Bossman's Baby Scandal / Executive's Pregnancy Ultimatum. Catherine Mann

from that vicious pup.” He smiled, his five-o’clock shadow adding a badboy air to go along with the glint in his eye.

      She rolled her eyes and started up the stairs, trying not to think about how long those three flights would feel once she was in her third trimester. “Come on, then.”

      He followed, a wooden stair creaking under his foot. “I’m not asking for coffee or anything. Although if you invite me, I’ll pick you up and carry you inside for a night you won’t forget.”

      “I had forgotten how persuasive you can be.”

      “I didn’t forget how good you smell.” He eye-stroked her. “Have I told you how much I like the scent of flowers on you?” He dipped his head. “Taking you to that restaurant was as much for me as it was for you.”

      “Dinner was nice and I appreciate that you picked a spot to win me over, but I don’t like being manipulated. Your honesty calls out to me more than anything.”

      A grin creased the corners of his eyes as they reached the third floor. “I forget sometimes that you and I are in the same business.”

      “Just be straight with me.”

      “I can do that.”

      Could she believe him? Leaning back against her door, she searched his eyes for some sign of his deeper thoughts and feelings. She looked and found … passion.

      Not a surprise, but unsettling all the same, with her own emotions in such a whirl that she felt the least upset could send her spinning. Before she could think, she reached to dust melting snowflakes off the lapel of his jacket. Hard, male muscles twitched under her touch. Her pulse raced, stirring that pottery wheel inside her faster.

      “Whoa!” She jolted back, pressing a hand to her belly.

      Frowning, Jason braced a palm against her back. “Are you all right? Give me the key. You need to lie down.”

      “I’m fine, totally fine.” She stepped away before she succumbed to the temptation to lean against him. The baby’s swift kick brought her back to reality. “Our kiddo is just exercising off that fabulous chicken marsala.”

      His gaze dropped to her stomach. His fingers flexed. The way he didn’t ask for what he so obviously wanted nudged her to offer. “Do you want to feel?”

      He nodded curtly.

      She took his hand and flattened it to the spot where … “I’m not sure if you’ll be able to feel—it’s still kinda early.” And no way was she inviting him to touch her bare stomach. Would he be at her doctor appointments down the road? Too much to think about. She needed to stay in the moment, one thing at a time. “Wait, just a little to the left.” She guided him. “Right there.”

      His eyes widened. He looked up at her quickly, then back to her stomach. “I think I … Yeah. Wow.”

      “Sometimes I just lie in bed and feel the baby move until all of the sudden I see an hour has passed. Wild, isn’t it?”

      “I had no idea what that felt like. I’ve never …” He looked up at her again, holding her gaze, no shutters in place for the first time. “Thank you.”

      All noise around her faded, the other couple, the barking poodle, became a dull din drowned out by the drum of her pulse in her ears. She linked her fingers with his, wondering what it would be like to follow this attraction.

      The heels on her boots brought her closer to his face. He only needed to duck a little, or she could arch up. Only a kiss. Nothing more. A simple … brush of his mouth against hers. She could feel his breath already touching her in a phantom caress and, God, how she wanted this, just this much. Why even bother worrying about whether they would take it further?

      She nipped his bottom lip. He growled low, then took her mouth with his, fully, no way to tell who’d opened for whom first because the hunger just took over. They’d kissed in her office before landing on the sofa. It hadn’t been a totally impersonal hookup, but they certainly had made out. Not like this, standing in the hall outside her door, necking with the man who’d taken her to dinner. There was something wonderfully romantic about it. Something that made her want to sink in for a while and just enjoy the moment.

      Her fingers tested the texture of his short hair still damp from snowflakes. He smelled of the cool crisp winter air and a hint of oregano from the restaurant, and her ravenous senses lapped up every bit.

      “Lauren,” he whispered, scattering kisses up her cheekbone, over her ear, “this is getting more than a little out of control for a public hallway. Do you want to move inside?”

      Did she? She inched back to stare up into his face.

      Her apartment door swept open, startling her back a step and into the present. Jason stepped in front of her protectively, his back tense under her fingers. When had she touched him again? Her fingers curled deeper into the fabric of his jacket, taut muscles flexing under her grip.

      She peered over his shoulder and winced. “Mom?”

      Four

      Lauren stared at her mother, framed in the open doorway, and tried not to panic. How long would it take those keen maternal eyes to notice the baby bulge under the baggy sweater? She really should have taken care of informing her parents before now.

      Second-guessing herself served no good. She needed to focus on how to best handle the moment, which began with gauging her mother’s current mood by how she dressed.

      Jacqueline Presley had always been a strange mix of junior league meets avant garde. She wore her standard Chanel suit—plum purple today—but with chunky jewelry in an animal theme. A family of ruby lizards climbed up one side of her jacket. Her emerald cape with silver fringe was draped haphazardly over her arm. She must have just arrived.

      How she’d talked her way past the super to get inside, Lauren didn’t even want to know.

      She had more pressing concerns, anyway. Her mother’s clothes said she was in an up mood, but her tousled hair, chipped nails and shaking hands testified to a frenetic edge. Sure, they were minor signs, but Lauren had learned long ago to catalog every detail, read the nuances, prepare herself for anything.

      As she struggled for what to say, Jason stepped forward and thrust out his hand. “Hello, Mrs. Presley. I’m Jason Reagert.”

      “Reagert?” She shook his hand, then tapped the air with a rhinestone-studded fingernail, chewed down on one corner. “Are you related to J. D. Reagert of Reagert Comm?”

      His smile tightened but didn’t disappear. “My father, ma’am.”

      “Oh, no need to call me ma’am. I’m Jacqueline.” She took his arm and hauled him into the apartment, not even looking back at Lauren.

      What the hell?

      She’d been so freaked out worrying that her mother would learn about the baby—only to be ignored completely. But then, Jason represented everything her mother wanted in a son-in-law. Lauren followed them inside, closing the door behind her.

      Jacqueline’s laugh bounced around in the vaulted ceiling. Her mom had many wonderful qualities, and she could certainly be charming when she wanted. And the times she’d taken meds, life had been level, happy. Lauren couldn’t quite say “normal,” because her mother was always quirky and artsy, but when she took care of her health, those eccentricities were actually fun.

      God, she hoped this was one of those times.

      Lauren inched her purse around over her stomach and followed Jason and her mother deeper into the apartment, the pair still with their backs to her. Jason pulled out a chair for her mother at the dining table. Odd choice, but Lauren wasn’t going to argue, since sitting at the wooden ice-cream-parlor-style table would conveniently hide her pregnancy.

      Had Jason known that? A sharp and watchful edge in his eyes indicated he was very aware of everything going