Boardroom Kings. Catherine MannЧитать онлайн книгу.
place made her sad, made her want to bring flowers and color and noise to his world.
His whole house looked forlorn, for that matter, all the sadder given the home absolutely shouted out for love and attention, parties and family. Although he did have two bar stools in the kitchen. Had they come with the place or had be bought them with the notion of entertaining someone?
Kneeling, she unzipped her suitcase and pulled out the silky nightshirt that still fit. But for how much longer? She smoothed a hand over the growing curve of her stomach. Certainly not femme fatale material.
Her eyes scanned the empty walls, the barren bay window that cried out for a pair of comfy chairs, perfect for a couple watching a sunrise together. But other than those bar stools, it didn’t appear he’d brought anyone here.
Anyone except her.
He knew she hadn’t been dating anybody for the last six months he’d lived in New York—but he had been. Well, up until a couple of months before he’d left, that was. She wouldn’t have slept with a guy who was seeing someone else, no matter how swept up into the attraction she may have felt.
Lauren peeled off her travel-weary clothes and slid the nightshirt over her head. The silky fabric teased her breasts to pebbly peaks, leaving her achy. Wanting. God, it would be so easy to walk down those stairs and satisfy the ache between her legs.
She eyed the door and actually considered taking what she wanted. She even stepped forward. Her toe hooked on the strap to her computer bag.
Her computer. Her work. She needed to remember her reason for coming here in the first place—to give herself time to plan, to save her business, to save her pride.
Too bad a laptop and pride made for very chilly bedfellows.
Jason stepped over the serpentine computer cord, Lauren’s laptop closed and resting on the bedside table by his alarm clock. The ring box sat by the clock, closed. Her ring finger was still bare. She’d agreed to be his fiancée, even flown to California, but she hadn’t committed one hundred percent to the plan.
He set the breakfast tray on the corner of the mattress and took his time studying the sleeping woman in his bed. Her auburn hair was spread over the brown cotton pillowcase, the sheets tangled around her legs. Her lemon-yellow nightshirt rucked up to the top of her thighs. He remembered well how soft those legs were to the touch, how strong when wrapped around his waist, insistently urging him along. Keeping his hands to himself with her in his space all the time was going to be tougher than he’d expected, but the game went to those who were patient.
Jason sat on the edge and indulged himself by stroking her hair away from her face. He hated to disturb her, but also didn’t want to leave her alone in a strange place without checking on her. “Wake up, sleepyhead.”
She rolled to her back and stretched, the nightshirt pulling taut over the growing curve of her stomach. Feeling the baby move the other day had been… amazing. And unsettling.
Persuading Lauren to stay became all the more important.
Her eyes flickered open, vague and unfocused. She smiled, reaching up to him, and just that damn fast he forgot about careful plans and brushed a kiss over each beautiful eye. Her soft skin enticed him to hang around a while longer, kiss the tip of her nose, her chin. He would have liked to work his way lower, but she wasn’t fully awake yet, and he wanted her aware and consenting the next time they had sex.
She wriggled slowly, sensuously, beneath him, waking him up hard and fast, harder still as she sighed sweetly. He rested his forehead against hers.
And then she froze, her eyes snapping open wide. “Jason—” she shoved at his chest and slid to the side “—I thought I told you to stay out of my bed.”
He eased back, frustration pulsing through his veins. Patience. “You’re in my bed, remember?”
“A technicality.” She tugged her nightshirt down to her knees with one hand and pulled the sheet up higher with her other.
“I remember you being more of a morning person.” He lifted the black lacquer tray from the corner of the bed.
“That was back when my stomach didn’t live in my throat.” She eyed the breakfast tray packed with juice, milk, toast and eggs. “Thanks, though. This is nice of you.”
“I’m sorry you’re not feeling well.”
“I’m better now. At least I can keep food down.” She plucked up a piece of toast and nibbled at the corner.
Content she was going to eat, he stood, for the first time in… well, ever wanting to delay leaving for the office. “I’ll be back at lunchtime.”
“You don’t need to. I can entertain myself.” She sipped her milk. “I have work on the computer and calls to make.”
“All right, then. We’ll meet up for supper. Tomorrow I need to introduce you to my boss, and there’s a big shindig in the evening later this week.”
“Ah, so I’ll get to meet the people who don’t like the fact that you have a pregnant girlfriend.” She scrunched her slim nose. “Great. I can’t wait.”
“Actually it’s the client who has the problem, not my coworkers.” He tugged a tie out of the closet, slid it under his collar and began knotting it.
“Oh, that’s right. The old-fashioned guy.”
He flipped his collar back in place and reached for his suit jacket, the intimacy of the morning stealing over him and she’d only been in his house one night. “It’s his money to spend how he chooses. If we want his account—and we do—then we have to play by his rules, especially with Golden Gate Promotions nipping at our heels. Surely the businesswoman inside you understands that.”
“I hear what you’re saying.”
“It would really help convince people to buy into our engagement if you would wear this.” He scooped the ring box off the table and placed it on her breakfast tray. Winning a point was all about the presentation. If he offered her the diamond nestled in his palm, it seemed too much like a real proposal. Hopefully, by casually dropping it on the tray, she would feel less crowded.
Lauren nudged the box with the tip of her index finger. “You can’t really expect to marry someone just to please a business associate.”
Her question churning in his brain, he decided honesty would work best. She was smart and insightful, two things he enjoyed most about her.
“Honestly, Lauren, I’m not sure how far I would go with this. I’m still taking things a day at a time, working to make the best decision possible to secure the baby’s future, which means smoothing out your world and mine. Making the engagement as official as possible—including flashing this ring around—will go a long way toward taking care of those concerns. It could keep your mother off your back for a while, too.”
Lauren lightly punched his arm. “Now you’re playing dirty pool.”
“I’m a man on a mission.” He tapped the little velvet box.
She hugged her knees and stared at the ring as if it was a bomb, not a three-carat, flawless rock.
Nice. He restrained the urge to laugh. Especially since it really wasn’t all that funny.
Lauren tore her eyes from the ring. “What will I say if someone asks when we’re getting married?”
He cricked his neck from side to side, working out the stress already knotting its way up and it wasn’t even seven o’clock yet. “Tell them your mother is planning the wedding. Tell them we’re looking for a date that fits in with our work schedules. Tell them we’re thinking about bolting to Vegas and will keep them posted.”
She scooped up the box and held the ring so it reflected the morning light streaming through the stained-glass window. “You’re really, really good at lying.”
Lying?