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“You come back to New York in two weeks, but we leave the engagement on the books to quiet your mom and my client.” He clasped her finger and folded it against his chest, enfolding her in the warmth of his touch and chocolate-brown eyes.
“After a while, we can say time apart took its toll.”
“Hey, we just became engaged.” His thumb rasped along the inside of her wrist, her pulse leaping in response. “Do we have to plan the breakup already?”
“Quit trying to make me laugh.” And quit trying to turn me on.
He linked their fingers, holding her as firmly with his molten brown gaze. “But you have the most beautiful smile. Call me a selfish bastard, but I like to see it.”
The heat of his hand and his eyes stoked the barely banked fire inside her. She needed to hold strong.
Lauren eased her hand away. “I have one final condition.”
“Name it. I’ll make it happen.”
Lauren clasped the arms of her chair to keep her hands off him and her resolve in place. “Under no circumstances will we be sleeping together again.”
She’d agreed to go to California to give herself breathing room to regroup, to save her company and, yes, to help him secure his job. But she refused to let him blindside her a second time. She couldn’t risk the way sex with Jason stole her ability to think straight.
As she stared at his broad shoulders and steamy brown eyes, she wondered if she’d cut off her nose to spite her face.
Jason had known he would win in the end. Still, he was damn glad to be pulling up to his home in San Francisco’s Mission District with Lauren firmly planted in the seat next to him. Sure, she’d tossed that “no sex” clause into the agreement, a frustrating turn. Not unexpected, though. And not insurmountable. He’d seen the arousal in her eyes, the tightening of her nipples under her sweater.
He had hope.
Their day traveling together had gone well in a chartered flight with a catered supper on Sunday night. He’d bided his time and kept things low-key. He had two weeks to win her over, and he wasn’t going to blow it on the first day by pushing too fast. Right now, he needed to focus on getting her settled into his restored Victorian house for the night as smoothly as possible.
The streetlamps brightened the inside of the sedan. Lauren pressed her hand to the window of his Saab, her eyes widening. “You have a house.”
“I don’t live in my car.”
She laughed lightly, then looked back at the house as he drove around to the garage. “I just expected you to live in some cool condo in a singles’ complex.” She looked closer and gasped. “And look at that window box next door. They already have some flowers in January. This is all so … domestic.”
He hadn’t thought of it that way and wasn’t sure he was comfortable with the label. He turned off the ignition and closed the garage door. “When I was in the Navy, I spent so much time on a cramped ship and on the road. I’m ready for a space of my own.”
“Babies are noisy and take up lots of room.”
“Unless you’re pregnant with a dozen sailors, I don’t think we’re going to have a problem with space.” Winking, he stepped out of the car and opened the door for her, leading her out to the covered walkway connecting the new garage to the historic, million-dollar home.
He’d bought the property for its location. As he walked up the steps to the side entrance, he saw the details anew through Lauren’s artistic eyes—an old remolded Victorian home, gray with white trim. Hardwood floors stretched throughout, the newly refinished sheen gleaming as he flicked on the lights. Crown molding and multipaned stained-glass windows had made it too good an investment to pass up.
“This is absolutely gorgeous.” She spun on her heel, her loose dress swirling around her calves. Her pinup-girl curves and beauty sucker punched him.
Jason loosened his tie. “I like being at the center of things.”
“Does that mean you’re not a workaholic anymore?” She skimmed her fingers along the marble fireplace mantel, her gaze skipping around the room with obvious appreciation.
He’d known the vintage home would appeal to her. He hadn’t been shopping for the two of them when he’d bought the house, but appreciated the dumb luck of owning a home she liked. Or would that qualify as having something in common?
“My time for recreation is very limited. Having restaurants and nightlife more accessible makes sense.”
She traced the chair rail down the hall. “What a find.”
He set her luggage at the foot of the stairs. “The couple who lived here before remodeled the whole place, wiring and all. They even gutted and updated the kitchen and baths.”
“So how did you luck into it?” Her auburn hair swished along her back as she looked over her shoulder at him.
“Apparently the renovations put a strain on their marriage and they ended up in divorce court. It looked like they broke up in the middle of a project. The upstairs guest bath still had the materials for wallpaper stripping set up in the tub.” He’d been working so hard landing the Prentice account, he’d only gotten around to clearing out that guest bathroom the week before. “Neither of them could afford to keep the house on their own, so they sold it.”
“How sad.” She wrapped her arms around her waist, accentuating her lush curves. “Don’t you worry about stepping into all that bad karma?”
“I would worry more about paying the extra cash to get the same house down the road.”
“I guess so,” she said, her soft voice bouncing around the nearly empty space. “What about furniture?”
He glanced at the bare walls and mostly vacant rooms. A few moving boxes were stacked in a corner in each room. He just pulled out what he needed as he needed it. “I haven’t had time to pick anything out and my old place came furnished. So once I got here, I bought the bare basics and went to work. I figured I might as well wait to do it right rather than buy a bunch of crap I regret later on.” He gestured for her to follow him. “Come on back to the kitchen. I have seats and food.”
“You could hire a decorator.” Her footsteps echoed down the hall on her way into the kitchen. Her gasp of pleasure at the spacious layout made him smile.
“I can wait. I have everything I need.” He steered her toward one of the two bar stools at the mammoth island between the kitchen and eating area. “A recliner, a big TV. There’s a bed upstairs with a top-of-the-line mattress.”
Her lips went tight as she sat, resting her elbows on the Brazilian-granite countertop. “Where will I be sleeping?”
“In my bed of course.” His temperature spiked at just the words. He opened the refrigerator. “Bottled water? Fruit?”
“Yes, please.” She stood and took the drink and grapes from him. “Then I hope for your sake that your guest room has a comfy bed or sofa.”
God, he loved the way she didn’t take his bull, just quietly lobbing the serve back to him. “No furniture there, either. I’ll sleep in the recliner for now and have another mattress delivered.”
“That really sucks for you tonight, because I am not going to feel sorry for you and invite you to share the bed.” She tipped back her water.
“You’re heartless.” He slid a hand behind her waist and brought a grape to her lips.
“I’m fairly certain I made myself clear about the sleeping arrangements before we left New York.” She plucked the grape from his hands and popped it into her mouth.
“Can’t blame a guy for trying.” His thumb stroked along her spine as he watched her eyes for any signs of arousal—like the widening of her pupils, the pulse along her neck quickening.
“Jason, we can’t just sleep together for a couple of weeks and then have a civil relationship. It’s not logical. We have a child to think about. We can’t afford to take risks.”
Since she hadn’t shoved him away, he urged her a little closer until she stood between his knees. “Don’t you think our kid would like to see us together?”
“Are you suddenly magically ready for a long-term relationship? Because you damn well weren’t prepared for that four months ago.”
His eye twitched. “Sure, why not?”
“How charming.” Her lip curled. She shoved his arms away and charged toward the stairs.
“Hey, I’m trying here.” He spread his arms wide, following. “This is uncharted territory for me, too.”
She gripped her roll bag. “I’m going to bed. Alone. Enjoy your recliner.”
Not a problem, since he doubted he would sleep, anyway.
“I will. Thanks. I’m a deep sleeper.” He slid the suitcase from her hand. “And I’m also a guy who can’t watch a woman—especially a pregnant woman—lug a suitcase up the stairs.”
Without another word, he loped ahead of her. He had her in his house and he had two weeks to work his way into her bed. And once he got there? He intended to make sure she wasn’t so quick to boot him out again.
Five
Loneliness echoed around her in the empty bedroom.
Lauren slumped against the closed door, Jason’s footsteps growing softer as he made his way to his recliner. Sure, she jammed too much furniture and plant life into her apartment back in Manhattan, but this space? It was beyond sparse.
A mattress on a frame.
One brass side table for a lamp and alarm clock.
And a closet full of clothes hanging from the racks and neatly folded on the shelves.
She pitched her purse on the bed, the bag bouncing to rest on the brown-and-blue comforter. Again the ring rolled out like a bad penny that kept turning up. Lauren placed it on the brass table. The generic piece of furniture.
Damn it, she didn’t want to feel sorry for him. Jason was known as a shark in the business world, and stakes were too high for her to be caught unawares. But something about this place made her sad, made her want to bring flowers and color and noise to his world.
His whole house looked forlorn, for that matter, all the sadder given the home absolutely shouted out for love and attention, parties and family. Although he did have two bar stools in the kitchen. Had they come with the place or had be bought them with the notion of entertaining someone?
Kneeling, she unzipped her suitcase and pulled out the silky nightshirt that still fit. But for how much longer? She smoothed a hand over the growing curve of her stomach. Certainly not femme fatale material.
Her eyes scanned the empty walls, the barren bay window that cried out for a pair of comfy chairs, perfect for a couple watching a sunrise together. But other than those bar stools, it didn’t appear he’d brought anyone here.
Anyone except her.
He knew she hadn’t been dating anybody for the last six months he’d lived in New York—but he had been. Well, up until a couple of months before he’d left, that was. She wouldn’t have slept with a guy who was seeing someone else, no matter how swept up into the attraction she may have felt.
Lauren peeled off her travel-weary clothes and slid the nightshirt over her head. The silky fabric teased her breasts to pebbly peaks, leaving her achy. Wanting. God, it would be so easy to walk down those stairs and satisfy the ache between her legs.
She eyed the door and actually considered taking what she wanted. She even stepped forward. Her toe hooked on the strap to her computer bag.
Her computer. Her work. She needed to remember her reason for coming here in the first place—to give herself time to plan, to save her business, to save her pride.
Too bad a laptop and pride made for very chilly bedfellows.
Jason stepped over the serpentine computer cord, Lauren’s laptop closed and resting on the bedside table by his alarm clock. The ring box sat by the clock, closed. Her ring finger was still bare. She’d agreed to be his fiancée, even flown to California, but she hadn’t committed one hundred percent to the plan.
He set the breakfast tray on the corner of the mattress and took his time studying the sleeping woman in his bed. Her auburn hair was spread over the brown cotton pillowcase, the sheets tangled around her legs. Her lemon-yellow nightshirt rucked up to the top of her thighs. He remembered well how soft those legs were to the touch, how strong when wrapped around his waist, insistently urging him along. Keeping his hands to himself with her in his space all the time was going to be tougher than he’d expected, but the game went to those who were patient.
Jason sat on the edge and indulged himself by stroking her hair away from her face. He hated to disturb her, but also didn’t want to leave her alone in a strange place without checking on her. “Wake up, sleepyhead.”
She rolled to her back and stretched, the nightshirt pulling taut over the growing curve of her stomach. Feeling the baby move the other day had been … amazing. And unsettling.
Persuading Lauren to stay became all the more important.
Her eyes flickered open, vague and unfocused. She smiled, reaching up to him, and just that damn fast he forgot about careful plans and brushed a kiss over each beautiful eye. Her soft skin enticed him to hang around a while longer, kiss the tip of her nose, her chin. He would have liked to work his way lower, but she wasn’t fully awake yet, and he wanted her aware and consenting the next time they had sex.
She wriggled slowly, sensuously, beneath him, waking him up hard and fast, harder still as she sighed sweetly. He rested his forehead against hers.
And then she froze, her eyes snapping open wide. “Jason—” she shoved at his chest and slid to the side “—I thought I told you to stay out of my bed.”
He eased back, frustration pulsing through his veins. Patience. “You’re in my bed, remember?”
“A technicality.” She tugged her nightshirt down to her knees with one hand and pulled the sheet up higher with her other.
“I remember you being more of a morning person.” He lifted the black lacquer tray from the corner of the bed.
“That was back when my stomach didn’t live in my throat.” She eyed the breakfast tray packed with juice, milk, toast and eggs. “Thanks, though. This is nice of you.”
“I’m sorry you’re not feeling well.”
“I’m better now. At least I can keep food down.” She plucked up a piece of toast and nibbled at the corner.
Content she was going to eat, he stood, for the first time in … well, ever wanting to delay leaving for the office. “I’ll be back at lunchtime.”
“You don’t need to. I can entertain myself.” She sipped her milk. “I have work on the computer and calls to make.”
“All right, then. We’ll meet up for supper. Tomorrow I need to introduce you to my boss, and there’s a big shindig in the evening later this week.”
“Ah, so I’ll get to meet the people who don’t like the fact that you have a pregnant girlfriend.” She scrunched her slim nose. “Great. I can’t wait.”
“Actually it’s the client who has the problem, not my coworkers.” He tugged a tie out of the closet, slid it under his collar and began knotting it.
“Oh, that’s right. The old-fashioned guy.”
He flipped his collar back in place and reached for his suit jacket, the intimacy of the morning stealing over him and she’d only been in his house one night. “It’s his money to spend how he chooses. If we want his account—and we do—then we have to play by his rules, especially with Golden Gate Promotions nipping at our heels. Surely the businesswoman inside you understands that.”
“I hear what you’re saying.”
“It would really help convince people to buy into our engagement if you would wear this.” He scooped the ring box off the table and placed it on her breakfast tray. Winning a point was all about the presentation. If he offered her the diamond nestled in his palm, it seemed too much like a real proposal. Hopefully, by casually dropping it on the tray, she would feel less crowded.
Lauren nudged the box with the tip of her index finger. “You can’t really expect to marry someone just to please a business associate.”
Her question churning in his brain, he decided honesty would work best. She was smart and insightful, two things he enjoyed most about her.
“Honestly, Lauren, I’m not sure how far I would go with this. I’m still taking things a day at a time, working to make the best decision possible to secure the baby’s future, which means smoothing out your world and mine. Making the engagement as official as possible—including flashing this ring around—will go a long way toward taking care of those concerns. It could keep your mother off your back for a while, too.”
Lauren lightly punched his arm. “Now you’re playing dirty pool.”
“I’m a man on a mission.” He tapped the little velvet box.
She hugged her knees and stared at the ring as if it was a bomb, not a three-carat, flawless rock.
