The Millionaire's Secret Baby. Crystal Green

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СКАЧАТЬ bushes at the Rhodes boys: Harry, with his untamable cowlick, Deston, with his shirttail always trailing out of his pants until Mrs. Rhodes would tuck it back in and shake her head at his carelessness. The girls would giggle to each other, every one taking a turn at imagining ways that Harry or Deston would propose to them.

      In a jet to Monte Carlo? On a ballroom floor? On a yacht?

      They’d played their hide-and-sigh games until Harry and Deston had each gone off to prep school. Then college. Mama had told Emmy that Deston had come back to San Antonio a few years ago to become a businessman just like his father.

      But, by then, Emmy had gone off to complete her own destiny, reluctantly using the gift of her parents’ life savings in order to train for the job she’d always been expected to assume.

      But now, Deston was right here, so close she could lift her hand and touch the long spiky strands of his hair. So close she could smell a hint of sage on his tanned skin, see it in the green of his eyes. There was a slight dimple in his strong chin, too, and a touch of stubble slinking along his jawline.

      “Thanks,” she ribbeted, doing her best impression of a toad. Grabbing the water, she fiddled with the top, hating that he made her feel as if she was always craning her neck to catch sight of him. A boy on a pedestal.

      Now a man.

      Oh, yeah. All man.

      He crouched next to her, setting his Stetson on the limestone, waiting.

      What should she do? Emmy wasn’t exactly a world-class flirt, especially after what had happened in Italy…. Not that it mattered now. Nope. It was just that she’d heard about all Deston’s brief romances from the servants, who’d caught her up on every detail the minute she’d walked through the downstairs door.

      Talk to him, she thought. Chat, just chat.

      “So,” she said, buying time. How did his friend act? Did he even know, not having seen her for years, either?

      He grinned, his gaze brushing over Emmy’s short, layered hair, over the curve of her back. Goose pimples winged over her skin.

      “I’ve kept up on your life,” she said. Good, that much was true. She’d stick to basic gossip, keeping the situation as innocuous as possible. “You were such a football star in school. Quarterback, right?”

      He lifted up a hand in resignation, glanced away. “That’s over and done with.”

      “Why didn’t you keep at it? You were supposed to be pretty good.” He’d been the best. She knew because she and her friends, Carlota and Felicia, had faithfully followed the papers, the gossip.

      “I always knew I was meant to run Rhodes Industries one day,” Deston said. He grabbed a twig from the ground, bent it, straightened it. “But my family gets a lot of mileage out of the whole Longhorn quarterback mystique.”

      “It does add prestige to your business image, doesn’t it?”

      He snapped the twig, tossed it away. Stood to his full height. His body cast a shadow over Emmy, all harnessed strength and dark memory.

      “Isn’t that why your father wanted to spend time here on the ranch?” he asked. “Because he wanted to talk statistics and relive a few glorified touchdowns?”

      Her Papa? Nigel Brown, bless him, was thirteen years gone. And he’d be miffed by his daughter wanting to be anyone other than what she was born for.

      She opened her mouth to correct Deston’s assumptions, but he was talking again.

      “That’s how Edward Rhodes the Third draws them in, with promises of pigskin glamour and riches beyond imagination.”

      A threat of bitterness laced his words. She knew about Mr. Rhodes, how strict he was about running the ranch, the staff, the polished reputation of a millionaire family.

      She couldn’t see Deston’s face, thanks to the sun’s angle. Good thing, because once she revealed she wasn’t from the Stanhope family, she didn’t want to see his reaction.

      There was a loud thrashing from across the swimming hole, and they both glanced over to see what had caused the racket.

      A white-tailed deer had emerged from the foliage, gracefully walking along the water’s edge.

      “Look,” Emmy said, momentarily lost in the sight. It’d been a long time since she’d been in Hill Country, and she’d missed it terribly.

      The animal sensed them, stiffened, then burst away in a flash of legs and brown hide.

      Deston leaned down, casually plucked at the knot that held together the back of Emmy’s hankie top, then stood again. “Come on, let’s make the most of your last day here, Lila.”

      He started to unbutton his shirt.

      Lila. “Hey, I—” Her mouth clamped shut.

      He’d whipped off the material, revealing tanned skin, work-honed muscles, abs that you could grate cheese on. When he undid the fly of his jeans, Emmy averted her eyes.

      “I need to tell you something.”

      “What?” Heavy denim thumped in front of her, bodiless.

      Oh, mercy. He was—as her mama might say—nudo, wasn’t he?

      Unable to help herself, Emmy peeked out of the corner of her gaze. She caught a glimpse of white boxers. Phew. Or maybe not. No, definitely phew. The last thing she needed was to be out in the middle of the boonies with a buck-naked boss’s son. She’d get Mama fired in a second flat after what had happened a few years ago between Harry Rhodes and the maid, and, Lord knew, Mama needed every penny….

      “You just gonna sit there?” Deston asked.

      Emmy nodded, staring straight ahead. Should she concentrate on her book now? Like Water for Chocolate, something she’d read and used for recipes a million times before.

      “Suit yourself.” He whisked by her, body arching into the pond like a switchblade cocked open.

      Deston obviously knew the depths of the swimming hole from his youth. When the servant kids had played here, they’d vacated the hole at the first sign of a Rhodes.

      Emmy had never seen him swim, never seen him knife upward in a spray of droplets. The water sprinkled onto her arms, and she leaned backward.

      “Hey!”

      He laughed, clearly having the time of his life, slinging the hair out of his eyes with one whip of his head, pushing into a backstroke as he aimed another burst of water at her.

      “Come in,” he yelled, turning over and swimming away.

      Moisture sluiced off the sinew of his back, trickling over the smooth taper of muscle flowing into waist. His boxers were plastered to the rounds of his backside, hugging the indentation right below his hips. She could imagine fitting her palm there, tracing the ridges of him.

      Emmy watched him move effortlessly, athletically, parting the water before him. Diving beneath the surface, СКАЧАТЬ