we’ve got… closer.”

      She took a deep breath, and for the first time Ethan saw a hint of nerves.

      She exhaled and twined her fingers together beneath her robe. His job was to protect her, not take advantage of her. But how could he resist what she was offering? Especially when she said, “I want this. I really do.” That was all it took.

      To Joanna Wayne, Ann Voss Peterson, Elle James, Kathleen Long and Cassie Miles, for joining me in writing the six books of this series, and to Allison Lyons for conceiving these wonderful stories.

       ABOUT THE AUTHOR

      Though she’s tried out professions ranging from cleaning sea lion cages to cloning glaucoma genes, from patent law to training horses, Jessica is happiest when she’s combining all these interests with her first love: writing romances. These days she’s delighted to be writing full-time on a farm in rural Connecticut that she shares with a small menagerie and a hero named Brian. She hopes you’ll visit her at www.JessicaAndersen.com for info on upcoming books, contests and to say “hi!”

       CAST OF CHARACTERS

      Ethan Moore – A loner who freelances for Prescott Personal Security (PPS) as a bodyguard. Ethan doesn’t consider himself part of the PPS team and has no intention of replacing the wife he lost years ago.

      Nicole Benedict – When trouble with her biofuel project and ex-boyfriend drives her to cut loose for a night, Nic has no idea how much trouble she’s going to wind up in, or how far she’ll have to go to save the child she and Ethan conceive that night.

      Robert Prescott – The ex-British-intelligence founder of PPS has miraculously returned from the dead, only to find that things have changed while he was away. Now he’s fighting for his life on one front, fighting for his marriage on another.

      Evangeline Prescott – Robert’s wife kept PPS running – and flourishing – while waiting for his return. Now that he’s back, she refuses to let him take over the investigation that could end with both of their deaths.

      Clive Fuentes – Robert’s ex-mentor used him as a front for dirty business dealings, then tried to kill him when he got too close to the truth.

      Stephen Turner – The head of media mega-corporation Tri Corp. Media (TCM) seems clean, but if that’s the case, why do so many of the clues lead back to TCM?

      Olivia Turner – Robert’s ex-wife, now married to the head of TCM, is an unhappy woman.

      Classified Baby

      JESSICA ANDERSEN

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

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      Chapter One

      Colorado, USA

      “I’m here to see Ethan Moore at Prescott Personal Securities.” Nicole Benedict resisted the urge to wipe her damp palms on her jeans. The lobby of the posh Denver office building was cooler than the summer day outside, but the air-conditioning did little to quell her nervous jitters.

      The uniformed guard tapped the touch pad on his computer screen, selecting the roster for PPS. “And you are?”

      “Nicole Benedict. I don’t have an appointment.” And it was a good bet Ethan wouldn’t recognize her name.

      Heck, she’d be surprised if he recognized her face. It had only been a couple of months since they’d met at Hitchin’ My Getalong, a hokey themed bar in the heart of the city, but the handsome, brooding stranger hadn’t been real sober when she’d hitched her getalong up onto the bar stool beside him.

      Okay, neither of them had been real sober that night.

      “Sign in here.” The guard handed over a digital pad that reminded Nicole of the ones the courier guy used when he delivered her research supplies.

      The thought brought a wince. Unless she found a new sponsor for her biofuel project at Donner High School, the research would be doomed before the school year started. Then again, ten weeks ago, the conjunction of the defunct sponsorship, her thirty-fourth birthday and the one-year anniversary of her ex-engagement to Jonah I-prefer-blondes Douglas had been the most important things in her universe.

      How quickly things change, she thought as she used the plastic wand to scrawl her name, destination and the time she’d entered the building onto the pressure pad. She glanced at the blank “time out” box and tried not to wonder how long her meeting would take. What Ethan would say.

      Swallowing hard, she accepted a visitor’s badge from the guard and headed for the elevator. The deep blue carpet was springy underfoot. The elevator doors were made of copper-colored metal, and etched with repeating symbols that reminded her of the Navajo blanket on her bed. A classy plaque beside the call buttons bore the names of the megadollar companies that leased space in the downtown skyscraper. Prescott Personal Securities was listed at the very bottom, indicating that it was located on the top floor. Prime real estate.

      Way out of your league, Nicky girl. You’re suburbs. This is city. The thought came in Jonah’s voice, complete with her ex-fiancé’s trademark smirk, which she’d found charming for entirely too long.

      “Oh, shut up,” she said, and stabbed the elevator call button.

      Moments later, the etched copper doors parted to reveal an aquarium. Okay, so technically it was a glass-enclosed elevator car, but Nic felt distinctly guppyish as she stepped inside and several street-level passersby glanced in her direction.

      “Keep it moving, nothing to see here,” she muttered as she hit the button for the top floor. “Just a pregnant woman in a see-through box.”

      She wasn’t showing at ten weeks, of course, but ever since the doctor had confirmed what four at-home tests had already told her, she’d felt as though she had the words unmarried and knocked-up by a one-night stand tattooed across her forehead.

      The elevator doors hissed shut and the car ascended with expensive smoothness. The glass floor pressed against the soles of her sneakers, seeming hard and impersonal after the give of the lobby carpet. Unease flickered when she realized there were no supporting metal braces beneath her feet. Just more glass.

      “It’s perfectly safe,” she told herself, scrubbing her damp palms against her jeans and tugging at her pale yellow sweater set. “Don’t be a wuss.”

      Besides, she was pretty sure the nerves had nothing to do with the elevator and everything to do with her errand. What would she say