Little Secrets: His Pregnant Secretary. Joanne Rock

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      His arm brushed hers. The intimacy of this private meal reminded her she needed to be careful around him. She needed this job desperately. Her father relied on her and good opportunities were difficult to come by locally for a woman with no college degree. She couldn’t afford to leave the island to find more options. Balancing her plate carefully, she shifted deeper against the seat cushion to try to insert some space between her and her tempting dining companion.

      “Damon doesn’t know about them?” she asked, trying to focus her scattered thoughts on his last comment.

      “Only in a peripheral way. We were aware of their existence for years, but they didn’t contact us until recently.” Jager filled his plate as well. “Cameron McNeill and his brother Ian flew out to Los Altos Hills last month to introduce themselves and make it clear their grandfather wants to unite the whole family. Including the bastard Martinique branch.”

      Delia took her time responding, biting into the tender chicken and taking a sip from the water glass Jager passed her. She knew that he had no love for his father after the man disappeared from their lives—refusing to leave his wife for Jager’s mother—when Gabe, the youngest son, was just ten years old. Their father had only visited the boys a few times a year before that, making it impossible to build a relationship. They’d lived in California back then. But after the father quit coming to visit, their mother sold the house and used the proceeds to buy an old plantation home in Martinique, purposely making it difficult for the boys’ father to find them even if he’d wanted to. As far as Jager was concerned, however, his father had abandoned their family long before that time.

      Jager had shared all that with Delia in the past, but the latest developments were news to her.

      “It’s the right thing for your grandfather to do,” she said finally. “You, Damon and Gabe have as much claim to the McNeill empire as your father’s legitimate sons.”

      “Not in the eyes of the law.” Jager scowled down at his plate.

      “The business belongs to your grandfather.” She knew the rudimentary facts about the hotel giant. They owned enough properties throughout the Caribbean to warrant regular coverage in regional news publications. “Malcolm McNeill gets to choose how he wants to divide his legacy.” She waited a moment, and when he didn’t argue, she continued, “Have you met him?”

      “Absolutely not. That’s what they want—for me to get on a plane and go to New York to meet the old man.” He speared a piece of white fish with his fork. “They claim Malcolm McNeill is in declining health, but if it’s true, they’re keeping a tight lock on the news since I haven’t seen a whisper of it in the business pages.”

      Her jaw dropped. How could he be so stubborn?

      “Jager, what if something happened to him and you never got to meet him?” She only had her father for family, so she couldn’t imagine what it might be like to have more siblings and family who wanted to be a part of her life. “They’re family.”

      “By blood, maybe. But not by any definition that matters in my book.” Reaching for a bottle of chilled Viognier the server had left for them, Jager poured two glasses, passing her one before taking a sip of his own.

      “And does Gabe feel the same way?” She had a hard time imagining the youngest McNeill digging his heels in so completely. Whereas Jager resolutely watched over his siblings like a de facto father, Gabe went his own way more often than not. He’d only invested in Transparent—Damon’s tech company—after considerable urging from his siblings. Gabe preferred to stick close to the hotel he owned on Martinique and was renovating the place by hand.

      His older brothers had scoffed at the manual labor, but Delia noticed that Gabe was having a hard time finishing the hotel work because his craftsmanship skills had developed a following, making him in demand for other restoration projects around the Caribbean, all the way to Miami.

      “Gabe is outvoted by Damon and me.” He took two more bites before he noticed she hadn’t responded. When he turned toward her, she glared at him.

      “Meaning he disagrees?” she asked.

      “Meaning Damon would feel the same way I do, so if Gabe chooses to disagree, he’s still outnumbered.”

      Delia set her plate aside on the rattan chest, then put her wineglass beside it.

      “Damon might have a very different opinion about family after losing someone,” she observed quietly.

      Jager went still.

      “You have a lot to say about something that doesn’t concern you, Delia.” He set aside his half-eaten meal as well, and turned to face her.

      “Doesn’t it?” She shifted toward him, their knees almost brushing. “I could give you an update on my plans for next year’s community garden or how to increase profits at the marina, but it’s hard to ignore the fact that you just turned your back on a family member who looks eerily like your missing brother.”

      “It’s not eerie.” His tone softened. “It’s simple genetics. And I find you a whole lot tougher to ignore than my half brother.”

      She opened her mouth to deliver a retort and found herself speechless. The air in the room changed—as if the molecules had swollen up with heat and weight, pressing down on her. Making her far too aware of scents, sounds and him.

      “That’s good,” she said finally, recovering herself—barely. She needed to tackle his comment head-on, address whatever simmered between them before they both got burned. “Because I don’t want to be ignored. I would have hoped you’d listen to my opinion the way I once listened to yours when I was having some rough times.”

      She hoped that it was safe to remind him of the start to their relationship. She’d felt a flare of attraction for him that day too, but she’d been too shredded by her former fiancé and too mistrusting of her own judgment to act on it. For his part, Jager had seemed oblivious to her eyes wandering over his muscled chest and lean hips covered by a sea-washed pair of swim trunks. He’d quietly assessed the situation despite her tearful outburst about her thwarted marriage, and he’d given her direction, plus a face-saving way out of her dilemma at the time.

      She hadn’t been able to pay the taxes on the family’s land that year either. Her dad had been injured in a fishing accident three years ago and couldn’t earn half the living he used to selling fresh catch to local restaurants. But Jager had given her a job and the income had staved off foreclosure. Plus, Jager had given her a place to stay far away from her ex, and time to find herself.

      Now, he looked at her with warmth in his blue eyes. A heat that might stem from something more than friendship.

      “Maybe I liked to flatter myself that I was the one doling out all the advice in this relationship.” His self-deprecating smile slid past her defenses faster than any heated touch.

      “I don’t think any of us exercise our best judgment when our world is flipped upside down.” She’d been a wreck when they’d met. Literally. She’d almost plowed right into him on a Jet Ski she’d taken from the dock near where she’d planned to say her vows.

      “Is that what’s happening here?” he asked, shifting on the sofa cushions in a way that squared them up somehow. Put him fractionally closer. “The world is off-kilter today?”

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