More Than a Millionaire / The Untamed Sheikh. Emilie Rose

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      Her less than enthusiastic response took a bite out of his ego. He wasn’t used to women refusing his company.

      “I’m assuming you’re hungry. Other than the squirrel food you pulled out of your purse over an hour ago, you’ve had nothing to eat all afternoon. In my experience pregnant women need to eat regularly.”

      “Dried fruit is a healthy snack.”

      “It wasn’t substantial enough to keep a rodent going. Did you have other plans tonight?”

      She glanced at the steak house, inhaled deeply and licked her lips. No doubt the aroma of grilling beef emanating from the premises made her mouth water as it did his. That was the only reason his mouth dampened. His reaction had nothing to do with the slow glide of her pink tongue. “No.”

      “Then let’s eat. You can give me a list of things the agent needs to look for in the next house.” He climbed from the vehicle and came around to her side. He reached her just in time to see her swing those long legs out the door. Her thigh and calf muscles flexed beneath the hem of her above-the-knee-length dress as she rose. She had great muscle tone, but she was lean like a distance biker or a runner.

      He offered a hand which she ignored. Point taken. She didn’t want this to feel like a date any more than he did. And while part of him respected the boundaries she marked, another part of him wanted an excuse for contact. But that would be flirting with danger. Not smart.

      As he escorted her to the entrance he placed his palm at the base of her spine. Her startled jump let him know his touch wasn’t welcome, and the tingle rising up his arm warned him that he danced on a hazardous edge.

      Inside the darkened pub-style interior he gave the hostess his name. She led him and Nicole toward the table for two he’d requested. His gaze drifted past Nicole’s slender waist to her slim hips in the burgundy dress. No one would guess her condition if she didn’t tell them, and he was counting on her not volunteering the information in the next hour.

      The waitress took their drink and appetizer orders and left them a basket of rolls. Nicole immediately selected a piece of bread, split it open and slathered butter on the steaming center. The hot yeasty smell reached across the table.

      Her blissful expression as she tore off small pieces and tucked them between her lips made it look as if the bread were the most delicious thing she’d ever put in her mouth. For some reason that made him think of sex. Would she look the same when she took a man inside her?

      He reached for his iced water, but clenching the cold glass didn’t distract him. The woman was getting to him—probably a combination of knowing he couldn’t have her and his recent celibacy. Since he’d begun his surrogate search he hadn’t had time for a relationship. All the energy he hadn’t devoted to his job had been expended on reaching his goal.

      “You’ve shot down two houses. Do you have any suggestions for where to look next?”

      “North Knoxville is nice.”

      Near her sister’s suburban cookie-cutter neighborhood. Decent area, but a little too stifling for his tastes. “If I had time I’d design and build a house.”

      “Why don’t you?”

      He hoped the kid had her eyes. The color reminded him of the Caribbean waters off the bow of the sailing yacht he’d cruised on last summer. “Six months isn’t long enough to do it right.”

      “If you used your surrogate you’d have more time.”

      The statement surprised a chuckle out of him. Persistent, wasn’t she? He gave her credit for trying. “She’s been paid for her time and released from her contract.”

      “I’m sure you could get her back if you wanted—”

      “I don’t.”

      She abandoned the last bite of bread. “Ryan, it would be easier for everyone if you let this go.”

      “The easy way isn’t always the right way. And time is an issue. I want a baby before next summer.” Before his father retired.

      The front door swung open. His father and his buddies walked in right on time. Dear old Dad had a habit of scanning any room to search for potential connections. Ryan always did the same, but he hoped he was more subtle. As expected, his father spotted them and broke away from his group to stride in Ryan’s direction.

      He stopped by the table and, ignoring Ryan, offered his hand to Nicole with as much polish as a politician. “We haven’t met. I’m Harlan Patrick. You’re Nicole Hightower.”

      Nicole blinked and sent a quick questioning glance Ryan’s way before pasting on a professional smile. “Yes. You’re Ryan’s father?”

      She couldn’t miss the resemblance. His father might be six inches shorter and twenty pounds heavier, but otherwise, they looked a lot alike. Same hair. Same eyes. Same profile. The Patrick Irish genes were strong.

      “That’s right. Ryan, you didn’t tell me you were dining here tonight. You could have joined us.”

      “Nicole and I have business to discuss.”

      Ryan had chosen this table specifically because there wasn’t any space for his father and his cronies to pull up another and join them. Nicole didn’t seem like the type to blurt her condition to a stranger before she’d informed the rest of her family, but he didn’t want to risk the news of her pregnancy slipping out and shocking the ultraconservative golfers—particularly his father who would definitely find fault with Ryan’s method of providing an heir. After the fact was soon enough.

      “Would you like to join us in the bar for a drink?” His father addressed Nicole.

      “Nicole doesn’t drink.” Not while she was carrying his kid.

      His father shot him a scowl. “I’d like to hear more about Hightower Aviation. Patrick Architectural is considering engaging your services.”

      He noted his father didn’t give him credit for the idea. He caught another flash of panic in Nicole’s eyes. A pleat formed between her eyebrows before she turned back to his father. “I’m sure HAMC could meet your needs, but our sales department can answer your questions better than I can.”

      She dug in her purse, extracted a business card and pen and scribbled something on the back. “This is my brother Brent’s direct line. Why don’t you give him a call?”

      Brent. The one who was probably cheating on his wife. After three minutes of his company at the picnic Ryan didn’t like or trust the guy, and he didn’t want him anywhere near his kid.

      He took the card before his father could. “I’ve already spoken to one of your sales reps, Nicole, and given my father his card and a current brochure.”

      Nicole met his gaze. The color leeched from her face and a trapped look entered her eyes. “You didn’t mention you’d been thinking of contracting our services.”

      “I’ve been investigating the possibility, and as I said, I’ve spoken to one of your salesmen. The idea is financially viable for us.” He turned to his father. “Dad, if you’ll excuse us?”

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