The Billionaire’s Baby Plan Read online

  His laugh was low and rasped over her nerve endings in a wholly disruptive way. “There has to be something wrong for me to call my wife?” His voice dropped another notch. “I really missed you this morning. Waking up without you in my arms was no fun at all.”

  Her mouth went more than a little dry. She glanced at the opened doorway of her office. Thankfully, her assistant, Ella, was busy with a telephone call at the desk she occupied outside Lisa’s office. “I had to come back to work,” she reminded him.

  “I know.” His voice suddenly sounded even nearer. “But one of the advantages of being the boss is that I can tell my business to follow—” he suddenly appeared in her doorway “—where I want it to go.” He grinned faintly, snapping his cell phone shut.

  She shot up from her chair so fast, it rolled back and banged the credenza behind her desk. “Rourke!”

  “Is that a happy-to-see-me ‘Rourke’?”

  Her stomach jumped around giddily. “I didn’t expect to see you until Friday night.”

  His lips tilted, amused. “I’ll take that as a yes, because it suits me.” He seemed to roll his shoulder around the door frame as he entered, and very deliberately closed the door behind him. “You look very…icy.”

  His eyes were anything but as he slowly advanced, and she moistened her lips, dashing her hands down the front of her pale gray suit. “Would you prefer I come to work in a red leather miniskirt?”

  “Nobody’d get any work done if they saw the rest of the legs you’re hiding under these skinny skirts of yours.” He hooked his arm around her waist and pulled her to him.

  She supposed she should be a little offended at his macho tactic, but her heart was too busy jiggling around in her throat to worry too deeply. “What are you doing here?”

  His fingers kneaded her hips through the fine wool suit. “Checking on my investment?”

  She couldn’t help the bubble of laughter that rose to her lips. “You’re terrible.”

  His lips tilted. “That’s not what you were saying last night,” he reminded her, dropping a much-too-brief kiss on her lips. “Then it was more on the order of ‘you’re good, you’re perfect, right there, oh, yes—’”

  She clamped her hand over his mouth. “All right. Enough. This is a place of business.”

  “Where babies are made.” He pressed a kiss to the palm of her hand before pulling it away and tugging her even closer until their hips met. “Coincidentally enough.”

  She sucked in a breath, nearly swaying. “How do you do it?” Her voice was breathless. “Make me want you like this?” They’d made love less than twelve hours ago. They’d returned from France in the afternoon, had dinner with his mother in the city, and before Rourke had driven Lisa to the private airfield where his jet was waiting to fly her back to Boston, had driven her mad in the foyer of his penthouse apartment.

  They hadn’t even made it as far as the bedroom.

  “Lucky, I guess.” His hands worked the buttons on her suit jacket, and delved inside to discover the camisole that was all she wore beneath it. Her nipple rose tight and eager through the thin, plain cotton and she had a fleeting thought of Sara Beth’s lingerie shopping idea. “If we didn’t need to meet with your management team in five minutes, I’d be asking if that office door has a lock on it.”

  “Management team.” The reminder was almost as effective as a bucket of ice water. She met every week with her department heads. That day was even more important, since she was coming off a long absence, and they had to begin dealing with Rourke’s influx of cash.

  She hastily backed away from him, hurriedly redoing the buttons, a task that would have been much easier if her fingers weren’t shaking and her body weren’t yearning for his. “Is that what you really came for?”

  “It’s one of the reasons.” He sat on the edge of her desk, watching her fuss with her jacket. “Not the only one.”

  She supposed she should be grateful for that.

  She reached the top button of the jewel-neck collar and flipped the narrow silver necklace she wore out over it before picking up the leather-bound pad that held her agenda and meeting notes. “You didn’t mention it before.”

  “You didn’t mention the management meeting,” he pointed out. “I learned that from Ella.”

  She stopped in front of him, holding her pad against her breasts like a schoolgirl. “Is this what it will be like? You going around me to find out about the operational matters of the institute? Pulling rank on me?”

  “Don’t get your panties in a knot,” he drawled, looking amused. “Ella sent me your schedule first thing this morning the same way she’d been sending me your schedule before the wedding.”

  The explanation was perfectly logical but it still put her on edge. She was way over her head when it came to him on a personal basis. She wasn’t certain at all how she felt about him being underfoot here at the institute. This was her turf. Her comfort zone.

  “Stop looking worried,” he chided as he straightened. “I’ve told you that I had no problem with the way this place was being run to begin with. Except for the blind faith you all put in your CFO,” he added pointedly. “All I want to do is observe and meet all the players.” He held out one arm. “After you.”

  She gave him a narrow look, but aware of the time ticking and loathe to be late for anything, she stepped past him and headed out of the office.

  The boardroom where they usually met was on the top floor of their building. When they arrived, Paul and Ted were already sitting at the enormous oval table dominating the center of the sunlit room. Ted got up, greeting Rourke with a wide smile and a clap on the shoulder and, leaving them to it, she assumed her usual spot at the table, glancing at the clock on the wall as the room quickly filled. At five minutes past, her gaze scanned those present. “Where’s Dr. Demetrios?”

  “Here.” The handsome, swarthy doctor entered, his white lab coat trailing out behind him. “Got a mom-in-the-making getting prepped.” His brown eyes sparkled with good humor. “So I’ll give you about five minutes.”

  Lisa wasn’t surprised. She well knew the doctor preferred to be bedside than boardroom table-side. “All right, then you and Dr. Bonner can report out first.” She opened her pad and picked up her pen, taking an occasional note while Ted and Chance both launched into concise updates of their current work.

  “We may be looking at an expanded study very soon,” Ted concluded. “A natural supplement that increases sperm motility. Our early testing is looking really promising.”

  Lisa glanced up. This was news to her. “You’ve been doing testing?”

  “With one subject.” Ted looked slightly chagrined as his glance skipped around the room. “We were already involved in it before we started putting together our best-practices manual.”

  The manual had simply been a matter of avoiding the impression of lab irregularities. But she also knew that Ted wasn’t likely to get into specifics during a regular management meeting. It wasn’t as if the head of human resources or maintenance needed to know what innovative research paths they were heading along. They’d learned all too well over the past year how critical data security was.

  She couldn’t help feeling a buzz of excitement, though.

  A new study.

  Secure funding.

  Her gaze tripped over Rourke’s where he was sitting next to Paul at the other side of the table and warmth just seemed to bloom inside her bones.

  Yes. Everything was going well.

  More than well.

  “Sounds good,” she said mildly, ducking her head over her notes. “Back to the agenda, then. How many open positions are we still trying to fill?” She looked at the head of H.R., and the meeting proceeded without fanfare, breaking nearly two hours later.

  Lunchtime.

  The room quickly emptied as she rose from the table. Gathering her things, she watched her husband from the corner of her eyes as he and Ted talked, their voices too low to hear.

  “How’
s married life?” Her brother Paul stopped next to her. “He treating you well?”

  “Very.” It was the truth, she realized. No matter what his motives were, Rourke did treat her well. They’d had their debates over the past few weeks. Politics. Hockey. Two people with opinions of their own were bound to. But he listened as well as talked. And he didn’t judge.

  It was a singularly disarming trait.

  “You hear about Derek entering that program in Connecticut?”

  “Yes.” She tapped the end of her pen softly against the table that was striped by brilliant shafts of sunlight cutting through the floor-to-ceiling windows lining the paneled room. “Have you talked to him?”

  Paul’s lips twisted. “Ramona says I should. She would have lost her mother if it weren’t for her finding her half sister to be a bone marrow donor. Now that her mom’s finally on the mend, Ramona’s more adamant than ever about family sticking together no matter what. But, no, I haven’t talked to him.”

  “Do Mother and Daddy know?”

  “I’m sure they do by now. They’ll probably end up footing the bill.” He sighed. “I’m supposed to believe in healing, but I’m not sure if that twin of mine even feels any remorse. At least Rourke has managed to keep it out of the papers. Only press the institute is getting again is good press. Finally.” He suddenly pulled his phone out of his lab coat and checked the display. “I’ve gotta go. Patient’s waiting.” He squeezed her shoulder as he headed off.

  Lisa looked over at Rourke again. He’d treated all of them well. She swallowed the nervousness that wanted to rise in her throat and walked over to him and Ted. “Want to grab some lunch?” The casual question masked the silly trepidation she felt.

  Rourke slid his arm over her shoulder in an easy move that nevertheless managed to make her stomach dance a little jig. “Wish I could.” His fingers toyed with the bun at the nape of her neck, reminding her all too well of what usually happened when he started pulling the pins out of her hair…where it always seemed to lead. A shiver danced down her spine and the glint in his eyes told her he was well aware of the effect he was having. “But I can’t.”

  She lifted her eyebrows, masking her disappointment. “The boss whose business follows where he wants can’t take time to share lunch with his new wife?”

  His fingers glided down the nape of her neck. Slipped beneath the collar of her jacket. If she wasn’t mistaken, there was actual regret in his eyes. “I’ve got about ten minutes to spare with Ted—that new thing he’s got brewing—and then I’m meeting with the mayor of Boston.”

  She started. He really had had other reasons than her for coming to town. “What for?”

  “A construction project.” He tilted her head and dropped a kiss on her lips. “Then I need to get back to New York. Cynthia’s got my schedule slammed this week.”

  “You’re still going to make it here for the weekend though?” She was painfully aware of Ted standing nearby and the obvious way he was trying not to listen—a physical impossibility, given his proximity—but was more concerned with the possibility that Rourke might not be able to return as easily as he’d claimed.

  “Oh, yeah, Mrs. Devlin.” Rourke glided his finger along the satiny skin of Lisa’s neck and watched the flare of her pupils that occurred in direct correlation to his touch.

  It was damnably erotic.

  “I’ll be back.” He pressed another kiss to her lips. A kiss that he ended too quickly, but wisely, given their audience and his time constraints.

  And then he was striding out of the boardroom, Ted keeping up in his wake before he managed to forget that he did have a plate of responsibilities waiting for him, no matter how distracting he was finding his wife to be.

  “You haven’t told her,” Ted asked quietly once they’d reached the privacy of his office. He unlocked a cabinet and pulled out a syringe.

  Rourke didn’t have to guess what Ted meant. “No reason to tell her.”

  He shrugged out of his jacket, loosened his belt and turned his back and felt the sting of the injection a few moments later. After several months of having his hip pricked by Ted’s needles, the process was done in a matter of seconds and he was fastening his belt again, smoothing down his shirt and pulling on his jacket.

  “That’s a pretty big secret to keep from the woman you’re married to. Think that’s wise?”

  “You’ve kept a secret or two yourself,” he reminded Ted.

  “Not anymore.” Ted waved his hand. “Not that I’ve told Sara Beth that it’s your butt I’ve been having to look at every month,” he assured him. “You know that’s confidential. But I have told her about the success we’re having with the new regimen.” He returned to the locked cabinet and retrieved a pill bottle that he tossed to Rourke. “Thirty-day supply. What’s the point in keeping it from her? Lisa’s a levelheaded woman. She sees situations like this all the time. And she’s going to know the details of the treatment as soon as we expand it into an official study.”

  “She won’t have to know that I was patient X.” He slid the small bottle into his pocket. The second Taylor had found out it was he who was the failure in their baby-making department, she’d gone searching for more fertile pastures. Not that he considered Lisa to be cut from the same cloth as Taylor, but old habits died pretty damn hard.

  The only ones who knew about his infertility were Ted— and by necessity his partner, Chance. And the only reason Ted knew was because one night, Rourke hadn’t been as closed-mouthed as he usually was, thanks to the deep bottle of whiskey Ted had found him trying to drown himself in the day the divorce had finally become final.

  It wasn’t one of Rourke’s prouder moments, but that particular cloud definitely had its silver lining. Because if he hadn’t admitted his problem, there’d have been no reason for Ted to ever tell him about the treatment that he and Chance had already been trying to formulate. Or for Rourke to convince them that he was the perfect candidate to test it on once they believed they were on the right track.

  Ted didn’t exactly look convinced, but he let the matter drop. “The mayor of Boston, huh?”

  Rourke shrugged more casually than he felt. “Just sounding him out on a new multiuse project. There are a couple other locations I’m considering, too.”

  “But if it were in Boston, you’d have to be around here at least part of the time getting it underway.”

  “Boston’s a good city.” He pulled open the door.

  Ted grinned. “Particularly when that’s where your wife lives, I’d think.”

  Rourke didn’t deny it. He lifted his hand in a brief salute and made his way out of the building before he could fall to the lure of seeking out Lisa just one more time before he left. And it had nothing to do with the faint rattle of pills coming from his pocket.

  He’d already become addicted to his cool-facaded wife.

  And for the first time in his life, he didn’t know what to do about it.

  Chapter Eleven

  Lisa glanced at the clock on her fireplace mantel.

  Nearly eleven o’clock.

  Rourke was supposed to have been there hours ago.

  She exhaled, staring at the flicker of the two tall candles she’d lit at the center of the dining-room table. Surrounding the crystal candlesticks were baskets of no-longer-warm rolls, a salad that was twenty degrees past wilted and an eggplant lasagna that no longer steamed with an inviting aroma, but was going cold and sunken.

  Sexy lingerie and candlelight dinners might be perfect for Sara Beth and Ted. But for Lisa and Rourke, it was turning out to be a foolish endeavor.

  First of all, Lisa couldn’t cook a decent meal to save her life. Oh, she’d tried. But the first effort was residing in the trash and what sat on the table now was courtesy of her decidedly frantic call to her favorite Italian restaurant.

  While she’d been trying to blow out the stench of burned garlic bread from the kitchen, they’d kindly delivered this once-beautiful feast with instructions that even
she couldn’t fail to follow.

  And here she sat. Dressed in a filmy black nightie that Sara Beth had positively dared Lisa to buy, candles burned almost down to nubs, and no Rourke in sight.

  She was much more annoyed with herself than she was with him. He’d only estimated his arrival when they’d talked that afternoon.

  Not even talked.

  Texted.

  Which was the level that their communications seemed to have sunk to as the week had progressed since he’d shown up at the institute on Monday.

  She was the one who’d gone all out with the foolish “welcome home” measures.

  Boston wasn’t even Rourke’s home!

  She finally blew out the candles, then rapidly cleared the table. Dumped the food in the trash where it joined the first attempt.

  Staring down into the mess, she was appalled to realize there were tears on her cheeks.

  She snatched a paper towel from the holder standing on her granite counter and swiped her face. Balled up the paper and pitched it in the trash.

  A second later, she whipped the frothy, thigh-length concoction she was wearing over her head and shoved it on top of the food.

  Turning on her bare heel, she stomped upstairs to her bedroom and yanked on an old college sweatshirt that reached her knees instead. Then she went into the bathroom and washed her face, twisted the hair that she’d left loose just to please him into a long braid, and went to bed.

  She was not a lovesick bride and she’d better start remembering it.

  Unfortunately, instead of closing her eyes and going to sleep, she lay there, staring at the clock on her nightstand, watching the minutes continue to tick.

  That just made her feel weepy again, and after an hour, she finally shoved back the covers and went into the second bedroom that she’d set up as a home office. She sat down at the desk. Her calendar was open.

  It was past midnight.