A Baby In His In-Box

A Baby In His In-Box
Jennifer Greene

MAN of the MonthMR. MARCH Urgent Memo from: Powerful CEO Flynn McGannon, expert at seduction. Surprising Subject: That baby delivered to his in-box!Tycoon's Request: Immediate assistance from prim and proper Molly Weston. Sexy businessman Flynn McGannon prided himself on keeping his cool in every situation. But he had to make an exception for the one that had landed on his desk. What did a carefree bachelor like him know about babies - especially one that was supposed to be his!His only hope was lovely bookkeeper Molly Weston. But pretty Molly wasn't exactly feeling generous toward Flynn. Could he help it that he'd been trying to get her into his bed just as he found out he was somebody's daddy?MAN OF THE MONTH: This sexy single father was looking for daddy lessons… and found so much more!

Nothing But Trouble Could Come From Kissing Flynn. (#u4c89ea44-fc20-5a7a-ba48-2fda8eb34a06)Letter to Reader (#ueb8a6b15-17e3-57dd-8a08-4600c7f19c34)Title Page (#ucd4acd9b-fc80-5099-b62b-b8b30c247077)About the Author (#u2a339fce-babc-54a4-b3bd-74fa8e0418be)Chapter One (#u311fa7e0-e382-5b7e-b4cc-b418cdc41632)Chapter Two (#u17dca22e-7fe3-5c38-88a8-af9a61182cbe)Chapter Three (#uc63eabe9-73b3-57f4-bbb2-e0f770f6ea6b)Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

Nothing But Trouble Could Come From Kissing Flynn.

A woman as sane as she was—and the whole world knew Molly Weston was practical and hopelessly straitlaced—simply had more brains than to hurl herself off a cliff without a parachute.

But Flynn tempted her. As no man ever had. It was those eyes. It was that simmering, electric thing that shimmered in the air between them. It was that daredevil zest for life that captivated her, made crazy ideas come to her mind—like the thought that she’d regret it forever if she never made love with him.

He read her decision in her eyes. That slow, wicked grin of his faded. His gaze shifted from her eyes to her mouth, the playfulness disappearing from his expression.

Her hand rose higher, until her fingers were bare, naked inches from touching him. Her heart was suddenly pounding, pounding.

Until she heard the bellowing wail of a baby.

Dear Reader,

Where do you read Silhouette Desire? Sitting in your favorite chair? How about standing in line at the market or swinging in the sunporch hammock? Or do you hold out the entire day, waiting for all your distractions to dissolve around you, only to open a Desire novel once you’re in a relaxing bath or resting against your softest pillow...? Wherever you indulge in Silhouette Desire, we know you do so with anticipation, and that’s why we bring you the absolute best in romance fiction.

This month, look forward to talented Jennifer Greene’s A Baby in His In-Box, where a sexy tutor gives March’s MAN OF THE MONTH private lessons on sudden fatherhood. And in the second adorable tale of Elizabeth Bevarly’s BLAME IT ON BOB series, Beauty and the Brain, a lady discovers she’s still starry-eyed over her secret high school crush. Next, Susan Crosby takes readers on The Great Wife Search in Bride Candidate #9.

And don’t miss a single kiss delivered by these delactable men: a roguish rancher in Amy J. Fetzer’s The Unlikely Bodyguard; the strong, silent corporate hunk in the latest book in the RIGHT BRIDE, WRONG GROOM series, Switched at the Altar, by Metsy Hingle; and Eileen Wilks’s mouth watering honorable Texas hero in Just a Little Bit Pregnant.

So, no matter where you read, I know what you’ll be reading—all six of March’s irresistible Silhouette Desire love stories!

Regards,

Melissa Senate

Senior Editor

Silhouette Desire

Please address questions and book requests to:

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A Baby in his In-Box

Jennifer Greene

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

JENNIFER GREENE

lives near Lake Michigan with her husband and two children. Before writing full-time, she worked as a teacher and a personnel manager. Michigan State University honored her as an “outstanding woman graduate” for her work with women on campus.

Ms. Greene has written more than fifty category romances, for which she has won numerous awards, including two RITA awards from the Romance Writers of America in the Best Short Contemporary Books category, and a Career Achievement award from Romantic Times magazine.

One

“What the hell is this?”

Flynn McGannon had just hung up the phone when the whirlwind barreled into his office. “What’s what?”

“You know exactly what.” The whirlwind slapped a clipped set of papers on his desk. She pointed a royal finger at the offending documents, then at him. “There are words for men like you—starting with lazy and irresponsible. If I didn’t believe you were eventually trainable, I swear I’d fire you.”

Flynn didn’t glance at the papers. He’d bet bookies odds they were boring. His accountant, on the other hand, both kidnapped and ransomed his interest even when she wasn’t breathing hard—and at the moment Molly Weston was breathing smoke. Thoughtfully he scratched his chin. “Don’t you think firing me will be a little tricky? Considering that I own the company and you’re the employee?”

“If you think that’s a relevant argument, you’ve got another think coming. You’re not going to own anything if you don’t shape up. You’ll be in court with the IRS—and they’d be justified in throwing the book at you. Now, I know you hate numbers, but this is ridiculous. You call these scraps of paper a serious effort at keeping records?”

Truth to tell, he did. Flynn had never needed an accountant when he was poor. Who’d have guessed that his software programs would take off like lightning in the marketplace? For him, the work was fun—pure playtime—or he’d never have done it. The gold he seemed to be hauling in for the last three years was a total accident.

The other three accountants he’d tried before Molly Weston had been total accidents, too. Two guys. One woman. All three of them had quit on him in a disgusted huff, puffing out the door in their pin-stripe suits and their starched spines.

Six months ago, Molly had started out as starched as the rest of them. She’d also started out soft-voiced and sweet and so shy she was intimidated by her own shadow.

Flynn took personal credit for ruining her.

Her pale pink fingertip located a sheet with a bunch of statistics—one of her favorite things in life—and started stabbing it. “You call this a record of expenses? What is this eight hundred dollars for lunch?” she snarled at him.

“Well, actually, it wasn’t for lunch. It was for that special ergonomic chair for Ralph, because he’s got that bad knee? Only I sort of misplaced the receipt, and I knew that’d tick you off, so I thought it’d be easier to...”

“You didn’t think.” She immediately corrected him.

Since he’d heard parts of this harangue before, Flynn cocked his moccasined feet on the desk and concentrated his attention on studying her. She was pacing. To effectively pace in his office, she needed to kick the basketball out of the way and manuever around the putting green by the windows.

Initially Molly had been appalled at the whole place—but especially his office. Personally Flynn thought the plush red carpet, teak cabinets and slab of lapus lazuli desk looked appropriately expensive and executive. Obviously he’d had to add personal touches, like the basketball hoop over the door and the putting green by the far windows. His office chair was almost as good as a mistress—eleven controls, programmed and willing to massage any part of the body on command. It couldn’t compete with a woman’s hands, but a guy couldn’t have everything in a work setting.

Molly wasn’t much on vibrating chairs. Her approval rating on his customary working attire of historic jeans and moccasins wasn’t much higher. There was no real reason why the staff of five couldn’t work stark naked if they chose. Clients came from across the globe, but impromptu visits to the office were rare.

The whole staff, including himself, were creative nerds who holed up in front of their keyboards and worked whatever hours they pleased. Flynn didn’t care about any of their life-styles or clothes as long as they did their jobs.

Molly, though, was addicted to formality. She liked suits—preferably navy, black or gray, but on a real wild day she’d go for herringbone. Today she was in Priss Mode. Navy skirt, navy heels, a crisp white blouse with a neat little pin choking her at the collar. Her hair was brownish-gold, the color of rich dark tea, expertly cut just short of her shoulders in a pageboy style. Even when she was pacing around, thwacking papers, threatening his cherished body parts, agitated enough to make her hair tumble and bounce...the instant she paused, her hair fell right back into its customary smooth, silky style. Flynn figured her hair didn’t have the nerve to stay mussed.

Her eyes were brown, too, but not tea brown. More melted-chocolate brown. Soft. Emotive. Those huge eyes mirrored her vulnerability, Flynn had always thought. The oval face had more of those hopelessly vulnerable features—feathered brows, delicate cheekbones and an itsybitsy mouth that was damn near shaped perfectly—if a man had his mind on kissing her.

Flynn invariably had his mind on kissing her lately. Aw, hell. He had his mind on tussling with her between cool, smooth sheets on a nice, hard mattress. He’d gamble his Lotus she was wearing a good-girl white bra under that crisp linen blouse. He hadn’t gotten far enough to find out. Yet.

“Are you listening to me?” she demanded.

“Uh-huh. You want to know why there’s extra money in that account. And where the paperwork is to explain where it came from. I’m trying to remember,” he assured her.