Bedded By The Boss: The Boss's Demand / Something about the Boss... / Beguiling the Boss

“Come this way,” he said. Mercifully he didn’t look at her long enough to notice the effect of his impromptu shower on her sanity.

He kicked off his boots outside a wide, arched doorway, then pushed open the door and ushered her inside. The thick earthen walls that blended so easily with the desert opened into a softly lit, cavernous space. A fountain trickled steadily in the center of the room, creating a cool and peaceful atmosphere. Subtle earth-toned patterns ornamented the bare walls.

“It’s beautiful,” breathed Sara, her eyes wide. “Should I take my shoes off?” The space felt like a sanctuary. It was, no doubt, Elan’s refuge from the pressures of the business world.

“If you wish.”

She slid off her sneakers and her tired feet reveled in the sensation of deliciously cool stone under their soles. Elan strode across the tiled floor toward another arched doorway.

“Come in here.” He held a door open. She accidentally brushed against his arm as she moved past him. The drops of water that passed from his skin to hers sizzled as his touch stung her with a surge of electrical energy.

“Please sit and relax. I’ll be right back.”

Two vast leather sofas flanked a fireplace outlined in pale marble. A wall of windows was shaded from the sun by gauzy pale curtains that moved in the air-conditioned breeze.

She seated herself gingerly on one of the sofas, the leather cool against her skin. The painting above the fireplace looked like a Mark Rothko original, a cool square of blue hovering in a field of gray.

Elan returned wearing a clean pair of jeans and nothing else. Drops of water still glittered on his torso. His uncombed hair fell seductively to his eyes. What did she expect? She’d invaded his home without asking, interrupted his work, did she think he’d put on a suit for her?

He carried two frosted glasses of water. “Here, drink this.”

She took it from him, icy drops stinging her fingertips. He sat on the opposite sofa and leaned back, broad bare shoulders sprawled on the dark leather. He took a sip of water and looked at her expectantly.

Silence hung in the air and a surge of panic shot through her as she realized the time had come for her confession. She cleared her throat and placed her glass on the floor with an awkward clunk.

“Er, Elan…” Blood rushed around her brain as she struggled to keep her thoughts coherent. She’d tried rehearsing what to say, but her attempts always dissolved into panicked babbling or tearful self-pity. This was no time for self-pity. She took a deep breath and straightened her spine. “I have something to tell you.”

His brow furrowed. She waited for him to interject a polite response, along the lines of “Oh?” or “What is it?” but he didn’t. He merely took another sip of his water and regarded her steadily through hooded eyes.

“I…I don’t know how to tell you this…” she paused again and wrapped her arms around herself as if assaulted by a cold gust of wind. Elan’s eyes narrowed and he put his glass down. He adjusted the waist of his jeans against his hard, tanned belly and leaned forward a little. Expectant.

The baby shifted, flooding her with resolve.

“I’m pregnant.”

He blinked. Other than that he didn’t move a muscle. He stared at her, and his eyes searched her face. A furrow appeared above one eyebrow. Sara shrank inside. Did he not believe her?

“I…I…I’m four months along.”

His brow creased into a deep frown and his lips parted. His eyes darted down to her belly, which she realized she was clutching, then back up to her face.

Sara struggled to find the words to make it seem real. “I’m going to have a baby.”

The words hung in the air for a few seconds as he continued to gaze at her in astonishment. Then he sprang to his feet and strode across the room, bare feet on the stone floor.

He still hadn’t uttered a word.

Sara shriveled inwardly and dropped her eyes to the floor as she heard his footfalls moving away from her. She’d tried and failed to imagine what his reaction might be. She’d never seen him fly into a rage at the office. His anger was always quiet and controlled, a fire burning deep within.

Was he angry?

She sneaked a glance across the room, and at that very moment he wheeled around and stared at her. His eyes were blazing, his face set in a stony expression that was unreadable, frightening.

“You’ve carried this secret for four months?” The words seemed to emerge from a closed mouth, hissed between tight lips.

“I’ve only known for two weeks,” she whispered. Her heart clenched as she saw a shadow of confusion cross his features. He stared at her a few more seconds, then turned abruptly away again. He strode around the perimeter of the large room and approached her until he was standing over her, his shadow invading her space.

“May I see your belly?” His voice emerged low and quiet, yet clearly a demand. His request wasn’t polite, but then it wasn’t a gracious situation. Sara rose to her feet ungracefully. She knew her face was blazing as she lifted her T-shirt and pushed down the waistband of her bike shorts.

She avoided his eyes and looked down at her belly. It looked so vulnerable, pale and soft, a slight curve that announced the presence of a third person in the room.

Elan slowly lifted his right hand and reached out to her abdomen with his fingers extended. She heard his intake of breath as the tips came to rest on her skin. Gradually, gently, he lowered his hand until it covered her belly, cupping the roundness.

Her womb stirred under his touch. A sudden rush of sensation flooded her limbs. She struggled to keep her breathing under control. Didn’t dare look at his face. Her nipples tightened involuntarily and she tore her eyes away, desperate that he not see the way her body responded to the gentle pressure of his hand.

For, even now, Elan’s touch made her body hum with thrilling awareness. A dangerous awareness of his hard-sprung masculinity, his harsh beauty. Humbling awareness of the razor-sharp intellect that matched her own. But above all, awareness of the man who had loved her that night with a passion and tenderness that would haunt her as long as she walked the earth.

He pulled his hand back. “We must marry.”

The words, spoken low and fast, blew away the fog of sensation that had engulfed her.

“What?” She barely recognized her own voice. It sounded strangled, distant. With a tremendous effort of will she looked up at his face.

His eyes blazed with black fire. He looked directly at her, his features set in an expression of determination.

“You will be my wife.”

She fumbled with her shorts and T-shirt, covering the exposed flesh of her belly. She felt altogether naked and exposed in the face of his authoritarian command.

But she shook her head.

Elan’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t speak.

“I can’t marry you.” Her voice was clear, quiet but resolute.

“Why not?” The words flew from his mouth in a growl.

“Because…”

Because you don’t love me.

She couldn’t bring herself to say the words. Certainly in her mental anguish she’d imagined the possibility of a proposal. It was, after all, the honorable thing to do. And Elan was an honorable man.

She was “in trouble” and he was the man who’d gotten her that way. Even in the twenty-first century it was still common politeness that he should offer to give the child a name. It was the same reason her father had proposed to her mother, decades ago, when her oldest sister had come unexpectedly into existence.

Elan regarded her with total astonishment. His brow lowered farther as he raised his hands to his hips. “You refuse me?”

Sara swallowed hard. Her hands flew to her belly and clutched each other, fingers trembling. “Yes,” she whispered. “I can raise my child alone.”