Not the Boss's Baby

Serena ran her nails down his back as she looked him in the eye, spurring him on. Over and over he plunged into her welcoming body. Over and over, waves of emotion flooded his mind.

Now that he was with her, he felt more authentic than he had in years—maybe ever. The closest he’d ever come to feeling real was the year he’d spent making beer. The brewmasters hadn’t treated him with distrust, as so many people in the other departments had. They’d treated him like a regular guy.

Serena worked hard for him, but she’d never done so with the simpering air of a sycophant. Had never treated him like he was a stepping stool to bigger and better things.

This was real, too. The way her body took his in, the way he made her moan—the way he wanted to take her in his arms and never let her go....

Without closing her eyes—without breaking the contact between them—she made a high-pitched noise in the back of her throat as she tightened on his body then collapsed back against her pillow.

He drove hard as his climax roared through his ears so loudly that it blotted out everything but Serena. Her eyes, her face, her body. Her.

He wanted her. He always had.

This didn’t change anything.

“Serena...” He wanted to tell her he loved her, but then what did that mean? Was he actually in love with her? What he felt for her was far stronger than anything he’d ever felt for another woman, but did that mean it was love?

So he bit his tongue and pulled her into his arms, burying his face into her hair.

“Stay with me,” she whispered. “Tonight. In my bed.”

“Yes.” That was all he needed right now. Her, in his arms.

What if this was love? With Serena tucked against his chest, Chadwick started to drift off to sleep on that warm, happy thought. He and Serena. In love.

But then a horrifying idea popped into his mind, jerking him back from peaceful sleep. What if this wasn’t love? What if this was mere infatuation, something that would evaporate under the harsh light of reality—reality that they might have ignored tonight but that would be unavoidable come Monday morning?

He’d slept with his assistant. Before the divorce was final.

It was exactly what his father would have done.





Eleven


The smell of crisp bacon woke him.

Chadwick rolled over to find himself alone in an unfamiliar bed. He found a clock on the side table. Half past six. He hadn’t slept that late in years.

He sat up. The first thing he saw was the mirror. The one he’d watched as he made love to his assistant.

Serena.

His blood began to roar in his ears as his mind replayed the previous night. Had he really crossed that line—the one he’d sworn he would never cross?

Waking up naked in her bed, his body already aching for her, seemed to say one hell of a yes.

He buried his head in his hands. What had he done?

Then he heard it—the soft sound of a woman humming. It was light and, if he didn’t know better, filled with joy.

He got out of bed and put his pants on. Breakfast first. He’d think better once he had a meal in him. As he walked down the short hallway toward the kitchen, he was surprised at how sore his body was. Apparently, not having sex for a few years and then suddenly having it twice had been harder on him than running a few extra miles would have been.

He looked around Serena’s place. It was quite small. There was the bedroom he’d come out of. He made another stop at the bathroom, which stood between the bedroom and another small room that was completely empty. Then he was out into the living room, which had a shabby-looking couch against one wall and a space where a flat-screen television must have been on the other. A table stood between the living room space and the kitchen. The legs and the chairs looked a bit beat up, but the table was covered by a clean, bright blue cloth and held a small, chipped vase filled with the roses he’d brought her.

His wine cellar was bigger than this apartment. The place was clearly assembled from odds and ends, but he liked it. It looked almost exactly how he’d imagined a real home would look, one in which babies might color on the walls and spill juice on the rug. One filled with laughter and joy. A place that was a home, not just a piece of real estate.

He found Serena standing in front of the stove, a thin blue cotton robe wrapped around her shoulders, her hair hanging in long waves down her back. Something stirred deep in his chest. Did she have anything on under the robe? She was humming as she flipped the bacon. It smelled wonderful.

He had a cook, of course. Even though he didn’t eat at home very often, George was in charge of feeding the household staff. If Chadwick gave him enough warning, George would have something that rivaled the best restaurants in Denver waiting for him. But if Chadwick didn’t, he’d eat the same thing that the maids did. Which was the norm.

He leaned against the doorway, watching Serena cook for him. This felt different than knowing that, somewhere in his huge mansion, George was making him dinner. That was George’s job.

Serena frying him bacon and, by the looks of it, eggs?

This must be what people meant by “comfort food.” Because there was something deeply comforting about her taking care of him. As far as he could remember, no one but a staff cook had ever made him breakfast.

Was this what normal people did? Woke up on a Sunday morning and had breakfast together?

He came up behind her and slid his arms around her waist, reveling in the way her hair smelled—almost like vanilla, but with a hint of breakfast. He kissed her neck. “Good morning.”

She startled but then leaned back, the curve of her backside pressing against him. “Hi.” She looked up at him.

He kissed her. “Breakfast?”

“I’m normally up before six, but I made it until a little after,” she said, sounding sheepish about it.

“That’s pretty early.” Those were basically the same hours he kept.

“I have this boss,” she went on, her tone teasing as she flipped another strip of bacon, “who keeps insane hours. You know how it is.”

He chuckled against her ear. “A real bastard, huh?”

She leaned back, doing her best to look him in the eye. “Nope. I think he’s amazing.”

He kissed her again. This time he let his hands roam away from her waist to other parts. She pulled away and playfully smacked the hand that had been cupping her breast. “You don’t want your breakfast burned, do you? The coffee’s ready.”

She already had a cup sitting in front of the coffeemaker. Like everything else in her place, the coffeemaker looked like it was either nine years old or something she’d bought secondhand.

She hadn’t been kidding. By the looks of her apartment, she really had put every bonus in savings.

It was odd. In his world, people spent money like it was always going out of style. No one had to save because there would always be more. Like Phillip, for example. He saw a horse he wanted, and he bought it. It didn’t matter how much it was or how many other horses he had. Helen had been the same, except for her it was clothing and plastic surgery. She had a completely new wardrobe every season from top designers.

Hell, he wasn’t all that different. He owned more cars than he drove and a bigger house than he’d ever need, and he had three maids. The only difference was that he’d been so busy working that he hadn’t had time to start collecting horses like his brother. Or mistresses, like his father. For them, everything had been disposable. Even the horses. Even the people.