The Boss's Baby Arrangement. Catherine Mann

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      Maureen was an individual guaranteed not to mistake Easton’s attention as interest and an invitation to leave ten voice mails. Maureen was much like Xander when it came to romance.

      Not interested.

      He’d learned she was divorced and, from her standoffish demeanor just beneath that plush-lipped smile, he got the impression it hadn’t been a pleasant split. No doubt the man had been an idiot to let such a gorgeous, intelligent woman walk out of his life.

      Xander extended his hand. “Sorry to have stolen your dance partner. I had to send my brother off. Dance with me.”

      “Dance? With you?” She swept her long red curls back over her shoulder, her face flushed from heat and exertion.

      “Is that such a strange request?”

      “I didn’t expect you to know how to dance, much less to know an Irish jig.”

      He winced. “An Irish jig?”

      She grinned impishly, gesturing to the stage with elegant hands, nails short but painted a glittering gold for the party. “Next up on the band’s request list. Your brother double-dog dared me.”

      Double-dog dare? No wonder Easton had left the dance floor so easily and with a grin on his face. He’d set Xander up.

      And Xander wasn’t one to back down from a challenge. “I’m a man of many talents. Our mother insisted we boys attend dance classes as teens.” He braced his shoulders. “Whatever I don’t know, you can teach me.”

      “Good for your mama.”

      “And that dance?”

      She propped a hand on her hip, her whispery yellow gown hitching along curves as she eyed him with emerald-green eyes. Finally she shrugged. “Sure. Why not? I would like to see the big boss give it a try.”

      “Remember, you’ll have to help me brush up on the steps.”

      “We’ll keep the moves simple.” She extended an elbow. “Steel drums playing Irish tunes is a first, not too intricate but still fun.”

      He bowed before hooking elbows with her. Damn. He’d forgotten how soft a woman’s skin felt. Clearing his throat, he mimicked her steps, mixed with a periodic spin. Her hair fanned across his chest as she whipped around.

      His body reacted to the simple contact.

      Had to be lack of sex messing with his brain.

      But holy hell, the dance seemed to go on forever with his blood pressure ramping by the second until, thank God, the band segued to a slower tune. And still he didn’t step away. In spite of the twinge of guilt he felt over the surprise attraction, he extended his hands and took her into his arms for a more traditional dance. The scent of citrus—lemons and grapefruit—teased his nose like an aphrodisiac.

      Maybe the Irish dance hadn’t been such a good idea after all.

      He searched for something to say to distract himself from the gentle give of her under his touch, the occasional skim of her body against his. “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.”

      “I enjoy anything that makes money for the refuge.” Her eyes glimmered in the starlight, loose curls feathering over the top of his hand along her waist. “I love my work here.”

      “Your devotion is admirable.”

      “Thank you.” Her face flashed with indecision.

      “You don’t believe me?”

      “It’s not that. But let’s not talk shop right now and spoil the moment. We can talk tomorrow.” She chewed her bottom lip. “I have an appointment to see you.”

      “You do? I don’t recall seeing your name on my calendar.”

      “Not all of us have a personal assistant to keep track of our schedules.”

      “Am I being insulted?” He had a secretary, but not a personal assistant who followed him around all day like his brother did. Although his brother was known to be an absentminded-professor type.

      “No insult meant at all. You’ve made a great future for yourself and for Rose. It’s clear you didn’t ride off your family fortune, but increased it. That’s commendable.” She shook her head, sending her curls prancing along his hand again. “I’m just frustrated. Ignore me. Dance.”

      Her order came just as the band picked up with a sultry Latin beat.

      * * *

      Maureen Burke danced with abandon.

      Throwing herself into this pocket of time, matching the steps of this leanly athletic man with charismatic blue eyes and a sexual intensity as potent as his handsome face.

      Brains. Brilliance. A body to die for and a loyal love of family.

      Xander Lourdes was a good man.

      But not her man.

      So Maureen allowed herself to dance with the abandon she never would have dared otherwise. Not now. Not after all she’d been through.

      She breathed in the salty air mixed with the scent of fresh burning wood from the bonfire. What a multifaceted word. Abandon. She danced with freedom. But she’d also been abandoned and that hadn’t felt like freedom at all. The pain. The grief. Being given up on for no good reason other than the fact she wasn’t a good fit for her ex-husband’s life after all she had put up with. After she’d ignored the urgings of so many friends to leave him and his emotional abuse.

      Rejection.

      She’d known they had problems. Maureen was always willing to work at broken things. Hell, her never-say-die nature made her compatible and adept in a wildlife refuge. Vows meant something to her. She’d always expected if she ever got divorced it would be because of a major event—physical abuse or drugs. But for nothing more than “I love you but I can’t live with you”? Like she’d filled their home with some toxic substance.

      More of that negative thinking born of years of his tearing her down until finally—thank God, finally—she’d wised up and realized he was, in fact, the toxin.

      So she’d let him go and left their home full of insults and negativity. Hell, she’d left County Cork to get as far away from him and the ache as possible. It wasn’t like she had family or anything else holding her back. Her parents were dead and her marriage was a disaster. There’d been nowhere else for her to go except to the US and accept the job in a field of work she loved so much.

      She allowed herself to be swept away by the dance, the music and the pulse of the drums pushing through her veins with every heartbeat, faster and faster. Arching timbres of the steel drums urged her to absorb every fiber of this moment.

      Too soon, her work visa was due to expire, and officials had thus far denied her requests to extend it. She would have to go home. To face all she’d run from, to leave this amazing place where abandon meant beauty and exuberance. Freedom.

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