The Boss's Pregnancy Proposal. Raye Morgan

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      She’d expected him to react with surprise. Maybe even shock. After all, he’d just admitted she was one of the best employees he had. When he realized what had happened surely he would do something to straighten things out. Surely he would tell her he’d reprimand whomever it was that put her on the list for layoffs. Maybe he would invite her to come back and even give her a nice fat raise to make up for…

      Her head jerked as she came out of her dream and heard how he actually responded to her announcement of her firing.

      “Yes, I know.”

      “You know?” she echoed stupidly.

      He knew. He’d probably put her on the list on purpose. Hey, fire the blond chick—she’s good but she gets on my nerves. Smart is one thing, smart aleck is another. Get rid of her.

      Suddenly she was furious—as angry as she’d been when she’d first heard she was a goner. Pulling away from his grip on her arm, she turned on him fiercely.

      “But you think you know everything, don’t you? Did you also know I just lost my second job, the one I use to help get out of a mountain of debt that’s about to eat me alive? Did you also know that I’m about to be evicted from my apartment because I can’t pay the rent? Do you ever think about things like that when you casually toss people overboard? Or are we just like chess pieces in a big, careless game that doesn’t mean a thing to you?”

      His handsome face could have been cut from stone. “Are you finished?”

      “No! There are others just like me. Everyone in the research department, in fact. We were all living by the skin of our teeth, paycheck to paycheck…because you don’t exactly pay a lot to your lower-level employees, do you? And now every one of us is out on her ear, wondering where the next meal is coming from….”

      “Okay, enough,” he demanded, stopping the words in her throat. “Can the outrage, Norma Rae. We don’t encourage peasant rebellions around here.” He’d pulled out another handkerchief and was wiping at the blood on his face and dabbing at the mess it had made on the front of his shirt.

      “Imagine the damage you could have done with a pitchfork,” he muttered.

      A sharp retort sprang to her lips, but before she could get the words out, she noticed that the bleeding was worse than she’d thought. She had to bite her lip to hold back a small cry. Every instinct in her wanted to leap forward and do something about the wound. Heal him. Maybe even comfort him. After all, it was pretty much her fault, no matter what she said to him.

      The funny thing was he’d never looked more attractive to her. His dark hair was mussed, some of it falling down over his forehead. And there was a sort of vulnerability to him because of the cut and the blood and all. He usually looked so invincible. It was a refreshing change in a way.

      And then he ruined it all by looking up with his mouth twisted in the usual sardonic style.

      “Come along, my little attempted murderess,” he said, turning toward the corridor. “You’re going to have to fix what you’ve broken.”

      She followed willingly enough as he led the way to his office. Guilt was making her pliable for the moment.

      She hadn’t been in his office very often. She knew women who looked for any excuse to make a visit here, but she wasn’t one of them. As the best-looking unattached male—and the CEO’s nephew—he was considered quite a catch.

      She’d never found him all that attractive herself. Too much arrogance there. That take-charge attitude did nothing but put her off. It reminded her too much of her short but miserable marriage. Not that Grant was anything like Ralph, really. At least Grant’s arrogance was based on a certain level of competence. Ralph’s had been mostly bluster.

      Still, she’d vowed she would never again let a man rule her life the way her husband had tried to rule hers all those years and she tended to stay clear of men like Grant.

      His office was a lot like him—handsome and well-maintained. Plush carpeting muffled sound; leather, wood and black glass provided a rich atmosphere. One framed photograph, set high at the back of the office, immediately drew the eye. The beautiful dark-haired woman holding an even more beautiful dark-eyed toddler had to be the wife and child she knew had died in a horrible car accident a few years ago.

      The tragedy of losing a child—she could hardly bear to think of it. They said he’d changed after the accident. That he became a completely different person. She had no way of knowing what he’d been like before, but she found it hard to believe he’d been full of joy and laughter and the milk of human kindness in his earlier incarnation. The man she knew was totally focused on business and success and not much else.

      So…just as she was a widow, he was a widower. She’d never put those two identities together like that before. Just the thought made her jump back mentally, as though she’d put her hand on a hot stove. No, she didn’t want to go there.

      “So, where is your first-aid kit?” she asked. She put the pieces of her orchid pot on the desk and turned, noting there was a door leading to a private bathroom.

      “I’ll take care of the cut,” he said, beginning to shrug out of his shirt. “You take care of the bloodstains on this.”

      He held out the shirt to her but she had a hard time noticing. Her attention was caught and held by the incredible sight of his beautiful torso.

      Men his age weren’t supposed to look this good. He had to be in his thirties. By then, most males she knew had started to let lust for potato chips and beer overcome the desire to work out at the gym. Somebody had forgotten to clue Grant in to the routine. He was as gorgeous as a Greek statue.

      And just as cold, she reminded herself quickly, working hard to keep her breathing steady.

      She felt numb as she took the shirt and started toward the sink in the bathroom. Had she stared too long? Had he noticed? Oh please, don’t let him have noticed! She turned the faucet up high and began scrubbing at the shirt with all her might.

      “I don’t know,” he was saying, and there he was right behind her again, looking into the mirror over her head and dabbing at the wound. “What do you think? Iodine? Mercurochrome?”

      She turned to look at his cut, but he was standing much too close and all she could look at was the golden skin, the stunning muscles. Could she actually feel the heat from his body? He smelled so good, like soap and fresh-cut grass. For just a moment, she was overwhelmed by the need to touch him. It swept over her in a choking wave and she felt herself yearning toward him. Every part of her wanted to feel that beautiful flesh.

      It had been far too long since a man had held her in his arms.

      “Oh!” she cried, turning back. “Go out,” she ordered, staring down at the white shirt still in the sink and pointing toward the door.

      “What’s the matter?”

      “You’re like…naked!”

      “I’m not naked. I just don’t have a shirt on.”

      She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “You’re naked. Either you go out or I will.”

      He was about to say something. She could feel him revving up for it. СКАЧАТЬ