Bought by a Millionaire (6 page)

Now she was in his apartment, only a stone's throw from him at any given moment. And she was afraid that her hormones—pregnancy-induced and otherwise—were about to spin out of control.

“You stay here and finish your breakfast while I move the boxes into your room.”

He moved away, and Shannon watched him go. Then she twisted on her stool to watch as he lifted the top box from the stack and carried it past her down the hall. He returned a moment later for a second box, and then a third. His muscles bulged as he worked and a thin sheen of sweat broke out along his brow.

If only things were different, she thought, downing the rest of her room-temperature milk and wishing it were ice-cold water. If only they'd met in a way that didn't include her becoming a surrogate mother to his child. If only she were the kind of woman a man like Burke Bishop would notice in the course of a regular day.

But she wasn't, and she'd do well to remember that. Burke was paying her to give him a baby, after which they'd probably never see one another again. And if she wasn't careful, she'd walk away with a broken heart, as well as an empty womb.

With a sigh of regret, she hopped down and followed him on his last trip past. It was pointless to argue with him about how long she'd be staying, so she decided to play along and let him help make the room she was using more homey. She could always pack it all up again and ask him to have her things sent over to her apartment once she moved back.

There was very little space left to move around in the average-sized bedroom with the large cardboard boxes now littering the floor. He had several of the flaps pulled back and stood with hands on hips, studying the contents.

“Where should we start?”

She opened a couple of the boxes closest to her, noticing clothes and shoes piled to the top. They were a mess, tossed in every which way, with nothing folded or kept away from dirty soles. A man had definitely packed these boxes, because a woman would never be so careless with dresses and skirts, even if they weren't her own.

Plucking a white blouse off the top, she blew out a breath at the smudge on the right arm. “I suppose we can put the clothes away, but they're going to need ironing, and some of them will have to be washed.”

He glanced at the wrinkled shirt in her hands and winced.
“Sorry about that. I should have sent professionals to collect your things instead of having the driver do it.”

“That's all right. It's nothing that can't be undone. If you have an iron, I can straighten out some of these now.”

His mouth twisted, eyes narrowing as he looked at her like she'd just grown a second head. “You just got out of the hospital. You shouldn't be doing laundry and ironing, for God's sake.”

He snatched the blouse from her hand and laid it on the bed. “Set aside anything dirty or overly wrinkled and I'll have them sent out.”

She started to say, “That's not necessary,” but pursed her lips when she recognized the determined glare on his face. Apparently, Burke was a man who liked taking care of life's little details, whether they were necessary or not. Especially, she'd noticed, when it came to her.

“That would be great, thank you.”

She dug a few things out of the box in front of her, sorting them into piles on the bed. The one for the cleaners ended up significantly smaller than the other, since she rarely had anything dry-cleaned and could easily wash and iron them when she got back home. She suspected she could even ask Burke's assistant, Margaret, to find an iron and ironing board for her to use while she was here, if Burke didn't have one in the penthouse.

When she discovered her uniform for the Tavern, though, she groaned and sank down on the edge of the mattress. She'd forgotten all about work tonight and really didn't feel up to a five-hour shift.

For a second, she considered calling in sick. After all, she was, and she had the emergency room papers to prove it. But that would leave her boss and the other servers in the lurch, and she knew from personal experience what a pain it was to cover for a missing co-worker. Not only that, but she needed
the money from both her salary and the generous tips she usually raked in on a Friday night.

So she'd go in and see how long she could last. If she had to, she would leave early. And if she mentioned to the other waiters that she wasn't feeling well, she was sure they'd pitch in to help lighten her workload.

“This one is clean, but it has to be pressed by tonight,” she told Burke, laying the black slacks and forest green shirt across her lap. “Maybe I can hang it in the bathroom while I shower and let the steam work out the wrinkles.”

“Why is that outfit so important?” he wanted to know.

Lifting the top, she pointed out the logo above the left breast pocket. “I have work tonight, whether I like it or not.” Before he could argue—which she knew he would—she added, “It's too late to call and tell them I won't be there, so I'll just have to tough it out.”

One corner of Burke's mouth pulled to the side, as though he were chewing the inside of his lip. Avoiding her gaze, he slid his hands into the front pockets of his pants and rolled back on his heels.

“About that,” he said slowly.

He looked guilty, and Shannon was sure she wouldn't like whatever he was about to say.

“I called the Tavern this morning before you got up.”

With narrowed eyes, she asked, “Why would you do that?” Although she suspected she already knew the answer.

“Don't be angry. You were sick, and I knew you'd been working yourself to the bone both at school and the restaurant. It was probably too much for you even before you got pregnant.”

He was explaining, trying to cover his bases so she wouldn't get upset, but he still wasn't telling her what he'd done.

“What, exactly, am I not supposed to be angry about?”

He shifted his stance, staring down at his shoes as though he were afraid to admit whatever it was he'd done. “I told your boss you wouldn't be able to work tonight, or any other night.”

Shannon felt her brow go up, stretching toward her hairline. “You quit. You quit my job for me.”

“Only temporarily,” he rushed to assure her. “Think of it as a hiatus. I didn't give them details, of course, but I explained that you'd be taking several months off—until after the baby's born—and then would probably be interested in going back to work.”

“And Vinnie was okay with this. He just said, ‘Sure, let her take nearly a year off. Her job will still be waiting for her when she gets back.'”

“He didn't seem to have a problem with the situation,” Burke said evenly. And then, with more confidence than any man deserved, he added, “I can be very persuasive.”

“Yes. I know you can,” she said. But it wasn't a compliment. His persuasiveness right now felt more like manipulation, and she didn't like it. He'd already
persuaded
her into more of a relationship than she'd expected when she'd first agreed to this arrangement. Not to mention
persuading
her straight into the guest bedroom of his penthouse apartment.

“I'm sorry if you're upset with me. I did what I thought was best. You really do need to take it easy for the next few days, until you're feeling better. And it wouldn't hurt to cut back on your workload through the rest of your pregnancy, either.”

A low level of fury simmered beneath the surface of her skin. She could feel her fingers clenching and her cheeks becoming heated.

She understood his concern, since her health was directly related to his child's health. And she even appreciated his conviction, because she'd been so sick and only getting sicker before he broke into her apartment and dragged her to the
hospital. If he hadn't, she would probably still be curled up, shivering and miserable in her tiny apartment.

But she didn't like his heavy-handedness, or the way he kept making important decisions about her life without consulting her first.

“Maybe I should, um, leave you alone for a while. To unpack.”

From his expression, she could tell he didn't want to leave. But he also wasn't looking for a confrontation or all-out battle. He really didn't know her well enough to be sure which was coming, she thought.

And that was a big part of the problem. He didn't know her, and she didn't know him. They were as different as night and day, trying to find some middle ground just long enough to form a legal bond and bring a baby into the world. For some reason, that very analytical summary of their relationship depressed her and put a cap on her building ire.

She stared down at the uniform clothes on her lap, her stomach cramped with mixed emotions. Part of her wanted him to stay. She'd admitted long ago that she was attracted to him, and if things had come about differently, she'd have been more than interested in getting to know him better.

But right now, the possibility seemed remote at best, and she simply wanted to be alone to lick her wounds and deal with her disappointment.

“Maybe you should,” she said, and watched the bedroom door close quietly behind him.

B
urke wanted to kick himself. He left Shannon's room and walked to his home office. Throwing himself into his desk chair, he tipped his head back, closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to halt the pounding in his brain.

He was a jerk, and every move he made seemed to push Shannon further away from him. Which was exactly the opposite of what he was trying to do. If anything, he longed to pull her closer—both figuratively and literally.

It was killing him not to touch her. He'd been a good boy so far, keeping his distance, doing his best not to spook her. But holding her in his arms on the way to the emergency room wasn't enough. He'd much rather have her in his arms while he was kissing her, stroking her back, running his hands through that wild mane of copper hair.

But he had the feeling he was going about it all wrong. Yes,
he'd moved Shannon into his apartment because of her health, because her own apartment was—in his opinion—an unacceptable living space for the mother of his child. He was frank enough, however, to admit that he'd also moved her in because this was where he wanted her to be. He wanted her close, within shouting distance and near enough to find if he got the urge to speak to or simply look at her.

He couldn't tell her any of that, though. If she knew what he was thinking, she'd run back to her place faster than a mosquito to a warm body. He'd be lucky to see her again
ever,
let alone during the remainder of her pregnancy.

From now on, he would have to watch his step. It went against the grain, since he was used to taking control of every situation and calling all the shots. In his business, he never asked permission or apologized.

But Shannon wasn't a piece of real estate or part of a hostile takeover. She was a woman he was beginning to very much desire, despite their original no-strings deal.

Burke rubbed a hand against his suddenly churning stomach. It didn't set well, but he kind of liked the idea of strings. Of being permanently attached to Shannon Moriarty.

He should be petrified. Shocked right down to his shoes and ready to run. And if it had been any other woman trying to worm her way into his life, he'd have her out on the street and at arm's length so fast, her head would spin.

Maybe that was the problem. Shannon wasn't some other woman. She wasn't interested in his money or the prestige his name could bring her; she wasn't trying to trap him or cling to his arm for a bit of media attention. If anything, she was doing her best to keep her distance.

He briefly considered and then discarded the notion that he only wanted her because she was the one woman he couldn't have.

For one thing, he could have her. He
would
have her, he decided resolutely. But not because of the challenge she posed. He wasn't an adolescent who felt the need to run after the first girl who turned her nose up at him.

For another, she wasn't playing hard to get. She was simply being her honest, genuine self.

He suspected that was what attracted him most. Before she'd ever walked into his office in response to his ad for a surrogate mother, he'd had her thoroughly investigated. He knew more about her than she probably realized.

But even without a team of lawyers and private detectives digging into her life, he'd have known she was trustworthy the minute he saw her. She was grounded and sincere, and he doubted there was a dishonest bone in her entire body.

He hadn't known many truly decent people in his lifetime, not even in his immediate family. That she was impressed him.

Of course, it didn't hurt that she was also sexy as hell.

But if he meant to woo her, he had sure gone about it the wrong damn way. He'd thought he was helping, protecting her, when he'd called her boss at the Tavern and arranged for her to be off work for the next eight or ten months. It wasn't until later that he'd realized she might consider his actions as interfering in her personal life.

And sure enough, she was sitting in her room now, anywhere from annoyed to down-right angry with him.

He had to find some way to make it up to her. To apologize and assure her he wouldn't do that sort of thing again.

The only problem was, he didn't know if he could keep such a promise. Where Shannon was concerned, he would move mountains and drain oceans if it would make her life a little easier.

 

Shannon managed to avoid Burke for most of the day, but only by staying in her room to unpack some of the lighter items and taking a short nap in the afternoon. At lunchtime, she sneaked out to the kitchen to heat a bowl of soup, and assumed he was locked up in his office working because she heard the clickity-clack of a computer keyboard and one end of a muted telephone conversation.

The hours alone helped her to analyze both sides of their disagreement. She saw where he was coming from, and what he'd been trying to do by calling Vinnie at the Tavern. She wasn't even angry anymore, but she did think they needed to talk about exactly when and how he was going to be allowed to interfere in her life.

Boundaries, that's what they needed. Not only for him, but for her, too. He shouldn't quit her job for her or move her out of her apartment without consulting her first, and she shouldn't be wondering what it would be like to belong in this opulent penthouse suite…or to the man who lived here.

After taking a shower, she changed into a pair of comfortably worn, low-riding tan pants and a peach baby-doll top. She let her hair dry naturally, and then tied it back with a thin band so it would stay out of her eyes.

Burke was out of his office now. She could hear him moving around in either the kitchen or living area. At one point, she heard the doorbell ring, and his footfalls as he went to answer.

She was nervous about seeing him again, after how they'd last parted company. But there was no time like the present, and it would be better to get this over with now instead of letting things stew longer than they already had.

Taking a deep breath for courage, she opened the bedroom door and stepped into the lion's den. At the moment, however, the lion didn't seem nearly as dangerous as she'd envisioned.

Instead of brooding or waiting impatiently for her to emerge, Burke was in the living room, removing white cardboard containers of Chinese food from a paper sack and arranging them on the glass-topped coffee table. Plates, silverware, and wine goblets had already been set out, and a glowing fire burned in the marble fireplace at his back.

When he noticed her standing at the edge of the narrow hallway, he lifted his head and smiled.

“I hope you like Chinese.”

She nodded and stepped farther into the room, taking the step down that led to the overstuffed sofa and chairs.

“Good. I didn't know your favorites, so I ordered a little of everything. Beef and broccoli, cashew chicken, Peking lo mein, pork-fried rice…”

From the looks of it, he'd ordered the entire menu. She also spotted egg and spring rolls, fried won ton, and a container of egg-drop soup.

She loved egg-drop soup.

“Sit down,” he said, patting the black leather cushion beside him. “Relax, help yourself. I'll get us something to drink.”

He returned a minute later with two servings of milk.

“I've never drunk milk from a wine glass before,” she told him, sipping from hers.

He shot her a gentle grin. “It's good for the baby. And if you have to eat healthy, you may as well do it at a fancy place setting.”

She nodded when he held a container of lo mein over her plate and watched as he spilled out a portion of the noodles and vegetables.

“You're not pregnant, though. Wouldn't you rather have a glass of wine?”

“Nah. I like milk. And it wouldn't be fair to drink in front of you when you can't have any.”

“I don't mind.”

“I do.”

Their gazes met, and the hot intensity of his slate-gray eyes made her weak in the knees. If she hadn't already been sitting, she thought she probably would have ended up in a heap on the floor.

He handed her a plate, piled high with sample portions of each dish, and the choice of either chopsticks or a fork. She chose the chopsticks, settling back against the sofa to prop her meal on her knees and taking a bite of sweet-and-sour shrimp.

Still chewing, she looked up and caught him staring at her. “What?” she asked self-consciously, wiping at her mouth with her fingers. “Do I have food on my chin?”

He chuckled. “No. I was just trying to figure out how to apologize for earlier without bringing up a sore subject or upsetting you all over again.”

“Actually…” She slid her bare feet from the couch to the floor, balancing the still-full plate on her lap. “I wanted to apologize, too. I know you were only trying to help, and I didn't mean to make you feel badly about it.”

“But I should have discussed it with you first, you're right about that.”

She inclined her head. “Apology accepted. I really do understand your concern, Burke.” Laying a hand lightly on her lower abdomen, she said, “This is your child I'm carrying, and you have every right to be worried about anything that might affect its well-being.”

Burke's gaze had been locked on her lips, watching the smooth, rose-pink ribbons of flesh move as she spoke. But when she touched her belly, touched the warm, safe haven where his baby nestled, his entire focus shifted.

He wanted to cover her hand with his own. It was too early to feel the baby move, he knew, but he still wanted that close
ness, that sense of intimacy with both Shannon and the child she was carrying for him.

He was reaching out before he realized, pausing just inches from making contact. When he looked up, he found himself wading in the soft green of her emerald eyes and fighting the need to grab her up, hug her tightly, kiss her into eternity.

“Do you mind?” he asked in a hushed voice, never taking his eyes from hers.

Her tongue darted out to lick the corner of her lips, a gesture he took as nervousness, but she nodded.

Shannon's hand slipped away as his wider, more masculine one came down on the still-flat surface of her stomach. The fabric of her short-waisted top was soft beneath his palm, and he rubbed his fingers over it almost imperceptibly in an effort to feel some sign of his child growing inside.

“It's too soon…” Shannon began.

“I know. I only hope you'll let me do this again later, when the baby begins to move.”

“Of course.”

She answered readily enough, but he heard the slight unsteadiness of the words. He didn't blame her for being afraid to have him touch her. Frankly, the idea terrified him, too.

Not because she had anything to fear from him, or because he would ever in a million years harm her. He wouldn't. But because the sexual tension wavering between them was of the nuclear meltdown variety.

They'd made a child together, but not in the usual manner, and now it seemed his body was revolting, demanding ease and recompense for
not
getting to be a part of the conception process to begin with.

He wished like hell he'd met Shannon sooner. Gone about the process of dating her, getting to know her. Maybe they'd have even married and started a family the natural way.

Then he wouldn't be sitting here on the sofa a breath away from her, his hand on her belly, blood roaring in his ears.

To hell with it. He was tired of waiting, tired of denying himself.

Moving his hand from her stomach, he slid the plate of Chinese from her lap to the coffee table. She glanced down, watching the motion, and when she once again lifted her face to his, he was there.

He didn't give her time to protest or even react. The minute her gaze caught with his, he lowered his head and captured her mouth, kissing her the way he'd wanted to for all these many long weeks.

A tiny moan escaped her throat, and his body immediately went hot and hard. His hands cupped her face, his fingers tangling in her hair as he touched her everywhere.

He couldn't get enough. Her hair felt like molten silk, her skin smoother still. His palms skimmed the nape of her neck, over her back, to the narrow expanse of her waist. Lifting the hem of her shirt, his fingers delved beneath and followed the line of her rib cage to the gentle swell of her breasts. The lace of her bra drew him, and he used the sides of his thumbs to tease her nipples to pebbled peaks.

She broke away with a gasp. Her head fell back and he let his mouth sample the soft curve of her chin, her cheek, the lobe of her ear.

He didn't know how many times she'd called his name before he finally heard her and felt her pushing against his chest. His lungs burned as he gasped for breath, loosening his hold and slowly, reluctantly shifting away from her.

“I'm sorry,” he said, when he could form words.

Shannon shook her head, trying desperately to regain her equilibrium. “It's all right. I just… We shouldn't…”

“I know. I'm sorry,” Burke said again, running one hand roughly through his short black hair.

Getting to her feet, she tugged at her disheveled top and took a few steps backwards. “Maybe I should go.”

To her room, to her own apartment. Any place where she wouldn't have to see Burke and realize that he wanted her as much as she wanted him.

It was a frightening proposition. She'd been attracted to him for weeks. Had admitted that fact to herself, even as she buried the knowledge deep, deep inside of her where he would never discover her secret.

But what they'd just shared had changed all that. He wouldn't have kissed her if he weren't attracted to her, which meant that her feelings for him were reciprocated—at least in part.

She should be relieved. She should throw herself into his arms and let him make love to her as she'd fantasized about for the past two months.

Instead, a weight settled over her shoulders and her heart at the complications this turn of events added to their already complicated relationship. She was carrying his child because he'd paid her to. Because they'd struck an agreement that gave them each what they wanted without any possible ties or commitments.