Inheriting His Secret Christmas Baby

by Heidi Betts

  Doing her best not to wake Trevor, she lifted his arm from her waist and slowly rolled out of bed. Her robe was a mass of wrinkled material on the floor, where it had gotten tossed hours earlier, but she picked it up, shook it out to find which end was up, and quickly covered herself, tying the sash as she tiptoed out the door.

  Her bare feet padded on the cool hardwood floor as she crossed the hall to her room. Inside, Bradley was lying on his back in the crib, face crinkled and arms and legs flailing as he fussed.

  She scooped him up, patting his back as she carried him downstairs to the kitchen to fix a quick bottle. Taking the baby and the bottle back upstairs, while Bradley drank she sat in the beautiful, hand-carved rocking chair Trevor had insisted she have.

  Once Bradley’s belly was full and he’d fallen asleep again, she put him in a clean diaper and returned him to the crib, hopefully for the rest of the night. She didn’t even know what time it was and had to check the clock when she returned the dirty bottle to the kitchen.

  Five after two. She had to be up again in only four more hours. But the question now became, did she go to her room and spend those hours alone…or return to Trevor’s bed and curl up next to his warm, firm body?

  Oh, she so wanted to do the latter. The thought was almost irresistible. But that didn’t mean it was smart. Sleeping with him once had been stupid enough; better not to compound that by making Bad Decision Number Two.

  Rinsing the baby bottle, she left it in the sink to be dealt with in the morning, and turned to head back upstairs. A shadow fell across the tiled floor, rising over her and sending her back a step. She opened her mouth to scream, then quickly caught herself as her eyes adjusted and she realized she wasn’t about to be swallowed whole by the abominable snow monster.

  “Good lord,” she breathed, slapping a hand over her chest to stop the rapid pounding of her heart, “you scared the life out of me.”

  Rather than offer an apology, Trevor’s dark eyes blinked sleepily and he rubbed a hand through his tousled hair. He’d pulled on a pair of blue-and-white-striped flannel pajama bottoms, but both his feet and chest were still bare.

  She’d never noticed before how sexy his feet were. Of course, the last time he’d been wearing so few clothes she hadn’t exactly been interested in his toes.

  “I woke up and you were gone,” he said in a tired, gravelly voice.

  “The baby woke me,” she told him. Not that she owed him an explanation. If she’d been smart, she would have sneaked out of bed even without Bradley’s prompting and locked herself in the guest room, well away from roving hands and tempting lips.

  “Is he okay?”

  She nodded. “Needed a bottle and a new diaper. He’s back to sleep now.”

  Trevor tipped his head, which she took as a sign of approval. Then he took a step forward. And another. And another.

  Haylie retreated, not sure what his intentions were, until the counter stopped her. But it didn’t stop Trevor. He continued stalking her until his chest brushed the tips of her breasts. She wondered if he could feel her nipples budding through the thin satin of her robe.

  “Trevor,” she whispered as he leaned in, began nuzzling a spot just beneath her ear.

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “What happened before…” She trailed off. It was so hard to concentrate while he was doing that with his mouth.

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “It was…”

  He licked the lobe of her ear, then nipped gently with his teeth, and her knees nearly buckled.

  “A mistake,” she forced out breathlessly. “It was a mistake.”

  “Definitely,” he agreed, though the fact that he was now kissing a hot, wet path to the hollow of her throat made her think he didn’t agree, not really. “A terrible mistake.”

  She swallowed, determined to keep her mind on track and not let him distract her, no matter how hard he was trying.

  “Then why are you…doing this?”

  His fingers slipped under the belt of her robe, untying the knot and letting the garment fall open. Cool air hit her overheated skin and she shivered.

  “The way I see it,” he murmured, sliding his hands inside her robe and pushing it open wider, “the mistake’s already been made. Can’t undo it.”

  He made a good point. Maybe only because his hands on her breasts and his mouth on her collarbone were as intoxicating as a bottle of fine wine, but still…

  “We’re both consenting adults,” he continued, kissing a path down the center of her chest. “I don’t see any reason why we shouldn’t continue to enjoy one another for as long as you’re here. No strings, no promises. Just—” his tongue darted out to sweep across one tight, sensitive nipple “—pleasure.”

  Her head fell back on a shudder, her eyes slipping closed. He made another very good point. The man was clearly a genius, his skills obviously wasted at a menial marketing job for Jarrod Ridge when he could be curing dreaded diseases, negotiating world peace and discovering life forms on other planets.

  A tiny voice sounded inside her head, a faraway echo offering a small semblance of sanity. It forced her to open her mouth and say, “But…”

  That’s all, just “but…” She knew there should be more, knew there was some kind of argument she should be posing, but darned if she could think of a single one.

  So Trevor finished the thought for her. He straightened enough to reach her mouth, kissing her until the only thing taxing her brain was a flurry of stars in swirling colors.

  He broke away, giving her a chance to catch her breath, but only for a second before grasping her waist and hoisting her onto the countertop.

  “It’s only for a week or so more,” he told her, nudging the robe from her shoulders and letting it float down her arms to pool at her hips. “As soon as those test results come in, everything is going to change. But until then, we’ve got nothing but time.”

  He kissed the curve of her breast. “To spend together.”

  Her collarbone. “Alone.”

  The line of her jaw. “Just the two of us.”

  And finally, her mouth. “Enjoying ourselves—” his hands cupped her knees, prying her legs apart so that he could step closer and fill the space; the flannel of his pajama bottoms was soft and highly erotic against her inner thighs “—in increasingly pleasurable ways.”

  There was only one thing she could think to say to that, while his lips ravished hers and his thumbs circled closer and closer to her center.

  “Okay.”

  Two days later, Haylie returned from the Ridge earlier than usual. She shouldn’t be doing this. She had a mile-long list of things to do, and contrary to her fondest wishes, the time leading up to Christmas Eve and Erica’s wedding seemed to be speeding up rather than slowing down.

  But Trevor had finally convinced her to let him take her to dinner at Chagall’s. Even if they requested a private booth, tried to slip in under the radar, they were bound to be noticed. By the staff, by other guests, and eventually word would reach the kitchen. Trevor didn’t seem to mind, so she was trying not to worry about it, either, but that didn’t mean she was looking forward to being fodder for the Jarrod Ridge gossip mill.

  Then again, maybe no one would even notice them. It was possible. It was also possible that Trevor had prepared for any such scrutiny and had a perfectly plausible story in mind to explain what the two of them were doing together.

  The problem was that while they’d agreed to act as though they were merely business acquaintances and weren’t on a date, a date was exactly what this evening’s dinner would be. At least she assumed so, given the fact that she was living under Trevor’s roof and currently sharing his bed.

  She knew she should be feeling guilty about the last, but heaven forgive her, she didn’t. Not yet, at any rate. And she promised herself that when the end came—which, of course, it would—she would handle it in a mature fashion. No tears or histrionics, because she and Trevor had agreed that there were no strings or expec
tations to this affair. They were simply two consenting adults enjoying each other’s company for as long as it lasted.

  But an affair, by definition, was supposed to be kept under wraps, wasn’t it? Full of clandestine meetings and secret rendezvous. Not going out to a crowded restaurant in a very public resort where anyone could see them and speculate about their relationship, begin all manner of ugly rumors.

  It was Trevor’s call, though, and he’d insisted they do this now, before she got too much more swept up in Erica’s wedding preparations. She suspected, too, that it had something to do with wanting her to experience the five-star opulence of Chagall’s before those DNA test results came in.

  Maybe he wanted to impress her. Though she didn’t know how she could be any more impressed, given everything she’d already seen of both his personal home and the family’s holdings.

  Or maybe he was simply trying to be nice, to give her a bit of a break from all the hard work and long hours she’d been putting in on his sister’s behalf. Of course, such a large job had been his idea in the first place, and his way of keeping her close until he found out Bradley’s paternity.

  But still, Trevor was being kind and romantic, and she was just weak enough to go along with it, to let herself be swept up in the fantasy, however short-lived it would turn out to be.

  Bradley was still at the resort’s day-care center, so she didn’t need to worry about him. And she had a good hour to shower, change clothes and redo her hair and makeup before meeting Trevor back at the resort, at his office, as they’d agreed.

  Kicking off her shoes just inside the door, she shook off her coat and hurried upstairs. Twenty minutes later, she hopped out of the shower and began the ritual of drying and styling her hair, applying a few dabs of her favorite perfume and touching up her makeup to something a bit heavier and more appropriate for evening than work.

  From there, she walked barefoot to the guest-room closet and pulled out the little black dress she’d been thinking about all day. When she’d first noticed it among the wardrobe offerings Trevor had had supplied for her, she’d thought it was entirely too fancy for anything she’d be doing during her stay in Aspen.

  But the moment he’d convinced her to dine with him at Chagall’s, she’d known she would finally put the velvet sheath to good use. She’d also known exactly what shoes and jewelry she would wear with it—a pair of steep, nearly four-inch open-toe stilettos with tiny white bows on the sides and a triple strand of ivory pearls with matching earrings.

  When she was pretty much ready, she grabbed a small black clutch large enough to hold a few necessary items such as her cell phone and lipstick, then realized she didn’t have a watch. She must have left it in Trevor’s bedroom.

  She really tried not to leave her things in his room, because even though they were technically living together and technically now sharing a bed, moving anything into his room felt too personal, too much like true cohabitation or like this was all leading somewhere. But considering the number of times he’d lured her in there fully dressed, then stripped her down…a shiver skated down her spine at the warm, intimate memories…it was no wonder she’d managed to leave something behind.

  Crossing the hall, she pushed open his door and moved toward the nightstand, where she most expected her watch to be. Halfway there, she noticed a lump in the center of Trevor’s bed.

  Odd, since she remembered straightening the covers herself that very morning. She might not have managed hospital corners or done as good a job as his housekeeper, but she definitely hadn’t left a big, messy lump in the middle of the mattress.

  It took a moment for her brain to process what she was seeing, but then she started to wonder if something had happened. She’d spoken to Trevor that morning before they’d parted ways outside his office at the Manor, but not since. There hadn’t been a need, since their plans for dinner had been ironed out the night before.

  But what if he hadn’t been feeling well? What if he’d eaten some bad sushi for lunch or some such, and had come home sick? She’d like to think he would have called or texted her about that sort of thing, or even had Diana contact her, but perhaps he’d been too sick even for that.

  Stepping forward, she reached for the covers, slowly drawing them back as she whispered his name. “Trevor? Are you all right?”

  But it wasn’t Trevor beneath the bunched up sheets. At least not unless he’d grown three feet of extra hair and dyed it a bright copper-red over the last six hours.

  Dropping the covers like they were a nest of wriggling vipers, she jerked back, eyes wide.

  Behind her, she heard a creak and turned to find Trevor waltzing through the open bedroom door. His hair was still short and brown, and he was wearing the same suit he’d left the house in earlier that morning.

  He grinned at her, sweeping up to press a quick, hard kiss to her lips. His hand at the base of her spine was firm and possessive, and even with the cold reality of what was lying in the bed beside them, it warmed her.

  “I thought I’d pick you up for dinner instead of making you drive back to the Ridge by yourself. Besides, it’s easier to drop off my briefcase now than remember to pick it up later on our way out.”

  Licking her lips and removing probably half of the lip gloss she’d just painstakingly applied, she did her best to find her voice.

  “Really?” she asked. “You didn’t come home early for a little afternoon delight?”

  His grin turned into a full-blown leer. “I hadn’t, but if you’re offering…” He tipped his left wrist to check the time. “Our reservations aren’t until seven, and one of the many perks of being a Jarrod is that we can be late and still get a table.”

  He leaned in, going for another kiss, but she quickly sidestepped, moving farther away from him. His hand dropped from her back and his smile slipped, sliding downward into the beginnings of a frown.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

  “I wasn’t talking about me.” She cocked her head toward the bed. “I meant Goldilocks over there.”

  His eyes darted to the lump under the covers that was just starting to wiggle around and wake up. In three long strides, he reached the bed and stretched out an arm to whip back the sheets and spread.

  A long, lithe form with curly red hair and wearing only a matching hot-pink bra and high-cut underwear blinked thick lashes and rolled from her side to her back. Her lips curved when she spotted Trevor.

  “Hi, baby. Hope you don’t mind that I let myself in.”

  That was all Haylie needed to hear. Or maybe all she could stand to hear without becoming ill or violent, or both.

  Spinning on her heel, she marched from the room. Of course, by the time she got downstairs, she wasn’t sure what to do.

  She could have stormed out, climbed back into the Escalade that didn’t belong to her and drive away…but where would she go? Jarrod Ridge? Home to Denver? A local hotel? Any of those options would require returning to the resort to pick up Bradley, at the very least.

  But deep down she knew she wasn’t going to do any of those things. She also knew she didn’t really have a right to be upset at all.

  What business was it of hers if Trevor had another woman in his bed? If he had a dozen Playboy bunny girlfriends on the side?

  She and Trevor might be sleeping together—a decision she’d known from the outset wasn’t the wisest move of her life—but no one had ever said their relationship was an exclusive one. In fact, they hadn’t called it a relationship at all.

  And she’d known his reputation with women, known he had a girl in every port, so to speak. Could she even be surprised that one had popped up out of the blue? Although, it would have been nice if this particular flavor of the month hadn’t popped up in his bed while Haylie was still sharing it with him, but that was the risk one ran, she supposed, when one chose to take up with Colorado’s most notorious ladies’ man.

  Which meant Haylie needed to get over it. Stop acting li
ke a jilted lover, a jealous spouse.

  But just because logic was winning out over raw, knee-jerk emotion didn’t mean she could shed the physical effects of her upset quite as easily. Her heels click-clacked on the polished hardwood floors as she stalked to the giant stone fireplace. It was cold now, empty, but she didn’t care.

  Crossing her arms beneath her breasts, she slowly began to pace. Not out of anger, exactly, but more to burn off the excess energy still thrumming through her bloodstream and give her something to do while she waited for…whatever she was waiting for.

  Though she doubted she and Trevor would end up going to dinner now, she was overdressed for anything else. And even going back upstairs to hide in her room wasn’t an option because she was too afraid of running into Trevor and his copper-haired bimbo along the way.

  So she stayed where she was, wearing a path in front of the fireplace until she heard footsteps upstairs, moving closer. Bracing herself for what was to come, she dropped her arms and tried to look as casual and unruffled as possible.

  The woman was fully dressed again, though parts of her silver lamé jumpsuit looked like it was painted on. Her hair was piled on top of her head like a giant, flamered crown, and big, chunky jewelry graced her neck and wrists. Haylie was sure the outfit was the height of fashion, but she looked a bit like a stowaway from the disco era. Her makeup was also smudged in places, and every few steps she would sniff, then wipe at her nose as though she’d been crying.

  Trevor, on the other hand, was the picture of stoicism as they made their way down the stairs, single file. He kept one hand on the railing, the other in his trouser pocket and his gaze firmly on Haylie.

  Haylie watched them move through the house to the front door, watched the woman turn on her go-go booted toe to flash doe eyes at Trevor and run a manicured fingertip down the center of his chest over his navy-blue tie.

  “Are you sure, Trev-Trev?” the redhead murmured in a clear pout. Her lips were pursed in a deep frown, her lashes batting fast enough to cause a draft.

  To his credit, Trevor didn’t respond to the woman’s flirtations, except to grasp her hand and very firmly move it back to her side. “I’m sure. Have a safe flight, Isabelle.”