The Bachelor's Baby Surprise

Well, he thought, that was different.

He’d never been so summarily tossed out of a woman’s bed before. Then again, he typically didn’t make a habit out of bedding women he didn’t actually know.

Especially lately.

Ryan’s love life had been rather complicated in recent weeks, thanks to the New York Times. He’d been doing his best to avoid romantic entanglements altogether.

He walked down the hall, making his way to the building’s front steps and pulled his cell phone from the inside pocket of his suit jacket—which looked more like a fur coat at the moment—and rang the Bennington Hotel’s driver.

The chauffeur answered on the first ring. “Mr. Wilde, how can I help you?”

Ryan didn’t often take advantage of the more luxurious perks that came with being chief financial officer of the Bennington, but having a driver on standby was nice at a time like this. He glanced up and down the picturesque street. The sun was just coming up, bathing the neighborhood brownstones in soft winter hues of violet and blue. The snowy sidewalks were empty, save for an older man opening up the newsstand on the corner. “Are you free to come pick me up in the Village?”

He was, of course. Who needed a limo this time of day?

Ryan gave the driver his location, then pocketed his phone again. He rubbed his hands together. His breath was a visible puff of vapor in the crisp air. What the hell had he done with his coat?

He lifted his gaze to the row of windows on the third floor, trying to guess which one was Eve’s. He wished he’d left his Burberry trench up there so he’d have a legitimate excuse to see her again, but he hadn’t. He’d left it on the back of a chair at the wine bar the night before—forgotten, completely—right around the time he’d spotted Eve across the room, brandishing a butcher knife.

It had been one of the most bizarre things he’d ever seen. She’d grabbed a bottle of champagne and before he’d been able to process what he was seeing, she severed the neck of the bottle with the knife. Sliced it clean off, just below the cork. It made a loud popping sound, and she’d stood there with a quiet smile on her face while bubbles spilled down her arm. The group of people at her table cheered. All men, he’d noticed.

She wasn’t on a date, though, from what he could tell. The table was piled with note cards, as if they were some kind of study group.

Note cards. In the middle of a wine bar on Friday night.

“That was quite the party trick,” Ryan had said after he’d abandoned his coat, his drink and the trio of business associates he’d been meeting with.

He’d had to talk to her. Had to.

For the better part of a week, he’d been avoiding every marriage-minded single woman in Manhattan. But the knife-wielding goddess had gotten under his skin instantly. He wasn’t even sure why.

Yes, she was pretty. More than pretty, actually. Beautiful, with full red lips and long, spun-gold hair—the kind of hair that made him hard just thinking about what it would feel like sliding through his fingers.

But it had been more than her looks that had him spellbound from all the way across the crowded room. He’d felt an inexplicable pull deep in his chest when he looked at her. And as he came closer, there’d been something else. She’d had secrets in her eyes.

“It’s not a party trick,” she’d said, looking him up and down. A scarlet flush made its way up her porcelain face. “It’s called sabering.”

She’d gone on to explain that French cavalry officers had used their swords in a similar manner to open champagne during the Napoleonic Wars. Which didn’t explain in the slightest why she was doing it in a wine bar on the Upper West Side, but Ryan hadn’t cared.

It had fascinated him. She’d fascinated him...

Fascinated him enough that he very purposefully neglected to mention his last name.

A car rounded the corner. Ryan turned in the direction of the sound of tires crunching on packed snow, but it wasn’t the Bennington limo. Where was the damned thing? He was freezing.

He bowed his head against the wind and walked toward the newsstand, hoping the old man could sell him some coffee.

He felt bad about the name thing, even now. Even after she’d shown him the door within minutes of waking up in her bed. It wasn’t as if he’d lied to her. He’d just left off his surname.

Call me Ryan.

Thinking about that made him wince. It made him sound like a player, when in actuality, he was anything but.

That was the big irony of his current situation. Practically overnight, and through no fault of his own, he’d developed a reputation. A reputation that had no basis in reality.

It had been a relief when he realized Eve had no idea who he was.

Eve, with her butcher knife and lovely head full of history.

“Excuse me,” he said.

The man behind the newsstand looked up. “Yeah?”

“Have you got any coffee back there?”

The man nodded. “Sure do. Extra hot.”

“Perfect.” Ryan opened his wallet and removed a few bills. As he handed the old man the money, his gaze snagged on a magazine.

Gotham. But the title didn’t matter. It was the image on the magazine’s cover that gave him pause.

A man’s face.

His face.

If Evangeline Holly hadn’t known who he was last night, she would now.

Chapter Two (#ulink_d78911a3-626c-51f1-804e-ce12996d1980)

Six weeks later

Ryan was late.

In the three years since he’d been named CFO of the Bennington, he’d been the first member of the executive staff to arrive for work every morning. He was notorious for it.

Sometimes the chief executive officer purposely tried to get there first, just to get under Ryan’s skin. But Ryan had a sixth sense when it came to predicting moves like that, probably because Zander Wilde wasn’t just the CEO. He was also Ryan’s cousin. The two men had known each other a lifetime. Ryan knew Zander like a brother.

Consequently, he wasn’t the least bit shocked to find Zander waiting for him when he strode into his office five minutes later than his usual arrival time. Annoyed, yes. Shocked, not so much.

“Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in.” Zander was reclining in Ryan’s chair with his feet resting on the smooth mahogany surface of his desk, ankles crossed. He folded the newspaper in his hands and shot Ryan a triumphant grin. “Looks like I got here first.”

Ryan set his briefcase down and lowered himself into one of his office guest chairs. “Pleased with yourself?”

Zander’s smile widened. “I am, actually.”

“Enjoy your victory.” Ryan lifted a brow. “Especially since it was three years in the making.”

Zander shrugged. “I’ll take it. A win is a win.”