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

a big TV. There’s a bed upstairs with a top-of-the-line mattress.”

      Her lips went tight as she sat, resting her elbows on the Brazilian-granite countertop. “Where will I be sleeping?”

      “In my bed of course.” His temperature spiked at just the words. He opened the refrigerator. “Bottled water? Fruit?”

      “Yes, please.” She stood and took the drink and grapes from him. “Then I hope for your sake that your guest room has a comfy bed or sofa.”

      God, he loved the way she didn’t take his bull, just quietly lobbing the serve back to him. “No furniture there, either. I’ll sleep in the recliner for now and have another mattress delivered.”

      “That really sucks for you tonight, because I am not going to feel sorry for you and invite you to share the bed.” She tipped back her water.

      “You’re heartless.” He slid a hand behind her waist and brought a grape to her lips.

      “I’m fairly certain I made myself clear about the sleeping arrangements before we left New York.” She plucked the grape from his hands and popped it into her mouth.

      “Can’t blame a guy for trying.” His thumb stroked along her spine as he watched her eyes for any signs of arousal—like the widening of her pupils, the pulse along her neck quickening.

      “Jason, we can’t just sleep together for a couple of weeks and then have a civil relationship. It’s not logical. We have a child to think about. We can’t afford to take risks.”

      Since she hadn’t shoved him away, he urged her a little closer until she stood between his knees. “Don’t you think our kid would like to see us together?”

      “Are you suddenly magically ready for a long-term relationship? Because you damn well weren’t prepared for that four months ago.”

      His eye twitched. “Sure, why not?”

      “How charming.” Her lip curled. She shoved his arms away and charged toward the stairs.

      “Hey, I’m trying here.” He spread his arms wide, following. “This is uncharted territory for me, too.”

      She gripped her roll bag. “I’m going to bed. Alone. Enjoy your recliner.”

      Not a problem, since he doubted he would sleep, anyway.

      “I will. Thanks. I’m a deep sleeper.” He slid the suitcase from her hand. “And I’m also a guy who can’t watch a woman—especially a pregnant woman—lug a suitcase up the stairs.”

      Without another word, he loped ahead of her. He had her in his house and he had two weeks to work his way into her bed. And once he got there? He intended to make sure she wasn’t so quick to boot him out again.

      Five

      Loneliness echoed around her in the empty bedroom.

      Lauren slumped against the closed door, Jason’s footsteps growing softer as he made his way to his recliner. Sure, she jammed too much furniture and plant life into her apartment back in Manhattan, but this space? It was beyond sparse.

      A mattress on a frame.

      One brass side table for a lamp and alarm clock.

      And a closet full of clothes hanging from the racks and neatly folded on the shelves.

      She pitched her purse on the bed, the bag bouncing to rest on the brown-and-blue comforter. Again the ring rolled out like a bad penny that kept turning up. Lauren placed it on the brass table. The generic piece of furniture.

      Damn it, she didn’t want to feel sorry for him. Jason was known as a shark in the business world, and stakes were too high for her to be caught unawares. But something about this place made her sad, made her want to bring flowers and color and noise to his world.

      His whole house looked forlorn, for that matter, all the sadder given the home absolutely shouted out for love and attention, parties and family. Although he did have two bar stools in the kitchen. Had they come with the place or had be bought them with the notion of entertaining someone?

      Kneeling, she unzipped her suitcase and pulled out the silky nightshirt that still fit. But for how much longer? She smoothed a hand over the growing curve of her stomach. Certainly not femme fatale material.

      Her eyes scanned the empty walls, the barren bay window that cried out for a pair of comfy chairs, perfect for a couple watching a sunrise together. But other than those bar stools, it didn’t appear he’d brought anyone here.

      Anyone except her.

      He knew she hadn’t been dating anybody for the last six months he’d lived in New York—but he had been. Well, up until a couple of months before he’d left, that was. She wouldn’t have slept with a guy who was seeing someone else, no matter how swept up into the attraction she may have felt.

      Lauren peeled off her travel-weary clothes and slid the nightshirt over her head. The silky fabric teased her breasts to pebbly peaks, leaving her achy. Wanting. God, it would be so easy to walk down those stairs and satisfy the ache between her legs.

      She eyed the door and actually considered taking what she wanted. She even stepped forward. Her toe hooked on the strap to her computer bag.

      Her computer. Her work. She needed to remember her reason for coming here in the first place—to give herself time to plan, to save her business, to save her pride.

      Too bad a laptop and pride made for very chilly bedfellows.

      Jason stepped over the serpentine computer cord, Lauren’s laptop closed and resting on the bedside table by his alarm clock. The ring box sat by the clock, closed. Her ring finger was still bare. She’d agreed to be his fiancée, even flown to California, but she hadn’t committed one hundred percent to the plan.

      He set the breakfast tray on the corner of the mattress and took his time studying the sleeping woman in his bed. Her auburn hair was spread over the brown cotton pillowcase, the sheets tangled around her legs. Her lemon-yellow nightshirt rucked up to the top of her thighs. He remembered well how soft those legs were to the touch, how strong when wrapped around his waist, insistently urging him along. Keeping his hands to himself with her in his space all the time was going to be tougher than he’d expected, but the game went to those who were patient.

      Jason sat on the edge and indulged himself by stroking her hair away from her face. He hated to disturb her, but also didn’t want to leave her alone in a strange place without checking on her. “Wake up, sleepyhead.”

      She rolled to her back and stretched, the nightshirt pulling taut over the growing curve of her stomach. Feeling the baby move the other day had been … amazing. And unsettling.

      Persuading Lauren to stay became all the more important.

      Her eyes flickered open, vague and unfocused. She smiled, reaching up to him, and just that damn fast he forgot about careful plans and brushed a kiss over each beautiful eye. Her soft skin enticed him to hang around a while longer, kiss the tip of her nose, her chin. He would have liked to work his way lower, but she wasn’t fully awake yet, and he wanted her aware and consenting the next time they had sex.

      She wriggled slowly, sensuously, beneath him, waking him up hard and fast, harder still as she sighed sweetly. He rested his forehead against hers.

      And then she froze, her eyes snapping open wide. “Jason—” she shoved at his chest and slid to the side “—I thought I told you to stay out of my bed.”

      He eased back, frustration pulsing through his veins. Patience. “You’re in my bed, remember?”

      “A technicality.” She tugged her nightshirt down to her knees with one hand and pulled the sheet up higher with her other.

      “I remember you being more of a morning person.” He lifted the black lacquer tray from the corner of the bed.

      “That