Pregnant by the Cowboy CEO

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Pregnant by the Cowboy CEO Page 9

by Catherine Mann


  And time was running out fast to figure out how to deal with that.

  * * *

  Preston palmed Amie’s back and led her into their suite, all too aware that her brother was so damn close. This whole dating ritual felt alien at forty-six years old. He wasn’t a high schooler to sit on the sofa and be grilled by dad.

  But Amie was tight with her family and there was no dodging all those concerned relatives. Truth be told, Alex’s insights helped, even if he’d meant them as a warning.

  Amie stepped into their suite and spun on her heels fast. “I can’t wait another second to know. What were you and Alex talking about while I played with Cody?”

  “Business.” Images of Amie with pink tinged hair and a sunburn filled his mind, making her all the more approachable. Vulnerable.

  Beautiful.

  “That’s all?” She perched her hands on her hips. “Somehow I’m having trouble believing you just talked about Diamonds in the Rough. My brother’s known to be protective. It can’t be coincidence that he showed up here now.”

  “Of course it’s not a coincidence. He cares about you.” Preston guided her deeper into the room, over to the balcony and their view of the Hudson River. He missed the outdoors. Needed the clarity. “But I can handle a worried relative.”

  “I hope so.” She gripped the balcony railing, the NYC skyline lighting up the night, glittering like manufactured touchable stars. This was as romantic a setting as the park. Maybe the evening wasn’t lost. Not yet. “I don’t need any more conflict in my life right now.”

  A rogue thought struck him. “Did you tell him what happened between us?”

  “No, of course not.” Her eyes went wide with unmistakable horror. She shook her head. “I do not share that kind of information with him. That would be...creepy. But we’re twins. There’s an instinct between us. I’m certain he’s here to check up on me. So I’ll ask again. What did you two talk about?”

  “Business—and yes, we talked about you.” He skimmed his fingers over her high cheekbones and along her silky ponytail. “He shared stories about your pageant days and pranks you pulled to get out of attending some.”

  She angled closer, her feet tucked between his. “Why in the world would he do that?”

  “I suspect he was lobbying to make sure I know you’re more than a pretty face.” He cupped the back of her neck. “But I already knew that.”

  “How so?” Her hand flattened against his chest, no hesitation.

  There was a physical ease growing between them. It felt familiar. Comfortable. Natural.

  “I work with you. You’re damn smart.” He tapped her temple. “Underestimating you would be a big mistake on anyone’s part.”

  “Still—” she swayed even closer, bringing her lips inches away from his mouth “—it wasn’t my brain that landed us in that coat closet together, since we hadn’t even met.”

  Unable to resist her, all of her—body and brain—he sketched his mouth over hers. “Don’t I know it.”

  Seven

  His kiss sent Amie’s already simmering passion into a full flame. She was so tired of fighting the attraction and had precious little time left to explore it before she told him about the baby. Tonight had been magical in a million ways, from their date in the park, to seeing him hang out with her brother and future nephew. In his own way, Preston fit. Or rather, she wanted him to fit.

  But thinking that far ahead threatened to send her into a panic, so she focused on the present. On the warm stroke of his tongue with the taste of beer and pizza. The bold stroke of his hands along her spine, over her bottom to cup her hips and bring her closer. The press of his arousal sent a rush of power through her. This was real, happening again, not just another dream at night that left her feeling frustrated and aching.

  He angled back to meet her eyes. “Are we headed for the bedroom?”

  “Is that where you want to be?”

  “You don’t even have to ask that question.”

  “Neither do you. My only suggestion—” she looped her arms around his neck and she walked backward, sidestepping her cat “—let’s begin in the shower.”

  His eyes flamed. “I like the way you think.”

  Their clothes fell away, leaving a trail of clothes as they walked into the Florentine-marble bathroom with an oversize steam rain shower and multiple body jets. He pulled a condom from his leather shaving kit, setting it inside the shower stall as he turned on the sprays, but stayed outside while the water heated.

  “You’re even more beautiful than I remember.” He held her at arm’s length, his eyes sweeping her curves and bringing tingles of awareness along her skin as surely as if he’d stroked her. “It’s been driving me crazy the past two months thinking about that dark coat closet, wishing we had chosen a place with light and time. Hating like hell that it seemed we wouldn’t get another chance.”

  She savored the breadth of his shoulders, the hard cut of muscles along his chest covered in dark hair. His narrow hips drew her eyes, her attention held by the thick arousal against his stomach.

  She trailed her fingers down his chest, lower, his stomach muscles tensing visibly. “That night seems so surreal now.”

  With one finger, she traced the rigid length of him. His hard-on twitched against her touch and he groaned low in his throat.

  His hazel eyes went steely with desire. “It happened.”

  “Believe me, I know.” Her fingers wrapped around the length of him. “I remember every detail, every moment.”

  He stepped closer, his hands cradling and caressing both her breasts. “This is going to be even better. I’m going to take my time.”

  She arched into his touch. “Promises?”

  “I’m a man of my word.” Dipping his head to kiss her again, he backed her into the shower.

  No more reservations. She would have this and worry about the consequences tomorrow.

  * * *

  Preston backed Amie against the tile wall, taking the shower spray against his back. Her breasts filled his hands, the hardened peaks pressing into his palms as he stroked and caressed, then plucked with his thumbs...and mouth.

  The spray pelted over their naked bodies, the beads of water mingling with sweat and need. Steam filled the shower stall, creating an even greater sense of privacy, a barrier between them and the outside world. For so long he’d ached for her, dreamed of having her totally. To learn every curve of her that he hadn’t had time to explore before. She’d shut him out for so long. He wasn’t a hundred percent sure why she’d changed her mind now, but he sure as hell wasn’t turning his back on the chance to win her over.

  He took a bar of soap in his hands, savoring the task in front of him. He applied all his focus to taking his time. Discovering all her secrets. All the places she liked to be touched best.

  Steam surrounded them, a misty warm cloud along her wet skin while he worked up a lavender lather. She shifted from one foot to the other, drawing his eye toward long, slender legs slick with shower spray. Setting down the bar of soap, he reached for her shoulders and massaged the suds all over her.

  Preston grinned hungrily, watching as her eyes drifted closed for a long moment, her muscles easing beneath his touch. He brushed kisses across her spiky, wet lashes while he slid his hands lower, kneading her high, full breasts until her knees seemed to give out from underneath her, making her sway. He pressed her to the tile wall with his hips, holding her upright.

  Her breath caught as she reached for the soap, too, her fingers fumbling with it somewhere behind his back while he thumbed one dusky pink nipple to taut attention. She sighed in his ear, a throaty rush of breathless pleasure that only deepened when he took her in his mouth.

  The soap fell from her hands and landed somewhere around his feet, but he couldn’t stir himself to
retrieve it. Not when her back arched the way it did right now, her whole body attuned to his slightest movement. Just like that first night when they’d danced. When they’d made love.

  The chemistry at work was undeniable.

  Still, she’d wanted a shower and he planned to deliver. So he forced himself back to hunt for shampoo.

  Water saturated her hair, deepening the dark brown to ebony, and he squeezed the fruity-scented concoction into the locks, working it through, massaging her scalp while she hummed her pleasure. His hands slicked along the soaked strands, down her back to cup her bottom and bring her closer again. Skin to skin.

  She sipped a kiss from him. “No more waiting. Now.”

  “And again in bed.”

  “Yes,” she whispered, passing him the condom from the ledge.

  He pressed inside her, moving, claiming.

  The clamp of her around him was better than memories. The warmth of her body, the writhing of her hips was perfection. Bathroom lights and moonbeams streamed through the panes over her curves. No darkness. No shadows.

  Just steam carrying the scent of soap and sex.

  Her gasping breaths ramped, faster, her breasts pressing against him as her desire grew. He could feel it. Sense it. Her hand slapped against the glass wall as she braced herself, sliding down the condensation. Her head falling back, neck vulnerable.

  As she unraveled with her orgasm, it was difficult to tell what was hotter—her or the steaming water. Finally, finally, he let himself go and thrust faster, deeper, wringing fresh sighs of pleasure from her as he found his own mind-shattering release.

  And he knew he’d made the right decision. They would date, sleep together, work together, keeping it all civil and incredible.

  They had all the time in the world.

  * * *

  Time was moving so fast. Knowing she was stuck in a twilight dream and unable to pull herself out, she rolled from side to side in the sheets, the Egyptian cotton sliding against her skin like Preston’s touch. Her mind filled with an out-of-control reel, the past and present tangled, the night in the closet meshing with their encounter in the shower. Their clothes on from that night, but wet and plastered to their bodies. The peach-colored satin dress clung to her skin and shower spray slid from the brim of his Stetson.

  She breathed in his scent, clean but spicy, too. Masculine. Heady. His touch warmed her where he touched her waist. Her hand.

  The energy between them crackled like static through a rainstorm, crackling, dangerous along her skin. The music from that evening mingled with the percussion of the showerheads hitting the wall, their bodies, the floor. She breathed in and he breathed out. The writhing of their movements—dancing, making love, synced up effortlessly, her body responding to the slightest movement of his, shadowing his steps as she fell deeper into the spell of his hazel eyes.

  The dim lighting of the coatroom and shower cast his face in shadows as she arched up into his kiss, his arms strong around her but loose enough she could leave if she wanted. But the last thing she wanted was to stop even though her mind shouted that she couldn’t see his face, she didn’t know who she was with. She needed to wipe away the water, let in the sunshine and see him. Know him.

  Except pleasure pulsed through her at the angling of his mouth over hers, the touch of his tongue to hers. The kiss went deeper, faster, spiraling out of control. She pressed herself to the hard planes of his body. She lost herself in the kiss again, in the dream. In the feel and fantasy of this torrid dream that had her pressing her legs together in a delicious aching need for release.

  Her breasts tingled and tightened into hard beads and her hands moved restlessly under the covers searching for him...but they were in the shower and the closet. And the hard length of his erection pressed against her stomach, a heavy pressure that burned right through the silky dress she’d worn.

  She couldn’t deny how much she wanted this. Him. Now.

  He started to ease back and she stopped him, gripping his lapels. Slipping her hand into his tuxedo jacket, she let her fingers stroke across the muscled heat of his chest, water sloshing over them in her tangled mind. This was a man, the very best kind, powerful in body and mind.

  His hands were back on her just as fast, roving, keeping the flame burning and—

  Her breath was knocked from her.

  She blinked awake, gasping for air as her cat stared back at her, perched on her chest. “Roscoe?”

  The rascal must have jumped on her chest, worried over her restless dreams. She reached beside her and Preston still snoozed away, his breath heavy with sleep. She ran soft fingers on his forearm, unable to quiet her mind.

  Eyes bleary, she stared at the digital clock on the nightstand: 1:30 a.m. A sigh escaped her lips. She needed to move. To think. To find clarity rather than thrash around in dreams she didn’t understand.

  Lifting Roscoe off and setting him on the floor, she carefully slipped out of the bed. He didn’t stir. Neither did Preston. After the shower, they’d moved to the bed, slept, woken to make love again, taking their time, learning the nuances of each other. Then drifted off again. But still, she was restless.

  From the floor, Amie grabbed Preston’s T-shirt and put it on. It fell midthigh, like a short dress from her pageant days. But it smelled like Preston’s musky cologne. It reassured her. Steadied her.

  On tiptoe, she moved to the white chaise lounge across the room. The hand-stamped Venetian velvet made a gorgeous addition to the suite, and the kind of textural art that she loved best. She ran an appreciative hand along the pattern as she plopped down, clutching an oversize silk pillow to her stomach. Roscoe pattered over to her, tail straight up, shaking with excitement and affection. He jumped up, pawed at her until she lowered the pillow. He sat in her lap, purring, squinting his blue eyes at her. Roscoe always knew when she needed someone. When she needed comfort.

  And damn. She needed that now more than ever.

  Light from the city poured in through the window, allowing Amie to see Preston’s figure in bed. He was a wonderful man. Caring. Confident. And more important, he seemed to believe in her. In her designs—at least the ones that she’d openly shared with him—and in her ability to make decisions.

  Reaching for her stomach, Amie sighed deeply. There were too many unknowns.

  For a moment, she allowed herself to think about what it might have been like if they had dated over the past couple of months. What they would be like. Would he be helping her pick out a nursery theme? Would he be offering names?

  “Roscoe kitty, why is this so complicated?” she whispered. Roscoe simply looked up at her, purring still, and stretched his front paws to her belly. “We used a condom. I never sneak off into coat closets. And it’s so hard to regret anything.”

  She scratched his head, wondering about what her baby would look like. What life with her baby would look like. No, life with their baby. With his hazel eyes and her thick dark hair, chubby cheeks. Her heart went tight at the image of Preston smiling, rocking that child in his arms. If only life could be that simple, that easy. Had she blown her chance at it already?

  Roscoe jumped from her lap and sprinted back to the bed, curling around Preston’s head. Amie stayed for a moment on the chaise lounge before crawling back into bed, wanting to have Preston’s warmth against her skin.

  He stirred as she found her way back into his arms. He squeezed her tightly, and kissed the nape of her neck.

  His breath was warm against her neck. If only things were different, less complicated. Somehow she would have to find a way to fix things between them. Wishing wasn’t enough. She needed to act and soon.

  Amie watched the clock for another few minutes before drifting to sleep.

  * * *

  After a catnap, Amie curled up against his side, the Egyptian cotton sheets tangled around t
heir legs.

  They were so good together it almost scared her, making her want to hesitate pushing for action and savor this just a while longer. It was just one night.

  Preston stroked her bare shoulder while moving his toe under the sheet to entertain Roscoe. The cat pawed and pounced at the movement. “I’m disappointed your brother thinks I’m the bad guy.”

  “Well, you have cut a wide swath through the staff, firing off longtime employees we’ve grown to know and care about for years,” she pointed out, tugging lightly at his chest hair.

  He closed a hand around hers as Roscoe waddled slowly up the bed. “You mean, I saved the corporation.”

  “Saved is a strong word.” She flattened her palm to his chest, his heartbeat steady and strong. “I would say you bolstered things.”

  “Semantics.”

  And likely why her grandmother had put him in charge instead of her.

  Still, she frowned. “We lost a lot of talented people. Talented loyal people. I feel they deserved better from the company.”

  “It wouldn’t help those talented and loyal people if the company started losing money. And that’s what we were looking at. The employees don’t thrive if the organization isn’t thriving.” He spoke with surprising passion, opening their blinds a bit with the remote control beside the bed, exposing an incredible view of the city lights in the middle of the night. “You know how many companies reorganize and then leave their people sweating it out for months afterward, worrying about their jobs? I happen to think it’s kinder to circumvent the drama and the questions, making cuts as quickly and painlessly as possible.”

  “None of it was painless.” Although she understood his point. She’d had friends who had been caught in corporate takeovers, worrying about their jobs for months while they navigated shifting seas at work.

  “That’s what severance packages are for.” He shrugged. “I take personnel issues very, very seriously. I honestly believe the people are the backbone of any good company. That’s not lip service. That’s a fact. I happen to think it’s one of the things your grandmother liked best about my philosophy when we first met.”

 

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