Wanted by the Boss: Sleeping with the Boss / Cowboy Boss / Billionaire Boss. Maureen Child

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СКАЧАТЬ She was pregnant. She had a baby inside her. Living. Growing. Oh, my.

      ‘‘Marry you?’’ she repeated, and pushed him out of her way so she could walk past him, ‘‘God, Rick. I’m about ten minutes pregnant and you want to plan a wedding?’’

      ‘‘It’s the right thing to do.’’

      ‘‘Sure,’’ she said over her shoulder as she stalked into the living room, ‘‘if you’re living in a movie from the fifties.’’

      He was right behind her. And suddenly, her living room seemed a lot smaller than usual.

      Grabbing her forearm, he turned her around to face him. ‘‘Eileen, that’s my baby you’re carrying.’’

      ‘‘Rick, it’s too soon to talk about this.’’ She needed quiet. She needed to think. To feel. To plan. Good God. She, Eileen Ryan, needed a plan? The woman who hadn’t planned anything in years? If she wasn’t so scared, she might have laughed at the idea.

      ‘‘Fine,’’ he said, and let her go, taking a step backward as if to keep himself from reaching for her again. ‘‘It’s too soon. But—’’ he waited for her to meet his gaze before continuing ‘‘—I have to know you’ll talk to me before you decide anything.’’

      His features were taut, strained, and Eileen knew he was feeling the same turmoil racing through her, so she smiled as she reached up to cup his face in her palm. ‘‘I promise. Just…give me a little time, okay?’’

      A few hours later, Eileen let herself into Larkspur, shutting the front door quietly behind her. Instantly she was enveloped in the commingled perfume of flowers. The scents of chrysanthemums, roses, sweet peas and dozens of others filled the small shop.

      Strings of tiny white lights outlined the two large windows that fronted Pacific Coast Highway and threw shadows around the small showroom. Galvanized buckets of water crouched in the center of the room, holding the flowers that didn’t need refrigeration to retain their freshness. Across the room were the glass refrigerator cases, where the roses, orchids and other more fragile flowers stood waiting their chance to be admired.

      She hit the overhead light switch and a bank of fluorescent lights flickered to life, dropping shadows around the room. Eileen walked into the back room where the florist supplies were kept. Glass vases in varied shapes and sizes and colors were stacked on a series of shelves. Nearby, there was florists tape and shears and green foam and everything else required to build the fantasy flower arrangements Larkspur was known for.

      Everything was neat as a pin. The floor was freshly swept and the cuttings from the day had been carried out to the trash can behind the shop.

      Flipping on the radio, Eileen listened to a slow, sad song about love and loss. Then she shrugged out of her sweatshirt and reached for one of the vases. Working with the flowers always relaxed her, gave her a chance to think. To let her mind wander while her hands were busy.

      And boy, did she need to think.

      Rick’s apartment was dark. Empty. He stood with his back to the room, staring out a bank of windows at the ocean below. Off shore, oil derrick islands were lit up like a tropical paradise and a few boats bobbed in the harbor, their running lights twinkling on the dark surface of the water.

      The quiet was starting to get to him. But he was used to being alone and he couldn’t remember it bothering him much before this past week and a half.

      Now, whenever he was in this place, all he could think about was leaving it. Going to work, where he’d see Eileen—or better yet, going to her house, where he could be with her. Being there, in her house, he felt…alive. There was warmth there. And laughter. There were long hours cuddled together on her couch watching old movies. There was music, drifting from her neighbor’s backyard and the sound of kids playing hoops down the street.

      Here…he turned from the windows and raked his gaze across the narrow, sparsely furnished room. After his divorce, he’d moved into this apartment, thinking it was a temporary thing. Then the days and weeks and months had slipped past and he’d stopped thinking about moving. Stopped living—beyond his work. Until Eileen.

      Fear chewed at his insides, though he didn’t want to admit it even to himself. When she left, as he knew she would, she’d not only be taking the warmth he’d only just discovered—she’d be taking his child.

      He couldn’t allow that.

      Taking a sip of his twelve-year-old Scotch, he felt the fiery liquid spill heat throughout his body and knew it wouldn’t last. The chill gripping him since leaving Eileen was bone deep.

      And it was only going to get worse.

      The ball whizzed past his opponent’s ear and Rick winced as the man ducked. ‘‘Sorry.’’

      ‘‘Man, who’re you trying to kill?’’ Mike Taylor asked. ‘‘Me? Or just a poor innocent ball?’’

      ‘‘Neither,’’ Rick said, and stalked to the sidelines where he’d dropped his towel and a quart-sized bottle of water.

      The early morning game of racquetball wasn’t going so well. He’d thought that a quick game would clear his head. That working up a sweat would somehow help him clear things in his mind. But it wasn’t working. Hell, he wasn’t even winning. Usually he was way ahead of Mike by now. Instead, he was six points behind and fading fast.

      Wiping his face with the towel, he slung it over his left shoulder and watched his friend approach. He and Mike had been college roommates. And that was the only thing they had in common. Rick studied the market and Mike built custom motorcycles for the idle rich. He was so damn good at it, he’d become rich himself—though far from idle. He still built the bikes himself, preferring to stay in the ‘‘pit’’ as he called it.

      ‘‘So what’s goin’ on?’’ Mike reached out for his bottle of water and unscrewed the cap.

      ‘‘Nothing.’’

      ‘‘Sure.’’ Mike took a long drink, then capped the bottle again. ‘‘You never play this bad, man. Something’s on your mind.’’

      Rick looked at his old friend for a long minute. ‘‘I asked Eileen Ryan to marry me.’’

      Mike was so damn impassive, Rick wasn’t really sure his friend had heard him. Until he said, ‘‘Are you nuts?’’

      ‘‘Entirely possible,’’ Rick muttered.

      ‘‘Thought you swore off marriage after Allison left you bloody and broke.’’

      ‘‘I did.’’

      Mike snorted a laugh and slung his towel around his neck. ‘‘Proposing’s a weird way to avoid marriage, man.’’

      ‘‘She’s pregnant.’’

      Mike’s blue eyes went wide as he scraped one hand across his jaw. ‘‘You sure it’s yours?’’

      That was the one worry that had never crossed his mind. Eileen was too honest and outspoken to lie about something like this.

      ‘‘Yeah, СКАЧАТЬ