Читать книгу Have Baby, Need Billionaire / The Boss's Baby Affair - Maureen Child - Страница 13

Tula remembered sitting in her own kitchen thinking that this was not a good idea. Now she was convinced.

Yet here she was, living in a Victorian mansion in the city with a man she wasn’t sure she liked—but she really did want.

Last night at dinner, Simon had looked so darn cute with green beans on his face that she hadn’t been able to stop herself from giving in to the impulse to kiss him. Sure, it was just a quick peck on his cheek. But when he’d turned those dark brown eyes on her and she’d read the barely banked passion there, it had shaken her.

Not like she was some shy, retiring virgin or anything. She wasn’t. She’d had a boyfriend in college and another one just a year or so ago. But Simon was nothing like them. In retrospect, they had been boys and Simon was all man.

“Oh God, stop it,” she told herself. It wouldn’t do any good of course. She’d been indulging in not so idle daydreams centered on Simon Bradley for days now. When she was sleeping, her brain picked up on the subconscious thread and really went to town.

But a woman couldn’t be blamed for what she dreamed of when she slept, right?

“It’s ridiculous,” she said, tugging at her desk to move it into position beneath one of the many mullioned windows. A stray beam of rare January sunlight speared through the clouds and lay across her desktop. She didn’t take the time to admire it though, instead, she went back to getting the rest of her temporary office the way she wanted it.

She didn’t need much, really. Just her laptop, a drawing table where she could work on the illustrations for her books and a comfy chair where she could sit and think.

“Hmm. If you don’t need much stuff, Tula, why is there so much junk in here?” A question for the ages, she thought. She didn’t try to collect things. It just sort of … happened. And being here in the Victorian where everything had a tidy spot to belong to made her feel like a pack rat.

There were boxes and books and empty shelves waiting to be filled. There were loose manuscript pages and pens and paints and, oh, way too many things to try to organize.

“Settling in?”

She jumped about a foot and spun around, holding one hand to her chest as if trying to keep her heart where it belonged. He stood in the open doorway, a half smile on his handsome face as if he knew darn well that he’d scared about ten years off her life.

Giving Simon a pained glare, she snapped, “Wear a bell or something, okay? I about had a heart attack.”

“I do live here,” Simon reminded her.

“Yeah, I know.” As if she could forget. She’d lain awake in her bed half the night, imagining Simon in his bed just down the hall from her. She never should have kissed him. Never should have breached the tense, polite wall they’d erected between them at their first meeting.

Only that morning, they’d had breakfast together. The three of them sitting cozily in a kitchen three times the size of her own. She had watched Simon feeding a squirming baby oatmeal while dodging the occasional splat of rejected offerings and darned if he hadn’t looked … cute doing it.

She groaned inwardly and warned herself again to get a grip. This wasn’t about playing house with Simon.

He strolled into her office with a look of stunned amazement on his face. “How do you work in this confusion?”

She’d just been thinking basically the same thing, but she wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of knowing it. “An organized mind is a boring mind.”

One dark eyebrow lifted and she noticed he did that a lot when they were talking. Sardonic? Or just irritated?

“You paint, too?” he asked, nodding at the drawing table set up beneath one of the tall windows.

“Draw, really. Just sketches,” she said. “I do the illustrations for my books.”

“Impressive,” he said, moving closer for a better look.

Tula steeled herself against what he might say once he’d had a chance to really study her drawings. Her father had never given her a compliment, she thought. But in the end that hadn’t mattered, since she drew her pictures for the children who loved her books. Tula knew she had talent, but she had never fooled herself into believing that she was a great artist.

He thumbed through the sketch papers on the table and she knew what he was seeing. The sketches of Lonely Bunny and the animals who shared his world.

His gaze moving to hers, he said softly, “You’re very good. You get a lot of emotion into these drawings.”

“Thank you.” Surprised but pleased, she smiled at him and felt warmth spill through her when he returned that smile.

“Nathan has a stuffed rabbit. But he needs a new one. The one he has looks a little worse for wear.”

She shook her head sadly, because clearly he didn’t know how much a worn, beloved toy could mean to a child. “You never read The Velveteen Rabbit?” she asked. “Being loved is what makes a toy real. And when you’re real, you’re a little haggard looking.”

“I guess you’re right.” He laughed quietly and nodded as he looked back at her sketches. “How did you come up with this? The Lonely Bunny, I mean.”

Veering away from the personal and back into safe conversation, she thought, oddly disappointed that the brief moment of closeness was already over.

Still, she grinned as she said, “People always ask writers where they get their ideas. I usually say I find my ideas on the bottom shelf of the housewares department in the local market.”

One corner of his mouth quirked up. “Clever. But not really an answer, either.”

“No,” she admitted, wrapping her arms around her middle. “It’s not.”

He turned around to face her and his warm brown eyes went soft and curious. “Will you tell me?”

She met his gaze and felt the conversation drifting back into the intimate again. But she saw something in his eyes that told her he was actually interested. And until that moment, no one but Anna had ever really cared.

Walking toward him, she picked up one of the sketches off the drawing table and studied her own handiwork. The Lonely Bunny looked back at her with his wide, limpid eyes and sadly hopeful expression. Tula smiled down at the bunny who had come along at just the right time in her life.

“I used to draw him when I was a little girl,” she said more to herself than to him. She ran one finger across the pale gray color of his fur and the crooked bend of his ear. “When Mom and I moved to Crystal Bay, there were some wild rabbits living in the park behind our house.”

Beside her, she felt him step closer. Felt him watching her. But she was lost in her own memories now and staring back into her past.

“One of the rabbits was different. He had one droopy ear, and he was always by himself,” she said, smiling to herself at the image of a young Tula trying to tempt a wild rabbit closer by holding out a carrot. “It looked to me like he didn’t have any friends. The other rabbits stayed away from him and I sort of felt that we were two of a kind. I was new in town and didn’t have any friends, so I made it my mission to make that bunny like me. But no matter how I tried, I couldn’t get him to play with me.

“And believe me, I tried. Every day for a month. Then one day I went to the park and the other rabbits were there, but Lonely Bunny wasn’t.” She stroked her fingertip across her sketch of that long-ago bunny. “I looked all over for him, but couldn’t find him.”

She stopped and looked up into eyes filled with understanding and compassion and she felt her own eyes burn with the sting of unexpected tears. The only person she had ever told about that bunny was Anna. She’d always felt just a little silly for caring so much. For missing that rabbit so badly when she couldn’t find him.

“I never saw him again. I kept looking, though. For a week, I scoured that park,” she mused. “Under every bush, behind every rock. I looked everywhere. Finally, a week later, I was so worried about him, I told my mother and asked her to help me look for him.”

“Did she?” His voice was quiet, as if he was trying to keep from shattering whatever spell was spinning out around them.

“No,” she said with a sigh. “She told me he had probably been hit by a car.”

“What?” Simon sounded horrified. “She said what?”

Tula choked out a laugh. “Thanks for the outrage on my behalf, but it was a long time ago. Besides, I didn’t believe her. I told myself that he had found a lady bunny and had moved away with her.”

She set the drawings down onto the table and turned to him, tucking her hands into her jeans pockets. “When I decided to write children’s books, I brought Lonely Bunny back. He’s been good for me.”

Nodding, Simon reached out and tapped his finger against one of her earrings, setting it into swing. “I think you were good for him, too. I bet he’s still telling his grandbunnies stories about the little girl who loved him.”

Her breath caught around a knot of tenderness in the middle of her throat. “You surprise me sometimes, Simon.”

“It’s only fair,” he said. “You surprise me all the damn time.”

Seconds ticked past, each of them looking at the other as if for the first time. Simon was the first to speak and when he did, it was clear that the moment they had shared was over. At least for now.

“Do you have everything you need?”

“Yes.” She took a breath and an emotional step back. “I just need to move my chair into place and—”

“Where do you want it?”

She looked up at him. He was just home from work, so he was wearing a dark blue suit and the only sign of relaxation was the loosening of the knot in his red silk tie.

“You don’t have to—”

He shrugged out of his suit jacket. His tailored, long-sleeved white shirt clung to a truly impressively broad chest. She swallowed hard as she watched him grab hold of the chair and she wondered why simply taking off his suit jacket in front of her seemed such an intimate act. Maybe, she thought, it was because the suit was who he was. And laying it aside, even momentarily, felt like an important step.

As soon as that thought entered her mind, Tula pushed it away.

Nothing intimate going on here at all, she reminded herself. Just a guy, helping her move a chair. And she’d do well to keep that in mind. Anything else would just be asking for trouble.

“Over there,” she said, pointing to the far corner.

“You want to move that box out of the way?”

She did, pushing the heavy box of books with her foot until Simon had a clear path. He muscled the oversize chair across the room, then angled it in a way so that she’d be facing both windows when she sat in it.

“How’s that?”

“Perfect, thanks.”

He looked around the room again. “Where’s the baby?”

“In his room. He took a late nap today.”

“Right.” He wandered around the room now, peeking into boxes, glancing at the haphazard stacks of papers on her desk. “You know, I’ve got some colored file folders in my office you could use.”

She bristled. “I have my own system.”

Simon looked at her and lifted that eyebrow again. “Chaos is a system?”

“It’s only chaos if you can’t find your way around. I can.”

“If you say so.” He moved closer. “Is there anything else I can do?”

“Um, no thanks,” Tula whispered, feeling the heat of him reach for her. This was her fault, she told herself as tension in the room began to grow. If she hadn’t given him that impulsive kiss, they’d still be at odds. If she hadn’t opened herself up, causing him to be so darn sweet, they wouldn’t be experiencing this closeness now.

So she spoke up fast, before whatever was happening between them could go any further. “Why don’t you go check on Nathan while I finish up in here? I’ve still got a lot of unpacking to do.”

She stepped past him and dug into a carton of books, deliberately keeping her back to him. Her heart was pounding and her stomach was spinning with a wild blend of nerves and anticipation. Pulling out a few of the books, she set them on the top shelf and let her fingertips linger on the bindings.

But Simon didn’t leave. Instead, he went down on one knee beside her, cupped her chin and turned her face toward him.

“I don’t know what’s going on between us any more than you do. But you can’t avoid me forever, Tula. We’re living together, after all.”

“We’re living in the same house, that’s all,” she corrected breathlessly. “Not together.”

“Semantics,” he mused, a half smile tugging at one corner of his mouth.

Oh, she knew what he was thinking because she was thinking the same thing. Well, actually, there was very little thinking going on. This was more feeling. Wanting. Needing.

She shook her head. “Simon, you know it would be a bad idea.”

“What?” he asked innocently. “A kiss?”

“You’re not talking about just a kiss.”

“Rather not talk at all,” he admitted, his gaze dropping to her mouth.

Tula licked her lips and took a breath that caught in her lungs when she saw his eyes flash. “Simon …”

“You started this,” he said, leaning in.

“I know,” she answered and tipped her head to one side as she moved to meet him.

“I’ll finish it.”

“Stop talking,” she told him just before his mouth closed over hers.

Heat exploded between them.

Tula had never known anything like it before. His mouth took hers hungrily, his tongue parting her lips, sweeping inside to claim all of her. He pulled her tightly against him until they were both kneeling on the soft, plush carpet. His hands slid up and down her back, dipping to cup the curve of her behind and pull her more tightly against him.

Tula felt the rock-hard proof of just how much Simon wanted her and that need echoed inside her. Her mind blanked out and she gave herself up to the river of sensations he was causing. She tangled her tongue with his, leaning into him, wrapping her arms around his neck and holding on as if she were afraid of sliding off the edge of the world.

He tore his mouth from hers, buried his face in the curve of her neck and whispered, “I’ve been thinking about doing this, about you, ever since you first walked into my office.”

“Me, too,” she murmured, tipping her head to give him better access. Her body was electrified. Every cell was buzzing, and at the core of her she burned and ached for him.

He dropped his hands to the hem of her sweater and slid his palms beneath the heavy knit material to slide across her skin. She felt the burn of his fingers, the sizzle and pop in her bloodstream as he stoked flames already burning too brightly.

Oh, it had been way too long since anyone had touched her, Tula thought, letting her head fall back on a soft sigh. And she’d never been touched like this before.

“Let me,” he murmured, drawing her sweater up and off, baring breasts hidden beneath a bra of sheer, pink lace.

Cool air caressed her skin in a counterpoint to the heat Simon was creating. One corner of her mind was shrieking at her to stop this while she still could. But the rest of her was telling that small, insistent voice to shut up and go away.

“Lovely,” he said, skimming the backs of his fingers across her nipples.

She shivered when his thumbs moved over the tips of her hardened nipples, the brush of the lace intensifying his touch to an almost excruciating level of excitement. Tula trembled as he unhooked the front clasp of her bra and sucked in a quick breath when he pushed the lacy panel aside and cupped her breasts in his hands.

He bent his head to take first one nipple and then the other into his mouth and Tula swayed in place. Threading her fingers through his thick hair, she held him to her and concentrated solely on the feel of his lips and tongue against her skin.

She wanted him naked, her hands on his body. She wanted to lie back and pull him atop her. She wanted to feel their bodies sliding together, to look up into his eyes as he took her to—

An insistent howl shattered the spell between them.

Simon pulled back from her and whipped his head around to stare at the doorway. “What was that?”

“The baby.” Still trembling, Tula grabbed the edges of her bra and hooked it together. Then she reached for her sweater and had it back on in a couple of seconds. “I’ve got the baby monitor in here so I could hear him while I worked.”

She waved one hand at what looked like a space-age communication device and Simon nodded. “Right. The monitor.”

Scrambling to her feet, Tula backed away from him quickly.

“Don’t do that,” Simon said, standing up and reaching for her. “I can see in your eyes that you’re already pretending that didn’t happen.”

“No, I’m not,” she assured him, though her voice was as shaky as the rest of her. Pushing one hand through the short, choppy layers of her hair, she blew out a breath and admitted, “But I should.”

“Why?” He winced when the baby’s cries continued, but didn’t let go of her.

Tula shook her head and pulled free of his grasp. “Because this is just one more complication, Simon. One neither one of us should want.”

“Yeah,” he said, gaze meeting hers. “But we do.”

“You can’t always have what you want,” she countered, taking a step back, closer to the open doorway. “Now I really have to go to the baby.”

“Okay. But Tula,” he said, stopping her as she started to leave. “You should know that I always get what I want.”

When Tula carried Nathan into her office half an hour later, she found a stack of colored file folders lying on top of her desk. There was a brief note. “Chaos can be controlled. S.”

“As if I didn’t know who put them there,” she told the baby. “He had to put his initial on the note?”

She set the baby down on a blanket surrounded by toys, then took a seat at her desk. Her fingertips tapped against the file folders until she finally shrugged and opened one.

“I suppose it couldn’t hurt to try a little filing, right?”

Nathan didn’t have an opinion. He was far too fascinated by the foam truck with bright red headlights he had gripped in his tiny fists.

Tula smiled at him, then set to work straightening up her desk. It went faster than she would have thought and though she hated to admit it, there was something satisfying about filing papers neatly and tucking them away in a cabinet. By the time she was finished, her desktop was cleared off for the first time in … ever.

Her phone rang just as she was getting up to take the baby downstairs for his dinner. “Hello?”

“Tula, hi, this is Tracy.”

Her editor’s voice was, as always, friendly and businesslike. “Hi, what’s up?”

“I just need you to give me the front matter for the next book. Production needs it by tomorrow.”

“Right.” For one awful moment, Tula couldn’t remember where she’d put the letter to her readers that always went in the front of her new books. She liked adding that extra personal touch to the children who read her stories.

The scattered feeling was a familiar one. Despite what she had bragged to Simon about knowing where everything was, she usually experienced a moment of sheer panic when her editor called needing something. Because she knew that she would have to stall her while she located whatever was needed.

“It’s okay, Tula,” Tracy said as if knowing exactly what she was thinking. “I don’t need it this minute and I know it’ll take you some time to find it. If you just email the letter to me first thing in the morning, I’ll hand it in.”

“No, it’s okay,” Tula said suddenly as she realized that she had just spent hours filing things away neatly. “I actually know right where it is.”

“You’re kidding.”

Laughing, she reached out, opened the once-empty file cabinet and pulled out the blue folder. Blue for Bunny Letters, she thought with an inner smile. She even had a system now. Sure, she wasn’t certain how long it would last, but the fun of surprising her editor had been worth the extra work.

“Poor Tracy,” Tula said with sympathy. “You’ve been putting up with my disorganization for too long, haven’t you?”

“You’re organized,” Tracy defended her. “Just in your own way.”

She appreciated the support, but Tula knew very well that Tracy would have preferred just a touch more organizational effort on her writer’s part. “Well, I’m trying something new. I am holding in my hand an actual file folder!”

“Amazing,” Tracy said with a chuckle. “An organized writer. I didn’t know that was possible. Can you fax the letter to me?”

“I can. You’ll have it in a few minutes.”

“Well, I don’t know what inspired the new outlook, but thanks!”

Once she hung up, Tula faxed in the letter, then filed it again and slipped the folder back into the cabinet with a rush of pride. Wouldn’t Simon love to know that he’d been right? As for her, she’d managed to straighten up a mess without losing her identity.

Grinning down at the baby, she asked, “What do you think, Nathan? Can a person have chaos and control?”

She was still wondering about that when she carried the baby downstairs to the kitchen.

A few hours later, Tula said sharply, “You have to make sure he doesn’t slip.”

“Well,” Simon assured her, “I actually knew that much on my own.”

He was bent over the tub, one hand on Nathan’s narrow back while he used his free hand to move a soapy washcloth over the baby’s skin. “How is it you’re supposed to hold him and wash him at the same time?”

Tula grinned and Simon felt a hard punch to his chest. When she really smiled it was enough to make him want to toss her onto the nearest flat surface and bury himself inside her heat.

The kiss they’d shared only a couple of hours before was still burning through him.

He still had the taste of her in his mouth. Had the feel of her soft, sleek skin on his fingers.

Now, as she leaned over beside him to slide a wet washcloth over Nathan’s head, he inhaled and drew her light, floral scent into his lungs. He must have let a groan slip from his throat because she stopped, leaned back and looked up at him.

“Are you okay?”

“Not really,” he said tightly, focusing now on the baby who was slapping the water with both hands and chortling over the splashes he made.

“Simon—”

“Forget it, Tula. Let’s just concentrate on surviving bath time, okay?”

She sat back on her heels and looked up at him. “Now who’s pretending it didn’t happen?”

He laughed—a short, sharp sound. “Trust me when I say that’s not what I’m doing.”

“Then why—”

Giving her a hard look, he said, “Unless you’re willing to finish what we started, drop it, Tula.”

She snapped her mouth closed and nodded. “Right. Then I’ll just go get Nathan’s jammies ready while you finish. Are you good on your own?”

Good question.

He always had been.

Before.

Now he wasn’t so sure.

“We’ll be fine. Just go.”

She scooted out of the bathroom a moment later and Nathan drew his first easy breath since bath time had started. He looked down into the baby’s eyes and said, “Remember this, Nathan. Women are nothing but trouble.”

The tiny boy laughed and slapped the water hard enough to send a small wave into his father’s face.

“Traitor,” Simon whispered.