Bought by a Millionaire (4 page)

 

A slight lurch and a chill breeze from the open door of the limo woke her. Shannon didn't know how long she'd been napping, but a considerable amount of time had obviously passed because she didn't recognize her surroundings.

Burke was no longer in the car with her, either. She was about to get out to see where they were when a young man wearing a white uniform with a red cap leaned into the car and began stacking thin cardboard cartons on the seat. He disappeared before she could ask him what was going on, and Burke reappeared, situating himself on the other side of the tall stack of boxes.

“Are those what I think they are?” she asked, catching a whiff of something absolutely mouthwatering. Her fingers sneaked toward the corner of the first box.

“You said you wanted pizza,” he answered simply, sliding the top container off the pile and setting it on her lap. “I didn't know what toppings you like, though, so I had them make up a little of everything.”

“Are you serious?” She lifted the lid of the pizza on her lap and inhaled deeply. Her stomach growled in appreciation as she stared, awestruck, at the evidence of his generosity.

“Oh, Lord,” she breathed, “this looks so good.”

“Then why aren't you eating?”

She turned her head and noticed the glint of humor in his eyes to match the teasing note in his voice. With a grin, she separated a single piece from the jam-packed pie and dug in.

Three slices later, she was still moaning in near ecstasy. She wiped her mouth with one of the napkins that had come with the pizzas and patted her overstuffed belly.

“That was so thoughtful of you, thank you very much.”

She settled a hand on Burke's knee. She did it without conscious thought, without considering the consequences…and without worrying about what he might read into the gesture. And when his hand moved to cover her own, she didn't pull away, regardless of the impact the action had on her growing attraction to him.

“I was glad to do it. Are you sure you don't want more?”

Groaning, she shook her head. “Heavens, no. I couldn't eat another bite. But it was delicious, and just what I was craving. Thank you,” she said again. She slipped her hand out from under his then, afraid to let the contact go on much longer.

“Have you gotten many cravings already?” he wanted to know as he moved the pizza boxes a few at a time to the otherwise empty seat across from them.

Shannon swallowed, trying not to read too much into his behavior. She'd touched his leg. He'd covered her hand with his own. And now he was clearing the space between them. It all made her very nervous, and she found herself holding her breath, waiting to see if he would slide closer.

When he merely leaned back to focus his gaze on her face once again, she began to relax and consider the best answer to his question.

If she told him she'd devoured an entire bag—family size, not single serving—of corn chips on the way to the doctor's office, he'd think she was a glutton. Then again, she had been experiencing odd hunger pangs which she attributed to the early stages of her pregnancy. And being the baby's father—as well as her employer—she supposed he had a right to know the God's honest truth.

“Only a few,” she told him, taking a sip of the bottled water he'd bought for her, along with the pizzas.

“Like what?”

As much as it embarrassed her, she admitted the earlier corn chip incident and was surprised by his deep, amused chuckle.

“I also stocked up on six different flavors of ice cream, when I don't usually keep much around. And gummi bears,” she admitted, digging into her purse to retrieve the plastic baggie filled with rainbow-colored candies. “Do you know anyone over the age of six who actually eats these things?”

One corner of his mouth still lifted in a half grin, he said, “Pregnant women, apparently.”

He reached over, untwisted the tie on the baggie, and plucked out a single, bright-yellow gummi bear. “And expectant fathers.”

Shannon watched as he chewed, wondering how much
The National Inquisitor
would pay for a story about Chica
go's most eligible bachelor eating gummi bears in the back of his limousine. With the surrogate mother of his unborn child, she added, and laughed silently.

“Not bad,” Burke murmured. “Not quite as wonderful as I remember, but I can understand why you're craving them.”

He finished prying the sticking concoction away from his molars and turned to her, more serious now. “I hope you'll let me know if there's anything you need. Anything at all, including corn chips or ice cream at three in the morning.”

She smiled, touched by his concern and obvious excitement about becoming a father. “Thank you, but I'm hoping it won't come to that. Not for several more months, at least.”

She saw him swallow and his jaw tighten. His fingers clenched and then released where his arms rested atop his legs.

“Right. We've got a ways to go, I guess.”

“Seven more months, to be exact,” she said as the limo pulled to a stop outside her apartment building.

It was hard to believe she was pregnant at all. But here she was, two months along, carrying a child for a man she hardly knew.

Her mother would die if she knew, even though Shannon was doing this for all the right reasons. And though she had no intention of not visiting her mother at Meadow Lark for the duration of her pregnancy, she had decided not to tell her mom what she was doing until she absolutely had to. Shannon figured that would be about the time she began to show and her mother started to guess.

Her mother wouldn't understand, insisting there were other ways to get the money they so desperately needed. But since the deed was already done and a child was most certainly on the way, she also knew her mother would be accepting of her decision. Her only real complaint might be that she wouldn't have contact with her only grandchild after it was born.

Shannon was having a few problems with that herself. But a deal was a deal. She'd known from the beginning that it would be difficult to give up a child who had grown inside her for nine months, but she also knew Burke would be a good father. He would love his child and give it everything he or she could ever need, while there was no way Shannon could afford to support a baby at this point in her life. Even if she
could
imagine falling in love with it, given half the chance.

Burke's driver opened her door and offered his hand to help her out. Burke exited from the other side and began removing pizza boxes.

“Let me carry these up for you.”

“Oh, no. There's no way I can eat all of those,” she said, standing on the sidewalk and watching the boxes pile up one after another on the trunk of the sleek black car.

“Isn't there anyone else you can give them to?” She turned to the chauffeur who stood at her elbow, waiting to see if she needed anything else. “You'll take some, won't you?”

The man glanced at Burke, as though looking for permission to answer her question. When Burke didn't seem opposed, he said, “Yes, ma'am. I'll see they don't go to waste.”

Burke seemed to be fighting a smile as he lifted the lids on a couple of boxes, picked one he liked and carried it around the car to where she stood.

“You can put the rest of the pizzas back in the car, Davis. And take them home with you this evening, if you like. I'll see Ms. Moriarty to her apartment.”

She opened her mouth to tell him he didn't need to accompany her, but closed it again when she recognized the determined expression on his face. “Thank you,” she said simply, before turning and heading inside.

It wasn't easy for her to accept Burke's generosity and pro
tectiveness. She was too used to fending for herself, as well as caring for others.

All her life, she'd been the responsible one. Her father had left when she was a baby, and her mother had worked two jobs for as long as Shannon could remember to provide for them. As an only child who often ended up alone, she'd learned to both look out for and entertain herself. And when her mother had become ill, she hadn't thought twice about doing whatever was necessary to see that she got the proper housing and medical care.

That determination—and, she admitted, desperation—had led her to become a surrogate mother for a man who apparently wanted to see to her every need and comfort. She didn't have a problem with most of Burke's requests concerning their agreement, but it was hard for her to let him
do
for her when she was too used to doing for herself.

They took the stairs to the second floor and followed the short hallway to her apartment. Sliding the key into the lock, she opened the door and invited Burke in. He stepped just inside, setting the pizza on the counter that separated the living/bedroom area from the tiny kitchen.

She held her breath, waiting for him to look around and find her home lacking. It had to be, considering his extreme wealth. His office alone proved he had expensive tastes. And while she liked her apartment well enough, it
was
small and somewhat cramped. But it was also the nicest she could afford at the moment.

There was no bedroom, so a twin mattress on a simple iron frame against one wall doubled as a sofa during the day. She had a desk for studying, an old television for relaxing, and a couple of potted plants on a set of old, wobbly bookshelves she'd bought at a local thrift shop.

But either he wasn't paying attention to his surroundings
or he was too polite to comment on them, because his gaze remained on her.

“Thank you again for dinner. The pizzas really hit the spot.”

“I'm glad.” He slid a business card and ballpoint pen from the inside pocket of his suit jacket and leaned on the kitchen counter to write. “And I hope you know I meant what I said earlier. If you need anything, at any time, I want you to call me. Don't even think twice about it.” Handing her the card, he said, “These are all the numbers where I can be reached, including cell phone, pager and my private home number.”

Inclining her head, she took the card. She doubted she would call him about pickle and tofu cravings at 3:00 a.m., but it couldn't hurt to know how to contact him, just in case.

Then, in a move that slowed her heartbeat to a snail-like crawl, he lifted his arm and cupped the side of her face in his hand. The heat emanating from his palm threatened to burn the large, masculine impression of his fingers into her flesh.

Sighing softly, she turned her face ever so slightly into his warm caress and prayed he didn't notice. She was having enough trouble tamping down her attraction to him; she would never survive the next seven months if he started touching her.

“I'm very happy things are working out this way. I don't think I expected you to get pregnant right away, but…I'm very happy.”

She could tell. If he were a more demonstrative man, he'd probably be doing cartwheels.

“I'm glad, too,” she said, offering him a small smile.

“Call me if you need anything, all right?”

She inclined her head, and her grip tightened reflexively on the card he'd given her.

And then he leaned forward, pressed a light kiss to her cheek and left without another word.

Closing the door behind him, she twisted the lock before
letting her forehead drop against the cool wood. She'd never met a more charming man in her life. Never met another man who could make her nerve endings stand up and take notice the way they did when Burke was around.

And now she was carrying his child. She was contractually obligated to him for the duration of her pregnancy. Seven more months of being with him, talking with him, running the risk of touching him again. Or having him touch her.

Which wouldn't be so bad if she didn't expect her heart to be broken by the time she and Burke parted ways.

B
urke slammed down the telephone receiver, cursing under his breath at the busy signal still buzzing on Shannon's end of the line. He'd been trying to get in touch with her all week, but even the driver he'd sent to escort her anywhere she needed to go said he hadn't seen her since late Friday night, when he'd dropped her off after visiting her mother. She'd gone into her apartment and apparently disappeared.

She was nearing her third month of pregnancy, and though the doctor said she was in perfect health with nothing to worry about, he didn't like the idea of her being unavailable for this long. He didn't like not hearing from her, dammit!

He'd called everyone he could think of, from Dr. Cox, to the nursing home where her mother was staying, to the dean of students at UNI. No one had seen or heard from her all week.

Finally, frustrated beyond belief and more than a little concerned, he snagged his coat and headed out of the office. On
the way past Margaret's desk, he asked her to call for the limo and reschedule his afternoon appointments. He'd go over to Shannon's apartment himself to find out what was going on.

When he arrived, he spotted the car he'd sent parked out front. The driver sat quietly, a take-out cup of coffee on the dashboard, doing what appeared to be a crossword puzzle against the steering wheel.

Since he'd spoken to the man less than an hour earlier, Burke walked past and directly into the building. He didn't bother with the elevator, but took the stairs two at a time to the second floor.

Deciding Shannon might be angry with him if he burst in on her like a Neanderthal when she was perfectly fine, he bit back on the anxiety thrumming through his veins and calmly knocked on the door. After a few seconds, he knocked again, louder.

A minute passed and he switched to pounding with the side of his fist, calling her name between strikes.

Now he was getting worried. She wasn't answering the phone, wasn't answering the door, and he didn't hear any signs of movement inside the apartment.

She could be out…but where would she go for an entire week? Without letting him—or anyone else—know.

Desperate times called for desperate measures, he told himself. Then he took a deep breath and threw his shoulder against the hopefully flimsy panel. Wood splintered, a chain rattled, and the door broke away from the lock. He'd have to pay to have the door replaced, as well as posting someone outside until then so no one bothered Shannon or stole her belongings.

But he didn't care. Concern for her well-being overrode any worries about how much repairs might cost or how upset she would be when she saw he'd forcefully broken into her apartment.

“Shannon?” He called her name as he stepped past the swinging, busted door, bits of wood crunching beneath his feet as a waft of frigid air hit him square in the face.

It was cold enough outdoors this time of year, but the apartment was positively freezing. Didn't she believe in cranking up the thermostat, even on blustery days like today? Or was she trying to save money by letting herself turn into a human Popsicle? He'd have to talk to her about that. If money was an issue, he'd pay her damn heating bill, for God's sake.

His eyes swept the room and he spotted her immediately. She lay on the small, unadorned cot, curled into a ball under a mound of mismatched blankets. Only the very top of her head was visible, a few stray curls peeking out from beneath a thick knit hat and fuzzy red earmuffs. The floor beside the bed was littered with cold supplies: tissues, cough drops, chest rub ointment, a half-empty glass of juice…

“Shannon,” he said again, rushing forward and falling to one knee beside the bed. He heard the panic in his voice and felt it in the clutch of his heart, the free fall of his gut.

Yanking a glove off with his teeth, he folded back the covers and pressed his palm against her face. Her cheeks were pink, her temperature obviously higher than it ought to be.

“Shannon, can you hear me?” He shook her gently, hating to wake her, but also wanting to know she was still conscious and cognizant.

She groaned, rolling her head on the pillow and trying to burrow back under the blankets even as her eyes opened to slits. Recognition dawned and she parted her lips to speak, but the words turned into a long string of dry, hacking coughs.

Not wasting any more time, he wrapped the covers around her like a cocoon and lifted her into his arms. She mumbled something indistinguishable, but otherwise put up little struggle.

He marched out of the building, once again taking the
stairs instead of the elevator, and headed straight for the waiting limo. With Shannon still cradled protectively in his arms, he let the chauffeur open the door for him and climbed inside.

“Get us to the nearest hospital,” he told the man succinctly. “Now.” The door slammed closed and half a second later, the car shot into traffic.

“I'm not that sick,” she protested in a raspy whisper, but he ignored her.

Reaching around the bundle on his lap, he pulled the cell phone from the pocket of his coat and dialed the car they'd left behind. As soon as the driver answered, he said, “This is Bishop. Go upstairs to apartment 2-G and pack as many of Miss Moriarty's things as you can carry. Bring them to my place, and then send someone back over there to fix the door and lock up.”

Confident his orders would be followed, he disconnected and redialed Dr. Cox's office.

“Shannon's sick,” he told the doctor shortly, as soon as the man came on the line. “She seems warm and she won't stop coughing. We're on the way to the emergency room now.”

“I'll meet you there,” Cox assured him before they both hung up.

Shoving the phone back into his pocket, he turned his attention to where Shannon's head rested against his shoulder and brushed a damp tendril of auburn hair from her face.

“Hang in there, sweetheart. We'll have you on the mend in no time.” He hoped.

Eyes closed, she stirred briefly, murmuring beneath her breath and wiggling in his lap as though trying to break free of the blankets surrounding her. He didn't know what had made her so sick or how long she'd been like this, but his first priority was to find someone who could make her better. And to find out what impact her illness might have on the baby.

Burke's fingers paused in stroking Shannon's cheek. This was the first time he'd thought about the child, he realized, and wondered what that meant.

All week, he'd been curious about her pregnancy, but more concerned about her welfare when he couldn't get in touch with her. Then, when he'd broken into her apartment and seen her huddled in the middle of the bed, obviously miserable, his entire focus had been on her condition and how to make her better.

Shouldn't he be worried about the baby first and foremost? He was paying her to carry his child, to give him what he'd wanted more than anything for longer than he could remember. But now, when a crisis cropped up, he could only think of Shannon's health and little else.

The limo pulled up to the emergency room entrance and his driver rushed to open the door. Burke carried Shannon through the crowded waiting room, directly to the registration desk.

“My name is Burke Bishop. I'm here with Shannon Moriarty. We need to see Dr. John Cox the minute he arrives.”

Other people might have to fill out insurance forms and sit for hours before seeing the next available physician. But not Burke Ellison Bishop. Money—as well as his advance calls to everyone involved—paved the way for a lot of things, and getting immediate medical treatment was often one of them.

“Yes, Mr. Bishop,” the nurse behind the counter replied, looking only the slightest bit starstruck by his sudden appearance. She didn't spare a second glance for the blanket-clad woman in his arms. “Dr. Cox phoned and is on his way. Let me show you to a private exam room.”

Grabbing a few forms and a previously printed plastic wristband from a pile of paperwork, she led him through the main emergency exam area and down a short hall. Inside the more isolated room, he laid Shannon on the high hospital bed.
The nurse untangled the blankets enough to free one arm and fastened the blue identity band to her wrist.

“I need to start an IV. Do you mind if I cut through her clothes?”

Shannon was wearing a pair of faded flannel pajamas with kittens chasing balls of yarn across the soft pink material. For all he knew, she had a sentimental attachment to those kittens, and he didn't want to be the one to tell her they'd been destroyed.

“I don't,” he told the nurse, “but she might. Let's slip her out of them instead.”

It took some doing, but the two of them managed to get Shannon undressed and into a blue-flowered hospital gown. Burke did his best not to stare as he undid the buttons on Shannon's top, but the lush swell of her breasts encased in a white sports bra drew his eye like a beacon. And her feminine attributes were even more difficult to ignore when he had to lift her upper body and hold her close to his chest to work the top over her arms and head. Thankfully, the nurse dealt with Shannon's pajama bottoms or Burke might have been the one in need of emergency room attention.

Dr. Cox arrived, slightly out of breath, as the nurse was taping down the intravenous feed line. “Here you are,” he said, moving immediately to Shannon's side.

“Good, good, you got things started. Let's take some blood and get her temperature,” he told the nurse. At the same time, he checked Shannon's pulse, lifted her lids to look at her eyes, and unwound the stethoscope from around his neck to listen to her heart and lungs.

“It was smart of you to bring her in, Burke, but I really don't think we need to worry. From the look of her ears and throat, we're probably dealing with nothing more than your average cold.”

“Then why isn't she more alert?” he all but growled.

“She's exhausted, and maybe a little out of it. I don't know how long she's been sick, or how hard she's been pushing herself, but my guess is that she's simply worn out from trying to fight off this infection. We'll get her rehydrated, get her on some meds, and I'm sure she'll perk up in no time.”

He hoped so. He didn't think he'd ever been so frightened in his life as when he'd seen her lying so still in the middle of that sagging mattress.

“What about the baby?” he asked, almost as an afterthought. He glanced down at Shannon's pale face and realized their fingers were twined. At some point during the nurse's ministrations or the doctor's examination, he'd linked his hand with hers and refused to let go.

He thought about doing so now, before anyone noticed he had more than an employer's concern for an employee. And then he thought,
To hell with it.
It was nobody's business how worried he was, how insistent he was on top-notch medical treatment or how tightly he held her hand until she started coming around.

“Everything should be fine,” Dr. Cox answered, making notes on the chart the nurse had provided. “None of the drugs we'll be giving her are strong enough to harm the fetus, and once she's feeling a bit better, I'll recommend some lighter, more natural treatments for her symptoms. We'll keep her here for a few hours, but I doubt she'll need to be admitted. Will you be taking her back to her apartment, or…?”

“She's coming home with me.”

The doctor shot him a curious look at the sharpness of his tone, but was intelligent enough not to comment. Instead, he went about the business of making Shannon better.

An hour or so passed, with fluids dripping into Shannon's veins and the doctor and nurse checking in every once in a while. Burke sat beside the bed on an uncom
fortable metal chair he'd dragged from a far corner. He hadn't left her side for a moment, still holding her hand, stroking his thumb back and forth over her soft, slightly warm skin.

She inhaled deeply and he heard the light rattle in her lungs. He didn't like it, regardless of Cox's assurances that she would be all right. Then her fingers twitched and her head moved on the flat, hospital-issue pillow.

He straightened, watching her face intently for signs that she was coming around. Her lashes fluttered and the tip of her tongue sneaked out to wet her dry lips.

Touching the side of her face, he leaned close. “Shannon. Sweetheart,” he whispered. “Are you awake?”

He saw the muscles of her throat work as she yawned and then swallowed, her eyes slowly creeping open. She glanced around, her gaze swinging from his face to the sparse furnishings of the stark white exam room, and back. She opened her mouth to speak, but all that came out was a hoarse croak.

“Just a minute.” Jumping to his feet, Burke poured a glass of water from a nearby pitcher the nurse had supplied earlier and returned to her side, helping to lift her head until she'd drunk her fill.

“Better?” he asked.

Her chin bobbed up and down.

“Want more?”

She shook her head. “Where am I?”

Her voice sounded rough and parched, like she hadn't used it in days. And for all he knew, she hadn't.

“You're at the hospital.” Her brows shot up at that announcement, but he pressed on before she could get upset or strain her throat with further questions. “When I hadn't heard from you all week, I went over to your apartment and found you curled up in bed, sick as a dog. I got worried when you
started coughing and couldn't seem to stop, so I called Dr. Cox and asked him to meet us here.” He ran his fingers through her hair, brushing his thumb over her cheek on each return pass. “Are you feeling any better?”

A second or two ticked by as she let her eyes fall closed, considering. “It's just a cold. Or so I thought. The heat wasn't working, but I expected some orange juice and a few sore throat lozenges to clear things up.” Her green eyes popped open again to meet his. “Then all of a sudden, I felt like death and couldn't seem to get out of bed. I heard the phone ring a couple times. I even thought I heard someone at the door, but I was too cold and tired to answer.”