Was this how a mouse felt, she wondered, just before a cat pounced? Did it feel helpless, confused and frightened, with nowhere to look but straight into a maw of dread?
She watched, mesmerized, as Dylan leaned forward and carefully put his beer on the table. He rested his elbows on his knees, those sinfully dexterous hands of his loosely clasped between them. Warmth unfurled from her core like a slowly opening bud, and she forced her eyes to lift upward, to meet the challenge in his.
She fought to suppress a shudder when she saw the determination that reflected back at her. She reached for her water and took another sip, shocked to discover that her hand shook ever so slightly. She dug deep for the last ounce of courage she possessed. Since he was determined to make this so awkward, she’d find some inane way to carry the conversation even if it killed her.
“Thank you for asking me to dinner tonight. It’s not every day I’m catered to by a European-trained celebrity chef.”
She was surprised to hear Dylan sigh, as if he was disappointed in something. In her?
“Jenna, stop dancing around the issue and cut to the chase. Are you pregnant with my baby?”
Three
Dylan cursed inwardly. He’d been determined to be charming. He could do charming with his eyes closed and both hands behind his back. So why, then, had he so ham-fistedly screwed up what he’d planned to be a relaxing evening of fact-finding with a woman he’d been fiercely attracted to from the second he’d first laid eyes on her?
It was too late now. The words were out and he couldn’t drag them back no matter how much he wanted to. He huffed out a breath of frustration. Jenna looked about as stunned by his question as he was at actually blurting it out that way. Damage control. He desperately needed to go into damage control mode, but try as he might, he couldn’t think of the words to say. What he wanted was the answer. An answer that only Jenna Montgomery could provide.
Beneath his gaze she appeared to shrink a little into the voluminous furniture. She was already a dainty thing—her small body perfectly formed—but right now she was dwarfed by her surroundings and, no doubt, daunted by the conversation they were about to have.
Dylan knew he should try and put her at ease, but the second she’d alighted from her car he had felt the shields she’d erected between them. It had aroused a side of him he hadn’t displayed in years, made him deliberately uncooperative as she’d tried to observe the niceties of polite conversation. It had driven him to ask the question that had been plaguing him since that gust of wind off the road had revealed changes in her slender form that were too obvious to someone who knew that form as intimately, even if fleetingly, as he had.
“Well?” he prompted.
“Yes,” she said in a strangled whisper.
Dylan didn’t know what to say. Inside he felt as if he’d just scored a touchdown at the Super Bowl, but he also had this weird feeling of detachment, as if he was looking in on some other guy’s life. As if what she’d just said wasn’t real—didn’t involve him. But he was involved, very much so. Or at least he would be, whether she liked it or not.
“Were you going to tell me sometime, or did you just hope that I’d never know?”
As much as he fought to keep the hard note of anger from his voice, he could feel it lacing every word. It left a bitter taste in his mouth and he struggled to pull himself under control. He didn’t want to antagonize her or scare her away, and it wasn’t as if he’d made an effort to get in touch with her again before today. This was way too important, and at the crux of it all an innocent child’s future depended on the outcome of tonight.
“I meant to tell you, and I was going to—in my own time. I’ve been busy and I had a bit of a struggle coming to terms with it myself. Getting my head around how I’m going to cope.”
Jenna’s voice shook, but even though she was upset, he sensed the shields she’d erected earlier growing even thicker, her defense even stronger.
“And you didn’t think I should have known about this earlier?”
“What difference would it have made?”
Her words shocked him. What difference? Did she think that knowing he was going to be a father made no discernible difference to his life, to how he felt about everything? Hell, he’d lost his own father only a couple months ago. Didn’t she think he at least deserved a light in the darkness of mourning? Something to get him through the responsibility of having to get up every day and keep putting one foot in front of the other, all because so many other people depended on him to not only do exactly that, but to do it brilliantly—even when he wanted to wallow in grief?
“Trust me.” He fought to keep his tone even. “It would have made a difference. When did you know?”
“About three weeks after we—” Her voice broke off and she appeared to gather up her courage before she spoke again. “I began to suspect I might be pregnant, and waited another week before going to my doctor.”
Dylan sucked in a breath between his teeth. So, by his reckoning, she’d had confirmation that their encounter had resulted in conception for plenty of time. She could have shared the news—no matter how busy she was.
Damn it, he’d used a condom; they should have been safe. But nothing was 100 percent effective, except maybe abstinence. And there was one thing that was guaranteed, when it came to Jenna: abstinence was the last thing on Dylan’s mind.
Even now, as quietly irate as he was right this second, she still had a power over him. His skin felt too tight for his body, as if he was itching to burst out and lose himself in her. His flesh stirred to life even as the idea took flight. Desire uncoiled from the pit of his belly and sent snaking tendrils in a heated path throughout him.
No one had had that power over him before. Ever. Yet this diminutive woman had once driven him to a sexual frenzy that had tipped over into sheer madness. She still could.
A ringing sound penetrated Dylan’s consciousness, a much needed reminder of the here and now and the fact that Jenna sat opposite him, quite a different woman from the one he’d so quickly but thoroughly made love to two and a half months ago.
“I’ll be right back,” he said, surreptitiously adjusting himself as he rose from the seat. “I need to check on something in the kitchen.”
After a quick examination of the beef bourguignonne simmering on the stovetop, and checking that the rice in the cooker was fluffy and ready, he grunted with satisfaction. They would continue this discussion at the table, where, hopefully, he’d find his manners again and stand a better chance of hiding the effect she had on him.
He returned to the living room and painted a smile on his face.
“Dinner’s ready. Would you like to come through to the kitchen? I thought we could eat in there, if you’re comfortable with that.”
“Since I usually eat standing up at the store or off a tray on my lap when I’m home, just sitting at a table sounds lovely.”
She stood and smoothed her clothes, her hand lingering on the tiny bump that revealed a child of his now existed. It hit Dylan like a fist to the chest. His child. Someone of his blood. Everything else in his life right now faded into the background as that knowledge took precedence. Now there was another generation to think about, to protect and to teach.
The thought filled him with a new sense of purpose, of hope. The past five years had been challenging, the past couple of months even more so. But this baby was a new beginning. A reason for Dylan to ground himself in what was good, and to put some much needed balance back in his life, balance that was sadly lacking. This baby, his son or daughter, was a lifeline out of a spiral of work and hard play that had threatened to consume him. One way or another he would be a part of his child’s world—every single day if he could, although that would take some engineering with him based in L.A. and Jenna here in Cheyenne. Whatever the logistics, he was prepared to work thi
s situation out. He just needed to be certain that Jenna felt the same way.
She crossed the room to where he stood, and he put his hand at the small of her back and guided her through to the kitchen. He felt her stiffen slightly beneath his touch, and heard her breath hitch just a little. Knowing she wasn’t as unaffected by him as she pretended went a long way toward making him feel better about the semi-erection he was constantly battling to keep in control.
He seated her at the square wooden table in the kitchen and gestured to the vase containing a handful of wildflowers he’d found on his four-acre property when he’d gone to walk off some steam this afternoon.
“They could probably have done with your touch,” he said as he turned to the oven to take warmed plates out and lay them on the table.
“They look fine just the way they are,” Jenna commented.
But as if she couldn’t resist, he saw her reach out and tweak a few stems. Before he knew it, the bouquet looked a hundred times better.
“How do you do that?” he asked, bringing the Dutch oven filled with the deliciously fragrant beef across from the stove.
“Do what?”
“Make a jumble of weeds look so good.”
She shrugged. “It’s a knack I picked up, I guess.”
“What made you decide to work with flowers?”
“I didn’t, really.” She sighed. “They kind of picked me.”
“Not a family business, then?” he probed, curious to discover just how she had ended up under Mrs. Connell’s roof.
Jenna gave a rueful laugh. “No, not a family business at all, although once I started working at the store it felt like home to me.”
There was a wistful note in her voice, one he wanted to explore further, but found himself reluctant to. There was time enough to find out all her secrets, he told himself.
He spooned rice from the cooker onto the warmed plates, and put them on the table.
“This looks great,” Jenna commented, leaning forward to inhale deeply. “And smells even better. To be honest, I think your skills with food far outweigh mine with flowers. I can barely reheat a TV dinner without burning something.”
Dylan feigned horror. “Wash your mouth out. TV dinners? You’re going to have to do much better than that for the baby.”
He reached for a ladle and spooned a generous portion of the beef onto her plate before serving himself. When she didn’t immediately pick up her fork, he sat back and looked at her. Her lips had firmed into a mutinous line and there was a frown of annoyance on her forehead.
“What did I say?”
“I didn’t come here to be told what to do. Maybe it’s better if I go.”
She pushed back her chair a little, but before she could go any farther he reached out and grabbed her hand.
“Okay, truce. I will try not to tell you what to eat, but you have to admit, for me it comes with the territory. It’s what I do. It’s in my nature to want to feed people well.”
It was also in his nature to want to lift her from her chair, march her to the nearest accommodatingly soft surface and relive some of the passion they’d shared. She looked down at where his fingers were curled around her wrist, and he slowly eased his grip and let her go.
“As long as we’re clear on that,” she muttered, scooting her chair closer to the table again and lifting her fork.
She scooped up a mouthful and brought it to her lips. His brain ceased to function as she closed her eyes and moaned in pleasure. Other body parts had no such difficulty.
“That’s so good,” she said, opening her eyes again.
For a second Dylan allowed himself to be lost in their chocolate-brown depths. Just a second. Then he forced himself to look away and apply himself to his own meal.
“Thanks, I aim to please,” he said with a nonchalance he was far from feeling.
It didn’t seem to matter what he did or what he said, or even how she reacted to any of it—he was drawn to her on a level he’d never experienced before. Sure, that could play to his advantage, but he had the sneaking suspicion that Jenna Montgomery was a great deal more hardheaded than her feminine presence at his table suggested.
“Home grown?” she asked, spearing some beef and popping it into her mouth.
For a second he was distracted by her lips closing around the fork, then the enticing half smile they curved into as she tasted and chewed.
“Yeah, from the Big Blue. Nothing but the best.”
“Your cousin runs it, doesn’t he? Chance Lassiter?”
“And very well, too. It’s in his blood.”
And therein lay the rub. While he and Sage had been raised Lassiters, they weren’t Lassiter by birth. Not like Chance, not like their sister, Angelica. It was one of the reasons why this baby meant so much more to Dylan than he had ever imagined. This child was a part of his legacy, his mark on the world. It was all very well gaining fame and fortune for doing something you excelled at and loved, but raising a child and setting him or her on a path for life—nothing compared to that.
“Have you thought about what you’re going to do when the baby is born?” he asked, deliberately changing the subject.
“Do?”
“About work.”
“I’ll manage. I figure that in the early stages I should be able to keep the baby at work with me.”
He nodded, turning the idea over in his mind. “Yes, sure—initially. I think that would be a good idea.”
“I’m sorry?”
He looked at her in puzzlement. But his confusion didn’t last long.
“What you think should matter to me, why, exactly?”
He let his fork clatter onto his plate. “Well, it is my baby, too. I have some say in what happens to him or her.”
Even though he’d tried to keep his voice neutral, some of his frustration must have leaked through.
“Dylan, as far as I’m concerned, while you have rights to be a part of this baby’s life, it doesn’t mean you have a say in how I bring it up.”
“Oh? And how do you see that working? Just let me jet in every now and then, have a visit and then jet out again?”
“Pretty much. After all, you live most of the time in L.A., or wherever else in the world you’re flying off to—not here where the baby and I will be. Obviously, I won’t stand in your way when you want to see him or her, though, as long as it’s clear I’m the one raising the child.”
That was not how things were going to happen. Dylan’s hands curled into fists on the table and took in a deep, steadying breath. “That’s good of you,” he said, as evenly as he could. “Although I have another suggestion, one that I find far more palatable, and which will be better for all of us.”
She looked at him in surprise. “Oh? What’s that?”
“That we get married and raise the baby together.”
To his chagrin she laughed. Not just laughed but snorted and snuffled with it as if she couldn’t contain her mirth.
“It’s not so impossible to think of, is it?” he demanded.
“Impossible? It’s ridiculous, Dylan. We barely know one another.”
He nodded in agreement. “True. That’s something easily rectified.”
All humor fled from her face. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Never more so.”
“No. It would never work. Not in a million years.”
“Why not? We already know we’re...” he paused a moment for effect, his eyes skimming her face, her throat and lower “...compatible.”
“Great sex isn’t the sole basis for a compatible marriage,” she protested.
“It’s a start,” he said, his voice deepening.
Hot color danced in her cheeks—due to anger or something else? he wondered. Something like desir
e, perhaps?
“Not for me it isn’t. Look, can we agree to disagree on the subject of marriage? I’ve already said I won’t stand in your way when it comes to seeing the child. Can we leave it at that for now?”
“Sure, for now. But, Jenna, one thing you will learn about me is that I never give up. Especially not on something this important.”
Four
Jenna’s heart hammered a steady drumbeat in her chest. He looked deadly serious. This wasn’t how she had imagined their meal together going, not at all. She certainly hadn’t imagined that he’d spring an offer of marriage on her like that.
Sure, there was probably a list as long as her arm of women who would jump at the opportunity. But she wasn’t like that. And she’d meant it when she’d said his life was in L.A. and not here, because it was. While it was true that he’d been in Wyoming more often lately, it was only because of the new Grill opening in town. Once that was up and running he’d be straight back to the West Coast. Back to his high life and being featured in the celebrity news with his beautiful women.
No, marriage to Dylan Lassiter didn’t even bear thinking of, she decided as she forced herself to take another bite of the melt-in-your-mouth perfection of the meal he’d prepared. He might be spending more time in the boardroom these days, she mused, but he hadn’t lost his knack in the kitchen.
Maybe it would be worth marrying him just to have meals like this every day, she thought flippantly. An image of him barefoot and in the kitchen, wearing an apron and not much else, hovered in her mind, sending a pull of longing through her.
No, get a grip on yourself, she chided silently. She’d never settled for anything less than perfection when it came to a relationship. It was why she so rarely dated. That was why her behavior with Dylan back in March was such an aberration.
EXPECTING THE CEO'S CHILD Page 3